The Bride Says No

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You must. The man has obviously traveled here to see you, and the truth is, you do owe him an apology.”

  “What will I say?”

  “You will say that you regret you have changed your mind and you cannot marry him.”

  “Do I mention Ruary?”

  “I wouldn’t, but you should inform Mr. Stephens,” Aileen continued, warming to the idea, “that you have decided you will only marry for love. That will reinforce my position with our mutual sire.” Oh, yes, she could not wait to deliver this blow to the earl. His creditors were probably breathing down his neck. They usually were. But the day had come for his daughters to say, Enough.

  “We shall then see what this Mr. Stephens is made of,” Aileen observed. “If he deeply cares for you, then he will protest his loving concern—”

  Tara snorted her doubts.

  “If he doesn’t, then he should see that the two of you are not a match,” Aileen finished. “After all, marriage is not easy. A woman loses so much. She must be clear-eyed.”

  “Yes, clear-eyed,” Tara echoed. “And that is what I am. I love Ruary. I will not settle for anyone else. I’d rather be alone.”

  Aileen doubted her sister’s resolve. Living alone was not easy. However, now was not the time to quibble. “Good. Then let us go tell Father.” Since that day almost six years ago when a frightened Aileen had run to her parent for help and had been rebuffed, she’d not used that term of affection. And there was no respect in her voice when she used it now.

  She started for the house. This time, Tara hurried to fall in step beside her. They walked together as sisters should. In spite of the distance of age and the passing of time, the bond between them was strong. Together they could battle dragons.

  They entered the house.

  “Where is the earl?” Aileen asked Ingold, who had been in a conversation with Mrs. Watson while servants dashed around to respond to their master’s sudden arrival.

  “His lordship is in the library with his guest.” Ingold emphasized the last word as if to warn the sisters what they would face. He was no fool. Aileen was certain he’d known from the moment Tara had arrived dressed as a lad that something was up.

  “Thank you,” Aileen murmured and set off for the library, located down the hall across from the family sitting room.

  Tara’s step started to slow, but Aileen took her hand. “You have done nothing wrong,” she whispered.

  “Just jilted my intended and masqueraded as a boy all over the countryside,” Tara answered.

  “Masquerading is not murder. Jilting is not mayhem,” Aileen replied, wanting to put the issue in perspective. “A woman has a right to change her mind.”

  “Not if she is one of Father’s daughters.”

  “Then we are starting a new tradition,” Aileen answered. “Besides, if anyone should understand the capricious nature of women, it is a man who has had two wives and is renowned for the pursuit of women in all shapes and sizes.” She rapped smartly on the library door.

  “Come in,” was their father’s gruff response.

  Aileen had forgotten the sound of his voice. She’d put it out of her mind. Since Tara made no move to open the door, Aileen reached past her and turned the handle. She gave the door a small push and it slowly swung open.

  Annefield’s library was Aileen’s favorite room, and she was accustomed to using it as her own. An ornately carved walnut desk dating back to the Reformation sat in front of the window so its occupant could take advantage of the light. Her great-grandfather Darius Davidson had been a great collector of books, and the shelves lining one whole wall were filled with tomes on botany, history and ancient classics.

  Aileen had seen to the arrangement of furniture before the marble hearth—large, upholstered chairs with goose down pillows. Her own mother had picked them out. The best was a red and gold brocade with a deep seat and cushioned arms. Aileen had spent many an evening before a fire enjoying a good book in that chair, her feet resting upon a wooden footstool.

  She’d added a table in the center of the grouping so she always had a place to set a tray or a glass of sherry, and she’d instructed the servants to always keep a vase of fresh flowers from the summer garden on the table. She liked this feminine touch to such a masculine room.

  Mr. Stephens sat in Aileen’s favorite chair.

  From afar he had appeared tall.

  Now he seemed almost gigantic; not only did his figure fill the chair but his presence commanded the entire room as well.

  He did not rise for them, as would have been proper. Instead, he seemed to settle deeper into the chair, his long legs, encased in well-cut breeches and highly polished boots, stretched out in front of him. He held an empty glass in the hand of the arm resting over the side of the chair, and his hard jaw spoke louder than words that he wished to be anywhere but where he was right here, in this moment.

