A Lowcountry Wedding (47 page)

“I’m a professional and managed countless weddings, but I have to tell you, this is one for the books.” Ashley released a muffled laugh over the wire, one tinged with resignation. “But, okay, if it’s what you want to do. My duty is to make my brides happy.”

Mamaw and Granny James were not so amenable.

“But you can’t!” Granny James exclaimed. “I planned every detail. My guests are arriving from Europe!”

“Exactly,” Mamaw told her in no uncertain tone. “
You
planned everything.
Your
guests are arriving. What about Harper? It’s
her
wedding, after all.”

“And
you
didn’t plan Carson’s wedding?” Granny James fired back.

“I absolutely did. Every detail.” Mamaw turned to Carson. “Though why in merciful heaven didn’t you tell me what you wanted sooner?”

Carson shrugged sheepishly. “The same reason Harper didn’t. You were having such a good time, and I felt I owed it to you to plan the wedding. And I was living under the delusion that it didn’t matter where I got married. But I was wrong. It does.”

“Blake can’t be happy about this,” Mamaw said with import. “His family has been married at the Legare Waring plantation for generations.”

“Oh, he’s happy about it.” Carson grinned. “He loves the beach as much as I do. It’s where we fell in love.”

Mamaw harrumphed. “Well, his mother won’t be happy, that’s for true and certain.”

“But
you
, Mamaw?” Carson asked with trepidation. “Are you okay with it?”

Mamaw stepped forward and captured Carson’s face in her hands and kissed her soundly. “I just want you to be happy.” Mamaw dropped her hands and repeated the gesture with Harper. “And you.” She turned to look at Granny James. “Imogene and I will move mountains to make it happen. Won’t we?”

Imogene didn’t smile but she lifted her hands in surrender. “I’ll agree on one condition. Taylor must agree.”

“He will,” Harper said readily.

“And, in the future, when we look back on this weekend as the
wedding debacle
, you will both admit you were wrong.”

Mamaw laughed lightly. “Oh, that is easy to agree to because I’m never wrong.”

Granny James threw her hands up in the air. “Oh, sod it. I agree.”

“Oh, Granny, thank you!” Harper exclaimed, homing in to her grandmother’s arms to kiss her cheek.

Granny James accepted her kiss and put up a good front of refusing to be mollified. “Though I can’t imagine what I’m going to tell the guests.”

“We’ve thought of that already.” Harper hurried to her desk to grab her omnipresent clipboard. “Everyone is gathering here tomorrow night for the rehearsal dinner. We simply hand out new printed programs informing each of them of the change in venues. It will all be clear as day.”

“Printed? On that copier with the cheap paper?” Granny James asked, horrified. “But we already have the most beautiful programs. With gilt edging.” It was more a whine of regret than a serious complaint.

“They won’t care if the printout doesn’t have gilt,” Harper said gently. “And after we make the announcement, they’ll just be happy to know where to show up.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is. It’s done, Granny. You simply have to accept it, and the rest comes easily. If it hadn’t been for Atticus making us realize how we truly felt, this farce would have continued,
and neither Carson nor I would have looked back on our wedding day with the complete and utter joy that it was everything we both wanted. And now we will.” Harper looked at Atticus. “We owe a lot to him.”

“So you’re the instigator of this conspiracy?” Granny James skewered Atticus with a look where he was lounging on a chair, happy as a clam.

Atticus grinned. “Guilty as charged.”

Granny James narrowed her eyes. “Of course. You’re a Muir, too, I understand.”

Carson went over to put her hand on his shoulder. “He’s our brother.”

Granny James sniffed and said archly, “It figures.” But her eyes held mirth.

Mamaw clapped her hands. “Ladies! We have plenty of time to rehash all this later. Right now we’ve more work to do than I can shake a stick at. Let’s get back to business, shall we?”

In the flurry of activity, Mamaw drew Atticus aside. “I’m so happy it’s all out in the open. At last. I was such a ninny to suggest it in the first place. Now I can shout out to the world that you’re my grandson. I’m so very proud of you.”

