Her sister’s hand touched her shoulder.
“I know how much he’s hurt you with his lies,” Evvie whispered. “You have a right to hate him. To hate him with all your being.”
Lissa remained silent, not moving, not crying.
Evvie continued gently, “But that doesn’t change the problem, does it? For you don’t hate him. And that’s what’s tearing you up inside.”
“I do hate him,” Lissa countered furiously.
“You don’t. You love him. You always have.”
“And now look how I must pay for it!” At the breaking point, she wiped one tear from her cheek. She vowed there would be no more. “Because I dared love him, I’m being betrayed in the most cruel of manners. And there is nothing I can do about it.”
“There is something you can do.” Evvie clasped her hand. She paused and then said what seemed to be foremost on her mind. “My dear Lissa, I love you as I will never love another. You’ve done so much for me and though you’ve wanted me to believe that it’s been easy, I know it has not been. It doesn’t take eyessight to see what is going on around you. In fact, I knew you’d sold Mother’s pearls long ago.”
“I didn’t want to lie about them, it’s just—” Lissa began, but Evvie stopped her.
“It’s just that you wanted me protected. And that has made me love you more.” She tightened her grasp. “Lissa, you must know I would rather God take away my hearing, my taste, and my touch too than ever want to see you hurt. My heart is breaking alongside of yours in this treachery. And it would break completely if I could just believe that Holland is right. But you see, though my mind says Holland is right, my heart says something different. My heart sees Ivan as half a man—a man who needs love to be made whole; a man whose only happiness can be found at your side. And in my heart,” Evvie pleaded, “I believe that man will indeed show up at the church this afternoon.”
“How I want to believe you,” Lissa said desperately, “but as we’ve found out, Ivan is the master of deceit!”
“But you’ve seen this man I’ve spoken of! This horribly neglected and unloved figure!” Evvie cried out. She grabbed her sister’s arms and forced Lissa to look at her. “You know him better than I! You’ve loved him! What does your heart say?”
Lissa broke down with heart-wrenching sobs. In defeat, she cried, “My heart says he will be there, but my heart is wrong!”
Evvie went to the bed and from one of the gold boxes produced an exquisite bridal gown the color of candlelight. She pressed it into her sister’s arms and said, “You have no choice then, my dearest sister. You must follow your heart.”
Never was there a more reluctant bride.
When Lissa ceased her weeping, she mechanically began to dress, even though she still was not sure she could go through with it. She knew Evvie was right, that in her heart she believed Ivan’s words and that he did truly love her. They both had done things to each other that needed forgiving. Yet still her mind screamed that he wouldn’t show. If he’d planned revenge, he had conceived it brilliantly.
Once in her wedding attire, she had never looked more beautiful, nor felt more wretched. The cost of the dress alone had to have equaled a lifetime of pay for most English citizens. Her bridal gown was made of creamy silk velvet with a detachable velvet train that rode from her shoulders. Honiton lace made up the veil and poufs of the same lace decorated the skirt. The bodice ended in a deep point in back and front and the shoulders were decorated with satin ribbons and fresh pink rosebuds that Evvie, though sightless, still skillfully pinned on. As was the custom, festoons of the same rosebuds were pinned to the front of her skirt and a rosebud wreath circled the top of her head. She, of course, carried no bouquet of posies, for traditionally that was for Ivan to give her after they were married. Now, as she looked down at her empty hands, she practically wept again. Chances were they would never hold his flowers.
Just as she wiped away a stray tear Holland appeared at her doorway. His face was quite grim, but he warmed at the hauntingly poignant picture she made in her bridal gown. She could see in his eyes that he was afraid for her, but it seemed he was more resigned now. She wondered how Evvie had managed to convince him.
“George is at the church,” he finally said.
“Did—did he have a good trip up from Eton?” Lissa asked, feeling awkward in her attire, and worse, horribly afraid.
“He seemed excited . . .”
