Rejected Bride

by Margaret Tanner

  Rejected

  Bride

  MARGARET TANNER

  Contents:

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Tanner

  Acknowledgements:

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Epilogue

  About the Author:

  Also by Margaret

  Copyright © 2020 by Margaret Tanner

  The right of Margaret Tanner to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000

  All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  Please Note: To enhance the story line, some literary licence has been taken regarding geographical features.

  Acknowledgements:

  Many thanks to my author friends, Susan Horsnell and Cheryl Wright, for all their help and support.

  To my loyal readers: Thank you so much for your support. You can’t know how much I appreciate it.

  Cover by – Lisa Miller – Got You Covered

  Format – Susan Horsnell

  Chapter One

  New Orleans, Louisiana 1876

  Jemma had spent the night at the Centurion Hotel of all places. She had to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t a dream. “Ouch.” She wasn’t dreaming. It was real.

  She stared longingly at the cream dress she had picked up earlier from the dressmaker. She was longing to try it on again but dared not in case it got marked. You will just have to curb your impatience until tomorrow. Rupert had arranged for her to be picked up in the morning and driven to the house.

  “Don’t worry, my love, I’ll be impatiently waiting for you in the ballroom.”

  A sleep in followed by a long soak in the bathtub had filled in some time. She could easily get used to this kind of pampering. Rupert had insisted she stay here until their wedding day, so they wouldn’t meet up before the ceremony because it was bad luck. They would spend the first night of their marriage here also, before starting their honeymoon trip on the finest steamboat sailing the Mississippi.

  Her Godmother, Viola had surprisingly backed him up, saying it was necessary for the sake of propriety. Also, it was bad luck for the groom to see his bride so close to their wedding day. It had been a sweet gesture, but she would have been just as happy staying in her own room at Viola’s mansion.

  Glancing at the large double bed a tremor swept through her. She didn’t have much idea of what a man expected from his bride on their wedding night, although she had enjoyed the few kisses she had shared with Rupert during their short courtship.

  He was so handsome and gentlemanly even if he was only a clerk in the bank. “I won’t always be a bank clerk. One day I’ll be rich again and I’ll get my family’s plantation back from those Yankees who stole it. I don’t care what I have to do,” he vowed in an impassioned voice.

  Once they started keeping company and she had invited him into Viola’s house he had seemed to calm down. After an initial period of awkwardness, he and the older woman became quite friendly. It pleased her that the man she loved and the Godmother who had taken her in when she was fifteen, had become such firm friends.

  He had often stayed overnight, although propriety was strictly enforced. “A lady never does anything to tarnish her reputation,” Viola always said, and Rupert was given a bedroom well away from hers in a different wing of the house.

  Nerves started building up now. She had never thought about marrying such a handsome man, well never thought about marrying any man to be honest. Glancing in the mirror she couldn’t see what he found so attractive about her. Brown hair, thick and wavy when released from its pins, looked ordinary. She did have big blues eyes with unusually large navy irises. Her five feet three-inch frame was a little too thin, made worse by the tight corset Viola insisted she wear under her pretty gowns.

  “I’ve made a lady out of you, Jemma. You were an uncouth little urchin when you first came here.”

  She didn’t think she was an urchin, a tomboy yes. Because of her parent’s itinerant lifestyle, it was hard to be anything else. Pa used to work all over Texas, never stopping in one place for long. Often she and her mother used to help him with the work to bring in more money.

  Viola Langford had been shocked on having her cousin’s child virtually dumped on her when her parents had either accidentally or deliberately left her behind when she was fifteen.

  “Your mother married beneath herself and led the life of a gypsy.”

  Nevertheless, she had taken her in and taught her to read and write, how to dress and act with decorum. There had been a price to pay, of course. Jemma had become her companion. Well servant might be closer to the mark as she was always subjected to the older woman’s whims and fancies. It sometimes wasn’t easy working for such a vain, jealous and self-centered woman who refused to pay her any wages.

  “I provide you with everything you need,” she’d said haughtily when Jemma asked about a small wage. “You are not an employee, you are my companion, my cousin’s child. I’m a wealthy, childless widow. You will inherit everything one day. So, don’t let me hear any more of this nonsense.”

  It was hard to argue with that kind of logic. She had never broached the subject again.

  I’m tired of sitting around here. I’ve eaten lunch, read some of those fancy catalogues. I’m going around to the house for a while. Rupert would be working so there would be no likelihood of their seeing each other. They were being married in the magnificent ballroom of the house, and after the ceremony there would be a luncheon for her friends. Well, Viola’s friends really. She didn’t have any here in New Orleans.

  The one friend she had made, Louisa, went to live in Austin after becoming a mail-order bride to a rancher living near there. She couldn’t believe her friend had been so desperate to marry a man she had only ever exchanged a few letters with.