  He was also one of the most intriguingly handsome men Aileen had ever laid eyes on.

  She had assumed Blake Stephens would be good looking. His reputation as a marriage catch and Tara’s interest in him had preordained that would be true.

  But what Aileen had not anticipated, what she was not prepared for, was her reaction to Mr. Stephens.

  She lived in a country known for brawny, masculine men. She’d come to expect broad shoulders and well-formed legs. They were everywhere.

  What she hadn’t expected was for Mr. Stephens to have these qualities and more. His face was interesting. His nose was slightly crooked, as if it had been broken, and there were laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and cynical ones around his mouth.

  He also didn’t strike Aileen as the sort who could be forced into anything he didn’t want to do. He appeared full of pride, with an almost defiant sense of his own self-worth, and he seemed far from heartbroken.

  Oh, no, he had the air of a tiger, an angry one.

  Now she understood Tara’s reluctance to confront him.

  The earl stood by the liquor cabinet—of course.

  He had apparently just finished a dram and was ready to pour himself another from one of the five decanters kept there along with glassware, always ready and waiting for the moment that he should deign to make an appearance at Annefield.

  The earl of Tay had once cut an imposing figure. He was a rapier-thin man. From him, Aileen had received her height, and Tara could claim his coloring. His once flaming red hair had long ago vanished. It now resembled the color of a mouse pelt, and he combed it forward to hide his receding hairline.

  He’d aged since Aileen had seen him last. His paunch was more pronounced, the lines of his face more self-satisfied. And yet, there was still an air of masculine vigor around him.

  Tara had not moved since the door opened. Aileen gave her a wee nudge in the back. Her sister took a step forward.

  Aileen nudged again.

  Another step, and then another. They were fully in the room. Tara in front and Aileen standing staunchly behind her, ready, and so willing, to leap forward and protect her.

  “So, you’ve decided to present yourself,” their father said in his booming voice, ignoring Aileen and directing his sneering comment to Tara. He had a mild accent, an Anglicized one. Aileen had once tried to tone hers down as well. Now she happily embraced it, proud of its soft, musical lilt.

  Tara stood silent, her expression tight. Aileen wished her sister was bolder, but she could forgive her. It was hard to face their father when he was angry. Displeasure always made him unpredictable.

  Aileen felt herself bristle. She was ready for battle, but before she could speak, Tara turned to her intended.

  “Hello, Mr. Stephens.” She sounded very young, defenseless.

  He didn’t speak. If he had truly been a tiger, his tail would have twitched his response—and Aileen decided she did not like him.

  In fact, this whole interview was a bad idea. Tara wasn’t ready for confrontation yet, so Aileen took her arm. “Mr. Stephens is apparently suffering from a
lack of manners. Come, Tara. Let us not linger here.”

  Mr. Stephens did not like that, not one bit. Outrage lit his eyes, and Aileen couldn’t help but smile. If she’d learned one thing while she’d been married, it was how to tweak a man’s nose.

  But Tara shook her arm off. She took a step forward. “I owe you an apology, sir.” Her voice trembled slightly, but it was filled with determination. “I’m sorry that I treated you with such disregard.”

  Mr. Stephens did not move. He sat still, too still. Aileen wanted him to say something, to respond to her sister’s very pretty apology in the way a gentleman should, but that undercurrent of anger was all around him.

  Their father spoke. “You did make a muddle of this wedding, Tara. And a sorry one it is. However, I have saved the day.”

  Tara turned to him. “Saved the day?”

  The earl capped the whisky decanter and raised his glass as if celebrating his cleverness. “There will be a wedding. I learned of your leaving in time to send word that the breakfast would be cancelled since you decided you wished a Highland wedding surrounded by family.” He didn’t wait for a response but plunged ahead, announcing, “And so we shall have the wedding here in Kenmore.” He referred to the village a short distance away. “We will be right and proper, with the banns and all.”

