C.A. Belmond

SUMMARY of the novel:

Wedding bells are ringing for Penny and Jeremy—but where will the wedding be? While heiress Penny’s newly-discovered French relatives insist that the wedding be held in the South of France, Jeremy’s kin won’t have it anywhere but England. Either choice might just re-ignite the Hundred Years’ War.

Meanwhile, Penny is feeling a tad skittish, not only about all the superficial hoopla that surrounds modern weddings, but also about the impact that marriage itself will have on her treasured relationship with Jeremy. Everyone’s telling her it’s simply inevitable that the thrill goes out of marriage after a few years. So, with her usual earnestness, Penny acts as a “bridal anthropologist” seeking evidence that it is possible to “tie the knot” without unravelling the love that brought her and Jeremy together in the first place.

Then, in a family château high above the perfume fields of Grasse, Penny’s French cousin offers her the loan of an ancient bridal tapestry with a highly intriguing history. Does it contain clues to eternal true love—or is it merely an outdated relic from oppressive past traditions? Penny has barely begun to crack its perplexing imagery before a series of strange events unfold, threatening to derail the wedding. Now Penny and Jeremy must set off on an astonishing romp around Europe to catch a thief—while simultaneously trying to figure out what’s best for the future of their love.

From a nostalgic stop at the opulent Train Bleu restaurant and a visit to a mysterious ballerina in Paris, to a masked ball at a multi-billionaire’s secret chalet on Lake Geneva, to London’s hidden vaults of medieval artifacts, and a winner-take-all gamble in Monte Carlo, Penny and Jeremy embark on another thrilling adventure... and all the while, they can hear the tick-tock of an antique clock as it counts down the very minutes until they say, “I do.”

Will they crack this case and still make it to the altar on time? Come see for yourself.

You’re invited! Bride or groom’s side?

EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL A RATHER CHARMING INVITATION © CA Belmond:

Chapter Eight

EXCERPT FROM THE NOVEL A RATHER CHARMING INVITATION © CA Belmond:

The next morning, at the breakfast buffet—laid out in a smaller dining salon overlooking the garden and woods at the back of the house—our hosts surprised us by casually announcing that they had arranged “a shooting party” in Jeremy’s honor.

After David delivered this invitation, Jeremy marched upstairs to change clothes. I followed him.

“Shooting!” I cried, appalled. “Are you going to go off and kill some poor little deer or duck?”

“No, mercifully,” Jeremy told me as he rooted around in his suitcase. “They gave me a choice, of either slaughtering animals or shooting trap. They are operating on the huge assumption that, just because I’m English, I fancy a hunt.”

“Do you shoot?” I asked in amusement.

“I can if I must.”

“I mean, do you like it?” I persisted, wanting to know if my future husband had hobbies I’d been entirely unaware of.

“I loathe it. Therefore I opted for trap. One can only guess at what inferences they will draw from my choice,” he said. “I wonder, do you suppose this will scotch our chances for being married under the tapestry?”

“It’s ‘before’ the tapestry, as in, ‘in front of’,” I corrected. “Not ‘under’, which implies they’re going to toss it over our heads.”

“Well, either way, it’s curtains for us now,” he joked.

“If you loathe shooting, why are you going?” I asked.

“For love of a Penny,” he said, kissing me and then hurrying off.

I went downstairs shortly after Jeremy left, wondering uncertainly what I would do with the day while he was out.

I needn’t have worried. Oncle Philippe emerged from the little dining salon, having lingered over his coffee, fresh brioche and newspaper; and he now said, with a twinkle in his eye, “You seemed interested in the history of my family’s perfume business. Would you like to come to my workshop in Grasse for a private tour of the best perfume in France? It’s all been arranged, if you’d like.”

“Oh, yes!” I cried. I loved his rich French accent, which made “arranged” sound more like “orange-ed.” He wore a fine, formal straw hat and a linen suit, white shirt and pale blue tie.

Nobody else in the household seemed to be around; it was just Oncle Philippe and me. He escorted me out the front door and down the pretty stone steps.

The sun was already bathing the air with its warmth and the promise of a beautiful day. A long black car awaited us, and a driver opened the door so that we could slip into the cool interior. Then he steered the car down the driveway past the allée of trees, and whisked us off to Grasse.

© C.A. Belmond
All Rights Reserved

All text and pictures on this web site are under copyright. Do not reproduce in any form without author's written permission.