The Bride Thief

sons of local wealthy men-intercepted her. Eric's fingers tightened around his champagne flute when Babcock kissed her hand.

He was about to stride across the room, when Miss Briggeham pointed out the French windows toward the terrace. The instant Misters Babcock and Whitmore turned to look outside, she dashed across the parquet floor and secreted herself behind a copse of palms. Eric bit back a smile and nodded absently at whatever Mrs. Nordfield was saying. Hmmm… Those palms looked very similar to the ones he kept in his conservatory-a coincidence that definitely warranted further investigation.

Sammie pushed her spectacles higher on her nose and cautiously peered through the dense foliage provided by Mrs. Nordfield's potted palms and ferns.

Good heavens, there they were-Alfred Babcock and Henry Whitmore. They remained near the French windows, confusion stamped on their faces as they clearly wondered where she'd nipped off to.

Sammie heaved a sigh. Never in her life had she encountered two more tiresome individuals. Worse, it was nearly impossible to maintain a serious countenance in their company, as Mister Babcock's excessive, bristly facial hair lent him an unfortunate resemblance to a hedgehog, while Mister Whitmore's black hair, close-set eyes, and beak-like nose put Sammie firmly in mind of a crow. She'd listened to them extol the methods of tying the perfect cravat until she'd wanted to strangle them with their own neckwear. In desperation she'd pointed toward the darkened garden and exclaimed, 'Look! A herd of deer!' The instant they turned their heads, she'd sprinted toward sanctuary as if pursued by a pack of rabid dogs. She was safe for now… but how long could she hope to remain undiscovered?

'La, Sammie, whatever are you doing hiding amongst Mrs. Nordfield's plants? Are you all right?'

Sammie barely stifled a groan. Clearly not as long as she'd hoped. She turned to face Hermione. Her beautiful sister, whose eyes filled with gentle concern, flapped open her delicate lace fan and joined her behind the palm fronds.

'I'm fine, but please keep your voice down,' Sammie implored, peeking through the leaves.

'Sorry,' Hermione whispered. 'Who are you avoiding? Mama?'

'Not at this particular moment, but that is an excellent suggestion. Right now I'm trying to escape the dandies standing by the French windows.'

Hermione craned her neck. 'Misters Babcock and Whitmore? They seem like perfectly nice gentlemen to me.'

'They're lovely, if you like cabbage-headed nincompoops.'

'Oh dear. Have they been unkind to you?'

Hermione looked ready to do battle in her defense, and a rush of gratitude warmed Sammie. Forcing a smile, she said, 'No. Even worse. They both wish to dance with me.'

Hermione's fierce expression relaxed. 'Which is why you've taken up residence behind the palm trees.'

'Exactly.'

'What are you two doing back here?' The loud whisper close to her ear nearly startled Sammie out of her skin. Turning, she watched her sister Emily jostle herself into position next to Hermione.

'You're always involved in the most unusual pursuits, Sammie,' Emily said, adjusting her cream-colored muslin gown, her green eyes alight with interest. 'Upon whom are we spying?'

Before Sammie could reply, Hermione reported in a loud whisper, 'She's not spying. She's hiding from Misters Babcock and Whitmore.'

An inelegant snort completely at odds with her ethereal beauty escaped Emily. 'The Hedgehog and the Beady- eyed Crow? Wise decision, Sammie. Those two could bore the paint from the walls.'

'Precisely,' Sammie agreed in an undertone. 'Which is why both of you must return to the party. Someone is bound to notice the three of us standing back here. In fact-'

'Whatever are the three of you doing there behind the palms?'

Lucille's high-pitched voice all but echoed off the wallpaper. Reaching out, Sammie grabbed her sister's gloved hand and unceremoniously yanked her behind the foliage, setting the leaves in motion.

