The Bride Says No

by Cathy Maxwell

  And if she cried off, well, there would still be disapproval.

  The key to all of this was Ruary. If he came to her, then Aileen could have Blake and all would be happy, just like the ending to one of Shakespeare’s comedies.

  And that was how she wanted it to end—without her having to make a hard decision.

  She went down for dinner that evening but did not linger. Finally she saw what anyone not wrapped up in her own worries should have noticed: Blake and Aileen shared something very special.

  Aileen pretended to keep her distance from Blake, but it was futile. They made a handsome couple. They were both of the same age and shared similar temperaments. There was a courteousness between them, a caring that spoke volumes for their regard for each other.

  Aileen did try to corner her for a moment of conversation after dinner, but Tara was not in the mood. “I’m tired,” Tara claimed. “Perhaps in the morning we can talk.”

  “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” Aileen persisted, following Tara to the stairs.

  “But it has,” Tara countered.

  “Yes.”

  For a second, the two sisters took each other’s measure.

  “What happens next is your decision,” Aileen said. “I won’t push the matter if you choose to hold Blake to his promise.”

  “And why would you back away?” Tara wondered.

  Aileen shook her head as if recalling memories that were unpleasant. “I can’t go through another scandal, Tara. I won’t let that happen to Blake or to you. It’s too painful.”

  On the tip of Tara’s tongue was the admonishment that Aileen should have thought of that before she’d laid claim to Blake’s affections. But before she could let loose that barb, Aileen said, “I know what you must think. I have made terrible errors of judgment in my life. I’ve tried to live it for other people and do what was expected. You see where I am now.” She placed her hand on Tara’s arm. “You are my sister. I value and love you. I will not harm you. The decision is yours.”

  “And I’m to feel no pressure?”

  “There is pressure,” Aileen conceded. “I don’t want to give Blake up. I love him.”

  “I thought you’d decided that love is a myth,” Tara said, reminding her of the discussion they’d had when she’d first arrived home.

  “I know,” Aileen said. “And this is a devil of a fix.” She reached over and, placing her arm around Tara’s shoulders, gave her a squeeze.

  The gesture reminded Tara of the day her sister had left to go to London. Her sister. She’d worshipped her.

  And now that Aileen was asking for something, Tara didn’t know if she should give it. Or if she could. “Good night,” she murmured and started up the stairs, but Aileen stopped her.

  “If Mr. Jamerson does choose to marry Miss Sawyer, if he doesn’t come for you, what shall happen then?”

  The possibility was repugnant to Tara, and yet very real. “I don’t want to lose at love,” she confessed, then turned and ran up the stairs.

  Aileen watched her sister hurry to her room as if being chased by demons.

  Blake came up behind her. “How did it go?”

  “Not good.”

  “You had to do better with her than I did this afternoon. She’s had time to think about it.”

  Aileen turned to this man she loved. “Were you gentle with her?”

  He hesitated a moment, then said, “I was direct with her.”

  No wonder Tara was so quiet. “It is her decision to make,” Aileen insisted. “I will not impede a marriage between you.”

  “Don’t I have something to say about this?”

  She took two steps away from him, glancing down the hall to ensure they were alone. Of course it didn’t matter how much distance was between them, she could feel his presence and identify immediately the scent of his shaving soap. “I don’t want regrets,” she whispered.

  “You may be asking too much,” Blake answered.

  Aileen shook her head. “You think we can brazen this out. Perhaps you could . . . I couldn’t. I already have one reputation—”

  “A completely false one, and I shall shout it to the world.”

  Aileen smiled, knowing differently. “But what if we have children?”

  “They shall survive, as I did,” he said.

  “Funny, but I believe that saving your children from being outcasts was the reason you asked for Tara’s hand in the first place.”

  Now it was his turn to move away. “You changed me,” he said. “It is you I want to please. No one else but you. I love you.”

