by Platt, Meara
“I shall wear my hair in braids and attend in my bedroom slippers.” She tucked herself closer to Robbie. “I will show up tomorrow, but only in the hope Lord Tilbury will halt the ceremony. If he does not, I will have no choice but to run off to Scotland. I cannot marry him. Robbie…that is, Captain MacLauren and I have discussed it. We understand there may be repercussions. We will do whatever necessary to protect you.”
Her father glowered at Robbie. “You’re to blame for this, putting wild ideas into my daughter’s head. I’ve heard about you. I know the sort of man you are.”
“The best sort,” Heather interjected. “Joshua and Ronan would not be friends with him otherwise. Lord Liverpool wouldn’t value his opinions, nor would the Scottish lords trust him to serve as their parliamentary liaison if he weren’t of the finest character.”
“Daughter, you do not know what he’s really like,” her mother said. “At least Tilbury makes no pretense about his feelings. But Captain MacLauren will break your heart as he has done with countless other women.”
“It isn’t true…well, it may have been at one time. But no longer.” She turned to Robbie for help.
He took her hand. “Heather knows my past. I’ve made no secret of it. She has my heart and always will. If she accepts to be my wife, I will never give her cause to doubt me.”
Her father snorted in disbelief.
She was hurt by her parents’ refusal to consider her wishes.
“Papa, we can discuss this later.” Dahlia had been listening to the exchanges and now spoke up. “Robbie, then our ploy with the flowers failed? Tell me what happened.”
Her father frowned. “Dahlia, you were involved in this?”
She nodded. “Holly and I are now married to men who love us. We want the same for Heather. So, yes. I helped. And I shall continue to help in any way I can.”
“Me, too.” Holly tipped her chin up, casting her parents the most defiant look Heather had ever seen on her sister. Holly’s temperament was such that she would suffer in silence and eat her insides out before ever forcing a confrontation.
Heather smiled at her, liking Joshua’s influence on her. She was ready to stand up to their parents, no more appeasing their desires.
Her father threw his hands up in evident frustration. “Heather, if I could lock you in your bedchamber, I would. Mark my words, you will never be happy with Captain MacLauren. I don’t know what he’s promised you or whether he’s even made you any promises. Not that it matters. Rogues like him never keep to their word.”
The remark only made her trust Robbie more. Not only would he keep every promise, he’d pledge his life to hold true to it.
Her mother sniffed. “Indeed, what can he ever offer you? A fine carriage? An elegant home? On his wages? You’ll be living in a tent and riding on a caisson. He’s a mere captain.”
“As are Dahlia’s husband and mine,” Holly pointed out.
“It is entirely different,” her mother retorted. “The Braydens are wealthy and established in London. Set aside your romantic notions and think logically for once, Heather. I will grant you Captain MacLauren is a very handsome man, but what else does he have in his favor? And do not toss out that he is a close relation to the Earl of Caithness. I know very well who he is and how low his chances are of ever inheriting anything from that old man.”
Heather was appalled. “Robbie, I’m so sorry. Please accept my apologies. You know I do not feel this way.”
“Aye, lass. I know. I dinna take offense. They only want what they believe is best for ye.” He covered her hand with his own. “Ye’re with yer family now. I have other matters to attend to. Send word to the Caithness townhouse if ye have need of me.”
She sensed he wanted to kiss her, for his eyes were tender and gleaming, but he merely gave her hand a light squeeze. “I’ll see ye tomorrow.”
He nodded to the others and strode out.
Heather watched him leave and did not turn back to her parents until she heard the front door close behind him.
Her shoulders sagged the moment he left the house.
She took the seat beside Holly’s and sighed.
Holly gave her hand a light squeeze. “It will work out. Don’t give up hope. It must work out. The Book of Love won’t let you down.”
Heather shook her head. “It isn’t magical. I suppose it had to fail sometime.”
“Well, I’m not giving up on it. It worked for Joshua and me, and I was no easy match to make.”