“I see.” Depressed, Lissa sat gingerly at the window seat. Tearily she mused out loud, “Perhaps we shouldn’t have summoned him. This may prove to be a terrible mistake. I mean, what a terrible thing for an impressionable boy to experience—”
“Evvie was adamant that George not miss his sister’s wedding. For some reason, she is utterly convinced Ivan will show. So we don’t have much choice now, except to have faith in her intuition.”
“Yes,” she whispered disconsolately.
“Are you ready?”
She looked up. Again her crystalline blue eyes clouded with tears. “I’ll never be ready.” She then gathered her train and allowed Holland to take her to the waiting carriage.
For miles, it seemed, carriages were lined along the Nodding Knoll Road all the way to the church that sat in the middle of town. The day was brilliantly sunny, but the sunshine seemed like a mockery, especially as it cast through the windows and onto the silent, grim faces in the carriage.
It was all Lissa could do not to bolt. Though she wished and prayed during the short ride to the church that Ivan would show, she was utterly sure he would not. There was a part of Ivan that was tender and good, a part of him she was sure she had reached more than once. But there was another part of him that was hard and terrifyingly cold, and that was the part of him she was sure would win out. He would not be there. In all probability, he now was most likely sitting anonymously in a pub in Cullenbury, waiting with glee for the first gossip that the Marquis of Powerscourt had stood up his bride.
With that thought, the panic began to rise to her throat and she shot a glance at the door. If she got out now, she thought, no one might ever know she had taken the marquis’s proposal seriously. There would be gossip, surely, but if she never showed, no one would ever know how badly she was hurt, nor how much she had loved him.
Not even considering the consequences, she reached for the door handle. She meant to leap out and run back to Violet Croft, even if she left her train in the road. But suddenly she was stopped. Holland’s hand reached out and pulled her back. Wild-eyed, she pleaded with him to let her go, but he shook his head. “It’s too late to run. We’re almost at the church,” he told her flatly.
“No!No! Turn this carriage around! I can’t go through with it! I can’t!” She again tried for the handle but before she could reach it the carriage lurched to a stop. In horror, she looked up and found they were at the church. Everyone was inside except the minister and his acolytes. Upon the bride’s arrival, they too disappeared into the church, leaving only the Powerscourt footmen there to usher in the bridal party.
“I cannot do this,” she whispered, hearing the organ music begin. When the first notes to Bach’s ‘Jesu, Joy of Man’s Desiring’ drifted out the doors, an overwhelming panic seized her. In her bridal attire, she felt like a white dove trapped in a cage. All she wanted was out.
“Turn around! Go!” She looked straight at Holland. “He’s not here! Do you see his carriage?”
“That doesn’t necessarily mean he isn’t here. He could have ordered the carriage out of the way until after the ceremony.”
Gently Evvie leaned toward her sister. Shaking, Lissa clutched at her and said, “Please, Evvie, he’s not here. We must return home!”
Evvie extracted herself from her sister’s grasp. “I have to go in first. So I’m going now.” Evvie somehow found Lissa’s face and gave her a warm kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Lissa, and though I haven’t the sight to see you, I know you are a lovely bride. If Ivan does not show, he should be taken out a
nd executed.”
Then Evvie allowed Holland to help her from the carriage. A liveried footman attended to her and, in seconds, she disappeared into the church.
“Holland, oh, Holland, please don’t make me do this! He isn’t there, I know it. I know it!” Suddenly she began to cry. She couldn’t go through with this. She would never be the same if she went into that church and found an empty altar. It would destroy her. She would have nothing to live for ever again. Her days would become as dark and bleak as the moors in the winter. She would rather God take her life now than force her inside that wretched church.
Moved, Holland pulled her to his chest and comforted her as best he could without harming all her finery. He whispered, “Hush, hush,” until she finally quieted. When they parted, he handed her his handkerchief and she wiped her tear-reddened eyes.