  I’ll walk. The fresh air will do me good. It isn’t too far away.

  After her elderly husband’s death about ten years ago Viola had been left a wealthy widow. At fifty, she was still an attractive woman with her auburn hair not having even one fleck of grey in it. Fine wrinkles fanning out at the corner of her eyes and across her forehead were the only indication she was no longer in her prime, and she could easily pass for forty. Most people didn’t realize how old she really was.

  “A woman should marry well.” Viola had drilled the words into her over the years, so it was surprising she was so accepting of Rupert when he merely worked in the bank.

  I don’t care about money or the lack of it. Love is more important, followed by loyalty, traits Rupert had in abundance. Combine this with his dashing good looks, she couldn’t believe her luck in finding him.

  Making sure her pink bonnet, which was trimmed with deeper pink trim exactly matching her dress was straight, she ventured downstairs and out into the bright sunshine. Walking at a brisk pace she soon made it to the affluent neighborhood where Viola lived. It was close to the river and Rupert would often take her there for
a stroll in the evenings with the older woman acting as chaperone. She would have much preferred to have had him to herself, but Viola had been adamant about the proprieties being observed.

  Rupert had always been charming to Viola, but over the last couple of weeks had been particularly attentive. She hated herself for feeling jealous.

  “I’m only trying to keep her happy and onside,” he would say when she asked him why he acted so friendly toward her.

  She arrived at the high intricately carved iron gate and pushed it open. The gardens were so lovely, a mixture of trees, mature bushes and neatly tended flower beds. She often sat in the shade watching swans swimming around in a large pond as she read a book when Viola had taken herself off in her carriage to visit friends.

  The three-storied house with pretty iron lace work on the front porch and the balconies upstairs, looked serene in the sunlight. The brown shutters on the upstairs windows were closed to keep the bedrooms cool.

  Her knock at the front door was answered by Dorrie, a Creole woman whose eyes widened with shock. “Miss Jemma. What are you doing here?”

  Jemma laughed. “I’ve come to see Viola and to check everything is organized for the wedding luncheon tomorrow.”

  The strangest expression passed across the woman’s face. Jemma wasn’t sure what it was. It couldn’t be pity as this was a joyous occasion. The woman couldn’t be jealous as she was happily married to her childhood sweetheart.

  “Don’t go in there, Miss Jemma.” Dorrie looked as if she was going to try and stop her from entering the pretty sitting room where Viola spent a lot of time.

  “You look like you’ve lost a dollar and found a dime.” Jemma laughed as she stepped into the exquisitely furnished room. Only the best was good enough for her Godmother. Always had been and probably always would be.

  Chapter Two

  “Jemma! What are you doing here?” Viola put aside her cup of coffee and rose to her feet.

  “I came to see you and to check on arrangements for tomorrow.”

  Viola wore a flowing lacy robe over a matching nightgown with pretty bows and ribbons down the front. Unless she was going out Viola often didn’t bother getting dressed.

  “Things have changed,” Viola snapped. “I’d like you to leave my house immediately.”

  “What!” Jemma rocked back on her heels. Something was terribly wrong here, but she couldn’t understand what. The older woman had never spoken this harshly before.

  “Leave here now. You are no longer welcome under my roof.”

  The words, heavy with animosity, almost felled her. “What’s wrong? Wha….”

  “Which one do you think I should wear, darling?” Rupert strode into the room holding a cream and pale blue cravat in his hand. He skidded to a halt on seeing her. Every vestige of color drained from his face. He grabbed the ends of his burgundy silk dressing gown, but not before she realized he was naked.

  Pain clawed her heart to threads. She pressed her hand against her mouth, her legs buckled, and she sank to her knees.

  “You stayed with….” she managed to croak. “The day before our wedding. How could you?” Tears sprang to her eyes.

  “We, we….”

  “We’re married,” Viola snapped the words out. “Didn’t the hotel give you the message?”

  “No!” Jemma screamed the word out frantically glancing from one to the other, desperately praying this was a hideous nightmare and she would soon wake up from it.

  “Get out of my house.”

  “But…but.” Tears burned her eyes.

  “We were married yesterday afternoon,” Rupert said in the cold, haughty tones of a stranger. “Viola and I have become close over the last few weeks and I love her. I asked her to become my wife and she did me the honor of accepting.” He picked up Viola’s hand and brought it to his lips in an extravagant gesture.

  Jemma tried to get up and couldn’t. Her legs wouldn’t work.

  “Remove her from my sight, Rupert. I don’t want to ever see her again.” Jealous sparks flew from her eyes.

  Rupert stepped over and hauled Jemma up and half dragged her from the room. “Don’t cause a fuss or Viola will call in the law.”

  “Why? Why would you do this to me?” The question came out on a wail.

  “Money. I need it and she’s got it.”

  “I thought you loved me.”

