The Bride Says No (12 page)

He dutifully took his place beside Tara, but he welcomed the opportunity to feast his eyes on Aileen.

Naturally, Tara looked fetching in a dress of soft white muslin trimmed in green silk ribbons. Her cheeks glowed with youth and country air. Green-hued pheasant feathers decorated her stylish bonnet.

At first glance, one would think Aileen was a dull duckling compared to her sister, but Blake found her handsome. Very handsome, indeed.

She wore a dark blue day dress with a neckline that was cut higher than her sister’s and lacked any embellishment, but none was needed because the style emphasized her full breasts and trim figure, and the color highlighted the near perfection of her complexion. Instead of a bonnet, she wore a soft cap that reminded him of a painting he’d seen of an Italian countess. All she lacked was a strand of creamy white pearls.

Blake wondered if she realized that the blue in her dress brought out the gray in her eyes.

He found he longed to tell her.

But he couldn’t, because Jones was right, damn him. No good would come from this attraction to Aileen Hamilton . . . other than to create another scandal, something Blake could not afford to do.

And yet he found himself wondering how much truth there was in what the gossips said about her. Everything about her demeanor was at odds with the accusations whispered about her. He could not picture her having an affair or being inconstant. The rumors struck him as inconsistent with what little he knew about her.

Tara beamed a becoming smile that brought a celebrated dimple to her cheek and asked, “Are you prepared for our big step?”

He assumed she meant the announcement of the banns. “Of course,” he murmured. “For our ‘Highland’ wedding.”

If Tara detected the hint of derision in his voice, she didn’t comment.

But Aileen had noticed. The corners of her mouth had tightened. She didn’t say anything. She wouldn’t.

The earl climbed into the coach and knocked on the ceiling for the driver to take off, while Tara began prattling on about her new plans for their wedding breakfast as if there wasn’t any other topic in the world more important.

Blake pretended to listen.

He tried not to stare at Lady Aileen, yet every once in a while, their eyes met. In her expression, he saw confirmation of his belief that she had been evading him on purpose, and he wondered if perhaps she didn’t feel some measure of attraction for him as well. What other reason could she have for not wishing his company?

It was a heady idea, especially since Blake had never experienced this mysterious pull toward one woman in particular. She aroused his hunting instincts.

He could even smell her scent. Light, slightly floral, yet there was a note of something deeper, something sensual—

Tara’s hand touched his arm. “Don’t
you
find it to be true, Mr. Stephens?”

Blake’s mind scrambled. “Um, yes,” he improvised.

“I though you would agree,” Tara said, beaming happily.

Blake wondered what he’d agreed to, but instead of offering more explanation, she glanced out the window and announced, “Ah, we are here.”

The coach had rumbled into the village of Kenmore. They passed what appeared to be a well-tended inn, a welcome sight to any man trapped at Annefield. The church, or kirk, was located on the banks of Loch Tay. The yard around it was filled with vehicles of all shapes and sizes, although they had the only coach and driver. The service would be crowded today.

When the coach rolled to a halt, the earl’s footman opened the door and the earl stepped out with all the grandness of the Lord Mayor of London.

There were quite a few parish members gathered outside, enjoying a moment in the fine weather before going inside the kirk. A murmur went through them at the earl’s appearance, then well-dressed and prosperous people rushed to greet him as if he’d been a returning hero.

Tay enjoyed the adulation. He grandly helped his daughters out of the coach. Blake was interested to note that Lady Aileen, a divorced woman, was not ostracized the way he would have anticipated. Why, in London, he doubted if anyone would have been pleasant to her. But here, she appeared accepted. Oh, there were a few prune faces, but there always were.

Tara was greeted with the welcome of a favorite child. They all gathered around her, surprised that she was there. Several women her age rushed up to her, wanting to know if she was married, and that was when Blake was presented with warm welcomes.

