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

that was true, but when Justin opened the door and stepped onto the platform, a roar of welcome went up. He gave a nod of acknowledgment, then turned to help Sunny step down. Another cheer went up, so she gave a friendly wave.
    She met a blur of local dignities, all of whom gave speeches of welcome. Luckily she was good at smiling graciously, and the sables kept her from freezing in the damp air.
    The only part that stood out in her mind was the little girl who was pushed forward, clutching a bouquet in her tiny hands. “Give the posies to the duchess, Ellie,” her mother hissed.
    Unclear on the theory, Ellie swept the bouquet around in circles. With a grin, Sunny intercepted it, then dropped a kiss on the child’s soft brown curls. “Thank you, Ellie.”
    Another cheer arose. Sunny blushed; her gesture hadnot been calculated, but apparently kissing babies was good policy everywhere.
    The mayor of the borough assisted her into the waiting carriage and Justin settled beside her. However, instead of starting for the palace, there was a delay while the horses were unhitched. A dozen men seized the shafts and began pulling the carriage up the village high street as the church bell began to ring clamorously. Sunny gave her husband a doubtful glance. “This seems dreadfully feudal.”
    He lifted his hand in response to a group of exuberant uniformed schoolchildren. “This isn’t really for you, or for me, either. It’s a celebration of continuity—of a life lived on this land for centuries. Swindon Palace belongs as much to the tenants as it does to the Aubreys.”
    She supposed he was right, and certainly the crowd seemed to be having a very jolly time. Nonetheless, her democratic American soul twitched a bit. Trying to look like a duchess, she smiled and waved for the slow two miles to Swindon Palace.
    Another crowd waited in the courtyard. After the newly weds had climbed the front steps, Justin turned and gave a short thank-you speech in a voice that carried easily to everyone present. Gavin might have had a talent for grand gestures, but the tenants had had more daily contact with Justin, and they seemed to heartily approve of him.
    After one last wave, she went inside with her husband. The greetings weren’t over yet, for a phalanx of Aubrey relations waited with a sea of servants behind them.
    As she steeled herself for more introductions and smiles, two huge wolfhounds galloped toward the door, nails scrabbling on the marble floor. The sight of the enormous dogs charging full speed at her made Sunny give a small squeak of alarm.
    Before the beasts could overrun them, Justin made a quick hand gesture and commanded, “Sit!”
    Instantly the wolfhounds dropped to their haunches, though they wriggled frantically for attention. Justin stroked the sleek aristocratic heads, careful not to neglect either. “These were Gavin’s dogs. They miss him dreadfully.”
    To Sunny, it looked as if the wolfhounds were perfectly satisfied with the new duke. It took a moment to realize that Justin’s comment was an oblique admission of his own grief. She was ashamed of the fact that she had not really considered how profoundly he must feel his brother’s death. Though the two men had been very different, the first time she had seen them they had been standing side by side. They must have been close, or Justin would not have chosen to manage the family property when he could have done many other things.
    While she was wondering if she should say something to him, the relatives descended. First in consequence was the dowager duchess, Justin’s mother, who wore mourning black for Gavin. Her forceful expression reminded Sunny of her own mother, though Augusta was far more elegant.
    After a fierce scrutiny of the colonial upstart, the dowager said, “You look healthy, girl. Are you pregnant yet?”
    As Sunny flushed scarlet, Justin put a protective arm around her