The Bride Says No
| The Bride Says No | |
| The Brides Of Wishmore [1] | |
| Cathy Maxwell | |
| Avon (2013) | |
| Rating: | *** |
| Tags: | Romance |
What happens when a bride says no?
He is the bastard son of a duke, arrogant, handsome, a little bit dangerous, and, of course, one of the most sought-after bachelors in London. He is also about to be publically jilted by some chit of a girl! Blake Stephens' pride isn't about to let him be humiliated, so he charges after his bride to the wilds of Scotland, determined to bring her to the altar.
What happens when the heart says yes?
He is promised to one woman, but discovers his soul stirred by... the chit's sister! Lady Aileen Davidson's reputation was ruined ages ago, which is why she's buried herself in the country, but her fiery spirit and bold beauty threaten to bring Blake to his knees, making him wonder if he has proposed to the wrong lass.
And now he must make a choice: marry for honor... or marry for love?
For my friend Deborah Barnhart
What a joy it is to be in the company of writers.
Prologue
Annefield
The Tay Valley
Scotland
February 8, 1807
W
hy are you leaving me?”
Startled by both the question and the pain in her sister’s voice, Lady Aileen Davidson turned from her bedroom mirror, where she’d been striving to set her velvet-lined bonnet at just the right, jaunty angle.
Her twelve-year-old sister, Tara, stood inside the door, her shoulders tense, her arms crossed tightly against her chest as if she needed to hold herself together. Her nose was red and her expression pinched, a sign that she had been crying.
Those words, that question had been torn from her.
Aileen already wore her coat and gloves. She was ready to go, to make the most of this opportunity to finally launch herself into the world.
Beyond the bedroom door came the sound of footsteps running down the hall. Echoes of the butler’s irritation that his orders weren’t being following quickly enough drifted up the staircase while Mrs. Watson, the housekeeper, expressed concerns that Aileen’s trunk wasn’t lashed tightly enough to the roof of the waiting coach.
But in this moment, in this space, came silence.
For the first time since their father had reappeared into their lives unannounced and declared that the time had come for his oldest daughter to be presented to society, Aileen considered what her leaving would mean to Tara . . . and her heart divided with the desire, the
need,
to seek the world beyond Annefield and her love for this half sister whom she had nurtured and cherished since the day Tara was born.
There was seven years difference in age between them. Tara was a wee thing with thin arms and legs and a mop of impossibly thick red-gold hair that could never be tamed. Her almond-shaped blue eyes seemed to take up her whole face and offered a hint of the blossoming beauty she would someday become.
In contrast, and in homage to their different mothers, Aileen’s hair was the color of the darkest honey and her eyes light gray. Her looks were pleasant but unremarkable when compared to Tara’s vivid coloring.
What was important was what they did share: Davidson pride and a strong sense of independence. Aileen understood all too well what asking such a question cost Tara.
“I am not leaving forever,” Aileen said quietly.
“
Yes, you are,
” Tara returned, the words tumbling out of her. “Mrs. Watson says you will take in no time. An Englishman will snap you up and I’ll never see you again—just like we never see Father. You will live with
them
”—her emphasis on the word an indication she meant the English as a whole—“in London. You’ll forget me.”
“Little bug, I could never forget you,” Aileen protested, coming over to the door. She put her arms around her sister. “I
won’t
forget you.”
Tara resisted Aileen’s promise, keeping her arms crossed. “But things will change,” she whispered into Aileen’s shoulder.
Aileen would not deny the truth of Tara’s prediction, or her own anticipation in the future. “Yes, things will change, but they must. It is the way of the world.”
“
No,
” Tara protested, pushing away. “It doesn’t have to be.”
Conscious that they stood in the doorway where anyone could hear them, Aileen pulled her sister into the room and closed the door. Facing Tara, she admitted, “I want to leave.”
“
Why?
”
“Because I want to marry.”
Tara made the dismissive sound of an annoyed child. “Why is it so important to marry?”
“Because it is what we do,” Aileen answered. “What we were born to do. Marriage is our duty and what we owe to our ancestors and our family name.”
“I do not believe that sounds pleasant at all,” Tara stated baldly.
Her frankness startled a laugh out of Aileen.
Tara frowned. “I am not being amusing. Father has been married several times and he does not seem happy. Nor does he want to marry again. He told me so.”
“When was that?” Aileen asked in surprise. Tara and the earl kept a bit of distance between them. Aileen understood why. Their father was not the doting sort. Aileen remembered a parent’s love. Her mother had died of smallpox when Aileen had been old enough to have a memory of her. But Tara’s mother had died in childbirth, so Aileen’s care and concern was all she knew. The earl had walked out of his wee babe’s life the day after the funeral, only to visit sporadically over the years.
“The last time he came home,” Tara said. “When he brought the horses.”