Their ready acceptance was a strange experience. The locals were more open than he had imagined. The people he was meeting refuted the image of dour-faced Scots. The men looked him in the eye and the women were gracious. Their words of greeting sounded genuine, and they introduced themselves by names he knew he would not be able to remember—but found he wanted to. These were good people, and not one of them demonstrated an undercurrent of “knowingness,” the term Blake always applied for those who were overly aware of his dubious parentage.

The earl spoke in a carrying voice about how his daughter had wanted a Highland wedding. Many of the women nodded, as if they had already heard this fact. Blake played the dutiful husband-to-be, nodding and standing by Tara . . . while his gaze drifted to Lady Aileen—

No, he couldn’t do that. He had to keep his focus on Tara, but the task was difficult.

The minister rang a bell, a signal that the service was about to begin.

Moving with his friends toward the door, the earl announced, “Stephens will know you all better on the morrow. We’re holding a hunt. Everyone is welcome. Midday tomorrow. It’s been a while since I’ve seen my hounds at work.”

Heads nodded and smiles broke out. Several commented that the day would be good for hunting and promised to attend.

“What day will the wedding be?” a dowager in purple half mourning asked.

That question stopped conversation, as everyone seemed keen on the answer.

“We will be discussing that matter with Reverend Kinnion,” the earl said, placing a hand on the minister’s arm.

The well-dressed Reverend Kinnion, a thin man with a pale complexion and wispy brown hair, nodded agreement.

“I shall come round to Annefield to discuss the matter, my lord,” Kinnion answered, adjusting the spectacles on his nose. “But now let us proceed inside for the service. The Lord awaits.” He waved his hands, shepherding them in front of him.

Of course, the earl of Tay had his own pew in the cool darkness of the church. It was a narrow space, but the four of them managed to squeeze in, the sisters side by side, then Blake next, with Tay on the outside.

The Davidsons were also surrounded by family.

In the hurried moments before the service started, Blake was introduced to uncles, aunts, and distant cousins. It seemed a quarter of the congregation were relatives of the earl of Tay.

One woman who stood out was Miss Sabrina Davidson. She was the only child of the earl’s younger brother, a ghastly, grim man who served as magistrate, a fitting role for him. Miss Davidson’s demeanor was the opposite of her father’s. A buxom brunette, she had a sunny smile.

It was obvious that she and Lady Aileen were great friends. Tara seemed equally pleased to greet her cousin, but Blake noticed that Miss Davidson’s reception toward her was cool.

He also found he was growing out of his morning grumpiness. He had not considered that marriage would mean becoming part of a large extended family, one that appeared to readily accept him. He liked the thought.

His mother had no family that he knew of, or none that had stepped forward to take him in after she died, and his relationship with the duke was a delicate matter. His half brothers would have been happy to wrap him in a sack and toss him into the Thames if they’d been able to wangle it without being suspected.

So the Davidsons’ easy acceptance of him into the family touched a deep chord within him. He found himself reaching for Tara’s gloved hand. She raised surprised brows. He had never made such a simple, gentle move. He smiled and turned his attention to the service Jones had assured him would be instructive.

Actually, it was. He was no biblical scholar, so, on this Sunday morning, the story of a Good Samaritan was fresh to him, and meaningful. The idea that one man should help another for no reason other than it being the right thing to do resonated strongly in Blake. He’d always believed he had some responsibility to his fellow man, and Reverend Kinnion’s words reinforced his conviction.

Furthermore, as he sat there among the congregation, a contentment he’d not known before settled upon him. In London, his goal was to validate himself. Always and relentlessly. But here, the knots of tension and determination loosened. He liked being with these people.

The time came for the announcing of the banns. Another couple was having their banns announced, and Blake was interested to realize that one half of the couple was Tay’s horse master. He’d conversed with the man a time or two when he’d been around the stables. Jamerson was his name. He had the dark, brooding look that women always seemed to like. His betrothed was attractive in appearance but not stunning. This was their second announcing of the banns.

Reverend Kinnion had the couple stand.

