The Bride Says No (26 page)

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.

A
ileen 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.”

“I survived. I might not survive losing you.”

“
You will,
” she promised. And she meant those words, although as she wondered how she would ever go on.

B
lake was furious with Tara, even as he recognized himself as the buffle-headed fool who had offered for her. He should have put more thought into choosing a wife instead of just desiring to best his half brother.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to Tara. She didn’t appear interested in talking to him either. This was the life he had ahead of him, he realized—one of resentment.

Aileen urged him to overcome his disappointment.

He wouldn’t. Not ever. He’d had a taste of what life could be like with a woman who fulfilled a part of him that had been empty. Why should he settle for anything less?

The duke of Penevey arrived on Wednesday. The wedding would be on Friday.

Penevey did not come alone. Besides his servants, he was accompanied by Arthur, marquis of Tynsford, the one who had originally offered for Tara and been rejected. It was as if the man wanted to hear the marriage vows for himself before he would believe Blake had won her.

Blake was pleased that Aileen took an immediate dislike to Tynsford. His half brother was six months younger than himself and almost silly in his jealousy of Blake. Then again, one had to look at what Blake’s own arrogant spite had cost him.

For the first time, Blake realized how much his own sullenness and, yes, jealousy over not being his father’s heir had cost him. Aileen’s love had freed him from all that. He now had a sense of what was truly important in the world.

Indeed, over dinner, as he listened to Arthur plump up his consequence by bragging upon himself to the other guests, Blake had a glimpse of what his presence in Arthur’s life had done to the marquis. Blake had always nipped at his heels. He’d had a fanatical need to prove himself better than his father’s legitimate heir, and he had.

If Arthur excelled in a sport, then Blake would take it up and be better. If Arthur put himself to his studies, Blake would apply himself harder and outshine him. If Arthur wanted a woman, then Blake would claim her.

Of course, Blake could only be so sympathetic to Arthur. It was obvious he was here because he truly couldn’t believe the beauty would choose being the wife of a bastard over being his marchioness.

Still, the recognition of his own culpability humbled Blake. Arthur was obviously still moony-eyed over Tara. She appeared oblivious to him. And Blake wasn’t completely free of harsh judgments, because he wanted to hold Arthur’s infatuation against Tara as well.

And of course, later that night, in bed, while they discussed the day—an activity that was Blake’s favorite after making love to Aileen—she pointed out that Tara could not be held responsible for men choosing to fall in love with her.

“Few even know what love means,” Aileen said. “Most are like Geoff, anxious to possess without an appreciation for deeper meaning.”

“Guilty,” Blake said.

She smiled at him, rubbing her foot down his leg. “It is the way God made you.”

“Not all of us. Some men are not as vain as I was.”

“I’ve never found you so.”

“I am,” he assured her. “I’m a selfish one. But you make me better. You make me wiser.”

He made love to her then. He’d found that this act of connection spoke louder than mere words the depth of his feeling for her. She, too, responded in a way he understood.

But their nights together were coming to an end. Blake knew without asking that Aileen would not come to him after he married.

Too soon he would lose her.

T
ara had plenty to keep her busy. Since Aileen was
obviously
distracted, the majority of the preparations for the wedding festivities fell upon Tara and Mrs. Watson.

Not that it shouldn’t. But Aileen had always been in charge. Even when she’d been married, the rules and organization of Annefield that she had created had held sway. Now Tara had to make decisions.

The servants were excited in anticipation of the big day. Almost everyone in the valley, with the exception of outsiders like Breccan Campbell and the like, was invited, as was the custom. There would be the wedding breakfast inside the house, but a great feast outside.

A huge pit had been built for roasting sides of beef and mutton. Cook had been busy preparing side dishes of all varieties, and extra staff had been hired to help her. The smell of baking bread started Monday morning and would not stop, not even into Friday morning.

If anyone noticed that Tara and Blake did not speak to each other, they did not comment.

Tara assumed he was furious with her. What surprised her was that she wasn’t angry in return. Instead, as the excitement started to build toward her wedding day, she felt more and more trapped.

It was obvious that he and Aileen were in love.

Love wasn’t just a word thrown about between them or bandied about by Blake in a poem penned to Aileen’s earlobe. No, Tara could see their care and affection in the respect they showed each other.

Their company or the earl didn’t seem to notice, but Tara witnessed the small touches, the looks, the kindnesses between her sister and Tara’s intended. In a way, these observations puzzled her.

Her only experience with what was called love was her passion for Ruary. Aileen and Blake’s love didn’t seem all consuming. There was trust between them. And understanding.