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The Perfect Groom
Ruth Scofield
LOOKING FOR MR. RIGHT…Ivy York knew exactly what she wanted in a husband. If only heaven would send Mr. Right her way: a sophisticated partner who enjoyed all the finer things in life.Handsome, hardworking Noah Thornton was definitely not her dream man. No matter that his teasing grin brightened her day and his dark gaze warmed her heart. When would Noah realize they'd never be more than friends?Still, Ivy could not deny his many fine qualities–his kindness and strong faith. Yes, Noah was a catch, she thought…for some other woman. But was the perfect groom she'd prayed for waiting beside her all along?
Table of Contents
Cover Page (#uf262406a-ce39-58d2-99c7-b1a8da9cbab3)
Excerpt (#uec01a47a-3dff-5766-bc0f-2bcdf4553ec1)
About the Author (#u033db93d-02e5-50a1-aa0b-05e66ce91cf7)
Title Page (#u68eeaa98-73cf-52aa-91ab-1f60b1456c89)
Epigraph (#u43d4ddc2-bb6b-5407-bb15-dd3a16de7020)
Dedication (#uf3df6ce6-670a-57cb-90ff-cefdfb5b2fec)
Chapter One (#ua3d4c88b-eb3f-50a3-88e9-b0d9468fefaf)
Chapter Two (#u3193e6de-6bfe-5be5-93cc-9bbb47a18e13)
Chapter Three (#u5cf8c8d4-17e8-5bf7-aacf-a48079945553)
Chapter Four (#u25918778-03f5-5fd2-bf3a-555cf3765d00)
Chapter Five (#u1b2ccc14-5d18-5942-bcf9-e601b2375c0f)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Dear Reader (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Noah came toward her,
his gaze growing softer.…
“I’ll call Aunt Arletta to let her know I’ll be home later,” Ivy murmured to fill the quiet. She rested against the doorway, her hands folded across her waist.
“All right.” Noah stood very close. His breath fanned her cheek. His proximity unnerved her. It simply wasn’t fair to have this reaction when he was so…so unsuitable for her ten-year plan.
“Shall we take my truck, or your car?” he asked with a mischievous grin. He placed his palm high against the door frame just above her head. The light in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat, and all she could think of was that kiss they’d shared in the kitchen. How sweet his lips had felt on hers…
How afterward she’d vowed to never let him kiss her again.
She wouldn’t let her heart get involved, Ivy told herself for the dozenth time.
She wouldn’t allow herself to fall in love with Noah Thornton!
RUTH SCOFIELD
became serious about writing after she’d raised her children. Until then, she’d concentrated her life on being a June Cleaver-type wife and mother, spent years as a Bible student and teacher for teens and young adults, and led a weekly women’s prayer group. When she’d made a final wedding dress and her last child had left the nest, she declared to one and all that it was her turn to activate a dream. Thankfully her husband applauded her decision.
Ruth began school in an old-fashioned rural two-room schoolhouse and grew up in the days before television, giving substance to her notion that she still has one foot in the last century. However, active involvement with six rambunctious grandchildren has her eagerly looking forward to the next millennium. After living on the East Coast for years, Ruth and her husband now live in Missouri.
The Perfect Groom
Ruth Scofield
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures.
—Proverbs 24:3-4
This is for all the many affectionate, loving aunts who enrich our lives with their presence, their advice and guidance, their constancy and support. Most of mine have gone from this earth, but I recall them to memory with great fondness and longing to see them again.
And for the aunt for whom I was named, who is lively and shining with love—Aunt Ruth. Everyone should be so blessed.
Chapter One (#ulink_478c3c40-b8ba-5bb0-88cc-3ff8ab4fb8df)
Ivy hated weddings. She despised bridesmaids dresses. She still abhorred all ten attendant gowns already stuffed in the back of her closet, used once, never appropriate for any other occasion. Never mind the two once-in-a-dream white bridal gowns, unused, forlorn, and stored in plastic covers, hidden away in disappointment and disgust.
She especially detested the bright lime-green silk that clung too tightly to her generous curves at this very moment, but she’d bitten her tongue over the choice. After all, she’d given her word to support the bride, her best friend Kelly, and Kelly’s sister wanted this style, this color.
“Ivy Suzanne York, quit pulling at your dress,” Aunt Arletta said, scarcely lowering her voice as she steered her from behind the huge oak where Ivy had tried to hide. “You’re not a child, you know.”
Ivy swallowed a snappy response, eyeing the man her aunt had tugged along a few minutes ago in her wake.
No, Ivy hadn’t been a child for a long time. At twenty-seven, college educated, with ten solid years of retail experience behind her, and now owner of her own shop, Ivy considered herself well and truly grown. A responsible person. With nothing to prove to anyone. With a reasonable five-year plan for her life. Never mind that she was more than two years behind her schedule to be married by age twenty-five. But Aunt Arletta, dear as she was, sometimes still treated her as if she couldn’t wipe her own nose.