  His declaration caught her by surprise. She’d been waiting for it. Wanting it, expecting it, hoping for it. She knew how he felt, but hearing him say it was all she wanted. “And I love you, Blake, but this is so hard.”

  “Don’t make it so.” He took Aileen’s hands, raised them to his lips and kissed the back of her fingers. His breath was warm on her skin. “Whatever happens, we shall see it through. I am your protector.”

  “And I am yours,” she said. “I will not let any harm come to you.”

  “I can take care of myself.”

  She nodded. She knew differently.

  Doing what one wished always sounded easy until one had to pay the price.

  She went up to his room with him then. He held her in his arms and whispered vows that all would be well. He would see to it.

  Aileen listened, but she did not believe. And halfway through the night, unsettled while he slept peacefully, she rose from his bed and returned to her own. Her sheets were cold. They lacked the warmth and scent of his body.

  However, hers was a wise decision . . . because the next morning, a Sunday and the announcing of the third banns for Tara and Blake’s marriage, the gossip before the service was of Mr. Jamerson giving chase to Miss Sawyer as she left the valley on the Glasgow Mail.

  Had he caught her?

  They had their answer when her father stood up at the end of the service and announced his daughter had married. “She is now Mrs. Jamerson,” he said with a note of pride.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sitting in the church pew, Tara’s first inclination was to deny Mr. Sawyer’s announcement.

  Around her, heads nodded with approval. There were even smiles on faces.

  Tara sat very still, trying not to scream.

  Was this how Ruary had felt when she’d left him three years ago? As if he had been betrayed? Was this the way he was paying her back?

  If it was, it was remarkably effective.

  Aileen reached over and placed her hand over Tara’s. Her empathy at this moment was not welcome.

  And then people turned in their seats in her direction, looking at her. She was confused until she realized that Reverend Kinnion had just asked her and Blake to stand for their banns to be announced a third time.

  Blake didn’t move.

  Aileen had taken back her hand. She sat quiet. Composed. Tara wondered what she was thinking. She’d had fine words for her last night . . . but they had been meaningless. The truth was her sister had been finding love with Blake while Ruary had chosen another.

  Anger eased the overburdening pain of a broken heart.

  Nor did Tara feel she had any other choice than the decision she must make. In this moment, she hated the valley. She wished she had not come back here.

  London was where she belonged, and she could not return there disgraced. She would not allow anyone to ridicule her.

  She shot to her feet.

  She smiled with a confidence she did not feel.

  Slowly, Blake Stephens rose to stand beside her, and Tara knew Aileen had urged him to honor her decision. She could feel the tension in him. Hot tears stung Tara’s eyes. She opened them wide, willing herself not to show emotion.

  Reverend Kinnion smiled and read the banns. When he was done, Blake and Tara sat down together. She did not look at him. She knew he was angry. Well, she, too, was disappointed. They’d have to see their way around th
at. Many couples did. And what was disappointment when compared to pride?

  The rest of the service ended quickly.

  Tara rose, ready to leave. Aileen and Blake came to their feet as well. Their forward movement was blocked by the earl, who was charming two elderly ladies.

  Aileen turned to Blake and whispered, “Apparently the widow Bossley is not in favor.”

  Tara looked around the church and saw the sprightly widow standing off to one side, her expression both resentful and yearning as she watched the earl laughing and enjoying himself with others. Last week, she had basked in the earl’s attention.

  This week, he didn’t even cast a glance her way.

  Having lived with her father in London, Tara knew his ways. He’d enjoyed Mrs. Bossley, but he was done.

  Was that always the way between men and women? Tara was beginning to think so.

  The earl moved, and Aileen and Blake anxiously slipped around him and hurried off without a backward glance to Tara. They would probably put their heads together and discuss what to do next. Tara had no illusions. She would be the topic of their conversation. Blake would be just as happy to brush her off his hands like dust on a windowsill. Aileen would argue, and in the end she would win . . . because he loved her.

  Tara looked over her shoulder at the widow Bossley. She had friends around her now. Tara had no one.

