The Bride Says No

by Cathy Maxwell

  “Aileen, you look lovely,” Tara said when she came off the last step.

  “You are a beautiful bride,” Aileen answered and meant the words. “You outshine all of us.”

  Indeed, there was no way Aileen could ever compete with her sister, although she had tried to look her best. She wore a dress of layers of soft green muslin. The gown was from her married days. Her hair was braided and fashioned into her usual knot at the nape of her neck. She wore a straw hat trimmed in green ribbons a shade darker than the dress.

  However, Blake would not notice her when confronted with the spectacular vision Tara made.

  And that was as it should be, she reminded herself.

  “We’d best be going,” Aileen said, shepherding her sister toward the coach. Tara seemed as if she was in no hurry but was rather enjoying the moment. She smiled and teased the stable lads, who blushed just looking at her.

  Then, piled into the coach and with a crack of the whip, they were off for Kenmore Kirk.

  They were surprised to see folks lined up on the road, hoping for a glimpse of Tara. She didn’t disappoint. She smiled and waved to everyone.

  “This is like London,” she said. “When we went to big events, there was always a crowd.”

  “Well, you will be back there soon,” Aileen said.

  Tara didn’t answer. Some children ran along the side of the coach, calling out, “My lady.” Aileen was surprised when Tara pulled out a small bag of halfpennies. “I always wanted to do this,” Tara said as she threw coins to them. “It is for good luck. Here, throw one.”

  Aileen did. The coin was caught by Hannah Menzies’s oldest son, a lad of twelve. “Let me have another one,” Aileen said, holding out her hand.

  “It’s fun, isn’t it?” Tara said, giving her sister two coins.

  “I feel like a princess,” Aileen answered, forgetting her sadness for a moment.

  Tara laughed.

  Too soon, they pulled up in front of the kirk. Reverend Kinnion waited at the door for them. The marquis of Tynsford and two of Blake’s friends who had come from London, Lord Gibbons and Mr. Markwell, lingered in the yard talking amongst themselves. Presumably Blake, the earl and the duke waited inside.

  At the sight of the coach, the gentlemen came forward. “I imagine they are hoping to catch sight of you before Blake does,” Aileen suggested.

  Tara shrugged.

  The coach came to a halt. Simon jumped down from the box and proudly opened the door for them. Across the road, in front of the inn, another small group of people had gathered, hoping to catch sight of Tara.

  Simon helped Aileen out. She shook out her skirts as Tara exited the coach.

  The reaction of the men waiting for her appearance was all any woman could wish. Tynsford’s jaw actually dropped. Mr. Markwell nudged Lord Gibbons out of the way and offered her his arm.

  Tara waved him away. “I’m with my sister,” she said. “You gentlemen go join the others so I can make a proper appearance.”

  “Lady Tara, any way you wish to make an appearance would be more than proper,” the marquis opined.

  It was an awkward compliment. A bit silly. After a few days with Tynsford, Aileen could understand why Blake thought himself so much better than this half brother. Arthur was a thin man, with arms that seemed too long for him, much like his father’s. Blake definitely had a better physique.

  “Go on,” Tara chided him, waving them on with the hand holding her prayer book. “Go inside.”

  The men reluctantly did as she ordered.

  Tara watched them disappear into the church before she faced Aileen. “Now, I want you to walk in with me. We shall go up the aisle together.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it is what I wish,” Tara said. She didn’t give Aileen time to argue but took her arm and directed her toward Reverend Kinnion.

  “Are you ready, my lady?” he said, smiling with appreciation at Tara.

  “I am, sir.”

  “Then let us be about it. Follow me.” He pivoted on his heel and led them into the church, his head high, in keeping with the importance of his office. It wasn’t often one of the local gentry married, and he was the sort of man who would make the most of the occasion.

  Aileen would much rather have sat in the back or in the family pew by the earl, who, to her surprise, was asleep and snoring softly. He must have enjoyed himself too well the night before.