She smiled.
At least Holly had found her happiness.
So had Dahlia.
“Thank you for all your help, Dahlia. It was a good plan, but I interfered with it, and it went awry. Lady Withnall took me to the Duke of Stoke’s home and gave me the chance to speak to him and Lady Melinda. I should have excused myself and left immediately afterward. But I stayed, not that I had much choice. Lady Melinda had no intention of letting me go, and Lady Withnall seemed to be in agreement with her. I think the duke just wanted to throttle me.”
“Oh, dear.” Her mother put a hand to her throat. “I hope you haven’t made an enemy of him.”
Heather rolled her eyes. “He had better hold his tongue, or he’ll make an enemy of me. But no, he’s a smart man and loves his daughter. He will do whatever he can to see Melinda happy, and in this matter, he knows I will do all I can to help him.”
Dahlia cast her a grim look. “Assuming there is anything possible to be done in these final hours. They are a pair, Melinda and Tilbury. They’re so caught up in their own schemes, they can’t see how much they are hurting each other and everyone around them.”
Her father rose and turned to face them all. “Schemes or not, our lives will be ruined if you do not go through with the wedding. Have you no consideration for your mother or for myself? He shall destroy us socially, financially, and in every other way possible. We shall be pariahs in York.”
Heather had worried about precisely this. It was the only hold Tilbury had on her. “Captain MacLauren’s family would always welcome you.”
Her father was unmoved. In truth, he was turning apoplectic. “And what are we to do up in Caithness? Toss cabers and listen to the whine of those annoying bagpipes? No, Heather. You do not have our consent to break it off with the marquess. You will show up tomorrow morning at St. Mary’s and exchange wedding vows with that man.”
Her sisters looked stricken, but she held them off when they sought to defend her. “I appreciate the effort. It’s all right. I understand what I must do.”
Her father sank back in his seat beside her mother. “That’s right. You just remember your duty to your mother and me.”
Her mother glanced up as though suddenly struck by a thought. “We’ve never met your marquess. Holly, I think you must invite him over to meet us tonight.”
She, Holly, and Dahlia stared at each other, stunned.
Heather did not know whether to laugh or cry. How could they consider such a thing after all she’d told them? Well, crying was out of the question because she’d already shed too many tears. So, she laughed.
Then her sisters began to laugh.
Joshua and Ronan walked in to find them holding their sides, tears of mirth streaming down their cheeks.
“Love, are you all right?” Joshua asked Holly.
She nodded and told them the reason, as well as all else that had happened.
“Oh, hell.” Ronan groaned and went to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff drink. “Where’s Robbie?”
“I kicked him out,” her father said with uncalled for smug satisfaction because they all knew Robbie would not have left unless it suited his purpose to go.
Joshua understood this and turned to Heather. “Where is he now?”
“He said he was returning to his townhouse.” She thought on it a moment. “Well, what he said precisely was to send word to him at the Caithness townhouse if I had need of him.”
Ronan nodded. “Do you think he’s there now?”
<
br /> Heather shook her head. “No, he hasn’t given up on changing Tilbury’s mind. But I sense he’s through with negotiation.”
She cast a wincing glance at her parents before returning her gaze to her two brothers-in-law. “As I said, no more negotiation. He’s primed for open warfare.”
Her mother gasped. “Warfare? And you’ve encouraged this? What will he do to the marquess?”
Chapter Sixteen
Heather glanced up at the sky the following morning as she descended Uncle John’s carriage to enter St. Mary’s Church. The sky was a glorious deep blue that jumped out and smacked you in the face with its brightness and clarity. Such skies only occurred in late spring or early autumn before the haze of heat or bleakness of winter set in.
“Are you ready, Heather?” Aunt Sophie asked, giving her hand a light pat.
“Yes.” It did not seem fair this ignominious day should be so bright and clear, or the breeze so light and gently warming on her skin.