  Her father finished his conversation and turned to her. “Shall we go, Daughter?”

  “Yes,” Tara agreed, moving out of the row of pews.

  The earl placed a hand on her elbow. “It’s good to be in the valley, but I can’t wait to return to the city.”

  Her sentiments exactly. “Do you believe it wise to raise Mrs. Bossley’s hopes the way you did?” The widow and her friends had already left. In fact, Tara and the earl were the last to make their way out of the nave.

  “Ah, now, Tara, Mrs. Bossley knows what she is about, and so do I. Don’t worry your pretty head about her. Say, did you notice Breccan Campbell sitting in the service?”

  Tara frowned. Her world was ending. Her heart was breaking and she was in the process of making an enemy of the man she was to marry. She hadn’t had time to notice who was coming to church.

  Fortunately, as usual, her father didn’t need an answer. “I tell you, I’m surprised the roof didn’t cave in on that devil’s head. You could see the shock on people’s faces. I’m certain there are Campbells who go to services, but I’d not thought to see Breccan there. He’s a big, ugly man, isn’t he? He has a good two stone on me and maybe four inches, but his hairy face—” He shivered his opinion. “The man needs a razor, although I doubt if it would help his looks.”

  Tara gave her father her back as she said something pleasant to Reverend Kinnion, who was standing by the door.

  “Less than a few days until your ceremony,” the reverend reminded her with a smile. “I imagine you are anxious with excitement.”

  “I’m looking forward to it,” Tara answered, forcing a smile.

  Her father stepped up to repeat his comments about Breccan Campbell alarming the Almighty by his appearance in church. “You know how some lads are about the Campbells,” the earl said. “We’re lucky they didn’t spit on the floor in his direction.” Tara didn’t linger to hear the clergyman’s response.

  Instead, she scanned the churchyard for sign of Aileen and Blake. They stood by the coach as if waiting for the earl and her. They were obviously in deep discussion. Blake was arguing for something, and Aileen was shaking her head no.

  Tara realized she’d best stake her claim on Blake before he convinced Aileen otherwise. She needed to walk over and interrupt them. She set off with that purpose but was waylaid by her cousin Sabrina. They did not know each other well. Sabrina was her sister’s age and often annoyed Tara by treating her as if she was a child, but they were friendly enough.

  “Well, you needn’t worry about gossip any longer,” Sabrina said. “Not now that Mr. Jamerson has made his choice.”

  Tara felt her feet root to the ground. She frowned at her cousin, pretending not to understand. “What are you talking about?”

  “The rumors about you and the horse master.”

  “What rumors?”

  “The ones that made Jane Sawyer shut him out. He made a good choice. I like Miss Sawyer.”

  “Whereas you don’t always like me?” Tara challenged, discovering herself ready for a fight.

  Sabrina smiled evenly. “No, I don’t dislike you, Tara, but you are selfish. I understand why. If I had your looks and your father with his own special type of benign neglect, I might behave the same. It is probably not entirely your fault.”

  “Why, thank you, Sabrina. How kind of you,” Tara replied, sarcasm in her words. She started walking toward the coach, but her cousin was not done. She reached for Tara’s arm, catching her attention.

  “You have an opportunity,” Sabrina said, “to become a good person. I’m glad you didn’t destroy the regard Miss Sawyer and Mr. Jamerson had for each other. It would have been sad if you had.”

  “And what of me, Sabrina? Aren’t I entitled to happiness? Or is my face such a curse you would wish the very worst on me?”

  “I don’t wish that, Tara. I’m hoping you have a meaningful life. The kind that understands you don’t have the right to take another woman’s man just because you have the ability.”

  For a moment, Tara wasn’t certain if Sabrina referred to Miss Sawyer and Ruary or to Aileen and Blake. “Did Aileen tell you about Ruary and me?”