“He doesn’t deserve you, Lissa. But you want him. So if there’s a God in heaven, he is standing in that church right now.”
“I’m very much afraid he’s not.” Through her tears, she gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, but this is utterly wicked revenge, don’t you agree? I do think Ivan’s quite a genius. It’s almost hard not to admire him.”
He smiled softly. “Evvie has not come back. Perhaps that is a good sign.”
“Yes,” she said, trying to forget her sister was blind and could not see whether Ivan was there or not. Defeated, she took Holland’s arm. “Perhaps that does mean he’s here.”
He helped her from the carriage and the footman spread her train out behind her. Almost blind with anguish, she took her first few steps up the marble stairs. They reached the church vestibule while the music swelled, and there a sea of faces met her. In the crowd she saw the Bishops and Arabella Parks and her mother. Lady Antonia was there, sitting on the groom’s side of the church. Honoria and Adele were there too, sitting on either side of their father. Even J. Albert was there with his mother, not brave enough to have scorned the marquis and not shown up. Last, to her surprise, Mrs. Myers sat with old Widow Tannahill.
Terrified, her eyes lifted to the front. In the first pew, Evvie sat with George, who looked positively dazzled by the sight of his beautiful sister. But nowhere did she see Ivan.
Unable to stop herself, she felt her legs begin to buckle beneath her. He had not shown.He had not shown. The trick had been played, the revenge completed.
Holland supported her and kept her standing but suddenly she didn’t care. Her heart was shattered. The enormity of the situation was upon her but she couldn’t feel anything except anguish and regret. With sudden and ferocious clarity, she knew that without Ivan, her life was over. Her future was now only a living hell to endure until she was blessed with the reprieve of death.
“Look up, Lissa,” she hearg Holland whisper. She turned her eyes to him, then followed his gaze. The door to the parsonage opened and Lord Kovel appeared. She almost half expected him to make the announcement that Ivan was not to show, but he didn’t say a word. He merely stepped aside and let the marquis precede him into the church.
Her hands moved to her lips and she muffled her sob of relief. She could hardly believe it was true as she watched Ivan and Kovel move to the front of the minister. When they were in their respective positions, they turned to face the bride. Her gaze met with Ivan’s and suddenly there was no one in the church but the two of them.
He had come. Relief and joy swept her brow. All that he had said to her was true. There were no more lies. The past had been played out. Though she hardly dared to believe it, it seemed that finally their fates were to entwine as she had always prayed they would—in contentment and love.
She wiped her cheek and found it damp. She was crying, yet this time it was not from anguish. She had never felt so utterly happy as when she looked at her bridegroom. And when she saw how he looked at his bride.
Ivan’s eyes gleamed with admiration of her in her finery. But there was another emotion in them as well, one that she had seen before, yet had never quite understood —until this very moment. With tears streaming down her face, she glanced down at her engagement ring still on her hand. “Love me” it asked, as he was asking now. She smiled through her weeping and without doubt or fear, silently answered, “I will.” She looked up and saw that he held out his hand for her. When Holland began their walk down the aisle, it was all she could do not to run shamelessly into her love’s arms.
. . .Oh my soul, so may thyface be by me when I close mylife indeed; so may I, when realities are melting from me likethe shadows which I now dismiss, still find thee nearme . . .
David Copperfield to Agnes,
Charles Dickens
MEAGAN MCKINNEY began writing fiction while studying for her degree in Biology at Columbia University. Her first historical romance, NO CHOICE BUT SURRENDER, won the 1987Romantic Times Reviewer’s Choice Award for Best Historical Romance by a New Author. MY WICKED ENCHANTRESS, her second historical romance, was named a finalist in the Romance Writers of America’s Golden Medallion competition for Best Historical Romance of 1988. She lives in an old Victorian home in uptown New Orleans with her husband and numerous adopted stray animals, and is currently working on her next historical romance for Dell.
When Angels Fall Page 37
