Smooth as Silk, page 2
He looked at the ice cream mournfully before he dropped it in. “I’ll pay for it,” he repeated as he wiped his hands on his kilt.
“I just put that out so it would be ready for an appointment I have on Black Friday.” After numerous conversations with Connie Millwood about what she was looking for, and many hours of exhausting searching, Hyacinth had deemed this perfect for her. “The bride is coming from Georgia for the appointment.”
“Did she ask for this dress?” He pointed at the ruined gown. “This particular one?”
“No...” she had to admit. But it had everything she wanted—the corset bodice, sweetheart neckline, mermaid skirt, crystal embellishments, and all the rest... Now it was a chocolate mess.
Robbie McTavish had the audacity to smile. “No problem, then. There can be another. I promise I can afford it.”
“Not the point. Do you have any idea how much time and effort I put into finding dresses that fit this particular bride’s body type, vision, and budget? How many hours I spend finding the perfect thing for every bride who walks through my door? You can’t put a price on that.”
“Well.” He gave a backward glance to where Brad was helping Daisy onto the platform in yet another unflattering flapper dress. Robbie looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “That right there is, indeed, a product of genius.”
Her smoldering head turned into a burning bush—though to be fair, this might not have been the best time to point out her styling skills.
“You need to leave. Now. Out the back door. You’ve done enough here.”
But did he do that? Of course not. He shrugged, threw a smile over his shoulder and advanced on the bride. Hyacinth had to practically run to keep up with him.
“Lass, aren’t you a vision. You’re getting married. I fair love brides.”
Daisy blushed. “I am. In eight months. It’s going to be a Gatsby theme wedding. I want it to be like the party in the movie—the one with Leo DiCaprio. I love that movie.”
“Aye.” Robbie nodded. “So do I.”
Hyacinth would bet every inch of lace in the place that he’d never seen it.
“You want to look like Daisy? A flapper girl?” Robbie asked.
All right. Maybe she would have lost her lace, but she had trouble trusting haphazard people—and she knew haphazard. Before coming to live with Memaw, she had cut her teeth on turned off electricity, lost keys, and chronic, habitual tardiness. But no more. She’d fought to stay away from chaos all her life—fought hard—and now it had invaded her ordered little pristine world in the form of red hair, a faded kilt, and neon flashing shoes. And good legs.
Her heart raced.
The bride of the moment, however, had no sense that chaos was swirling about her and was enchanted by him. “My name is Daisy.” She blushed some more.
“Ah, a beautiful name. Did you know it’s sometimes a nickname for Margaret?”
“No. I’m just plain Daisy—named for my grandmother.”
“Not just plain. You could never be that.”
He was getting more Scottish by the second and Daisy was eating it with a spoon. Hyacinth’s heart raced even more. It was fall fest night all over again. She’d lost control and had no idea how to recapture it. But she had to try.
“My name is Robbie, named for my grandda.” His attention was fully on Daisy.
“You’re from Scotland.” Daisy stated the obvious.
“Aye. My family has a wedding business. Our ancestral castle’s the most popular spot for hitching in the whole of the country. We’ve had more weddings than Gretna Green.” That was interesting, but was the mayor of Haphazard City telling the truth? He had no reason to lie, but neither had Hyacinth’s dad had a reason to say he’d played guitar with Eric Clapton. “I’ve seen more brides than stars in the sky, but none more bonnie than you.” He pronounced stars like a cross between stirs and stairs. Under other circumstances, that might have been charming.
Then, he reached out like he was going to take Daisy’s hands in his—hands he had not washed.
Chocolate hands!
One ruined dress was one too many. She would be damned if there was going to be two.
“Stop!” It came out louder than she intended. She grabbed the champagne bottle from the bucket on the table, tore off the damp cloth napkin, and slapped it in Robbie’s hand.
“Ice cream,” she said as if that explained everything. She scrubbed first one hand and then the other. It was impossible to ignore that his hands were big, strong, and warm. But she didn’t care about any of that. She only cared that they were clean before they touched another thing in her shop.