Tara had removed her hand from his hold and had folded both hands in her lap. She studied them, so still she seemed not to breathe. Lady Aileen leaned toward her sister, offering . . . what? Support? Solace?

Was Tara anxious about this step toward marriage?

After all the prattling on in the coach, this stillness seemed out of character—unless she had been attempting to calm her nerves. He’d never noticed her to be ill at ease in public.

And then the reverend called for Tara and him to stand. The woman he knew, the one with the bright and studied smile, reemerged.

Blake placed his hand on Tara’s arm.

Reverend Kinnion said, “I announce the banns between Mr. Blake Stephens and Lady Tara Davidson. This is the first time of reading. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.” He smiled at Blake. “Thank you, Mr. Stephens, my lady.”

Tara practically fell to the pew as if her legs could not support her weight.

Blake sat down beside her, slightly concerned at her disquiet. Perhaps she was shy here amongst her people. Or more circumspect, which was not a bad quality for her to cultivate. After all, someday she would be the mother of his children.

Children, a dynasty. He had no use for a title. But he was building wealth, and if his other investments proved satisfactory, he would grow richer with time and need heirs to continue his legacy.

The service was over quickly then. Well-wishers kept them from leaving the pew immediately. Furthermore, the earl had caught the attention of a robust woman a decade his junior and was having a fine time teasing her. She was introduced to Blake as Mrs. Bossley, a widow, and she had obviously set her sights on Tay.

At last Blake was able to work his way around the earl and the attentive widow so that he could escort Tara and Lady Aileen out of the kirk into the warmth of the day.

Tara was quickly carried away by friends. Several gentlemen cornered Blake to discuss the upcoming hunt and make him feel welcome.

Lady Aileen had wandered away on her own.

After a few minutes, Blake caught sight of her standing by the kirk door, her brow furrowed in concern as she studied a point not far from her.

Curious, he followed her line of vision and realized she was focused on Tara, who, even though she was in the midst of friends, had her concentration on something else. There was a vulnerability in her expression, a yearning he’d not seen before, or, at least, certainly not when she’d ever looked at him.

He traced the direction of Tara’s attention and discovered she was staring at Jamerson and his intended.

Inside the kirk, standing before the congregation, the couple had appeared happy.

Such was not the case now.

They acted as strangers, each slightly turned from the other, just standing, awkward and a touch sad.

And then Jamerson, a man whose physical attractiveness was such that he could set a thousand female hearts aflutter, glanced in Tara’s direction before quickly looking away. In that single second, only the most hard-hearted could not have detected the anguish of love forlorn.

An expression mirrored in Tara’s eyes.

Blake’s mind reeled, staggered by a sudden revelation: He had believed Tara when she’d said her running away had been because of maidenly apprehension about marriage. Or had he just
assumed
that was her reasoning? She was lovely, she was female, she was vapid-headed, therefore why did she need a true motive for any of her actions?

But now he knew differently.

She’d not been running away from marriage, or even from him.

No, she’d run
to
someone else. She’d run to the horse master.

Blake had always trusted his instincts. They had served him well. They never lied to him . . . like people did. He knew he’d blindly stumbled upon a secret Tara wanted to keep, but she was doing a poor job.

And then the hairs at the nape of his neck tingled as if someone watched him.

Slowly, he shifted his attention from Tara to meet the level gaze of Lady Aileen.

She’d noticed. She knew he’d seen, that he understood.

Her avoiding him for the past couple of days now took on a different meaning, one that cut him like a knife. She’d pleaded passionately for Tara to not marry him because
she’d known
her sister loved another man.

It was all right there in front of him.

And, yes, Tara’s passion for another man, one promised to another woman, was not comfortable.

But Blake discovered that what really disturbed him had nothing to do with Tara. He had convinced himself Lady Aileen was avoiding him because of their mutual attraction.

Now he realized she might have avoided him out of guilt. She hadn’t wanted him to know the truth.

She might not have feelings for him at all.