That had been over two years ago. The earl had won some money and, feeling flush, had invested in turning Annefield’s run-down stables into a breeding farm. His gambler’s instinct, which had failed him numerous times, had thought it a gentleman’s way of bringing in money, and perhaps it would someday.
Aileen had been hopeful that the endeavor would encourage him to stay home, but London’s lure was strong. The earl preferred English society to Scottish country life, a source of some bitterness amongst his neighbors and in his family.
“You know Father does as he pleases,” she murmured to Tara.
“I do. What makes you believe he will pay any more attention to you in London than he does here?” Tara said, proving once again that, in spite of her age, she had a keen ability to see to the heart of matters.
“He will ignore me unless it suits his purpose,” Aileen answered. “Fortunately, Aunt Lucille will be my sponsor.”
Tara pulled a face. “I can’t abide her.”
“She does smell of camphor, but she knows the right people.” Lucille, the dowager duchess of Benningham, was Aileen’s mother’s aunt. She did not approve of the Scottish or her niece’s marriage to the profligate earl of Tay. However, she had informed the earl that the least she owed her niece’s memory was to see to the proper presentation of her one and only child. The dowager was a haughty, rigid woman who refused to acknowledge Tara existed. Aileen had protected Tara from the slights in letters and gifts as best she could. However, the one time Lucille and her sister had met, the dowager had been so rude that Tara had never forgotten.
“I can’t imagine her with any friends,” Tara muttered. “And she would never open her door to
me
.”
“You won’t ever have to worry about her,” Aileen replied. “When your time comes to be presented, my husband and I will see you are presented, and
I
shall be your sponsor.”
My husband
. The words filled Aileen with anticipation.
“I don’t want to be presented. I don’t want to leave Annefield.”
“Someday you will,” Aileen predicted gently. “The day will come when you begin to wonder if there isn’t something more than what you have in the valley.”
More
. The word haunted Aileen, contributing to a restless energy that had dogged her days, and nights, for the past several months.
“Can’t you marry someone here? Someone like the Reverend Kinnion?”
“He is a very nice gentleman,” Aileen hedged.
“And he admires you. He is always disappointed when he calls and I must tell him you are indisposed. You never spend time with him, and he adores you, Leenie,” Tara said, using the pet name she’d developed in her earliest childhood, when saying “Aileen” had been too difficult. “Everyone remarks upon it. He stares at you during his sermons as if speaking only to you.” Tara aped Reverend Kinnion’s most earnest proselytizing manner, widening her eyes and fixing them on Aileen with intensity.
Aileen laughed because the mimicry was so accurate. “And life would be easier if I returned his admiration,” she admitted, “but that is not the case.” She reached over and tucked a stray lock of hair behind Tara’s ear, suddenly overwhelmed with her love and affection for this sister. “Furthermore, if something happens to the earl, we shall need a home. Reverend Kinnion does not earn the sort of living necessary to care for two earl’s daughters. I can only find a man with the means to support us in London.”
“Uncle Richard will not turn us out,” Tara said with a shrug, referring to the uncle who was their father’s heir, “although I shall have to tolerate cousin Sabrina’s constant disapproval. I might prefer living in the woods.”
“It will not come to that. Not if all goes according to what I pray will happen.”
“Which is?”
For a second, Aileen hesitated. She’d not spoken aloud of her hopes, of her dream. But this was her sister, the one person who would understand. She lowered her voice and confided, “I want to marry for love.”
“Love?” Tara repeated the word as if it had been foreign to her thinking . . . and perhaps it was. Love,
marital love,
was not a quality either of them had witnessed in their lives. The earl married for money. He’d married each of their mothers for that reason.
No wonder marriage didn’t sound attractive to Tara.
“Yes, love . . . like what Cleopatra felt for Antony,” Aileen confirmed, referring to Shakespeare’s play. To entertain themselves, especially in winter, the sisters had often read Shakespeare’s works aloud and had even tried some of their own theatrics with Ingold, Mrs. Watson, and the other servants as an audience. “A
consuming
love. A
desire
above all others.”
“Cleopatra does not come to a good end,” Tara pointed out. She should know. She was the one who’d enjoyed acting out Cleopatra’s death by asp bite.
“I shall fare better,” Aileen promised.
“Nor did Juliet.”
“I will avoid warring families.”
“And I know you believe Katharina was happy with Petruchio, but I can’t agree,” Tara continued. “He was so overbearing. I would prefer Reverend Kinnion to him.”
This was a long-standing argument between them, tied in with Tara’s championing the humble minister. Aileen made an impatient sound. “I believe Kate
found
happiness. The text does not say she was unhappy. Indeed, we are to believe her content.”
Tara cocked her head as if seeing Aileen’s situation in a new light. “Would you want to be merely content?”
“You can be such a challenge. I didn’t say I wanted to be ‘merely content.’ I said I want to fall in
love,
embracing the full meaning of that word.”