A Beaumont Christmas Wedding
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Sarah M. Anderson
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HarlequinOne
Matthew Beaumont looked at his email in amazement. The sharks were circling. He’d known they would be, but still, the sheer volume of messages clamoring for more information was impressive. There were emails from TMZ, Perez Hilton and PageSix.com, all sent in the past twenty minutes.
They all wanted the same thing. Who on earth was Jo Spears, the lucky woman who was marrying into the Beaumont family and fortune? And why had playboy Phillip Beaumont, Matthew’s brother, chosen her—a woman no one had ever heard of before—when he could have had his pick of supermodels and Hollywood starlets?
Matthew rubbed his temples. The truth was actually quite boring—Jo Spears was a horse trainer who’d spent the past ten years training some of the most expensive horses in the world. There wasn’t much there that would satisfy the gossip sites.
But if the press dug deeper and made the connection between Jo Spears, horse trainer, and Joanna Spears, they might dig up the news reports about a drunk-driving accident a decade ago in which Joanna was the passenger—and the driver died. They might turn up a lot of people who’d partied with Joanna.
They might turn this wedding into a circus.
His email pinged. Vanity Fair had gotten back to him. He scanned the email. Excellent. They would send a photographer if he invited their reporter as a guest.
Matthew knew the only way to keep this Beaumont wedding—planned for Christmas Eve—from becoming a circus was to control the message. He had to fight fire with fire and if that meant embedding the press into the wedding itself, then so be it.
Yes, it was great that Phillip was getting married. For the first time in his life, Matthew was hopeful his brother was going to be all right. But for Matthew, this wedding meant so much more than just the bonds of holy matrimony for his closest brother.
This wedding was the PR opportunity of a lifetime. Matthew had to show the world that the Beaumont family wasn’t falling apart or flaming out.
God knew there’d been enough rumors to that effect after Chadwick Beaumont had sold the Beaumont Brewery and married his secretary, which had been about the same time that Phillip had very publically fallen off the wagon and wound up in rehab. And that didn’t even include what his stepmothers and half siblings were doing.
It had been common knowledge that the Beaumonts, once the preeminent family of Denver, had fallen so far down that they’d never get back up.
To hell with common knowledge.
This was Matthew’s chance to prove himself—not just in the eyes of the press but in his family’s eyes, too. He’d show them once and for all that he wasn’t the illegitimate child who was too little, too late a Beaumont. He was one of them, and this was his chance to erase the unfortunate circumstances of his birth from everyone’s mind.
A perfectly orchestrated wedding and reception would show the world that instead of crumbling, the Beaumonts were stronger than ever. And it was up to Matthew, the former vice president of Public Relations for the Beaumont Brewery and the current chief marketing officer of Percheron Drafts Beer, to make that happen.
Building buzz was what Matthew did best. He was the only one in the family who had the media contacts and the PR savvy to pull this off.
Control the press, control the world—that’s how a Beaumont handles it.
Hardwick Beaumont’s words came back to him. When Matthew had managed yet another scandal, his father had said that to him. It’d been one of the few times Hardwick had ever complimented his forgotten third son. One of the few times Hardwick had ever made Matthew feel as if he was a Beaumont, not the bastard he’d once been.
Controlling the press was something that Matthew had gotten exceptionally good at. And he wasn’t about to drop the ball now. This wedding would prove not only that the Beaumonts still had a place in this world but that Matthew had a place in the family.
He could save the Beaumont reputation. He could save the Beaumonts. And in doing so, he could redeem himself.
He’d hired the best wedding planner in Denver. They’d booked the chapel on the Colorado Heights University campus and had invited two hundred guests to the wedding. The reception would be at the Mile High Station, with dinner for six hundred, and a team of Percherons would pull the happy couple in either a carriage or a sleigh, weather depending. They had the menu set, the cake ordered, the favors ready and the photographer on standby. Matthew had his family—all four of his father’s ex-wives and all nine of his half brothers and sisters—promising to be on their best behavior.
The only thing he didn’t have under his control was the bride and her maid of honor, a woman named Whitney Maddox.
Jo had said that Whitney was a horse breeder who lived a quiet life in California, so Matthew didn’t anticipate too much trouble from her. She was coming two weeks before the wedding and staying at the farm with Jo and Phillip. That way she could do all the maid-of-honor things—dress fittings and bachelorette parties, the lot of it. All of which had been preplanned by Matthew and the wedding planner, of course. There was no room for error.
