A Groom wirh a View

between him and the next generation of male Thatchers.”
    “Livvy’s his only child, right?“
    “Now she is. There was a son. A year or two older than Livvy. The light of Jack’s life, my dad said. But he died when Livvy was just a baby. Of mumps, of all things. And Jack, who hadn’t had mumps as a child, got it too. My dad said Jack nearly went crazy when the little boy died and Jack realized he’d never be able to father a replacement.“
    “And Livvy’s mother? What about her?“ Jane asked.
    “She was a nice woman, meek and pretty like Livvy. But she died of breast cancer when Livvy was about five. Poor Livvy. If she had to have a husband, I don’t know why she couldn’t have made a better choice.“
    “We don’t always fall in love with the best choice,“ Jane said, thinking about her own ill-fated marriage.
    “Love? I don’t think it’s love. It’s necessity. As I say, the clock is ticking. Oh, dear, is that the aunties’ shrill voices I hear?”
    The voices in the front hall sounded a bit like outraged chickens squabbling over a choice piece of corn.
    “Probably. They weren’t supposed to come until tomorrow, but insisted on coming today.“ Jane and Eden got up and went to meet the newcomers.
    The two tiny elderly ladies were virtually indistinguishable except for their hair. One had a snowy white do that towered over her like an impossibly fluffy cloud. The other had the identical style, but in a maroon red verging on purple that never grew from a human head. Jane wondered if they got a discount on the two dreadful wigs. They looked like something from a Disney cartoon.
    “Auntie Iva,“ Eden said, bending down to hug the maroon one.
    “Darling Eden,“ the old lady cooed. “You get taller every time I see you.”
    The white-wigged one was scrabbling at Eden’s sleeve for her share of attention.
    “Auntie Marguerite, you look divine,“ Eden said, and quickly added, “You both do.”
    Eden introduced them to Jane. “Miss Iva Thatcher, Mrs. Marguerite Rowe,“ she said quite formally, “this is Jane Jeffry, the lady who has put together Livvy’s wedding.”
    The bright smiles with which they’d greeted Eden faded to scowls. “Yes, Mrs. Jeffry“ Iva said coldly. “Livvy told us you were doing all the arrangements. We offered to plan the wedding ourselves. We are, after all, her aunts. Her only female relatives. The substitutes for her own dear, departed mother. But she preferred to have a complete stranger arrange the most important day of her life.”
    Before Jane could compose any reply, Eden jumped in. “But my dears, Livvy told me she wanted you two to be the guests of honor. You can’t ask a guest of honor to do all the drudgery. Livvy wanted you to just sail in and thoroughly enjoy yourselves without having to fret over whether the flowers had arrived or the dresses fitted.”
    Eden turned and winked at Jane, but Jane didn’t need the wink to know that Eden was lying through her spectacular teeth.
    “Well, there is that aspect,“ Aunt Marguerite said. “It’s so like Livvy to want to spare us trouble. Such a dear girl. And she’s marrying such a handsome man.“
    “Get your mind out the gutter,“ Iva snapped.
    Marguerite glowered. “Just because I’m not a dried-up spinster like some I could name—“
    “I could have had as good a husband as you did, dear,“ Iva came back, “if I’d been foolish enough to believe that fake English accent and—“
    “Now, my dears, let’s don’t have any tiffs,“ Eden said. Jane was surprised to learn that Eden could speak quite loudly when the occasion demanded it.
    “Let me show you to your rooms,“ Jane said. “Oh, we know where they are. Just up the stairs,“ Iva said.
    “No, actually, those rooms are taken,“ Jane said, resisting the urge to wring her hands in despair.
    “But we always stay in the big center room,“ Marguerite said.
    “I had to put the seamstress in there so there would be room for her sewing,“ Jane explained.
    “The seamstress is still sewing? Here?“ Iva screeched. “Well, I can tell you if I’d been in charge, those dresses would have been done weeks ago. Still, we’ll take one of the rooms next to it.”
    Jane sighed. She wasn’t a confrontational person, but she was going to have to make clear just who was in charge or these ladies were going to run over her. They’d obviously spent decades practicing the art on each other.
    “That’s quite impossible,“ Jane said,