His wife. More and more Claire was coming to believe that it was really so, that it was really going to happen. She looked at the pearl-and-diamond ring on her left hand then at Max. She loved him so much that it swelled within her like a tide, relentless and eternal.
When they were in bed, she curled her arm around his neck and pressed against him, sighing as her tired muscles relaxed.
Max cuddled her, loving the feel of her body in his arms, right where she belonged. As usual when he was near her or thought about her, he wanted to make love, but she was too tired. He kissed her forehead and held her until she was asleep.
“Just five more weeks, love,” he whispered into the darkness. She would be his wife, and he would no longer have this unreasoning fear that she was going to slip through his fingers like mist melting away before the sun.
CHAPTER 12
Claire managed a tight smile for the airline attendant as she refused a refill of her tea. They would be landing at Heathrow within the hour. She was relieved that the long, monotonous flight was nearly at an end but she tensed inside whenever she thought of meeting Max’s family. She had spoken to his mother on the telephone and felt the warmth of the older woman’s greetings, but she wondered how she would get through the ordeal of actually meeting all of them. She had memorized the names of his brother and sisters, as well as that of their spouses and the swarms of children, but that was only scratching the top of the list. There were aunts, uncles, cousins, in-laws, grandparents, great-aunts and uncles, as well as their children and spouses. Such a large family was beyond her experience.
Alma and Harmon were sitting directly ahead of them. It was exactly a week before the wedding, and Alma had been working on her ever-present list most of the flight. Martine and Steve and the children would be flying over in three days, followed the next day by the remainder of the guests. Rome and Sarah were attending, with Missy and Jed. Sarah had suggested leaving the children with a sitter, but Claire had become inordinately fond of the two little imps and wanted them present. After all, her wedding would be swarming with children; what difference would two more make? Rome and Sarah would be bringing a young friend, Derek Taliferro, who was home from college for the summer and who spent a lot of time with the Matthews. Claire had met Derek only twice, but had liked him on sight, and that was unusual for her. She was usually far more cautious with strangers, but there was something about Derek that relaxed her. He was inordinately handsome, with curly black hair and calm golden-brown eyes that reached deep into her mind, yet his handsomeness would normally have made Claire distrust him. But the tall, muscular youth had such enormous self-possession and purpose about him, and he was so tender with the children, who adored him, that instinctively she trusted him, too. For all his lack of years Derek was more of a man than most males who were twice his age. Max and Rome treated him as an equal, and they weren’t ordinary men themselves.
Claire glanced quickly at Max, wondering if he had any doubts surfacing about the wedding as it drew closer, but she could read nothing in his expression. For all the passionate hours she had spent in his arms, she still sometimes felt as if he were a stranger to her, a handsome, aloof stranger who gave her his lust but not his thoughts. He was affable, charming, attentive, but she always felt as if he were holding something back from her. She loved deeply but had to keep her love hidden, because h
e didn’t seem to want that sort of devotion from her. He wanted her companionship, her body beneath his in the night, but he didn’t seem to want her emotions. He asked for none, and he gave none.
That was the real basis for her unease, she realized. She could have faced an army of relatives with poise if only she were certain of Max’s love. All those people would be watching her, measuring her, just as she had been watched when she had married Jeff. How would she fit in with such a family, who were so far-flung and numerous, but oddly close for all that? It had never been easy for her to make friends, and his entire family all seemed to be so warm and outgoing. How could they understand her difficulty in warming up to people? Would they think her cold and unfriendly? Her hands were icy, and she clenched them together in an effort to warm them.
The seatbelt sign flashed on over their heads, and a huge knot formed in Claire’s chest, making it necessary for her to breathe in swift, shallow gulps. Max didn’t notice her anxiety; he was looking forward to seeing his family again, anticipation making his eyes gleam like jewels set in a golden idol’s head.