  Tara frowned, as if she wasn’t certain she understood. “We are still to marry?”

  Their father walked up to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. “Aye. Stephens has agreed.” His voice lowered as he said, “You are very lucky, daughter. Your rash actions have made matters very difficult. We are fortunate for Stephens’s good humor. Another man would have shamed you, but he is forgiving.”

  Aileen slid a suspicious look at Mr. Stephens. His shoulders had stiffened with the earl’s announcement. She wondered what the true reason was for his agreeing to this marriage.

  “Consequently,” the earl was saying with his air of pompous importance, “in London, they aren’t discussing your reckless behavior and your ruin but how charming it is that a bride wishes to properly celebrate the sacrament of marriage. Of course, I went to considerable trouble to make these changes. You understand how difficult it was?”

  Tara nodded.

  Mr. Stephens studied the cold hearth. Aileen could not divine what he was thinking, but he did not act like a man anxious to marry.

  And here it was—the hypocrisy. The same nonsense that had led to her disastrous marriage to Geoff and all the other foolish decisions she’d made after that event.

  Someone had to speak the truth. Aileen appointed herself. “This is rubbish.”

  The earl pivoted on his heel, scowling his first acknowledgement of her presence since she’d entered the room. “Your opinion is not necessary.”

  “But Tara’s is,” Aileen coolly shot back, “and she does not want to marry Mr. Stephens. Look at what she has done to escape him, and then you bring him to her? Perhaps instead of plotting a way to save your face in society, you should be asking yourself why your daughter ran from her own wedding, especially at considerable danger to herself.”

  Mr. Stephens snapped his head round to glare at Aileen. Brown, she registered. His eyes were brown, and they burned with outrage.

  Well, she, too, was angry. “You don’t know what cruelties men are capable of,” she informed the earl. “You have no idea what hell it is to live in a loveless marriage.”

  “Cruelties? Loveless?” the earl repeated. “A man can’t be cruel to his wife. She’s his. He owns her. And people of our class don’t give a care about love. We marry for alliances.” He took a sip of his whisky, saying, “It is the way things are done.”

  Aileen was tempted to hoot like a dairymaid over that comment. “The way things are done? Perhaps in the days when we warred against the Campbells and other clans, but those times are past. And there was never a need for an alliance with the English. We detested them. Oh, I beg pardon. Since you spend all of your time in London, you have probably forgotten your Scottish pride.”

  The whisky glass literally shook in the earl’s hand. Aileen doubted if anyone had ever spoken to him in such a high-handed manner before, and she was proud of herself even as she prepared for the bite of his tongue.

  However, his response was to give her his back. He focused on Tara, his voice fatherly, cajoling. “What if Mr. Stephens had bolted? And left you to stand humiliated in London?”

  Tara bowed her head.

  “Not a pleasant thought, is it?” the earl said. “But Stephens is here because I have explained to him that sometimes young women are not aware of what is in their best interest.”

  “Oh, you are clever,” Aileen said. “You know exactly how to play on a daughter’s guilt. For the first time I realize how neatly you manipulated me into marrying Geoff. How you said the right words to make me do your bidding.”

  The earl practically roared his rage. He whirled to face Aileen. “This is not about you and Geoff. I’m telling the girl she must do what she promised—”

  “What you promised—” Aileen charged, taking a step toward him. “You are selling her into marriage. She’ll not see a penny of the bride’s price Mr. Stephens is paying—”

  “This is not your concern.”

  “Of course it is. She is my sister.”

  The earl moved forward. “And my daughter to do with as I please.”

  Aileen doubled her fists. She wanted to punch him. “She has her own mind. Her own will. You do not own her—”

  “I gave her life—”

  “I will marry Mr. Stephens.” Tara’s quiet words had the power to slice through the argument, severing it.

  Both Aileen and her father turned in surprise.

  Mr. Stephens didn’t move. He didn’t so much as blink an eye.

  Aileen found her voice first. “No, you mustn’t marry him.” What of love? Aileen wanted to ask. What of all you have done for another man?

