Marrying Mr. Darcy (Love Manor #2) - Kate O'Keeffe Page 0,69
approach them.
“What was my brother thinking?” Zara says with a shake of her head.
“I don’t know. It seemed like a very Mr. Darcy thing to do,” Kennedy says.
“Oh, yes. The pond scene,” Jemima says. “And all for your hat, Emma.”
“Kinda embarrassing,” I reply as I begin to walk away.
“Sebastian Huntington-Ross, fascinator hat rescuing hero,” Kennedy teases. “That’ll be a story for the grandchildren.”
“I know, right? How grandpa saved the errant hat, melting every middle-aged female heart in the process.”
“I’m sure I caught a couple of your friends swooning, mum,” Zara says.
“Well, he’s a good-looking fellow,” Jemima replies. “And I can say that because I made him.”
“I’ll catch you all later,” I say as I begin to walk away. “A wet fiancé needs a towel.”
I make my way up the gentle incline that leads to the formal gardens by the house. I smile to myself as I think of Sebastian gallantly chasing after that silly hat—and the fact that he wanted to beat Chris Hampshire to it.
I round a topiary bush only to come face to face with a now partially dried Chris. I stop in my tracks. He’s holding a white towel in his hands, his shirt still clinging to him in all the right places.
Not that I’m looking.
“I think he’s been working out lately. I was sure I had it in the bag.” He flashes me his grin.
“I think the better man won,” I reply, only half joking as I resume my walk.
“Have you thought any more about what I said?” he asks.
“I haven’t given it a second thought.”
“I think you have. I think you’ve begun to question this supposedly good guy of yours. I think you’ve begun to see he’s not all he’s meant to be.”
“Enough. I won’t doubt him, not now, not ever. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get my fiancé a towel.”
And with that I turn on my heel. I refuse to entertain Chris’s idea that Sebastian is anything less than I know he is. He’s the man I love, and I’m one hundred percent committed to him, no matter what some guy in a pond may say.
Chapter 19
“I cannot believe you did the pond scene without us there to capture it, Sebastian,” Heather says, her hands on her hips, her eyes wild as she stands in Martinston’s formal reception room. “The. Pond. Scene. Do you know what that would have done to Saving Pemberley’s ratings? Skyrocketed them, that’s what. Skyrocketed them. People absolutely love a wet, sexy guy in a pond.”
“Heather, it wasn’t planned. I simply chased after Emma’s hat after it blew off in a gust of wind, and it happened to land in the pond. I acted rashly, and I’m actually quite embarrassed about it, truth be told,” Sebastian replies.
I shoot him a smile. “I thought it was romantic. A little crazy but romantic all the same.”
He chuckles as he shakes his head. “It was a little crazy.”
“We had it all planned,” Heather continues as she comes to a stop by the one of the large windows with a view of the pond itself. “You were going to dive into your pond here.” She gestures out of the reception room window. “We’d capture you looking all manly and brooding, just like Mr. Darcy himself, and then we’d pan to an image of the woman of your desire, a not so subtle hint at the passion that rages beneath.”
Heather had turned up and banged on the front door five minutes ago, and despite the fact he’d vowed never to see her again following her treatment of me, Sebastian had let her in out of sheer politeness.
I bet he’s rethinking his good manners right about now.
“Heather, it wasn’t ‘the pond scene,’ as you call it. There was no brooding, and I was myself, not Mr. Darcy.”
“My point is, Sebastian, that was the perfect moment to capture on film. It was a beautiful day, you were wearing exactly the right top, I hear, and there was an audience of gushing women. Gushing women, Sebastian.”
“There certainly were gushing women,” I confirm as I think of Yellow Hat and her cronies.
“And. We. Weren’t. Even. There.” She spells out each word as though he’d intentionally performed the pond scene without her and now deserves a good scolding.
“Of course you weren’t,” Sebastian replies simply.
Frank slinks into the room, announcing himself with a series of meows as he does. I lean down and pick him up, his purr drumming against my chest.