one?” She looked happily into her husband's face, trying to forget Pattie's words again. Perhaps his brothers would like her, after all.
“Yes, Teddy is the youngest. Greg is the one in between.” His face clouded for a moment, “Greg is … well, he's different. He's quieter than the rest of us. He's … I don't know, maybe he's more like my father. He sort of goes his own way, and he's odd, you can influence him more easily than you can me or Teddy. We're both more stubborn than he is, and yet when he really gets something in his head that he cares about a great deal, he's like a bloody mule.” He looked at her with amusement. “But Teddy … he's the family genius, the imp, the elf. He's more decent than any of us put together, and more creative. Teddy has”—he thought for a long moment—”soul … and humor … and wisdom … and looks.”
“Wait, maybe I got the wrong brother.”
B.J. looked at her in total seriousness. “You might have. And he's certainly more your age than I am, Serena.” And then his mood lightened quickly. “But I'm the one you got, kiddo, so you're stuck with me.” But it was evident, as it always was when he spoke of his youngest brother, that there was a bond of tenderness between them that reached to his very soul. “You know, after he graduates from Princeton next June he says he's going to med school, and dammit, I bet he will too, and he'll be a terrific doctor.” He looked at her again with a broad grin and she leaned over and kissed him.
Back at the house on the Avenue Hoche, they opened another bottle of champagne and drank it with Pierre and Marie-Rose, and then the elderly couple went downstairs to prepare lunch, and B.J. and Serena went upstairs to celebrate their honeymoon again, and when Marie-Rose buzzed them an hour later, they hated to get dressed and go downstairs.
Eventually Serena was dressed in a gray skirt and gray sweater, once again wearing her single strand of pearls. As he emerged from the bathroom Brad noticed that it was a very sober outfit.
“What happened to the white dress?” He had liked that, it made her waist look so tiny, and she looked lovely in white. The gray looked strangely sad for such a happy day. But it was the best skirt she owned, and the sweater was cashmere, a rarity for her too. She owned almost no clothes, except what she had brought from the convent, and what she had worked in at the palazzo. She knew she would have to buy more now that she was his wife, and she was planning to spend some of what was left of her money on that too. She didn't want to disgrace him with the ugly hand-me-downs that were mostly all that she had.
“Don't worry. I'll buy some new things.” She looked embarrassed then. “Is this … is it very ugly?” She glanced in the mirror and realized how drab it seemed. It was a far cry from the white dress, and the borrowed sable, but this was all she had. She blushed faintly and he went to her and took her in his arms again.
“I'd love you wrapped in a blanket, you big silly. Nothing you ever wear looks ugly. You just looked pretty in the white … and the sable. Why don't we take you shopping this afternoon, and get you some pretty new things? My Christmas present to you.”
Before she could protest, as he knew she would, he put an arm around her shoulders, and went downstairs with her, where they sat down to a sumptuous lunch. Marie-Rose had outdone herself on their behalf. There was a delicately seasoned homemade cream of vegetable soup, a tasty pâté with freshly baked bread, wonderful little roast squabs, and a puree of artichoke hearts, which B.J. especially loved. There was salad, and Brie and pears, which Marie-Rose had been hoarding for days in honor of this luncheon, and for dessert she had made a chocolate soufflé with vanilla sauce and whipped cream.
“Good God, I don't think I'll ever be able to move again.” Serena stared at him almost in amazement. “I've never eaten that much in my life.”
“God, it was wonderful.” B.J. looked glazed as he looked up at Pierre, who offered him now a small brandy and a cigar. B.J. refused them both with regret.