“Ivy, this is Noah Thornton. He has a true artistic eye, don’t you think?” The older woman swept her hand wide, indicating the vast grounds surrounding Reeves House, the lovely old stone mansion the bride’s parents had rented for the wedding. Ivy hoped to explore more of the grounds later during the reception. Right now, she resented having her few minutes of respite from all the gushy wedding talk stolen by another of her aunt’s antics.
It didn’t help her mood any when the dark-eyed man standing two feet in front of her smirked as he nodded a greeting. Glints of amusement sparked from his warm brown eyes as his gaze swept down her figure before returning to her face.
“Noah, this is my niece, Ivy. She has the shop I told you about, ‘Wall’s Intrigue’ in Brookside. Seems to me you two have a lot in common. You in landscaping and she in interior design.” Aunt Arletta, dressed in a burnt orange fall suit that complemented her snowy hair, grasped Ivy’s wrist again just as she tried to ease backward. “Noah’s unmarried, Ivy, and I’m sure he’s looking for just the right young woman to fill his life. Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”
“Aunt Arletta!”
Noah’s lips twitched into a full grin, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin, as though he knew Ivy wanted to melt into the shrubbery.
She took in his soiled jeans, damp at the knees, and his heavy work boots. A streak of dirt clung to his forehead, evidence of a swiping arm, no doubt. Behind him, a wheelbarrow full of last-minute bush trimmings sat on the edge of the brick garden terrace. They were less than an hour from the appointed ceremony time; why was a gardener even still on the grounds?
He held a big clay pot of golden mums, the multipetaled blossoms splashing bright color against his denim work shirt. His long fingers showed scabbed knuckles, and Ivy briefly wondered what he’d done to injure his hand.
“But Ivy,” Aunt Arletta continued, irrepressible, “Proverbs says, ‘A man who finds a wife—’”
“Yes, I know what Proverbs says,” Ivy interrupted. She felt her cheeks grow warm with color and pressed her lips together, holding her irritation in check at Aunt Arletta’s usual behavior. Introducing her to strange men who her aunt thought suitable husband material was something Ivy’d come to expect. But really! A gardener?
Aunt Arletta knew very well she had her sights set higher. She wanted to meet an upwardly mobile man. Someone who wore expensive suits and silk ties to work and knew the corporate world—or someone solidly entrenched in a good law firm or in line for a hospital chief-of-staff position. A man with a good future.
Pointedly glancing at her watch, she said, “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr., um, Noah, but I’ve got to get back to the bride. I just ducked out to have a breath of air.”
She glanced around at the banks of autumn flowers and foliage enhancing the walks and benches and terrace. The garden reflected a great deal of work and artistic eye for color and design. “It all looks lovely, but, er, shouldn’t you be finished by now?”
“Just going.” His voice sounded like deep chocolate icing on a velvet cake. Rich and delicious, it startled her into glancing at him again. She felt her mouth droop in blinking anticipation when he said, “I’ll be out of here in two minutes. Nice to meet you, Ivy.”
He shifted his smile to her aunt, softening his goodbye to her, and ignored Ivy. Nodding almost curtly, she swung on her heel and headed back to the upstairs bedroom set aside as the bride’s dressing room.
“I suppose you’ll have to find another time to talk to Ivy, Noah,” she heard her aunt say as she walked away. Then, half-apologetically, “Weddings make her a bit touchy. And you know, Proverbs says a prudent man overlooks an insult.”
“And only a fool shows his annoyance at once,” he replied.
Ivy gritted her teeth. Another Proverb, her aunt’s favorite source of quotations. Why Aunt Arletta thought she needed to impart that information about her hating weddings flummoxed her. It wasn’t a stranger’s business to know. It was bad enough for Kelly to watch her like a mother hen whose troublesome chick might run amok, much less having complete strangers expecting her to do something inappropriate. She had every intention of behaving perfectly today. She’d given Kelly her promise.
Still, she paused at the door to take three deep breaths before returning to the bridal party—Kelly, her sister Kathy, and the three other twittering bridesmaids, all wearing identical dresses to her own. She felt like a scoop of lime sherbet. Why couldn’t Kathy have gone for the hunter green, like most other autumn weddings sported?
She hoped by this time all the talk between them of whose turn it was next to become a bride had passed. Ivy sighed, allowing herself one moment of defeat before putting on her most dazzling smile. It seemed she would be the last of her high school chums to walk down the isle when she’d been the one who talked most, all her life, of getting married. Thank goodness, Kelly was the only one of the wedding party who knew she’d almost made it to the church twice. Three times, if anyone counted that stupid secret high school engagement, thankfully aborted before the planned elopement took place. She couldn’t bear having everyone stare at her in pity, with the unspoken words three strikes and you’re out hovering in their minds.
Ivy hadn’t been lucky at actually becoming a bride.
Now she didn’t allow her hopes to jump at every man who might be a likely candidate, and kept her past disappointments locked away in the privacy of her memory bank. But in her heart of hearts she still wished for a husband and a home of her own.