But then...but then...he circled her palm with his thumb. Slowly. And her body betrayed her by wanting him to do it again. She didn’t plan to raise her face to look at his, but it happened anyway. He dropped his eyelids to half-mast and smiled like he had a secret. Her stomach turned over. And no wonder. She hadn’t been touched by a man except in passing in nearly two years.
And he squeezed her hand—but she would not squeeze back. Hell, no. She couldn’t control everything—or really, maybe much of anything—but she could control this.
She jerked her hands away.
The silence in the room was deafening. Clearly they all thought she’d lost her mind. Well, let them think it. They weren’t the guardians of thousands of dollars’ worth of silk, satin, and lace.
“Thank you, lass.” There was an edge of laughter in his voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve needed someone to clean me up.”
Before she could suggest that he run along now, he took right up where he’d left off with Daisy. This time, he succeeded in taking her hands, and he spread them wide as if to get a better look at her. Someone from the bridesmaid gallery sighed.
And all Hyacinth could do was stand there clutching a chocolate-stained napkin and watch it happen.
Daisy smiled like smiles had been invented for him. Best case, he was going to convince her that dress had been made for her. Worst case, she was going to throw her engagement ring against the wall and follow him to the ends of the earth. And it would be preserved for posterity because one of the bridesmaids seemed to be videoing now. She wondered vaguely how long that had been going on.
“There was a Scottish queen called Margaret—Margaret Tudor, wife of James IV of Scotland. She was Henry VIII’s sister. Her marriage was a love match and James called her Daisy.”
“Oh...” Daisy put her hand to her heart. More lies, more eating up by Daisy.
“She was a princess when she got married. Every girl ought to be a princess at her wedding, don’t you think?”
Daisy nodded, wide-eyed.
“I know you’re going to get married in a flapper dress, but you know what I’d love? To see you in a real princess dress. Would you like to try one on, for fun?”
“Well...” Daisy cocked her head to the side and chewed on her bottom lip. It was all too obvious she wasn’t going to tell him no. Hyacinth suspected that few did.
“Hyacinth won’t mind, will you, Hyacinth?” Robbie gave Hyacinth a crooked smile.
“Not at all.” What else could she say? Besides, maybe this little development would turn things around. Here was the chance to get Daisy in the ivory A-line with a tiered skirt and portrait back. But she had to get rid of him, without sounding like a bitch in front of these people. She bit her lip and tried hard to channel her friend Ava Grace, who was every inch a lady. “I know of just the thing. But I can take it from here, Robbie. I know you are a busy, busy man. Thank you oh-so-much for your assistance. Daisy, come with me.” Hyacinth held out her hand. “Goodbye, Robbie.”
“But Robbie wants to see me look like a princess.”
Mother of pearl. She was living in Nightmare City—but she clung to the small bit of cloud that remained.
“Yes, Hyacinth. I never miss a chance for a princess sighting. I go to Disney World twice a year for that particular pleasure.”
Every woman in the place burst into delighted laughter. And so did Brad. Traitor.
“Of course,” Hyacinth acquiesced through gritted teeth. No getting rid of him yet. “Daisy?” She held out her hand again. “Let’s see what we can find.”
“Brilliant!” And before Hyacinth could stop him, Robbie went tearing around the showroom flipping through dresses. “I’ll find something.”
Lois and the bridesmaids chattered and giggled. Hyacinth picked up a word here and there—charming, so funny, isn’t he the sweetest?
She stomped off after Robbie. “Stop it,” she called after him. “That’s the ball gown section. Daisy has made clear she will not have a ball gown. I’ve tried!”
By now, she’d caught up with him and she was close enough for him to whisper. “Daisy doesn’t know what she wants. She only thinks she does.” And he continued to flip through the dresses.
“What do you know about wedding dresses?” she hissed at him.
