“I thought you were down by the boats,” Brenna said as she picked up the dropped tray and now empty coffee cup. “I didn’t expect…” She gestured toward the bed, her eyes wide, her voice sharp and heavy with disappointment. “To find you here. Like this.”
Jock ran into the room, his own robe wrapped tightly around his body. He stopped short in the doorway.
Captain Williams, the cowlick he usually persuaded to lay down standing straight up, nearly collided with the Scotsman. “I heard—oh, excuse me,” he said as he took in the tableau before him. Face instantly red, perspiration popping out on his high forehead, he exclaimed, “Oh!” once more then took off down the hallway, his apologies trailing behind him.
“Would ye mind explainin’ this, laddie?” Jock’s heavy brogue seemed heavier and more pronounced. The redness in his face contrasted sharply with his ginger hair and mustache as he tied the sash to his robe with angry jerks. “Ye’ll do right by her, Remy, by God, or ye’ll be answering to me. Ye’ll marry before the day is out.”
“Oh, Shae, what—” Brenna never finished her question. She opened and closed her mouth several times, but no other words issued forth, as if everything she wanted to say was stuck in her throat. Tears shimmered in her eyes as she turned away.
Shaelyn’s entire body flamed with embarrassment as everything became clear in an instant, despite the voices raised in anger and confusion. She knew how she ended up in Remy’s bed. Or thought she did. She’d fallen asleep in the bathtub and dreamed of him, as she always did, her hands between her tightly clasped thighs. Caught in that dream, she had risen from the tub, simply walked into her room—his room—and crawled into bed, the wet towel she had used to wrap around herself crumpled on the floor. Had she done it on purpose?
Remy rustled the blankets beside her, but had yet to say a word. She couldn’t look at him, wouldn’t look at him, afraid of what she’d see in his eyes. Finally, after what seemed an eternity, he cleared his throat. “Of course I’ll do the right thing. Miss Cavanaugh—”
Oh, the way he said Miss Cavanaugh made her shiver…with fear and dread and something else she didn’t want to name.
“—and I will be man and wife as soon as the preacher can get here.”
“No need for a preacher,” Jock said as a huge grin stretched the ginger mustache on his upper lip. “I’m still an ordained minister. I’ll perform the deed myself. Is twelve o’clock all right with everyone? In the study?”
The decision had been made though not one of them asked her if she wanted to marry him. Not one of them considered her feelings.
“But…but…” The words died in her throat as Shaelyn turned to face Remy. It was a mistake and she instantly averted her gaze. Suppressed anger showed in the firm set of his lips. And his eyes! Glowing like polished pewter, they seemed to see right through her, as if she wasn’t there. He cleared his throat again and began moving the blankets away from him.
“Now, if you’ll all excuse me. It seems I have a busy day ahead of me.”
Chapter 13
Tears blurred her vision as Shaelyn stood before her mother and Jock. Remy’s robe, still wrapped tightly around her body, smelled of him.
What have I done?
The servants’ room that had become hers seemed crowded, not only because there were too many people inside, but because disappointment was a tangible thing, a fourth entity that grew bigger, stealing the air…and her pride.
Both Brenna and Jock glared at her. The displeasure on her mother’s face sunk into Shaelyn’s bones. The last thing in the world she wanted to do was hurt and disappoint her mother. The other last thing she wanted to do was marry Remington Harte.
“He’ll do the right thing fer ye, lassie. He’s a good man,” Jock said as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Ye’ll be married. And we can all put this unfortunate incident behind us.”
He patted the pocket of his robe, looking for his ever-present pipe. “After breakfast, I’ll go down to the courthouse and get a marriage license. Bertram Tealing down there owes me a favor,” he said, and with a nod to Brenna, left the room.
