Wedding of the Season: Abandoned at the Altar

by Laura Lee Guhrke

  “In a smothering sort of way, yes. He was a great deal like my father. Both of them were autocratic and arrogant and felt their position entitled them to have control over every single thing in their petty little kingdoms, including their children. I broke away. You didn’t.”

  “It’s so easy for you to talk about breaking away and being daring, Will. You’re a man. You could defy your father and go off to Egypt. You could do whatever you liked and damn the consequences, especially when you came into your own money. As a woman, I’ve never been allowed that luxury.”

  “That sounds like an excuse to me.”

  “It’s not an excuse! It’s the way things are. I’d give my eyeteeth to have the kind of freedom your sex takes for granted.”

  “Would you? I doubt it. It’s a bit like the cliff, you see,” he added in a gentle voice. “You long to jump off, but you just can’t work up the nerve, so you tell yourself you’re content to look at the view. Let’s not go to Florence or Egypt. Oh no. Let’s just read about it, safe and snug by the fire here at home.”

  Her eyes stung, and she hated him suddenly, hated him with almost as much passion as she had once loved him. “Damn you, Will, if you say one more word, I vow I’ll—”

  The shop bell jangled below, interrupting her threat to do him bodily harm before she could utter it, and when a male voice called her name, she cast a frantic glance over her shoulder.

  “Aidan, already?” She groaned, knowing he couldn’t find her up here alone with Will. “Oh Lord.”

  “What’s wrong, Trix?” he asked in a low, hard voice. “Not brimming over with delight to see your fiancé? Does that signify trouble in paradise?”

  “If there’s any trouble here, it’s you.” She shoved the guide to Florence back in its place and started toward the stairs, but she hadn’t taken more than half a dozen steps before she realized he was following her, and she was forced to stop. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

  “What do you think I’m doing?” he whispered back. “I’m returning downstairs.”

  She stared at him, appalled. “You can’t walk down there with me!”

  “But I want to leave. I’ve finished improving my mind through intellectual pursuits.”

  “Eavesdropping, Will?”

  “Hardly.” He gave her a look of mock apology. “After all, I was here first. I’d been here for well over half an hour, as a matter of fact, minding my own business, reading my book and pursuing my studies like a virtuous schoolboy when you came in.”

  She gave a disbelieving sniff and resumed walking. “You weren’t virtuous even when you were a schoolboy,” she hissed over her shoulder, and when she saw he was still right behind her, she halted again, so abruptly that he almost cannoned into her. “Stop following me!” she hissed.

  “But I told you I want to go downstairs.”

  She cast a frantic glance around, then gestured to the back of the loft. “Take the other stairs. There’s a door at the bottom that leads out the back.”

  “What’s wrong, Beatrix?” he murmured. “Afraid of what Trathen will think if he finds us alone together?”

  It was absurd, she knew, but yes, that was exactly what she was afraid of. She met his gaze head on and lied through her teeth. “Of course not.”

  Of course he wasn’t fooled. “I think you are. I think you’re afraid he’ll think we’re engaging in something illicit, a clandestine rendezvous in a shadowy back corner, just the way we used to do.” He lowered his gaze to her mouth. “Remember?”

  She felt her cheeks heating. “Stop it.”

  “Stop what? We aren’t doing anything wrong.”

  She took a deep breath. She seemed to be taking lots of deep breaths nowadays. “I’m not, at least. But detaining a woman when she is unaccompanied is reprehensible. Knowing you, however, it’s not surprising.”

  “Detaining you? Not at all.” He straightened and gestured behind her. “You’re free to go anywhere you like. As am I.”

  “Meaning you intend to follow me despite my request to the contrary, demonstrating to Aidan that we’ve been alone up here, and encouraging him to think the worst.”

  “Somehow, I just can’t work up any pangs of conscience about what Trathen thinks. Besides, if he thinks less of you for merely being in the same public place as me, then you have quite a lack of trust between you, don’t you?”

  With those words, her worst fears were confirmed. “So you really do intend to cause trouble. I knew it. What’s next, Will? Shall you inform Aidan I went to see you the day you came home, or tell him a lie about how we arranged this little secret meeting?”

  “I’m not the one who lies,” he reminded her in a savage whisper, but before he could say more, footsteps sounded on the stairs.

  “Beatrix?” Aidan’s voice called to her. “Are you up here?”

