The True Love Wedding Dress

Table of Contents

 

 

 

 

 

“A doyen of humorous, Regency-era romance writing, Metzger pens in the witty tradition of historical romance authors Marion Devon and Marion Chesney.”

—
Publishers Weekly

 

“[Her] work brims with warmth, wit, sensuality, and intelligence.”

—Amanda Quick

 

“Connie Brockway’s powerful characters grab you by the heartstrings and pull you into their world, their hearts, and their love.”

—Betina Krahn

 

“A writer of extraordinary talent. [She] crafts stories you’ll cherish forever.”

—Christina Dodd

 

“[She] is an amazing talent. Her love stories are tender and earthy, passionate and poignant—and always unusual.”

—Elizabeth Lowell

 

“An Anderson book is a guaranteed good read.”

—
Romantic Times

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First published by Onyx, an imprint of New American Library, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

 

First Printing, November 2005

Copyright © Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 2005

A Perfect Fit
copyright © Barbara Metzger, 2005

Glad Rags
copyright © Connie Brockway, 2005

Something Special
copyright © Casey Mickle, 2005

Prologue, Epilogue, and
Beautiful Gifts
copyright © Adeline Catherine Anderson, 2005

All rights reserved

eISBN : 978-1-101-09873-8

 

REGISTERED TRADEMARK—MARCA REGISTRADA

 

 

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B
y the flickering light of the kitchen fire, Aileanna MacEwan ran her gaze over the wedding gown that she had only just finished making. It was a glorious dress, each stitch as fine as the ivory silk and delicate lace from which it had been fashioned. It had taken her weeks to complete the garment, and normally she would have been proud of her workmanship. But now she felt only melancholy as she draped the gown over her arm and pushed wearily up from the stool that had served as her perch these last six hours.

Mayhap it was exhaustion that darkened her mood. The upstairs clock had long since chimed the midnight hour. But deep down, she knew it was more than that. Her heart had been breaking ever since she’d started the gown, and now that the task was complete, there would be no stopping the young mistress of the house from setting her wedding date.

“ ’Tis not to be borne,” she muttered as she swatted the wrinkles from her threadbare skirt. “The blood of a sorceress flows in my veins. Yet here I am, playing lady’s maid to the spoiled, selfish daughter of an English aristocrat, a lass who wouldn’t know the meaning of true love if it bit her on the arse.” Aileanna pushed angrily at her dark hair, which hadn’t seen a brush since early the previous morning. “Ach!” she cried. “ ’Tis my wedding gown that this should be. Instead, I’ll be handing it over to that haughty Bertrade so she can marry the man of my dreams. She’ll make his life a misery. Why can he not see that?”

Tears threatened to fill Aileanna’s eyes, for even as she bridled against the injustice, she knew that her feelings for the blond and blue-eyed Halford Bainbridge would bring her naught but grief. He was a highborn English gentleman, destined to wed a woman of equal rank, not a lowborn Scottish maid with chafed hands and a patched skirt who’d been driven from her Highland home to make way for sheep and now groveled like a commoner in order to survive.

Oh, Halford had been kind to Aileanna, never failing to smile when they passed each other in the great hall, sometimes even touching a knuckle to his forehead in respectful greeting. Perhaps in another time and place he might have paid her court, but in the present situation, with the Highland Clearances at full tilt and evicted crofters scurrying to emigrate to avoid persecution, such an alliance was utterly impossible.

Never one to remain gloomy for long, Aileanna gazed thoughtfully into the fire. Perhaps nothing could be done to change her situation, but that wasn’t to say nothing could be done for other young lasses who might one day find themselves in equally hopeless straits.

It had been half a decade since Aileanna had studied the art of benevolent witchcraft at her grandmother’s knee, but her memory was fine. Why not cast a spell on this dress to ensure the marital happiness of any lass who ever chanced to wear it? Such an incantation wouldn’t improve Aileanna’s own dismal future, but perhaps, by effecting a change of heart in Bertrade, the spell would spare Halford a lifetime of woe.

Aileanna winced at the thought. Was this truly what she wanted, to cast a spell that would ensure Halford’s happiness in the arms of another woman?
No,
her heart protested. But even as the thought entered her mind, she pushed it away. She was a witch, born into a mystical aristocracy, and with the gifts bestowed upon her by blood came a solemn and weighty responsibility to rise above her human frailties and selfish desires.

Warming to the idea of sparing Halford the trials of a joyless marriage, Aileanna glanced over her shoulder to make certain she was alone in the cavernous kitchen. Then she collected some water in a cup, laid out the dress on the cook’s worktable, rubbed her palms together to generate warmth, and splayed her hands over the silk and lace.

Closing her eyes, she softly chanted, “I call upon the powers that be to make something more of this dress—and me.” She needed all the help God could give her, and that was a fact. It wasn’t easy to be selfless when her heart was fair breaking. “Lace and pearls, ruffles and skirts, let young lasses endure no more hurt.”

She wrinkled her nose. Surely she could do better than
that
. She consoled herself with the thought that it was the meaning of the words that counted, not how nicely they rhymed. Dipping her fingertips into the cup, she pressed on.

“With this sprinkle of water, I call upon the forces of goodness to heed my words. Upon this dress, I cast a charm. Let no maid who possesses it come to harm.”