The Wedding of the Century & Other Stories by Mary Jo Putney, Kristin James, Charlotte Featherstone Page A

parlor, Augusta said, “Good morning, Sarah.” She took a dainty bite of buttered eggs. “There’s a letter here for you from England.”
    Sunny tried unsuccessfully to suppress a yawn as she selected two muffins from the sideboard. The dinner party for Thornborough had gone on very late, and she had smiled at so many cousins that her jaw ached this morning.
    She wished that she had had a few minutes alone with her future husband; she would have liked to tell him how much she had enjoyed his letters. She didn’t know if it had been a deliberate effort on his part, but his descriptions of life at Swindon Palace had made her future seem less alien. His dry wit had even managed to make her smile.
    She slit open the envelope that lay by her plate and scanned the contents. “It’s from Lady Alexandra Aubrey, Thornborough’s youngest sister. A charming note welcoming me to the family.”
    Uncomfortably Sunny remembered that Katie had said the girl had been nicknamed the Gargoylette. Her lips compressed as she returned the note to the envelope. The girl might be small, shy and seventeen, but she wasthe only Aubrey to write her brother’s bride, and Sunny looked forward to meeting her.
    â€œAre you only going to have muffins for breakfast?” Augusta said with disapproval.
    â€œAfter the dinner last night, it’s all I have room for.” Sunny broke and buttered one of the muffins, wondering why her mother had requested this private breakfast.
    Expression determined, Augusta opened her mouth, then paused, as if changing her mind about what she meant to say. “Look at the morning paper. Thornborough was intemperate.”
    Obediently Sunny lifted the newspaper, then blinked at the screaming headline. Duke Tells American Public to Go Hang!
    â€œOh, my,” she said weakly. The story beneath claimed that Thornborough had bodily threatened several journalists, then bullied the hotel manager in a blatant attempt to infringe on the American public’s constitutional right to a free press. “He mentioned yesterday that he’d been abrupt with some reporters, but surely this story is exaggerated.”
    â€œNo doubt, but someone should explain to Thornborough that it’s a mistake to pick fights with men who buy ink by the barrel.” Augusta neatly finished the last of her meal. “A good thing that he was in England until now. Heaven knows what trouble he would have gotten into if he had been here longer.”
    Feeling oddly protective, Sunny said, “He’s a very private man. He must find this vulgar publicity deeply offensive.”
    â€œUnfortunately, wealth and power always attract the interest of the masses.”
    Sunny poured herself coffee without comment. Hermother might say that public attention was unfortunate, but she would not have liked to be ignored.
    Augusta began pleating her linen napkin into narrow folds. “You must be wondering why I wanted to talk to you this morning,” she said with uncharacteristic constraint. “This will be difficult for both of us, but it’s a mother’s duty to explain to her daughter what her…her conjugal duties will be.”
    The muffin turned to sawdust in Sunny’s mouth. Though she didn’t want to discuss such a horribly embarrassing subject, there was no denying that information would be useful. Like all well-bred young ladies, her ignorance about marital intimacy was almost total.
    Briskly Augusta explained the basics of male and female anatomy. Then, rather more slowly, she went on to describe exactly what a husband did to his wife.
    Sunny choked on her coffee. “That’s disgusting!” she said after she stopped coughing. She had heard whispered hints and giggles about the mysterious something that happened between men and women in the marriage bed, but surely it couldn’t be what her mother was describing.
    â€œIt is disgusting,” Augusta agreed,