  But before Aileen could give voice to her questions, Tara moved to stand before Mr. Stephens. “I have been dishonorable, sir.” Her voice was stronger than it had been before, and it was now filled with resolve. “It is as my father said. The idea of marriage and all that it entailed is . . . was”—she paused as if overcome with maidenly modesty—“overwhelming. I should have discussed my fears with my father. But now that I am with my sister, they are in the past. And I am deeply grateful that you, Mr. Stephens, are willing to marry me. The idea of a Highland wedding pleases me very much.” She released her breath and waited, as if she expected a response.

  Mr. Stephens watched her with his dark eyes and said nothing. No hint of what he was thinking could be seen in even the tiniest detail of his expression.

  Right then, Aileen understood why Tara should reject him. A man who kept such close counsel would drive her mad.

  It seemed to annoy Tara as well. Her chin came up. “Well, Blake? Have you nothing to say? I’ve apologized. I was wrong. Foolish, even. But I wish to make amends.”

  “Yes, she does,” the earl chimed, coming to his youngest’s side. “She’s a bit feather-brained, Stephens. You know how women are. But she is a tidy bit, no?”

  Aileen felt her stomach lurch. “Why don’t you show him Tara’s teeth while you are auctioning her off?” she dared to say. “And don’t forget her bloodlines. They always help sell a mare.”

  The earl raised his glass as if he would throw it at Aileen. “Do you wish her ruined? Are you so miserable that you relish company?”

  His accusation stung. Was she meddling more than she should? And what were her honest motives?

  Guilt, fear, and, yes, a touch of jealousy shot through Aileen. She did want what was best for Tara, but the fact that Aileen could see the many pitfalls ahead did not give her the right to interfere. The only person who could stop this farce at this point was the silent, brooding Mr. Stephens.

  The earl, too, wished to know what his guest thought. “Come, Stephens. Speak up. My daughter is the catch of the season. You are
already the envy of every man in London. Don’t make a muck of it.”

  Those last words seemed to rouse Mr. Stephens from his sullen contemplation.

  “I came here to marry.” His voice was deep, a touch raspy, distinctive. “Let us be done with the bloody business.”

  “That’s charming,” Aileen couldn’t keep from saying, earning a growled warning from her parent.

  But Tara was grateful. “Thank you, sir. We shall do well together. I promise we shall.” The color had returned to her cheeks, and her smile was blinding.

  The earl set down his glass and clapped his hands together, his good humor restored. “Splendid, splendid. Come, Tara, my girl. We need to tell Ingold and Mrs. Watson to expect guests for the wedding breakfast. Prinny won’t be here. It will be a smaller affair than we would have had in London, but there are a hundred details you will need to see to for this to be right. Mind you, Penevey will attend. He assured me he would himself if I could make this marriage happen.”

  “The duke knows what happened?” Tara asked, concerned, as the earl took her arm and steered her to the door.

  “How do you believe I convinced Stephens to come with me?” the earl answered as he walked her out of the library . . . leaving Aileen alone in the room with the tiger.

  Chapter Five

  Blake Stephens, the oldest of the duke of Penevey’s four sons, albeit his only illegitimate one, seethed with fury.

  His pride had made him a fool. A trapped one.

  The moment Lady Tara had accepted his marriage offer, he’d known he’d made a mistake.

  He didn’t want to be married. He liked being a bachelor. He wallowed in his freedom. He had his mates, a group of the finest sportsmen in London, he had more money than he could imagine spending, and he’d had what mattered to him most—his father’s respect, or so he had thought.

  Penevey had wanted Blake to marry the Davidson chit. He’d advised Blake that it was time for him to be respectably settled and the marriage would be a good one for any children that might come of it.

  Children had been the right argument for Blake. He planned to have them someday, and he didn’t want them to suffer from the shame of his dubious parentage or the vicious teasing he had received in school. It had not been easy being Penevey’s bastard. Blake had earned the respect of his peers, but he’d had to constantly prove himself. They had tested him hard. Meanwhile, his younger half brother Arthur, the duke’s legitimate heir, was accepted everywhere in spite of being a horse’s ass.