  Tara’s hold on her arm was tight. Perhaps Tara needed her emotional support. The moment reminded Aileen of when Tara was little and had been frightened of crowds. She’d always clung to Aileen’s arm.

  Blake waited at the front of the church. He wore formal clothes, including his detested pumps, and had combed his hair back in a severe style. His gaze was not on Tara but on Aileen.

  Aileen swallowed hard, struggling to keep her composure. She loved this man so much. She prayed Tara would be a good wife to him. She knew that if he was hers, she would devote everything she had to him.

  As Reverend Kinnion reached Blake, he turned and motioned that all present should rise. There were not many people to serve as witnesses. Marriage ceremonies were intimate gatherings. The wedding feast was where guests joined in celebrating. Aileen was certain many were already arriving at Annefield. They might even start the drinking before the ceremony was finished.

  Aileen and Tara stopped in front of Reverend Kinnion. Blake stepped to Tara’s other side. Aileen started to pull away, but Tara tightened her hold.

  Reverend Kinnion frowned. Aileen’s presence in front of the altar was unusual. But since Tara would not let her go, he began. “We are here today to join one woman and one man in the sacrament of holy matrimony . . .”

  As the reverend opened his prayer book and set about his business, Tara knew the time had come.

  There had been a moment when she’d had doubts over whether or not she could see this through. But then she’d seen how Blake had looked at Aileen coming up the aisle, and her reservations had vanished.

  “Wait,” she said, interrupting Reverend Kinnion. “I wish to make a change to our marriage vows.”

  “A change?” Reverend Kinnion echoed. He held up his prayer book. “There is no change to this book.”

  “No, the change is to the people who are marrying,” Tara said, a comment that caused a great deal of surprise. She turned to Blake. “I admire you, Mr. Stephens. I think highly of you. Please treat my sister with the love and respect she deserves.”

  Aileen gave a start. “Tara—?”

  “No, Leenie, this is not the time to argue. I know you love each other. I’m glad you have found happiness. I must cry off. My selfish concerns are unimportant in the face of what the two of you truly mean to each other. I don’t want to marry Blake. He doesn’t want to marry me. But if you’ll have him, Aileen, then we’ll have a wedding.”

  For a moment, Aileen appeared too stunned to speak. “I’m crying off,” Tara said softly, prodding her sister. “I don’t want him.”

  “Of course I will have him,” Aileen answered. She hugged Tara with all she had, tears of relieved joy streaming down her face. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  “You are welcome,” Tara answered, feeling happy tears in her own eyes.

  Blake didn’t speak. He acted as if it had taken all he had possessed to appear composed. Now, he reached for Aileen. Their hands found each other. He laced his fingers with hers before giving Tara a brotherly kiss on her cheek. “Words fail,” he managed, his voice hoarse with pent-up emotion.

  “It is as it should be,” Tara whispered. “Like one of Shakespeare’s plays.”

  “Excuse me?” Reverend Kinnion said. “You can’t change brides on a whim.”

  “Oh, it isn’t a whim,” Tara assured him, stepping back. “We are very certain.”

  Aileen and Blake laughed their agreement. They had their arms around each other as if they would never let go.

  “The banns,” Reverend Kinnion interjected. “
The banns have not been read for this couple.”

  Tara had anticipated this objection. “We live in Scotland, sir. All they need to do is declare themselves in front of witnesses. Mr. Jamerson took Miss Sawyer to wife in this manner, and it is recognized by all. We have witnesses. More than two, in fact. Are you ready to perform a marriage, or shall we go in search of a blacksmith to say the words over the anvil for them?”

  Before the reverend could answer, the duke stood. “I object to this marriage. Blake, this woman is not suitable. If you marry her, you will never succeed in society.”

  “I have no desire to please anyone but myself, Your Grace,” Blake responded.

  “Even if it is your father’s decision?” Penevey said. “I will not have a divorced woman in my family.”

  “Then we part company, Your Grace.” Blake didn’t even flinch from speaking those words.

  Tara was so proud of him.

  The duke straightened in surprise. He took a step into the aisle. “You know what this means?” he threatened, as if offering Blake one last opportunity to repent.