The wedding had to be perfect. What mattered was showing the world that the Beaumonts were still a family. A successful family.
What mattered was Matthew proving that he was a legitimate Beaumont.
He opened a clean document and began to write his press release as if his livelihood depended on it.
Because it did.
* * *
Whitney pulled up in front of the building that looked as if it was three different houses stuck together. She would not be nervous about this—not about the two weeks away from her horses, about staying in a stranger’s house for said two weeks or about the press that went with being in a Beaumont Christmas wedding. Especially that.
Of course, she knew who Phillip Beaumont was—didn’t everyone? He was the handsome face of Beaumont Brewery—or had been, right up until his family had sold out. And Jo Spears was a dear friend—practically the best friend Whitney had. The only friend, really. Jo knew all about Whitney’s past and just didn’t care. And in exchange for that unconditional friendship, the least Whitney could do was suck it up and be Jo’s maid of honor.
In the high-society wedding of the year. With hundreds of guests. And photographers. And the press. And...
Jo came out to greet her.
“You haven’t changed a bit!” Whitney called as she shut her door. She shivered. December in Denver was an entirely different beast from December in California. “Except you’re not wearing your hat!”
“I didn’t wear the hat when we watched movies in your house, did I?” Jo wore a wide smile as she gave Whitney a brief hug. “How was the drive?”
“Long,” Whitney admitted. “That’s why I didn’t bring anyone with me. I thought about bringing the horses, but it’s just too cold up here for them to be in a trailer that long, and none of my dogs do well in the car.”
She’d desperately wanted to bring Fifi, her retired greyhound, or Gater, the little mutt that was pug and...something. Those two were her indoor dogs, the ones that curled up next to her on the couch or on her lap and kept her company. But Fifi did not travel well and Gater didn’t like to leave Fifi.
Animals didn’t care who you were. They never read the headlines. It didn’t matter to them if you’d accidentally flashed the paparazzi when you were nineteen or how many times you’d been arrested for driving while intoxicated. All that mattered to animals was that you fed them and rubbed their ears.
Besides, Whitney was on vacation. A vacation with a wedding in it, but still. She was going to see the sights in Denver and get her nails done and all sorts of fun things. It didn’t seem fair to bring the dogs only to leave them in a bedroom most of the time.
Jo nodded as Whitney got her bags out of the truck. “Who’s watching them?”
“Donald—you remember him, right? From the next ranch over?”
“The crusty old fart who doesn’t watch TV?”
Jo and Whitney shared a look. In that moment, Whitney was glad she’d come. Jo understood her as no one else did.
Everyone else in the world thought Donald was borderline insane—a holdover hippie from the 1960s who’d done too much acid back in the day. He lived off the grid, talked about animals as if they were his brothers and discussed Mother Earth as if she were coming to dinner next week.
But that meant Donald wasn’t tuned in to pop culture. Which also meant he didn’t know who Whitney was—who she’d been. Donald just thought Whitney was the neighbor who really should install more solar panels on her barn roof. And if she had to occasionally listen to a lecture on composting toilets, well, that was a trade-off she was willing to make.
She was going to miss her animals, but knowing Donald, he was probably sitting on the ground in the paddock, telling her horses bedtime stories.
Besides, being part of her best friend’s wedding was an opportunity even she couldn’t pass up. “What’s this I hear about you and Phillip Beaumont?”
Jo smiled. “Come on,” she said, grabbing one of Whitney’s bags. “Dinner will be in about an hour. I’ll get you caught up.”
She led Whitney inside. The whole house was festooned—there was no other word for it—with red bows and pine boughs. A massive tree, blinking with red-and-white lights, the biggest star Whitney had ever seen perched on top, stood in a bay window. The whole place had such a rustic Christmas charm that Whitney felt herself grinning. This would be a perfect way to spend Christmas, instead of watching It’s a Wonderful Life on the couch at home.
A small brown animal with extremely long ears clomped up to her and sniffed. “Well, hello again, Betty,” Whitney said as she crouched down onto her heels. “You remember me? You spent a few months sitting on my couch last winter.”
The miniature donkey sniffed Whitney’s hair and brayed before rubbing her head into Whitney’s hands.
“If I recall correctly,” Jo said, setting down Whitney’s bag, “your pups didn’t particularly care for a donkey in the house.”