Heathrow was sheer pandemonium, with the summer crowds thronging the airport. Max didn’t turn a well-groomed hair at the hurly-burly. He secured a porter with a lifted finger, and just as the last of their luggage came around on the carousel, a joyous, lilting cry of “Max! Max!” soared above the noise.
He turned and a grin split his face. “Vicky!” He held out his arms and a tall, blond woman hurled herself into them. He hugged and kissed her enthusiastically, rocking her in his arms. Then he freed one arm to reach out and pull Claire to him. “Claire, this hoyden is my youngest sister, Victoria. Vicky to those of us familiar with her unruly behavior. Vicky, Claire Westbrook.”
“Who became instantly famous when she snared the infamous Maxwell Conroy,” Vicky teased, then enveloped Claire in a warm hug. Claire smiled quietly, thinking that she liked this unpretentious young woman. The family resemblance was strong—Vicky was tall, with the same golden hair, but her eyes were cerulean blue, and her face wasn’t as sculptured. Still, she was a striking woman.
Introductions were made to Alma and Harmon; then Victoria led the way out of the air terminal. “How did you end up with the welcoming duties?” Max asked. His left arm was around Claire, and Victoria clung happily to his right.
“Oh, I’m not the lone delegate,” Victoria said lightly. “Mother is waiting in the car. She didn’t want to brave the hordes, but she couldn’t wait for us to get home before she met Claire.”
The knot in Claire’s chest, which had subsided a bit on meeting Victoria, now rose to lodge in her throat. Max’s mother! From the way he talked about her, Claire knew that he adored his mother, and it went without saying that she adored him. What woman wouldn’t?
“We brought two cars, because of all the luggage,” Victoria explained, smiling at Claire and her parents. “Mother will insist on Claire and Max going with her, if you don’t mind. I’m really a safe driver.”
“Really?” Max inquired, looking astonished.
“Of course we don’t mind,” Alma said.
As they approached the parking area, a man in a dark suit opened the door of a black four-door Jaguar, and a tall slender elegantly-dressed woman got out. “Max!” she called, waving her hand. Then dignity was forgotten as she raced to meet him. Max laughed and left Claire and Victoria to sprint across the tarmac. He scooped the woman up in his arms and hugged her tightly.
“So much for our famous British reserve,” Victoria observed humorously. “Everyone is always so happy to see Max again that we make absolute fools of ourselves, but there’s no resisting him, is there?”
“None at all,” Claire replied, watching him. Was that his mother? That lovely, too-young woman, with a sleek knot of blond hair just beginning to fade in color?
Before she could get herself under control and readjust her expectations from a gray-haired proper matron to the sleek reality, Max was walking toward her with his mother on his arm. “Mother, my future wife, Claire Westbrook. Darling, this is my mother, Lady Alicia Conroy, dowager countess of Hayden-Prescott.”
Lady? Countess?
Claire was numb. Somehow she managed to smile and murmur something appropriate. The general enthusiasm of the all-around greetings continued as Alma greeted Lady Alicia, with whom she had had several long telephone conversations. Max’s mother was smiling and gracious and seemed genuinely delighted by the occasion. It was several minutes before all the luggage had been packed into the cars and everyone sorted out, Alma and Harmon into Victoria’s blue Mercedes, and Max and Claire, with Lady Alicia, into the Jaguar, which was driven by the chauffeur, Sutton.
“Has the mob begun arriving yet?” Max asked, smiling at Lady Alicia and an answering twinkle lit her green eyes.
“Not yet. We expect another few days of relative quiet, though of course those within easy traveling time will have to come over for tea. Did you expect it to be otherwise?”
“I hoped, but no, I didn’t expect it. Would it be possible for me to reserve any of Claire’s time during the next week?”
“Highly doubtful,” Lady Alicia said briskly, though the twinkle remained. “There’s entirely too much to be done. There hasn’t been such excitement in the family since the war ended—even Great-Aunt Eleanor will be attending, and you know she seldom gets out.”