  “That I shall no longer be expected to lend you money?” Blake returned.

  That was not the answer Penevey had expected. Or anyone else, for that matter.

  For a wild moment, the duke appeared ready to explode into a tantrum. Instead, he turned on his heel and went marching for the door, throwing the words, “Come, Arthur,” over his shoulder.

  The marquis rose, but he was not ready to go. “I could marry Lady Tara,” he offered to the room at large. “That would make things right.”

  Penevey looked at his heir as if he had grown two heads. “Nothing is right.” The duke walked out the door, setting his hat on his head.

  The marquis lingered a moment. He sent one longing look in Tara’s direction. “Go on,” Tara said. “Your father expects you to obey, and truly, Tynsford I would not make a good wife. You would not be happy when people start whispering about all this. Then there will be rumors about me and a horse master . . .” She let her voice trail off, allowing him to draw his own conclusions.

  The marquis hurried to join his father.

  “I say, Stephens,” Lord Gibbons said from his seat in the pews, “you know how to host an entertaining wedding. We’ll dine on this story for a month. Considering Penevey’s reaction, perhaps longer.”

  His reminder of society seemed to make Aileen nervous. “Will it be all right?”

  “Yes, love,” Blake said. “Penevey has no say in my business interests. He may try to make matters difficult, but I’ve gone up against him before.” He looked to Reverend Kinnion. “We would like to marry now.”

  Reverend Kinnion seemed to debate for a moment but then said, “Very well. Let us have a wedding. And, as a matter of opinion, Mr. Stephens, I believe you are taking on a fine wife. In spite of what happened in London, we stand beside her.”

  “Thank you, Reverend,” Aileen said.

  “Now, can we marry them?” Tara said, wanting to hurry the matter along. “There is a feast the likes of which this valley has not seen in many years waiting for us.”

  “Yes, Lady Tara, we can,” Reverend Kinnion said, and with that, he set to work.

  The ceremony did not take long. The kiss Blake gave Aileen to seal their pledge took longer. Much longer.

  The earl of Tay woke up in the middle of the kiss. He looked around, then whispered to Lord Gibbons in a voice loud enough to carry, “Is Stephens kissing the wrong daughter?”

  “No, he’s kissing the right one,” his lordship answered.

  “The one he married?” The earl was very confused.

  “Go back to sleep, Tay,” Lord Gibbons ordered. The earl didn’t obey but sat with a confused expression. Tara would have to explain it all to him later.

  She doubted if he would be pleased, but what could he say? She tapped Blake on the shoulder. “Enough, my brother-in-marriage. We are tired of watching you be so happy.”

  The kiss ended then, Blake and Aileen laughing. Arm in arm, they left the church. Blake’s friends fell into step behind them, anxious no doubt for the feast. Reverend Kinnion even joined them, and he seemed rather proud of himself. Tara understood.

  Doing the right thing was freeing.

  Today, she had done something meaningful, and she’d done it for someone else. For the first time, Tara was proud of an accomplishment. She felt good.

  Her father had not moved from the pew. He appeared thunderstruck. She walked over to him. “Come, Father, you must drink to the health of the bride.”

  He did not move. His face was pale, and he looked as if he felt ill. “Do you believe Stephens will let me keep the money he paid me for you?”

  Ah, money. Always money.

  “I’m certain, Father.”

  He released his breath as if he’d been holding it. “Right. Well then, let us go to the house.” He stood and offered Tara his arm. They walked toward the door. “That was a foolish thing to do, Daughter. Penevey is angry.”

  “But not at me.”

  “Ha!” he answered. “Do you believe it will not come back on you? Or me? We’ve insulted a powerful man.”

  “We’ll manage,” Tara said as they stepped out of the kirk.

  “Tell me that three months from now,” her father muttered as they stepped outside. “Then we’ll see if we are managing.”

  Mr. Markwell and Lord Gibbons approached them. They had been over at the coach, seeing Aileen and Blake inside.

  “You will save a dance for me today, won’t you, Lady Tara?” Lord Gibbons asked.