“Not particularly,” Whitney agreed. Fifi hadn’t minded as long as Betty stayed off her bed, but Gater had taken it as a personal insult that Whitney had allowed a hoofed animal into the house. As far as Gater was concerned, hoofed animals belonged in the barn.
She stood. Betty leaned against her legs so that Whitney could stroke her long ears.
“You’re not going to believe this,” Jo said as she moved Whitney’s other bag, “but Matthew wants her to walk down the aisle. He’s rigged up a basket so she can carry the flower petals and it’s got a pillow attached on top so she can carry the rings. The flower girl will walk beside her and throw the petals. He says it’ll be an amazing visual.”
Whitney blinked. “Wait—Matthew? I thought you were marrying Phillip?”
“She is.” A blindingly handsome man strode into the room—tall and blond and instantly recognizable. “Hello,” he said with a grin as he walked up to Whitney. He leaned forward, his eyes fastened on hers, and stuck out a hand. “I’m Phillip Beaumont.”
The Phillip Beaumont. Having formerly been someone famous, Whitney was not prone to getting starstruck. But Phillip was looking at her so intently that for a moment, she forgot her own name.
“And you must be Whitney Maddox,” he went on, effortlessly filling the silence. “Jo’s told me about the months she spent with you last winter. She said you raise some of the most beautiful Trakehners she’s ever worked with.”
“Oh. Yes!” Whitney shook her head. Phillip was a famous horseman and her Trakehner horses were a remarkably safe subject. “Joy was mine—Pride and Joy.”
“The stallion who took gold in the World Equestrian Games?” Phillip smiled down at her and she realized he still had her hand. “I don’t have any Trakehners. Clearly that’s something I need to rectify.”
She looked at Jo, feeling helpless and more than a little guilty that Jo’s intended was making her blush. But Jo just laughed.
“Too much,” Jo said to Phillip as she looped her arm through his. “Whitney’s not used to that much charm.” She looked at Whitney. “Sorry about that. Phillip, this is Whitney. Whitney, this is Phillip.”
Whitney nodded, trying to remember the correct social interaction. “It’s a pleasure. Congratulations on getting married.”
Phillip grinned at her, but then he thankfully focused that full-wattage smile on Jo. “Thanks.”
They stared at each other for a moment, the adoration obvious. Whitney looked away.
It’d been a long time since a man had looked at her like that. And, honestly, she couldn’t be sure that Drako Evans had ever looked at her quite like that. Their short-lived engagement hadn’t been about love. It had been about pissing off their parents. And it had worked. The headlines had been spectacular. Maybe that was why those headlines still haunted her.
As she rubbed Betty’s ears, Whitney noticed the dinner table was set for four. For the first time since she’d arrived, she smelled food cooking. Lasagna and baking bread. Her stomach rumbled.
“So,” Phillip said into the silence. His piercing blue eyes turned back to her. “Matthew will be here in about forty minutes for dinner.”
Which did nothing to answer the question she’d asked Jo earlier. “Matthew is...who?”
This time, Phillip’s grin was a little less charming, a little sharper. “Matthew Beaumont. My best man and younger brother.”
Whitney blinked. “Oh?”
“He’s organizing the wedding,” Phillip went on as if that were no big deal.
“He’s convinced that this is the PR event of the year,” Jo said. “I told him I’d be happy getting married by a judge—”
“Or running off to Vegas,” Phillip added, wrapping his arm around Jo’s waist and pulling her into a tight embrace.
“But he insists this big wedding is the Beaumont way. And since I’m going to be a Beaumont now...” Jo sighed. “He’s taken control of this and turned it into a spectacle.”
Whitney stared at Jo and Phillip, unsure what to say. The Jo she knew wouldn’t let anyone steamroll her into a grandiose wedding.
“But,” Jo went on, softening into a smile that could almost be described as shy, “it’s going to be amazing. The chapel is beautiful and we’ll have a team of Percherons pulling a carriage from there to the reception. The photographer is experienced and the dress...” She got a dreamy look in her eyes. “Well, you’ll see tomorrow. We have a dress fitting at ten.”
“It sounds like it’s going to be perfect,” Whitney said. And she meant it—a Christmas Eve ceremony? Horse-drawn carriages? Gowns? It had all the trappings of a true storybook wedding.
“It better be.” Phillip chuckled.
“Let me show you to your room,” Jo said, grabbing a bag.
