Marrying Mr. Darcy (Love Manor #2) - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,20
wedding, and Zara’s not home this weekend. The only other friend I’ve made here is Jilly. “I might invite Jilly,” I say and hold my breath.
“Oh, Jilly’s a darling,” Jemima says with a smile. “A wonderful choice, Emma. I know she enjoys the opera, too. What do you think, Mummy?”
“As Jemima says. A wonderful choice.”
“Good. That’s all set then,” I say. “I’ll arrange everything. All you’ve gotta do is throw on your Sunday best.”
Geraldine regards me for a moment before she replies, “Quite.”
Her English reserve firmly in place, I thank her and tell her I’ll let her know all the details closer to the day. I trip away back into the house knowing Operation Win Granny Over may have stalled, but we’re back on track. And this time it’s going to work.
Chapter 6
Friday night swings around after days of me trying to get someone in this country to take a meeting to discuss carrying Timothy in their stores. I’ve sent emails and left messages for purchasing managers at a bunch of large sports stores, none of which have been returned, and I’m beginning to get seriously frustrated. Although we’ve had to work hard to get where we are in the US, at least we’ve gotten somewhere. Here it feels like I’m having to start again from the very bottom, a tiny tadpole in a pond of oversized frogs.
But tonight isn’t about my career frustrations. I need to put all that aside. Tonight is about winning Geraldine over.
Just as I googled Vah-gner and Poulenc (still no idea how to pronounce that one right) to scrub up on my opera knowledge—okay, get some opera knowledge—I google what to wear to the opera in London. The search results are not overly helpful. The answer seems to be anywhere between floor length gowns to a tidy pair of jeans. But, knowing what a traditionalist Geraldine is, I plump for a borrowed ballgown from Jilly, and a sparkly jacket that I think makes me look like a housewife out for her one big night of the year, but which Jilly assures me is completely appropriate for the opera.
I choose my opera outfit with great care. I’m not turning up to this thing looking all wrong. No way. I need to show Geraldine that I’m a composed, classy, refined young lady, totally worthy of her grandson’s affections.
Well, that’s the plan, anyway.
I check my appearance in the mirror and then turn to face Jilly. “How do I look?”
“Emma, you absolutely look the part,” she says to me as she perches on the end of the four-poster bed. She’s dressed in a gorgeous burnt orange silk gown, an impressive array of diamonds around her neck. “Although I think the tiara might be a bit much.”
I touch the tiara atop my head. I’d bought it from a costume jewelry store for less than my updo cost at the local village hairdresser. It might be a little less Kate Middleton and more “little girl’s princess birthday tiara,” but I wanted to go all out to impress Geraldine. “I thought I looked a little like a princess.”
“Exactly, darling. Tiaras are generally the preserve of royalty or brides in this country.”
“Or beauty queens,” I add.
“That too. Yours looks…well, my advice is to take it off.”
I extract the tiara from my updo. “Done. Everything else okay?”
She sweeps her gaze over me. “Twirl,” she instructs before she declares, “Perfect.”
“Thank you so much for lending me this outfit. I’ve never been to the opera, so I had no idea what to wear. Wearing this fancy dress reminds me of the last time I wore a floor-length dress in this house. It was on the show. I was dressed as Lizzie Bennet in her Regency finery, right down to the bloomers.”
“Bloomers?” She pulls a face. “How ghastly.” She hops off the bed, adjusts the skirt of her dress, and says, “Let’s go down to the others.”
Downstairs in the reception room, Sebastian greets me with a kiss, telling me how gorgeous I look.
“Not bad yourself, fiancé,” I reply, admiring how his tux fits him to perfection. “Is that the tux you were wearing the night we met?”
“It is, and although I thought you were cute in your activewear that evening, you look even more enchanting this evening.”
“Doesn’t Emma look just darling?” Jilly says at my side. “So appropriate for the opera. Don’t you think, Geraldine?”
I shoot Jilly a look. I appreciate her support and all, but could she be any less subtle?