  She knew him. He had written a poem to her shoe. It had been terrible writing. “I will, my lord.”

  “And for me?” Mr. Markwell said hopefully. She’d gone through one whole season of his watching her from covert places, behind the potted plants or lurking behind her at soirees or appearing out of nowhere when she was shopping.

  “Of course I will dance with you,” she said.

  “Perhaps two dances?” Mr. Markwell queried.

  “One apiece, gentlemen. One,” Tara answered, holding up her finger for emphasis. Oh, yes, she was going to be fine.

  For a moment, she had to stand and look over Loch Tay. It would not be so bad being here for a spell. Few places on earth were this beautiful.

  And she would return to London again. When she did, then maybe she would find a love as strong as Blake and Aileen’s.

  “All right, all right,” she heard her father say from the coach. “No more of that lip locking until after we reach Annefield. I’ve no choice but to ride with the two of you, so behave yourselves.”

  Blake and Aileen’s response was to laugh. He climbed into the coach and called for his youngest daughter.

  Yes, all would be good, Tara thought as she went to join her family, and she was right.

  The wedding feast, with the tale of two brides, was one of the merriest in anyone’s memory. When the bride and groom were that much in love, then the guests couldn’t help but be happy for them.

  And as for Tara, she was the heroine in the valley, for the day, at least. She knew they would be gossiping about her on the morrow. Such was life in the valley.

  But her future was in London. Penevey’s anger aside, she would return. And when she did, she would find love.

  She’d not settle for anything less.

  Epilogue

  The Bride Said Maybe . . .

  October, 1816

  The hour was late when her father summoned Tara to the library.

  He had not talked to her in weeks. After the initial goodwill and euphoria of the wedding, he had begun to realize exactly what the duke of Penevey’s threat meant. They would not be returning to London any time soon. The word from what few friends they had there urged them to stay in Scotland a while longer. Perhaps for a few years.

  Even Aileen, who was in London with Blake, settling their affairs there before deciding where they would like to live, had written and warned Tara as much.

  She
had expressed regrets that Tara had sacrificed so much. In truth, Tara was a bit perplexed. Everyone in the valley had celebrated her decision. Could those she knew in London be so close-minded?

  Apparently so.

  That her father had sent for her also had to mean that perhaps he was over his snit and they could talk and reach an understanding.

  She knocked on the door.

  “Come in” was the abrupt order.

  Tara turned the handle and entered the room.

  Her sire sat at his desk, mounds of ledgers spread out before him. She rarely saw him like this. Aileen had been the one to keep the books and accounts in order.

  A lamp had been lit, and its yellow light highlighted the sheen of sweat on the earl’s pale complexion. He did not wear a jacket, and he had loosened his neck cloth.

  The bottle was no longer on the liquor cabinet but sat on his desk, close at hand.

  “You sent for me, Father?”

  “I did. Sit.”

  She took one of the upholstered chairs around the small table. He came around from his desk, shut the door and faced her, placing his hands behind his back. For a long moment he stood, his lips pressed together sternly.

  Tara tried to sit still, to wait. At last she could stand the silence no longer. “If you are going to berate me, start on it. I’m tired and ready for my bed—”

  “We are done up,” he interrupted.

  “Done up?”

  “Broke, gone, bankrupt.”

  The air seemed to leave the room. Tara forced herself to be calm. “How can that be? Didn’t Mr. Stephens pay a marriage portion even though I was not the one he married?”

  Her father’s scowl deepened. She waited. At last, the words almost bursting out of him, he said, “I spent it.”

  “All of it?”

  He snorted his amusement. “It was gone before we left London.”

  Tara grabbed the arms of the chair as if they were lifelines. “All of it,” she repeated in amazement.

  He nodded and sank into the chair opposite hers. “There were a couple of fights, and I wagered on the wrong men. Then there was that night I went out with Crewing. That night didn’t end for two days.” He rose from the chair and crossed to the desk to pour whisky into a well-used glass. “I thought I could earn it all back.”