That sounded good to Whitney. She needed a moment to sort through everything. She lived a quiet life now, one where she didn’t have to navigate family relations or PR events masquerading as weddings. As long as she didn’t leave her ranch, all she worried about was catching Donald when he was on a soapbox.
Jo led her through the house, pointing out which parts were original, which wasn’t much, and which parts had been added later, which was most of it. She showed Whitney the part that Phillip had added, the master suite with a hot tub on the deck.
Then the hall turned again and they were in a different part, built in the 1970s. This was the guest quarters, Jo told her. Whitney had a private bath and was far enough removed from the rest of the house that she wouldn’t hear anything else.
Jo opened a door and flipped on the light. Whitney had half expected vintage ’70s decor, but the room was done in cozy green-and-red plaids that made it look Christmassy. A bouquet of fresh pine and holly was arranged on the mantel over a small fireplace.
Jo walked over to it and flipped a switch. Flames jumped to life in the grate. “Phillip had automatic switches installed a few years ago,” she explained. On the other side of the bed was a dresser. Jo said, “Extra blankets are in there. It’s going to be a lot colder here than it is at your ranch.”
“Good to know.” Whitney set her bag down at the foot of the bed. The only other furniture in the room was a small table with an armchair next to it. The room looked like a great place to spend the winter. She felt herself relax a little bit. “So...you and Phillip?”
“Me and Phillip,” Jo agreed, sounding as though she didn’t quite believe it herself. “He’s—well, you’ve seen him in action. He has a way of just looking at a woman that’s...suggestive.”
“So I wasn’t imagining that?”
Jo laughed. “Nope. That’s just how he is.”
This did nothing to explain how, exactly, Jo had wound up with Phillip. Of all the men in the world, Whitney would have put “playboy bachelor” pretty low on the list of possible husbands for Jo. But Whitney had no idea how to ask the question without it coming out wrong.
It could be that the Phillip in the kitchen wasn’t the same as the Phillip in the headlines. Maybe things had been twisted and turned until nothing but the name was the same. More than anyone, Whitney knew how that worked.
“He has a horse,” Jo explained, looking sheepish. “Sun—Kandar’s Golden Sun.”
Whitney goggled at her. “Wait—I’ve heard of that horse. Didn’t he sell for seven million dollars?”
“Yup. And he was a hot mess at any price,” she added with a chuckle. “Took me a week before he’d just stand still, you know?”
Whitney nodded, trying to picture a horse that screwed up. When Jo had come out to Whitney’s ranch to deal with Sterling, the horse of hers that had developed an irrational fear of water, it’d taken her only a few hours in the paddock before the horse was rubbing his head against Jo. “A whole week?”
“Any other horse would have died of sheer exhaustion, but that’s what makes Sun special. I can take you down to see him after dinner. He’s an amazing stud—one to build a stable on.”
“So the horse brought you together?”
Jo nodded. “I know Phillip’s got a reputation—that’s part of why Matthew insists we have this big wedding, to show the world that Phillip’s making a commitment. But he’s been sober for seven months now. We’ll have a sober coach on hand at the reception.” A hint of a blush crept over Jo’s face. “If you’d like...”
Whitney nodded. She wasn’t the only one who was having trouble voicing her concerns. “I don’t think there’s going to be a problem. I’ve been clean for almost eleven years.” She swallowed. “Does Phillip know who I am?”
“Sure.” Jo’s eyebrow notched up in challenge. “You’re Whitney Maddox, the well-known horse breeder.”
“No, not that. I mean—well, you know what I mean.”
“He knows,” Jo said, giving Whitney the look that she’d seen Jo give Donald the hippie when he gave her a lecture on how she should switch to biodiesel. “But we understand that the past is just that—the past.”
“Oh.” Air rushed out of her so fast she actually sagged in relief. “That’s good. That’s great. I just don’t want to be a distraction—this is your big day.”
“It won’t be a problem,” Jo said in a reassuring voice. “And you’re right—the day will be very big!”
They laughed. It felt good to laugh with Jo again. She hadn’t had to stay a whole two months with Whitney last year—Sterling hadn’t been that difficult to handle—but the two of them had gotten along because they understood that the past was just that. So Jo had stayed through the slow part of the year and taught Whitney some of her training techniques. It’d been a good two months. For the first time in her adult life, Whitney hadn’t felt quite so...alone.
And now she’d get that feeling again for two weeks.
“And you’re happy?” That was the important question.