Well, if she decided to make a run to Scotland with Robbie, it couldn’t hurt to be running in good weather.
“You look beautiful, my dear,” Uncle John said, kissing her cheek.
She had on the pale blue silk gown, the one that was the color of a robin’s egg. Her hair was done up in a simple but elegant braided twist with a few wispy curls to frame her face. Rather than don a hat or veil, she’d merely had a few meadow flowers threaded through her hair.
Guests were now arriving, friends and family of hers and of Tilbury’s.
By the curious looks everyone cast her as they descended their carriages and stepped inside the church, she knew what they were all thinking. Will she or won’t she marry the marquess?
Perhaps some were silently posing the opposite question. Will he or won’t he marry the unworthy commoner?
A few did not care a whit what happened and silently posed a third question. Will there or will there not be a wedding breakfast even if there is no wedding? After all, people had to eat—no sense letting all that sumptuous food go to waste.
She scanned the crowd for a sign of Robbie but did not see him.
Her parents arrived.
So did her sisters and their husbands.
So did her cousins and their husbands.
Good. Lots of dukes and earls on her side of the aisle.
Her Uncle George and his wife were present. Also good; they’d require his medical attention if a brawl broke out.
“Heather, we ought to go in,” her father said, taking her arm to lead her inside.
She resisted. “Tilbury has not yet arrived. I haven’t seen his mother or his sister, either.”
She dared not mention Robbie for fear of sending her father into another fit.
Oh, he would be apoplectic soon enough.
She’d taken The Book of Love to bed with her last night, reading it thoroughly, especially the chapter on connections and expectations. She’d even made lists regarding Tilbury. Another regarding Robbie. Another she titled “Living in Scotland” and one she’d titled “Living in England.” A third, she’d titled “Living in London.” A fourth she’d titled “Ruining My Parents,” not that there were any advantages to such an outcome, but it helped to think through all the consequences should Tilbury turn out to be a vindictive ogre.
She’d made so many lists into the night, she had run out of writing paper. But by then, she’d given herself enough to work on. More importantly, for the first time, she had read the book with an open heart. She now understood what it meant to listen to what her senses were telling her, instead of denying or forcing the meanings, manipulating them into something else.
The realization of what she needed, what was essential, and could not be compromised, opened her eyes to all she had been missing. Robbie had been trying to teach her this all along. No wonder it tore his heart when she wouldn’t listen.
“Where is he?” her mother whispered, trying not to be obvious as she began to fret. “Has that despicable Captain MacLauren harmed him, do you think?”
“No, and he isn’t despicable. He’s honorable. Too honorable to harm anyone. He isn’t a brute.”
Her father scoffed.
She held her tongue, for they would soon have the hot air knocked out of them. Tilbury was now half an hour late to his wedding. Also, he had not bothered to send over a bride token the night before for her to wear with her wedding gown this morning. No heirloom necklace or ring. No brooch bearing the family crest or encrusted with precious gems.
While her parents were getting worked up over this neglect, she was gladdened by it. Was this Tilbury’s way of telling her she was released from their betrothal? Perhaps he was too overset by the events of yesterday to think of anything else and was now passed out drunk in his study?
The church doors suddenly flew open, and Lady Withnall sauntered in.
Thuck, thuck, thuck.
Her cane tapped against the marble floor as she walked up front and took a seat between her friend, Lady Eloise Dayne, and Heather’s parents. All whispering had stopped. To Heather, it seemed no one dared breathe as the little harridan had passed each pew and cast her beady-eyed gaze on those gathered.
But once she sat, the guests began to sigh in relief and grow restless.
Bishop Farraday cleared his phlegmy throat. He had been associated with the Tilbury family for decades and had always been the one to officiate at births, deaths, marriages, and other such rites. Heather thought perhaps he had been officiating for centuries, for he appeared doddering and creaky.
Tilbury was now forty-five minutes late.