He smiled warmly. “The truth will set you free.” He noted with some concern that she appeared tired and drawn. Her eyes didn’t shine with their usual brightness. “Are you feeling all right? Are you truly okay about all this?”

“Me, oh, I’m just tired.” Mamaw sighed. “But one is only as happy as her least happy child.” She looked toward the door. “Dora’s left. She just got a text from Devlin. He’s not coming to the dinner tomorrow night. I don’t think he’s coming to the weddings, either.”

“The hell he isn’t.” Atticus bent to kiss her cheek. “Hold down the fort, I’ll be right back.” He squeezed her hands.

Atticus hurried from the room, unnoticed by all save Mamaw. This late in the afternoon most of the worker bees had left to return tomorrow morning. The house was quiet as he rushed through the rooms.

“Powwow over?” Taylor asked as Atticus came upon him in the kitchen. He was standing at the counter, making himself a sandwich.

“Yes, for now. Hey, you okay with the wedding switch?”

“What wedding switch?”

“Ah,” Atticus said, quickly backpedaling. “You might want to check in with your fiancée. There’s news afoot.”

“What now?” Taylor asked warily.

“How do you feel about a plantation wedding instead of a beach wedding?”

Taylor snorted. “You had me going there for a minute. As long as I don’t switch brides.” His laugh quieted and he said sincerely, “I fell in love with Harper the moment I saw her. Hit me like a thunderbolt. There’s no one else for me. Harper just has to tell me where to show up and at what time and I’m there. I’m marrying
her
, and whether it’s at a beach or under some tree, what the hell do I care? And for the record, I’m betting Blake feels the same about Carson.”

“Good man.” Atticus tapped the doorframe. “You seen Dora?”

“Yeah. She just grabbed her purse and headed out.”

Cursing under his breath, Atticus picked up his pace as he ran out the front door, in time to see Dora’s car slowly backing out. He darted down the stairs and rounded her car to stand in front and slap his palm down on the hood.

Dora braked with a jerk. “What the heck are you doing?” she called out, shocked. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed!”

Atticus hurried to her door and opened it. “Come on out, Dora. You’re not going anywhere until we sort things through.”

She sat looking out the windshield. “You and I have nothing to sort out.”

“But you and Devlin do.”

She shot him a guarded glance. “What do you know about me and Devlin?”

“I know that you’re about to make the biggest mistake of your life.” Her eyes flashed but he pressed on. “Dora, let’s talk. Just for a minute.”

Dora slid her hands from the steering wheel and nodded. “Okay,” she said reluctantly.

Atticus noticed her
SEA BREEZE BRIDES
shirt, stained now with dirt from the plants. “Nice T-shirt.”

She tugged at the hem of the blue shirt. “You’re the only one that thinks so. I’m the only one wearing it.”

“Everyone got caught short today. Your sisters will wear the shirts tomorrow.”

“You mean
our
sisters, don’t you?”

He smiled. “Our sisters,” he corrected himself, feeling the impact of the moment. “By the way, it was nice seeing you be the older sister up there. You have a lot of strength.”

She seemed surprised by the compliment. “Thanks. Lucille once called me the rock. I forget that sometimes.”

“I wish I could have known her.”

“You would have loved her. We all did.”

There followed an awkward silence. Dora lifted her hands
to the steering wheel. Her fingers tapped it; she was clearly nervous.

Atticus got right to the point. “So tell me why Devlin isn’t coming to the weddings.”

Dora didn’t question how he’d heard the news. “He says he can’t.”

“Can’t why?”

“He says he can’t pretend anymore. He can’t pretend he’s part of the family when I won’t let him be.”

“Because you won’t marry him.”

She nodded. “Right.”

“Dora,
why
won’t you marry him? I’m new here and even I can tell you two should be married.”