Jo’s features softened. “I am. He’s a good man who had an interesting life—to say the least. He’s learned how to deal with his family with all that charm. He wasn’t hitting on you—that’s just how he copes with situations that make him nervous.”
“Really? He must have an, um, unusual family.”
Jo laughed again. “I’ll just say this—they’re a lot to handle, but on the whole, they’re not bad people. Like Matthew. He can be a little controlling, but he really does want what’s best for the family and for us.” She stood. “I’ll let you get freshened up. Matthew should be here in a few.”
“Sounds good.”
Jo shut the door on her way out, leaving Whitney alone with her thoughts. She was glad she’d come.
This was what she wanted—to feel normal. To be normal. To be able to walk into a room and not be concerned with what people thought they knew about her. Instead, to have people, like Phillip, take her at face value and make her feel welcome.
And he had a brother who was coming to dinner.
What did Matthew Beaumont look like? More to the point, what did he act like? Brothers could like a lot of the same things, right?
What if Matthew Beaumont looked at her the way his brother did, without caring about who she’d been in the past? What if he talked to her about horses instead of headlines? What if—? What if he wasn’t involved with anyone?
Whitney didn’t hook up. That part of her life was dead and buried. But...a little Christmas romance between the maid of honor and the best man wouldn’t be such a bad thing, would it? It could be fun.
She hurried to the bathroom, daring to hope that this Matthew Beaumont was single. He was coming to dinner tonight and it sounded as if he would be involved with a lot of the planned activities. She was here for two weeks. Perhaps the built-in time limit was a good thing. That way, if things didn’t go well, she had an out—she could go home.
Although...it had been eleven years since she’d attempted anything involving the opposite sex. Making a pass at the best man might not be the smartest thing she could do.
She washed her face. A potential flirtation with Matthew Beaumont called for eyeliner, at the very least. Whitney made up her face and decided to put on a fresh top. She dug out the black silk before putting it aside. Jo was in jeans and flannel, after all. This was not a fancy dinner. Whitney decided to go with the red V-neck cashmere sweater—soft but not ostentatious. The kind of top that maybe a single, handsome man would accidentally brush with his fingers. Perfect.
Would Matthew be blond, like Phillip? Would he have the same smile, the same blue eyes? She was brushing out her short hair when, from deep inside the house, a bell chimed.
She slicked on a little lip gloss and headed out. She tried to retrace her steps, but she got confused. The house had a bunch of hallways that went in different directions. She tried one set of stairs but found a door that was locked at the bottom. That wasn’t right—Jo hadn’t led her through a door. She backtracked, trying not to panic. Hopefully, everyone wasn’t downstairs waiting on her.
She found another stairwell, but it didn’t seem any more familiar than the first one had. It ended in a darkened room. Whitney decided to go back rather than stumble around in the dark. God, she shouldn’t have spent so much time getting ready. She should have gone back down with Jo. Or gotten written directions. Getting lost was embarrassing.
She found her room again, which had to count for something. She went the opposite direction and was relieved when she passed the master suite. Finally. She picked up the pace. Maybe she wasn’t too late.
She could hear voices now—Jo’s and Phillip’s and another voice, deep and strong. Matthew.
She hurried down the steps, then remembered she was trying to make a good impression. It wouldn’t do to come rushing in like a tardy teenager. She needed to slow down to make a proper entrance.
She slammed on the brakes in the middle of a step near the bottom and stumbled. Hard. She tripped down the last two steps and all but fell into the living room. She was going down, damn it! She braced for the impact.
It didn’t come. Instead of hitting the floor or running into a piece of furniture, she fell into a pair of strong arms and against a firm, warm chest.
“Oof,” the voice that went with that chest said.
Whitney looked up into a pair of eyes that were a deep blue. He smiled down at her and this time, she didn’t feel as if she were going to forget her own name. She felt as if she’d never forget this moment.
“I’ve got you.”
Not blond, she realized. Auburn hair. A deep red that seemed just right on him. And he did have her. His arms were around her waist and he was lifting her up. She felt secure. The feeling was wonderful.
Then, without warning, everything changed. His warm smile froze as his eyes went hard. The strong arms became iron bars around her and the next thing she knew, she was being pushed not up but away.
Matthew Beaumont set her back on her feet and stepped clear of her. With a glare that could only be described as ferocious, he turned to Phillip and Jo.
“What,” he said in the meanest voice Whitney had heard in a long time, “is Whitney Wildz doing here?”