“More than you think. Ah!” He didn’t look at Hyacinth, but turned back to Daisy and her posse. “This! This! I’ve got it!” he called across the way. And he presented Daisy with the biggest, blingiest ball gown in the shop—the Simone Donatella with the silver beaded bodice and hem.
Daisy put her hands on her cheeks. “I could try it on—you know. Just for fun. But is it my size?”
“No.” Hyacinth put her hands on her hips. This dress was a six and Daisy needed an eight.
“It’ll fit,” Robbie said. “Numbers don’t matter. I have an eye for these things.”
Brad took the dress from Robbie. “I’ll take you back. Patty’s waiting to help you.”
The dress was two thousand dollars over Lois’s budget; it wouldn’t fit and Daisy wouldn’t go for it anyway. Yet, this could be productive. Maybe Daisy had begun to think outside the box a little. While a ball gown was too far in the extreme from Daisy’s vision, there was a good chance they could get her in a romantic lacy empire or the ivory A-line.
Meanwhile, Robbie was leaving the minute he saw Daisy in this dress—and she intended to tell him that right now. Having collected herself, she walked back toward the seating area, where Robbie had made himself comfortable in the chair across from Lois.
“You truly have a real, live castle?” one of the bridesmaids asked as she handed him a glass of champagne—champagne meant for customers. “Does it have a name?”
“Aye. A wee one, as castles go. Thank you, lass.” He accepted the glass and took a sip. “Wyndloch’s the name, though my mum calls it Castle Crumble.”
No way was he telling the truth. He’d happened in her shop, started wreaking havoc, and now his family was in the wedding business? That was all too convenient. Besides, wouldn’t he have mentioned it when he was here for fall fest?
But apparently these people believed him. “And how did your family castle ever end up turning into a wedding venue?” Lois asked.
“Came a time when keeping sheep didn’t pay the bills. My great grandma had the idea to let out the homestead for parties and weddings. Now, Wyndloch is right popular.”
Time to call his bluff. “Where might I have seen it advertised?” Hyacinth asked.
He shrugged. “Maybe you wouldn’t have. We don’t have to advertise.”
“Mmmm. I see,” Hyacinth said. “Waiting list?”
“Four years.”
Despite herself, Hyacinth found herself buying into this—and she wasn’t sure why she wanted so badly for him to be lying.
She could find out, here and now. She whipped out her phone and googled Windlock Wedding Venue Scotland. The site came up, despite her incorrect spelling. So he wasn’t lying. She might have still doubted him had there not been a picture of the McTavish clan—including Robbie—standing in front of the “wee” castle—which had to be 40,000 square feet at the smallest. There were at least thirty of them and they were all wearing tartan—the men in kilts, the women in skirts. She squinted. A small redheaded girl stood in front of Robbie, totally obscuring his legs. He had his hand on her head.
Hyacinth enlarged the photo and zoomed in on Robbie to get a better look. His kilt was nothing like the ragged, wrinkled one he wore today. He was in full formal Scottish attire. He had it right, too—Prince Charlie jacket, hose, flashes, sporran, ghillies, and everything else that went with the fine wool kilt. Hyacinth knew this because she’d dressed a bride last year who’d had the men in the wedding party wear formal kilts. She’d thought it pretentious, but Robbie McTavish did not look pretentious. You had to hand it to him; he looked completely comfortable—and magnificent.
“Look at me, Mama!” Daisy swept into the showroom with Patty and Brad carrying her massive skirts.
Everyone—even Robbie—went silent as Brad helped Daisy onto the platform.
It was the perfect fit.
Daisy beamed at Robbie. “It feels...right.” Lois and the bridesmaids gathered around her. “I could still have my Gatsby wedding, couldn’t I? It wouldn’t ruin it if I wore this dress, would it?”
“Of course not,” Lois said, with the bridesmaids backing her up like a relieved Greek chorus.
“I think a princess does what she likes,” Robbie said.
“But how much does it cost?” Daisy asked.