“I’m not ready. I have to feel settled first. Find a new place to live. Sell the house in Summerville—”

“That sounds like a to-do list, not reasons not to get married,” Atticus interrupted. “You demanded honesty from your sisters a little while ago. And honesty from me. So I’m going to demand that same honesty from you now. Do you love him?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to marry him?”

“Yes—someday.”

“There is no someday, Dora. There’s now, or I’m guessing never.”

Her lips tightened and she looked down at her hands.

“You want to know what I hear? I hear you give a lot of reasons why you can’t get married. I hear you being cautious and practical . . . and selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“Yes, selfish. While you’re compiling that long list of things you want to get done before you get married, have you ever stopped to ask yourself what Devlin might want? What he might be feeling?”

Dora didn’t answer, but she had a haunted expression.

“Devlin’s a good man. Ask yourself—honestly—if any of your reasons are worth losing him. And if your answer is what I think it will be, stop procrastinating and go after him.”

“Go after him?”

“You love him. You want to marry him—then just do it!”

Dora burst into a wide grin, one of relief, he thought. And joy. Definitely joy. She fired up the engine, gunning it once with a laugh.

“Marry that man!” Atticus shouted. “Carpe diem!”

Dora beeped the horn twice and was on her way.

The parking lot was nearly empty in front of the white wood house with black shutters. A huge oak tree with thick boughs almost obscured the building from Palm Boulevard, but the large black-and-white sign that spelled out
CASSELL REAL ESTATE
and was shaped to look like a medieval castle was clearly visible from the street. Dora parked her car and went directly to the door, jiggling the keys in her pocket.

The door was unlocked. Inside, the six desks of her fellow agents were cluttered with paper and a few Styrofoam cups. The room smelled of burnt coffee. Her own desk in the last row was relatively neat, not because she was tidy but because as yet she had few clients. She walked to the back of the room to where one office was enclosed. The name
DEVLIN CASSELL
was
on the door. She lifted her hand to form a fist, gathering her courage to knock.
You can’t chicken out now,
she told herself. She heard Atticus’s voice ring out in her head:
Carpe diem
.

She gave a cursory thump, but the door wasn’t completely shut and the force of her knock pushed it open enough for her to see Devlin sitting at his enormous desk, arms stretched out and hands around a cut-glass tumbler.

He looked up at the noise and, seeing her, leaned far back in his chair. The springs squeaked with the effort. He eyed her without surprise, indeed without any discernible emotion.

“What are you doing here?”

She stepped into the room and closed the door behind her. “Hello to you, too.”

Devlin scowled and took a sip of his drink. She heard the ice clink in the silence.

“Can I pour you one?”

“Yes, please.”

His brows rose, seemingly surprised by her response. Over the past year she’d nagged him to cut back on his drinking, and he had. For her sake. Devlin obligingly rose to walk to the walnut cupboard and retrieve another cut-glass tumbler. He filled it with ice from the automatic ice maker, then returned to his desk and poured her a splash of bourbon. Devlin tilted his head and looked at her with question, bottle tilted over the glass.

“Just a scotch more.” Dora lifted her fingers to indicate a small amount.

Devlin poured in another splash.

“Maybe just a scotch more.”

Devlin almost smiled and poured her a liberal amount. He
handed her the glass, his eyes studying her speculatively as he leaned back against his desk. “What’s the occasion?”

Dora looked at her glass, feeling her stomach tie up in knots. All her life she’d been told to act the lady. To let the man lead, to take charge. Her mother had instructed her countless times that no man wanted a pushy woman. But today she’d watched her sisters stand up for themselves and voice what they’d wanted. They weren’t pushy in the least, they would simply no longer be pushed around. She saw Carson and Harper as strong and honest women. Didn’t Atticus tell her she was strong? Didn’t she have the same right to speak her mind? she asked herself. She took a bolstering mouthful of bourbon, coughing slightly at the burn as it slid down her throat. Atticus’s words flashed again in her mind, as they had over and over during her drive here.