She glanced at Alex. No help there. He was obviously waiting for her next move.
She looked from Mrs. Nash to Philippe and back again. “Could we, um, compromise?” she asked.
Alex coughed. “You want the English and the French to compromise over food?”
“Is that a bad thing, too?”
No one seemed inclined to answer.
“I am willing,” Philippe finally put in, with a long-suffering sigh, “to make a few-how do you say-concessions.”
Emma glanced hopefully at Mrs. Nash.
Mrs. Nash’s lips pursed.
“Mrs. Nash?” Alex prompted.
“It’s tradition,” she spouted.
Emma struggled to come up with something helpful. “Perhaps you could do the main course? And Philippe could do dessert?”
“Mon Dieu.” Philippe crossed himself. “I will be ruined.”
Mrs. Nash clacked her teeth together. “The admiral would turn over in his grave.”
Emma looked to Alex once more. He should feel free to jump in anytime.
“Any more good ideas?” he asked her.
That did it. This whole mess was his fault anyway. “You were the one who proposed in public. You unleashed the dogs.”
“What dogs?”
“Philippe is the one who saved me. He cleared out the reporters. He sent the other caterers packing-”
“Thirty-five years,” Mrs. Nash put in. “Thirty-five years I’ve been with the Garrison family.”
Philippe made a slashing motion with his hand. “Yorkshire pudding and boiled cabbage has no place on my table.”
“Your table?” cried Mrs. Nash. “I think you mean Mr. Garrison’s table.”
“Can we get back to the dogs?” asked Alex.
“They were metaphorical,” said Emma.
“I got that much,” he drawled.
“The press,” said Philippe, providing a few more dramatic hand gestures. “They were everywhere. Ms. McKinley was forced into hiding. I saved her.”
“He saved me,” Emma agreed. And she wasn’t about to fire the man for his trouble. Surely to goodness four sane adults could come up with a compromise.
She turned to Mrs. Nash. “Why don’t we pull out your recipes-”
“Water, salt and a big ol’ slab of beef,” said Philippe.
“At least it’s not the legs of amphibians-”
“That’s it.” Alex took a decisive step forward. “Philippe, Mrs. Nash, you’ll work together. I want three recommendations for a compromise by Wednesday.”
The two immediately stopped talking.
“Morning,” said Alex.
After a pause, Philippe and Mrs. Nash eyed each other suspiciously.
“Can I get a yes?” Alex prompted.
Philippe lifted his chin. “But of course. I will do everything in my power to assist.”
“We can certainly discuss it,” said Mrs. Nash, canting her chin at an equally challenging angle.
“Then, thank you,” said Alex. “If you’ll excuse us, Emma and I were picking out some jewelry.”
Both Philippe and Mrs. Nash nodded stiffly and exited the room. Mrs. Nash closed the door behind them.
Alex gave Emma an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion. “A Frenchman?”
“How was I supposed to know you had a rabid housekeeper?”
Alex ambled back to the open safe. “You’re right. Silly me. Anything else I should know about? A Greek limousine driver? A Romanian florist?”
“What does Mrs. Nash have against the Romanians?”
His back was to her, but Emma could tell Alex smiled at that.
“Maybe you should run any future plans by me first.”
“To pander to your control freakish nature?”
“To avoid murder or dismemberment during the ceremony. Ahhh. Here it is.”
Emma’s curiosity got the better of her, and she stepped closer to the safe. “What did you find in there?”
He popped open a purple velvet box. “The Tudor diamond.”
Emma glanced down at the jewel in his hands and instantly stopped breathing.
It was gorgeous.
Old, unique, luxuriant and gorgeous.
The band was fashioned from strands of platinum, woven together to form an intricate Celtic pattern. Rubies tapered up the curve, highlighting the centerpiece-a glittering oval of a flawless gem.
The Tudor diamond.
“Try it on,” said Alex.
She shook her head. Fake brides didn’t touch a piece like that. At the very least, it had to be bad luck.
He moved the box toward her. “Mrs. Nash is right. The family jewels work in our favor.”
Emma shook again, shifting from one foot to the other, her heart rate increasing. No way. No how. The ring he’d given her at casino night was perfectly fine.
“It is insured,” he said.
“Against bad luck?”
He glanced at the ring in confusion. “What bad luck? It’s nothing but metal and stone.”
“It’s a precious family heirloom.”
“And it’s my family heirloom. And I want you to wear it.”
“That’s not your choice to make.”
Alex frowned. “It is my choice. I own the ring. I own the collection, the safe, the house. And I can give them to any damn person I please.”
She couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t do it. “I’m talking morality, not legality.”
The frustration in his voice was obvious. “How is it immoral for you to wear my ring?”
“Because I’d be disrespecting all the brides who came before me.”
Alex blinked. Then he squinted, and a funny little smile flexed his face. “Emma. Do you honestly think you’re the first Garrison bride to marry for money?”
Emma wasn’t marrying for money. At least not the way he was insinuating she was marrying for money. She had her own money. He was simply…Well, he was helping her out, for a handsome return, that was all.
It was mutually beneficial, and she resented him making her feel otherwise.
“This has been going on since the early eighteen-hundreds,” said Alex. “Even my father-” Then he clamped his jaw. “Hold out your hand, Emma.”
She started to retreat, but he reached out and snagged her left wrist, coaxing it toward him.
“I don’t-”
He slipped the band over her first knuckle.
She shut her mouth and stared at the endless circle of platinum, at Alex’s dark hand against her own pale skin, at the antique rubies and diamond winking in the light.
“Believe me when I tell you,” said Alex, pushing it a little farther. “You’re carrying on a proud tradition.”
The ring thudded reluctantly over her second knuckle, but then it settled at the base of her finger.
A perfect fit.
“There,” Alex breathed, stroking his thumb over the surface of the diamond. “Now we’re really engaged.”
Where Alex had ended up with Hamilton’s fortune and Hamilton’s looks, his third cousin, Nathaniel, had ended up with Hamilton’s life. The second son of the current earl of Kessex, Nathaniel had been forced to seek his own fortune, just as Hamilton had done so many decades before.
With little more than seed money from the family estate, Nathaniel had founded Kessex Cruise Lines. Then he’d added Kessex Shipping and quickly grew his fortune to the hundreds of millions.
He now had his finger on the pulse of the transportation industry from Paris to Auckland. And the transportation industry was the lynchpin of global commerce. Alex might know how to run a successful hotel chain. But Nathaniel could manipulate the world.
He’d provided Alex with a thick dossier on DreamLodge, then he’d hung around an extra couple of days. He should have been on his way back to London today. His continued presence made Alex nervous. Nathaniel didn’t stick around unless something was interesting. And things that Nathaniel found interesting usually made Alex sweat.
The two men, along with Ryan, waited until Simone exited and closed the door to Alex’s office.
“What’s going on?” Alex asked his cousin without preamble.