Shaelyn ignored the part about the unfortunate incident, but the marriage part, she just couldn’t. Finally alone with her mother, she stated her case. “I don’t want to get married…not to him! He…he—”
“You should have thought of that before…before you gave yourself to him,” Brenna hissed and moved toward the armoire in the corner of the room. “All the plans I made for you, Shae, gone in a flash. This is not how your father and I pictured your wedding day. There will be no church, no grand party afterward.” She shook her head as she pulled the ball gown out of the armoire and shook it free of wrinkles. “This will have to do in lieu of a wedding gown.” She held the dress up then peered at her daughter, unmistakable reproach written clearly on her face. “I had such plans.”
“I don’t want to marry him, Mama.”
Her mother rattled on, her words rapid-fire and as sharp as the major’s saber. “Be that as it may, you’ll just have to make the best of it, Shae. Your own actions brought you to this place. No sense being upset and angry with me, or Jock, or with the major.” She laid the ball gown across the bed. “And don’t you dare cry. Crying never solved anything.”
“What about James?” Shaelyn sniffed as she glanced at the gown and swallowed against the lump in her throat. The last time she’d worn the dress her mother held, she had danced the night away with James. In the garden, with the moonlight shining down on his face, she’d promised to wait for him.
And what had she done? Since Remington Harte had walked into her life, she spared very little thought for James. Very little thought at all except for how the major made her feel. James seemed to be an inconvenient reminder of what her life had been like before everything changed.
“What about him?”
“He’ll come home, Mama, and find that I broke my promise to him.”
“That, my dear, is something you’ll have to face when the time comes and another thing you should have thought about before you went to the major’s bed.” She tossed the gown on the bed then pulled out a plain, black skirt and blouse and handed them to Shaelyn. “Now, I suggest you get dressed and help me with breakfast. We’re already behind schedule and the major, as you know, likes his schedule kept.”
“I’m sorry, Mama.” She sniffed again and swiped at the wetness clinging to her lashes. “I never meant for this to happen. I never meant to hurt you.”
Brenna said nothing although her eyes glowed with unshed tears. She nodded once then left the room, her back stiff, her head held high.
Shaelyn watched the door close behind her and collapsed on the bed, willing to give in to the tears blurring her vision. Brenna’s disapproval and disappointment, and her own actions, weighed heavily on her heart. How could one night of passion have ruined everything? How could Brenna force her into marriage knowing she’d always wanted to marry for love and love alone? The major didn’t love her and probably already thought she’d done this on purpose, so he’d be trapped into marrying her. And what could she possibly do?
She hid. That’s what she did. Despite the fact the major had requested she eat all her meals with him and his men in the dining room, Shaelyn made sure she didn’t step foot outside the kitchen. And the thought of food? Well, that was enough to turn her already fragile stomach.
But she couldn’t hide for long or stay busy enough to forget how her life would change in a few short hours. If twelve o’clock came and went and she didn’t make an appearance, someone would look for her—either her mother or Jock or, heaven forbid, the major himself. She had no doubt Remy would drag her into the study, whether she wanted to be there or not, whether he wanted to be there or not.
To avoid such an event and further embarrassment, when the grandfather clock in the hallway chimed the hour, Shaelyn, dressed in the ball gown that now held a mix of memories, left her room and made her way down the hall.
They were
all there, the officers who had invaded her home and turned her world upside-down. Hair brushed, faces scrubbed clean, silly grins firmly in place, they waited, eyes turned toward the door as the clock finished its dainty little tune.
Shaelyn took a deep breath and forced herself to walk through the doorway, although how was a mystery. Her heart beat so quickly, she saw spots before her eyes, and her legs…her legs felt as soft as butter on a warm day and didn’t want to move any further into the room.
“Courage, little miss,” Randall Beckett whispered as he approached from the side of the room, grabbed her hand, and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
She nodded once, unable to speak, as he escorted her to where Remy waited. Shaelyn sucked in her breath. Remington Harte held himself rigid, as if a steel pole replaced his spine, his expression dark and forbidding and yet, he was still the handsomest man she’d ever laid eyes on. She forced herself not to dwell on that fact as she took her place beside him.
Jock stood behind the desk, the Bible open in his hand, the buttons on his uniform and the high polish on his boots gleaming in the sunlight coming in through the window.