  His laugh held no mirth. “You were a means to an end.” He snapped the words out. “You were my entry into Viola’s world.”

  There was no sign of Dorrie. Rupert pushed her to the front door and out on to the porch and slammed the door shut.

  On her hands and knees, Jemma crawled over to one of the large pillars holding up the roof and dragged herself upright. She forced herself to take several deep, steadying breaths.

  Viola had betrayed her. Rupert had lied and used her to get what he really wanted – a rich wife. You fool, she castigated herself. The blinkers had been lifted, shockingly, cruelly from her eyes. Rupert had never loved her. All the strange things that had happened during their short courtship were now clear. Within a week or so of meeting, the two most important people in her life had plotted and schemed against her.

  She felt overwhelmed, as if the world was closing in on her. With strength dredged from somewhere deep within, her numbed brain started to function. You need to get away from here. Go back to the Centurion Hotel. Work out what to do from there.

  She opened her reticule and pulled out a lace handkerchief to mop up the copious tears streaming from her eyes. There wasn’t much in the reticule except a small money purse with a few coins in it and a tiny bottle of her lavender water.

  Staggering down the long driveway she looked neither to the left nor right, just kept her wavering vision on the front gate. Sniffing back the tears she muttered. “Legs – walk.” It was painful to drag one foot after the other. She felt like she had endured a severe whipping.

  Centurion Hotel. Get there. Cup of tea. Make plans. Leave this place of betrayal. Don’t ever come back, she instructed herself.

  If she lived to be a hundred, Jemma would never know how she made it back to the hotel. Straightening her bonnet, she entered the lobby with the hope of sneaking up to her room unseen. What a sight she must look.

  “Oh, Miss Holbrook.” The woman sitting behind the huge mahogany desk called out to her.

  Jemma spun around and the woman gasped in shock.

  “What happened to you?”

  “I…I, some little urchin pushed me over and tried to steal my reticule.” The story was pathetic although the woman seemed to believe it.

  “How awful. I have a letter here for you. It was dropped off last night.” She placed the cream envelope into Jemma’s trembling hand.

  Jemma wanted to toss it on the floor and stamp on it. This was the note Rupert had written ending their betrothal. Ending her life here in New Orleans.”

  “About your account, Miss Holbrook.”

  “What!”

  “You were booked in for two nights, plus a night in the honeymoon suite.”

  “I understood it was already paid for.”

  “No.”

  For a split second, Jemma stopped breathing. She didn’t have any money except for a few coins. Her position was growing worse by the minute. Rupert had lied again. He hadn’t even paid for the hotel like he promised.

  “Um, there’s been a change of plan, I’ll only need the room for tonight. Could you cancel the honeymoon suite?”

  “Yes, that should be all right, we have another couple who were asking about it.” The woman wrote something in the ledger. “You’ll need to leave by lunchtime tomorrow.”

  “Yes, I will. Thank you.”

  “Your betrothed, that charming gentleman, will he be collecting you?”

  “No, um, Rupert was called away on urgent business. We’ve had to postpone the wedding.”

  “Oh, what a shame.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, isn’t it?” She forced herself to act normally instead of falling to the floor in a screaming heap. She had no money to pay the hotel bill.

  On leaden feet she climbed the stairs leading to her room. Once inside she collapsed on to the bed crying and shivering as her body reacted to the shock. Rejected by her groom on the day before their wedding. Lied to, deceived by a man obsessed with money and a woman who, when she coveted something belonging to another, just took it.

  Viola had always been selfish and self-centered. A spoilt, vain woman who pretended to be younger than what she was. With a handsome young husband on her arm she would be the envy of her friends. And the woman loved being the center of attention. Jemma had noticed these traits before yet had chosen to ignore them, instinctively knowing if Viola was kept happy, she would be taken care of.

  As for Rupert, what a lying, conniving skunk he was. Behind his gentlemanly façade was a ruthless, greedy and selfish man.

  You’re better off without him. They deserve each other, her brain hammered the message out, only her heart didn’t want to believe it. What could she do? Where could she go? Visions of ending up with the poor folks in the dock area near Poydras Street rose up like a shocking apparition.

  Where could a young woman with no money go in New Orleans? The wedding gown, she wanted to take it out of the closet and rip it to shreds. Maybe the dressmaker would take it back and return the purchase money. At least it had been paid for. She had watched Viola handing over the money after her first fitting, in what seemed another lifetime. It was the only light at the end of a dismal, dark tunnel of betrayal and anguish.

  She would leave New Orleans and all the horrible memories and return to Texas. At least she had some knowledge of Texas and knew Houston and Austin were large towns where there were more opportunities to gain employment. If she could get enough money to pay for a train ticket, pay the hotel with a little left over for expenses she would be satisfied. Before living with Viola, she had been strong and stoic, but years of being told how useless and worthless she was had taken their toll, and she now had no confidence in herself.