“I heard this house was frightful and actually haunted but it seems lovely to me.” A woman Julia didn’t know was speaking to her at the wedding reception which was being held at Sommersgate.
Julia nodded and stared in vague alarm out the French doors of the old entryway at a ten foot tall ice sculpture of swans sitting in the middle of the garden, their bills pressed together to form a heart.
She had heard no discussion about ice sculptures.
“If a little… ornate.” The woman was still talking.
With a smile, Julia turned her attention to the woman and explained, “There are no ghosts here…” she smiled and winked before she finished, “anymore.”
Before there was a chance for the woman to reply, there was a tinkling of glasses indicating that a toast was soon to be made.
Julia and Douglas had decided against a formal meal and traditional reception with the traditional toasts. Heavy hors d’ouevres and an even heavier open bar, good company and good conversation were all they were to provide. Julia simply wanted a party, a joyous celebration and nothing tired and staid.
Therefore she was a bit surprised that the glasses were being tapped for a toast and she looked to the stairs where Douglas stood on the sixth step.
Once the congregation quieted, Douglas said across the expanse, “Could I ask my wife to join me, please?”
A thrill ran down her spine at being referred to as his “wife” and she turned to the lady and murmured, “If you’ll excuse me, my husband wants me.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, smiling brightly into Julia’s glittering eyes.
Julia wended her way through the crowd all the while her eyes on Douglas and his on her. When she was close to the foot of the staircase, he came down to meet her (complete with a brush of his lips against hers) and then he helped her climb the steps to resume his position over the crowd.
Nick quickly approached holding three full glasses of champagne and Douglas took two, handing one to her.
“What are you doing?” she whispered. “I thought we agreed there would be no toasts.”
“We agreed that no one else would make any toasts but I can say what I want in my own house,” Douglas returned, the warmth in his eyes showing he was teasing.
There was a time when she would not have believed that Douglas Ashton could tease.
But he could, very well.
She beamed at him, too happy to be cross, and then turned to the crowd and linked her arm through his.
“Firstly,” Douglas’s strong voice carried throughout the cavernous space, “I’ll tell you that my wife is rather fond of lists so I’ve decided to take my cue from her and recite a list of toasts. I ask you to charge your glasses because there will be several before I reach the end.”
Julia felt a blush creep in her cheeks at the fondness in his tone and leaned into his side. Some of the hired staff (because all of the Sommersgate regulars were guests this day) were wandering around carrying two bottles of champagne each and filling glasses, others were carrying heavy trays on which filled glasses rested for those who had no drinks at all.
Finally, Douglas started, “I would like to thank you all for coming and celebrating this very special occasion.”
“A long time coming,” Patricia grumbled loudly and people laughed.
Douglas wisely decided to ignore her.
“I would also like to take this opportunity to thank Mr. and Mrs. Roderick Kilpatrick for their years of service to myself and my home. They have been faithful to me and my family in more ways than we often deserved. They have been exceedingly kind and welcoming to my wife and my new family and I,” he turned to Julia, “we are lucky to have them. To Roddy and Margaret Kilpatrick.”
He lifted his glass and Julia watched his gorgeous throat as he drank down a sip. She was already near tears, her hand clutching at her husband’s arm. She swiftly took a drink and turned her eyes to the Kilpatricks who were both visibly moved by his toast (indeed, Mrs. K’s eyes shone with tears).
Before she could respond further, Douglas began speaking again.
“I publicly acknowledge the interference of Charlotte Forsythe, interference which greatly hastened this day.” Julia watched Douglas’s chin dip to look at Charlie and he finished. “Thank you, Charlie.”
The last three words were said more quietly as Charlie was standing at the foot of the stairs and they were directed warmly to her.
Julia noted, as the tears pricking the backs of her eyes began to spill, Charlie’s own tears were falling over. The congregation twittered in curiosity but they took their cue from Douglas who lifted his glass in a salute to Charlie and took a sip.
“To Charlie!” Oliver shouted and everyone concurred.