“Dearly beloved,” he began softly, and every muscle in Shaelyn’s body trembled as the man she called Uncle read the words that would make her Remington Harte’s wife, his brogue almost musical.
One mistake. One moment of weakness and her whole life changed. The plans she’d made for her future flew away like birds on the wing as Remy repeated the words Jock intoned and slipped his ring from West Point, the one she had admired just a short time ago, over her finger. Too big for her, the heavy stone forced the circlet to twist, the diamond chip cutting into her flesh as she clenched her fist.
One mistake. And every one of the officers living in her home knew the circumstances of this impromptu wedding. She’d been found in the major’s bed, and Major Harte had been forced into this marriage just as she had been. Embarrassment heated her face and made her tremble as Jock recited from the family Bible.
She glanced at Captain Bonaventure, who gave her a slight nod. No recrimination showed on his face. Instead, he beamed like an overindulgent uncle. Her eyes flitted toward Captains Williams and Beckett. Again she saw no reproach in their eyes, nor in the smiles stretching their mouths. She couldn’t fathom the expression on Captain Davenport’s face. Though his lips were curved in a smile, there was something about his eyes that gave her pause.
Her gaze slid to Brenna. Her mother returned her stare, unblinking. No sympathy whatsoever glowed in her eyes nor in her expression. No forgiveness either, which made Shaelyn’s stomach clench. And yet, no one else would see what she saw. Brenna would remain charming and sweet and generous and pretend to the world that her daughter’s marriage was nothing but planned.
Unsettled by the look on her mother’s face, Shaelyn’s focus drifted to Remy and her breath seized in her lungs. The charming grin he normally wore was nowhere to be seen; his lips pressed together so firmly, a white ring formed around his mouth and his eyes—no longer soft gray-blue—resembled polished pewter.
“I do,” Remy’s voice jerked her out of her thoughts. She hadn’t heard Jock intone the vows, only Remy’s promise to obey those vows.
Her heart slammed against her ribcage as those same vows were directed to her. “Do you, Shaelyn Rose Cavanaugh…”
The rest of his words disappeared in the dull buzz droning in her ears. It was only when he stopped speaking, when he stared at her and mouthed the simple response that she realized she must answer. “I do,” she managed, although how she didn’t know. Her throat constricted to the point where she could hardly draw breath. Perspiration, despite the icy chill taking up permanent residence within her, dampened her back, underarms, and trickled between her breasts.
“I now pronounce ye man and wife. Ye may kiss the bride,” Jock said the words then placed the Bible on the desk and waited. Shaelyn almost backed up a step as Remy turned toward her. As it was, she had to force herself to breathe as her husband—husband!—leaned forward and lightly kissed her cheek.
He wasn’t the only one to buss her cheek. Each one of the officers did the same as they offered their well wishes then shook Remy’s hand, congratulating him.
“If you’ll all come into the dining room—” Brenna clapped her hands to draw everyone’s attention and moved toward the door, “I have prepared a lovely meal to celebrate this occasion.” As her mother led the way out of the study, followed by Remy’s officers, Shaelyn took a deep breath and glanced at the man still standing beside her.
“All I need are yer signatures,” Jock said, once more jerking her out of her own thoughts.
One of Remy’s dark brows rose as his eyes gave her a slow, thorough perusal. “It has been said, Mrs. Harte, that some battles are hard won,” he commented, his voice a low, hoarse rasp. “But you got what you wanted.” He took the pen Jock handed him, signed his name with a flourish on the marriage certificate, then handed her the pen.
Instead of signing her name with the implement, Shaelyn wanted to stab him with it. “You think this is what I wanted? To be married to—”
“Go ahead. Say it.” When she said nothing, he supplied the answer. “A stubborn Yankee ass.”
“You’re wrong, Major. This was not what I had planned for my life. You…you—This is all your fault. If you hadn’t taken over my room…”
“Don’t you dare say I took advantage of you.” Once again, he stiffened, holding himself rigid, and his eyes flashed a warning. “I only took what was offered. What else was I to think when you climbed into my bed?” An eyebrow rose, but the rest of his face seemed to be carved from granite. His voice was as hard as that cold stone.