Sudden laughter bubbled up from Ivy’s middle; it was a good thing she kept that particular yearning well hidden these days. With Aunt Arletta’s propensity for latching onto strange men, she daren’t open her mouth. A gardener, for Pete’s sake?
Besides, lately she’d decided her life was full enough with the shop, Aunt Arletta and church activities. She helped out in the toddler nursery from time to time, which gave her babies to hug, a momentary feeling of motherhood. A stopgap, to be sure—but who had time for anything else, anyway?
Feeling more serene, Ivy swung through the door and immediately stopped to catch her breath. Fitted with floor-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall mirrors on four sides, the room reflected Kelly’s tall, regal figure again and again all around her, stunning in an elegant gown of white lace and satin, trimmed in seed pearls.
“Oh, Kelly,” she murmured in awe, instantly scrapping any lingering envy or misplaced jealousy she’d brought into the day. How could she be so petty in light of her friend’s happiness? “You’d make the perfect bride to grace any of the brides’ magazine covers.”
“Thank you, Ivy.” Kelly smiled, tremulous with emotion.
Through a connecting door into the next room, the other girls flitted about with lively chatter as they made last-minute checks to their hair and dresses. Strains of a single flute drifted up from the distant first-floor ballroom where the ceremony would take place, shortly joined by violins and a piano.
“Oh, the music has started,” Kelly said, her hand fluttering to her chest, a trait unusual for her. “Is it time?”
“Yes,” Ivy answered with calm fondness. “Yes it is, hon. And I can’t wait ‘til Scott gets his first glimpse of you.”
Almost two hours later, Ivy finally slipped away from the wedding reception lineup. Her mouth was dryer than a cotton ball and the happy bride no longer needed her. She looked around for the punch table. It stood ten people deep and a multitude of guests stacked the buffet lines; Aunt Arletta moved in one of the lines, busily talking with another woman her own age.
Another half hour would pass before Ivy was required again. She turned away. All she wanted was water; she wondered where she might find the kitchen.
Moving out of the huge ballroom and through the center hall, Ivy followed a waitress weaving her way toward the back of the house into a lesser hall. Ivy made a quick sidestep to avoid a food trolley rolling out from the kitchen, causing her to bounce slightly against the doorjamb opposite. Another trolley followed. She edged back more firmly, and fell through.
“Whoa, there,” murmured a bass voice behind her. One that sounded like rich fudge icing. A strong hand touched her shoulder, helping her to right herself. She glanced over her shoulder into chocolate brown eyes. Only this time they held no amusement. “Did you get lost?”
“Oh, um,” she said, noticing the serious set of his mouth. He’d bathed and changed clothes, and his hair was still damp. “Noah something or other, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Noah.”
“No, not really lost,” she murmured, swinging about to glance at the second man in the room. Attractive, with deep blue eyes under a sunny swag of hair, he smiled a welcome. He wore light-brown casual trousers with a matching open-neck silk shirt. He wasn’t one of the guests; he must have something to do with the house or catering staff. She smiled in return. “I was looking for a glass of water and thought I’d find the kitchen. Sorry if I’ve intruded.”
“No bother,” he answered, snapping the door firmly closed before strolling to a tea trolley. Ice tinkled in the glass pitcher as he poured water into a tall glass. His smile grew inviting, a slight lifting of his lips giving his cheeks attractive dimples. “Here, have some from our tray. You might be knocked down out there. The service hallway is quite busy just now.”
“That’s very kind, thank you.” She accepted the glass and sipped, casting a glance at the two men from beneath lowered lashes. From Noah, a quiet tension hung in the air, a feeling of something left unfinished. His hands, tightly fisted, were stuffed in his pockets.
She took in her surroundings. A library office, she thought, with a huge old library table desk of gleaming oak taking pride of place in front of a wall of books. Nearby a computer and stand looked more out of place than the wooden file cabinets in the corner, but a navy-blue sofa and matching chair brought the room back to a picture perfect library. On the whole the room was charming—but clearly a private one.
She had interrupted them.
Turning, she gazed hopefully at the three large windows that looked out on a terrace, but saw no door. Outside, a number of guests enjoyed the fine October weather. Deciding she needed to excuse herself as quickly as possible, she said, “Is there another way out of here? I’d just as soon avoid the heavy tide out there.”
“Sorry, no,” the blond man murmured. “But there’s no need to hurry off. I’m Gerald Reeves, by the way.” He gestured her toward the overstuffed chair. “Sit here a bit and catch your breath. The hallway should clear out soon. Unless the bride is looking for you?”
Noah remained silent, looking out the bank of windows.
“No, not at the moment,” she answered, wondering what captured the gardener’s attention outside, what caused his jaw to tense hard as granite.
She sat cautiously on the chair edge near the tea trolley, and switched her gaze toward the other man. “Reeves? Then this is your family home? I didn’t realize anyone still maintained a residence here. And I have blundered into your private rooms. Oh, I’m so sorry.”