  “Your sister is loyal to you. But are you so naive that you think you can meet Mr. Jamerson, a man of a lower social order, for trysts and no one will notice? Or that you can ride aimlessly around Aberfeldy and it will not cause comment?” Sabrina leaned closer. “If so, you should be wiser, Tara.”

  “I loved him.” Tara said the words, but the excuse was beginning to sound hollow.

  “He wasn’t yours, lass. And let me tell you something else that might surprise you. Looks don’t last forever. Men are different, especially if a man has a title. He can be a fool and thrive.” She nodded at Tara’s father as she said this. He was laughing loudly with two other men. Probably telling them his weak jest about Breccan Campbell in church.

  “But we women,” Sabrina continued, “we have to rely on each other. We need friends, people who will stand behind us when things are not good.”

  “I have friends.”

  “No, you don’t. Not here, not after the whispers about your chasing Mr. Jamerson. And I doubt the debutantes in London have shed a tear at your absence. You are alone, save for your one staunch supporter—your sister.”

  “You think she’s perfect,” Tara said, letting her anger show in her voice.

  “None of us are that.”

  For a second, Tara was tempted to denounce Aileen and Blake. Then Sabrina might understand Tara’s side of the story.

  At the same time, Sabrina’s words had pierced Tara deeply. She had never thought of herself as being disliked. She’d never worried about it. There were women who were jealous of her, but they didn’t dislike her . . . did they?

  In some ways, she realized, she was a bit obtuse, like the earl. And few people liked him.

  The thought did not rest easy with her. However, when Tara felt threatened, she backed away, which was what she did now.

  Her cousin watched her, a slightly superior smile on her face. Tara would adore the opportunity to wipe it off her—except Sabrina might have been right. Tara turned and walked away.

  Aileen and Blake had apparently settled the argument they’d had. They were already in the coach, sitting so that they faced each other.

  Simon helped Tara into the vehicle. She hesitated a moment, then chose to sit by her sister.

  There was a moment of quiet, then Aileen said, “You two must marry.”

  Blake looked out the window at nothing.

  Tara sat very still. She had no answer. None at all.

  Chapter Eigh
teen

  Aileen returned to Blake’s bed. She could only stay away from him for one night. She’d promised herself that she’d give him up and prayed that she could.

  Then again, they didn’t have much time left to be together, a fact borne home as guests began arriving for the wedding the very next day.

  There would not be many. A few of Blake’s friends made the journey and took up residence in the Kenmore Inn. Of course they expected Blake to join them in drunken revelry. He did but returned to Aileen at an early hour each evening. They thought he left them to see Tara and teased him unmercifully.

  “I let them think as they wish,” he told Aileen as he slid into bed beside her.

  “I understand,” she murmured, snuggling up to his body heat. His valet, Jones, knew she was there, and perhaps Tara did as well. Aileen believed the other servants were not aware of where she spent her night. “However, their disappointment is expected,” she said. “They have come a good distance for your company.”

  “Aileen, I don’t have that kind of time to waste. Not when I want to be here with you.” He pressed his lips against her temple. “You must let me cry off the wedding—”

  She cut his words off by placing her fingers over his lips. “I won’t.” The words physically hurt her to say. “I love you to the depths of my being. I’d want nothing more than to be with you forever. And we’d be happy for a while, Blake. Yes, we would. Of course, we couldn’t live here. Even the people of the Tay Valley have a limit to their goodwill. Betraying my sister by stealing her man would make them wipe their hands of me for good. And certainly London would not welcome us, except as a curiosity. Even your friends would find it difficult to recognize us.”

  “There are other places.”

  “Where?” Aileen asked, raising up on one elbow and resting her other arm on his chest so that she could look into his eyes. “Manchester? York, Bath, Aberdeen? Do you believe we could escape such an infamous story?”

  “Amsterdam?”

  “New York? The Indies? The world can be a small place for gossip. And I won’t live that way, Blake. I also wouldn’t want to bring children into that sort of world. You know yourself the weight of a parent’s mistakes.”