How his words stung. He did think she’d done this on purpose, allowing them to be caught so he’d be forced to marry her. She didn’t regret making love with him, or staying with him as he’d asked, but she regretted them both being forced into marrying.
“I hate you, Major!” It was mean and childish of her to say, but no more so than putting vinegar in his coffee or molasses in his boots. She really didn’t mean it though. She didn’t hate him and yet, she couldn’t stop the words from falling from her mouth. “I’ll hate you until I draw my last breath.”
“As you wish, Mrs. Harte.” Remy bowed from the waist and strode to the open door, his limp more pronounced, perhaps because he’d held himself so rigidly for so long. He stopped and stood still for a moment, his back moving as he drew air into his lungs, before he turned around and pinned her with his stormy blue eyes. “You may move your belongings back to your room. Your mother may move back upstairs as well.” He nodded briefly then quickly left, closing the door behind him.
It took less than a minute from the moment the pocket door slid closed before Shaelyn gave in to the tears she’d held at bay.
“Now, now,” Jock said as he came around the side of the desk. He opened his arms. Shaelyn immediately stepped into the comfort he provided. “Come now, Sassy lass, this is not the way to start yer married life.”
Shaelyn sniffed and tried to stop crying. “But I never wanted this, Uncle Jock. I didn’t want…this.”
He stroked her back and his voice lowered. Shaelyn smelled tobacco on his clothes, the scent reminding her of how many times this gentle man had offered solace in exactly this way in the past. “He’s a good man, lass. I’ve known Remy all his life, watched him grow from a boy to the honorable man he is, much as I watched you. Ye’ll find none better.” He pushed her away a little and stared into her eyes. “I suggest ye make the best of it.”
“The best of it? With him? He hates the fact he was forced into this marriage as much as I was. Hates me.”
“And didn’t ye just yell the same words to him?”
Ah, the voice of reason. She could always count on Jock to make her see what she didn’t want to see. This time, his words had little effect. She might be married, might not hate Remy as she said she did, but that didn’t mean she would share his bed. Or ev
en be nice to him. Never again.
They said making mistakes is how one learns. Well, she learned. Her chin raised a notch as she pulled out of his embrace and signed her name to the marriage certificate. She stuck the pen in its holder, took a deep breath, and swept from the room.
• • •
I’m married. The thought jolted Remy as he joined his men at the dining room table. He accepted their congratulations once more while he mused on the reality of his situation with some amount of incredulousness. No, it was not the way he had always envisioned his wedding day. In truth, he had hardly thought of it at all, instead planning to get as far ahead in the military as he could, and eventually return to his boyhood home in Kentucky when wearing a uniform no longer suited him…if he didn’t teach at the Academy.
That had been the plan for his life. Marrying Shaelyn had not been part of that plan, but he hadn’t had a choice. That option had been taken from both of them when he’d asked her to stay instead of letting her leave with the dawn. Remorse for his anger and for behaving like such an ass, as she’d already accused him of being, swept through him. He needed to take responsibility for his actions and not place all the blame squarely on her shoulders.
The object of his thoughts strolled into the dining room as if she hadn’t a care in the world. The moment he saw her though, he knew it was an act. There were telltale signs of both her anger and nervousness. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and chewed just a bit before she realized what she was doing and stopped. She also held herself stiffly, as if bending would break her. Tears had made her lashes spiky, but there were no signs of them now.
Remy glanced around the table and let out his breath in a sigh of relief—the carving knife was nowhere to be seen, although the tines of a fork could do some damage if she decided to stab him, though he didn’t think she would. Slowly, he rose from his seat as she drew closer. The room grew silent. Not a sound was heard…no utensils clattering against each other, no indrawn breaths, no comments at all as his officers—and Brenna—stopped passing the meal around and watched with wide, curious eyes.
Mischief and Magnolias Page 15