Now for the bad news. Maybe Robbie would buy it for her. It would serve him right to have to pay for this dress and the Rayna Kwan. He’d started this. Hyacinth never showed a bride a dress out of her price range.
“Your grandma Daisy said if you found the one she would pay the extra, up to four thousand dollars.” Lois cast a questioning look at Hyacinth.
Relief settled over Hyacinth. It would probably take that. A veil to go with a dress like this was considerably more than a feathered headband.
Daisy smiled at herself in the mirror and the sparkly cloud moved in—though this time it was tinged with a touch of gray because it happened in spite of Hyacinth rather than because of her. Still, the important thing was that Daisy was happy.
“That will cover it,” Hyacinth said. “How about we try some veils?”
“And a tiara?” Daisy asked breathlessly. “Could I have a tiara?”
“You must have a tiara,” Hyacinth said.
“And I think a crystal and silver beaded belt to accentuate your small waist,” Brad said.
This was the best part of a bridal appointment—when the dress had been chosen and the bride was truly delighted. The choosing of the veil and accessories and making appointments for fittings was all high-spirited fun—sort of like picking up last-minute stocking stuffers on Christmas Eve after the hard holiday things had already been done. Or at least that’s how Hyacinth imagined Christmas was for most people. Since her grandmother had died, she only had her staff, her mentor Claire, and her friends Evans and Ava Grace to buy for. That had been done since August.
It was almost closing time when Lois slipped her credit card to Hyacinth. “Tell Robbie thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t think we’d have a dress if he hadn’t charmed her into trying it on. It’s almost as if you planned it.”
Hyacinth barked a little laugh as she ran the card. “I can assure you that I did not plan for Robbie McTavish.”
Where was he, anyway? She’d all but forgotten him. Evidently he had no opinions on veils because they hadn’t heard from him in a while. Her eyes cast quickly about the store—he was nowhere to be found. Thank goodness he’d left. She let out her first full breath in a half hour.
But after she’d ushered Daisy and posse out, Hyacinth caught sight of him leaning against the accessories counter, eyes cast down, looking as sad as she’d ever seen a man look. A chord of sympathy chimed inside her, though she had no idea what she was sympathizing with. Maybe Trousseau made him miss home. Maybe Daisy had reminded him of a lost sweetheart.
“You’re still here.” She came up beside him.
He turned. “Hello, lass. All well with Daisy?”
“Yes.” She was considering asking him why he seemed sad when she caught sight of where he’d been looking—the small trash can that contained the remains of his ice cream cone. The little sympathy chime turned into an iron clanging bell. “Please tell me you weren’t considering eating ice cream out of a trash can.”
He rubbed the back of his neck and squinted his eyes mostly shut. “Naw,” he said around a yawn. “It’s melted.”
“It’s melted? And that’s the only reason you didn’t consider eating out of a trash can?”
He shrugged. “How dirty could it be? It’s not like you’re butchering hogs in here. You’re selling wedding dresses.” He looked down at the can one last time and ambled to his feet. “It was excellent.”
“If it was that excellent, why didn’t you just go away and eat it instead of coming in here ruining dresses and causing chaos?”
“That girl needed help. You needed help.” His green eyes bored into hers and he took a step closer.
Every hair on her body stood on end.
“I needed help? How do you figure that?”
“How do you figure that you didn’t? The dress was all wrong for her. In the wedding business, your reputation is everything. And there is no repeat business—or at least not enough to count. What would people have thought if you’d let Daisy go down the aisle wearing that dress?”
“If I had let her? Let her?” She wanted to scream. “For your information, I knew the dress was unflattering. I had done everything I could to steer her in a different direction. At that point the best thing to do is let the bride try on dresses until she figures it out on her own.”
“She wasn’t showing any signs of it.”
“How do you know? You’d been in here all of fifteen seconds before you insinuated yourself in the situation.”
“I was right, wasn’t I?”
“She knew it wasn’t right.” That was true. “She was coming around.” Probably.
“Would you have sold it to her?” Robbie lifted his chin. “No matter how bad it looked?”