Bishop Farraday was still cheching beside her, making that horrible noise one made when clearing clumps from one’s throat. He then snuffled it back up his nose. “Someone ought to ride over to his lordship’s residence.”
“No need,” Lady Withnall intoned but gave no further explanation. She merely turned to Aunt Sophie and complimented her on her lovely gown.
“Thank you, Lady Withnall,” Sophie replied with a wry smile.
“Let’s give it a few more minutes,” Joshua suggested. “I’ll ride over if he does not appear within the hour.” He turned to Heather and arched an eyebrow as though silently asking her what was going on?
She shook her head, being as much in the dark as he.
The guests began to rise from their seats and mill about. Many were now whispering, a few chortling, and there was a persistent buzz echoing off the gracefully arched ceiling.
An hour had passed.
“I’ll go with you, Josh,” Ronan said, drawing out his fob and marking the time, although it wasn’t necessary since the church bells now rang to mark the passage of the hour. Sext. The noon hour. The mealtime hour for many.
There would be a lot of privileged stomachs rumbling about now.
Heather glanced at her sisters and tried not to smile. She was never more eager to be thought of as a laughingstock. Was it possible? Had Tilbury been struck by lightning? Or rather, hit by sudden clarity? Was he going to jilt her?
Please, please. Let it be so.
Joshua and Ronan had taken no more than a step when there was another commotion by the front doors, and Tilbury strode in.
Heather’s heart sank.
Then she noticed Robbie marching in behind him.
Both men were dressed quite elegantly and were remarkably well-groomed. It was to be expected of Tilbury, for he always dressed with immaculate care, and every garment he owned was the finest Savile Row had to offer.
One would think he would do no less for his wedding day, even if neither the bride nor groom wished to be married to each other.
As for Robbie, he always looked spectacular even when drunk and falling off walls. But he wore his dress uniform and had clearly taken care to look his best for the occasion. Her heart began to flip-flop. It was unavoidable, couldn’t be helped.
She loved Robbie.
Bishop Farraday immediately asked the question on everyone’s mind. “My lord, is there
to be a wedding?”
“That depends entirely on Miss Farthingale.” His gaze swept across the gathering of family and friends before coming to rest on her. “Do you wish to be married?”
She tried to read his expression, but she was quite awful at understanding men anyway and could discern nothing by it. “Yes, I do, Lord Tilbury.” She heard gasps of relief—her parents, no doubt—amid the gasps of surprise. From his side of the aisle, she heard gasps of disappointment. “Yes, I do wish to be married.” She tipped her head up to look him steadily in the eyes. “But not to you.”
Perhaps she ought to have phrased it more politely or begged for a private word. Too late now. The flying buttresses upon the arched ceiling once more resounded with excited whispers. Indeed, the church fairly hummed as those whispers circulated about the vast chamber.
Her parents were on their feet, attempting to reach her and draw her aside. Her sisters held them back.
Heather turned to Robbie, her bones melting as he returned her smile with an affectionate grin of his own. “I wish to be married to Captain MacLauren, if he’ll have me.”
Tilbury did not appear to mind at all. “Will you have her, Captain MacLauren?”
“Aye, my lord.” He kept his gaze on Heather. “I love the lass.”
“Well, that greatly eases my mind,” Tilbury said, smiling at her with more warmth than she’d ever seen out of him in all the months of their betrothal. “You see, I cannot marry you, Miss Farthingale.”
“And why not?” her father shouted.
“Because I am already married.” His grin broadened so that it stretched from ear to ear. There was a lightness in his eyes she’d never seen before. He waited for the din of the crowd to die down before explaining. “Lady Melinda and I were married early this morning. She is now Lady Tilbury. Captain MacLauren stood beside me as my witness.”
Heather let out a whoop and tossed her bouquet of flowers into the air. She threw herself into Tilbury’s arms as he held them out to her, and he spun her in his arms, the two of them laughing and more joyful than ever at the prospect of not marrying each other.