'Please keep your voice down, Lucille,' Sammie begged. Good heavens, her quest for peace was turning into a complete debacle. A very crowded debacle. She knew her sisters meant well, but the potted plants barely provided enough hiding space for two people. Four was simply out of the question.

Pressing tighter into the corner, Sammie barely suppressed a gasp when Hermione's heel pressed down on her toe. 'You must all leave,' she said in a desperate whisper. 'Shoo!' She waved her arms at her siblings as best she could manage in the tight quarters.

'Stop elbowing me, Lucille,' Emily said in a heated undertone, ignoring Sammie's plea.

'Then stop bumping me with your hips,' Lucille shot back. 'And keep your ostrich feathers to yourself,' she added, flicking the plume adorning Emily's headband.

'Who is nudging my back?' Hermione asked, trying to look behind her. 'I was here first-'

'Actually, I was here first,' Sammie muttered, yanking her abused toes from under Hermione's heel.

While her three siblings argued about who was jabbing whom, Sammie separated the palm fronds and peered across the room, praying no one noticed the activity occurring behind the palms.

Her prayers were in vain.

Misters Babcock and Whitmore, among others, were casting curious glances toward the copse of potted trees. But worse, Mama was approaching the foliage, eyeing the quivering leaves with clear suspicion.

'Mama is coming this way,' Sammie said, flapping her hands at her trio of sisters. 'If she finds me, she'll parade me all around the room again and I'll be a candidate for Bedlam. Please, help me!'

The mention of their mother immediately silenced her sisters, then set them into action. Hermione laid a comforting hand on Sammie's shoulder and whispered brusquely, 'Lucille, you take Mama on the right, Emily, the left. I'll bring up the rear.'

Employing the military-like flanking procedure they'd used for years to divert their mother's attention, Hermione, Lucille, and Emily emerged from behind the palms in a rainbow-hued flurry of muslin, feathers, and ribbons. Peeking through the leaves, Sammie watched them intercept Mama and adroitly turn her around. Mama glanced over her shoulder toward the trees and frowned.

'Have you girls seen Sammie?' Mama's question drifted over the music. Sammie shrank back against the wall, willing herself to become invisible.

'Why, I believe she's by the punch bowl,' Lucille said, leading Mama away. They disappeared through the crowd, and Sammie blew out a long breath.

You are nothing but a coward, her conscience scolded. Sammie balked at the description, but she couldn't deny its truth. She hadn't resorted to hiding behind the shrubbery at a party in years, but drastic action had been necessary. And while she couldn't spend the remainder of the interminable evening hiding, she desperately needed a moment to herself before rejoining Mrs. Nordfield's soiree. Her temples throbbed with the effort of remaining pleasant while everyone stared at her, whispered about her, and asked her ceaseless questions. Heavens above, she'd never expected that the end result of her mistaken abduction would be… this.

While she was grateful that no breath of scandal had touched her family as a result of her late-night encounter with England's Most Sought-After Man, no one, not even Mama, had predicted that Sammie would become the Most Sought-After Female in the village. No longer was she 'Poor, Odd, Sammie.' No, now she was regarded as 'Witty, Fascinating Sammie Who'd Conversed with the Bride Thief.'

Surely her newfound popularity should have pleased her. Flowers arrived daily from gentlemen who only a fortnight ago had avoided her. Female callers stopped by every afternoon or sent invitations to tea.

Yes, everyone who had previously slighted her-whether to her face or behind her back-now professed to be her friend. Everyone clamored for details about her adventure with the Bride Thief. In spite of the fact that she was an abysmal dancer, gentlemen wished to partner her for the quadrille and the waltz. The ladies of the village now sought her counsel-but on ludicrous subjects such as fashion and jewelry. Even her own family, with the exception of Hubert, lavished praise upon her, as if she were a clever pet who'd performed a remarkable trick.

No, she couldn't enjoy this surge of popularity because in her soul, in the deeply buried part of her that had always secretly longed for acceptance, she knew that the interest in her was only superficial. None of her new