  She cast another glance over her shoulder, feeling a hint of panic, then returned her attention to the man before her. “Will, for God’s sake—”

  He muttered an oath. “Go,” he ordered, much to her relief. “I’ll go down the back way. I promise,” he added when she didn’t move.

  Beatrix didn’t need any further urging. When she emerged from behind the bookshelves, she found Aidan just reaching the top of the stairs. “Hullo, darling,” she greeted, rushing forward to meet him, a little out of breath. “How’s the Colonel?”

  Aidan laughed. “Confounded, I fear. I checked him with a move he never expected.” He turned, offering her his arm. “Are you ready to leave?”

  “Absolutely.” As she slid her arm through his, she cast a surreptitious glance behind her. Thankfully, Will had gone, but Beatrix had the uneasy feeling he had no intention of staying that way.

  Afternoon tea at the vicarage proved to be a welcome distraction for Beatrix. She managed to put Will and his ridiculous comments out of her mind, but afterward, as Aidan drove her back to Danbury in his carriage, Will’s words insisted on going through her mind.

  Dreaming, dreaming, but never doing what you dream about.

  “Is something wrong, my dear?”

  Aidan’s voice intruded on her thoughts, and when she glanced at him, she found his hazel eyes on her, his expression troubled.

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured. Aside from being all mixed up and turned upside down from Will’s blasted return, she was just shipshape and Bristol fashion. She forced herself to smile. “Why do you ask?”

  “You scarcely said a word at the vicarage this afternoon. In fact,” he added, “you’ve seemed in a pensive mood for several days.”

  Ever since Sunderland arrived home.

  Aidan didn’t say those words, of course. He knew Will was here, he must have heard, yet he was too much of a gentleman, far too correct and proper, to make mention of her former fiancé. But what was he thinking? Was he the least bit jealous? If he was, he’d never show it. She had feared what conclusions he might draw if he’d seen her in the loft with Will, but whatever those conclusions might have been, he would never have revealed them. He was a very private man.

  “Aidan?” She turned impulsively toward him. “I was wondering . . . do you think we might reexamine our plans for our honeymoon?”

  “Reexamine our plans? In what sense?”

  “I know we had decided to take a tour of your estates. But I was wondering if we might take a holiday somewhere instead?”

  “A holiday?”

  “Yes. Somewhere cozy and intimate.” She moved a bit closer and looked up at him. “It will be just the two of us, you know.”

  “Ah, I am beginning to understand the interest in Baedeker.” He smiled a little. “Do you have a particular place in mind?”

  Images ran through her head at once, images of red tile rooftops and cobblestone streets, of a quaint pensione with a view of the Arno. She could see herself and Aidan sipping espresso in the Piazza del Campo, or walking through the churches and museums, or picnicking in the Tuscan countryside where he would read and she would paint. So c
aptivating were these images, she could almost hear the sonorous notes of a Puccini aria playing in her head as if on a gramophone.

  “Yes,” she breathed with a hint of reverence. “I want to go to Florence.”

  “Florence?” He gave a slight laugh, clearly surprised. “When you said a holiday, I was thinking the Isle of Wight, or possibly Calais. We only have two weeks set aside, remember, and Florence is so far away. It just isn’t possible.”

  Those words were like the sound of the gramophone needle slicing across the disk of her imagination, and the lilting music of Puccini ended in a screeching dose of reality.

  She fought it. “I know it’s a long way. But we could extend our honeymoon a bit longer, couldn’t we? It would be wonderful to see the Duomo and the Ponte Vecchio and Michelangelo’s David, wouldn’t it?”

  “Delightful, I agree. But as for extending our honeymoon, we simply can’t, my dear. What of Parliament? Our wedding is October 2. The House of Lords sits on October 16, and it’s a special session that day, very important. I must be there for the vote.”

  With those words, Beatrix felt images of Florence fading away into oblivion. “I’d forgotten about Parliament,” she admitted, trying to hide her disappointment.

  “For us to tour Florence for our honeymoon, I would have to abandon my Parliamentary obligations.”

  “I know.”

  “We discussed a honeymoon abroad, if you remember, and we decided time prohibited it. We arranged to tour my estates instead so that you would have the opportunity to see them all, something we have not yet done.”

  She kept her gaze fixed on the road ahead, for she did not want him to see the disappointment in her face if he happened to glance at her. “I remember.”

  “And the tenants would be so let down if they did not have the opportunity to meet you straightaway. Why, I believe the children at Trathen Leagh are even planning some sort of welcoming song to greet their new duchess. We have a duty to our people, my dear. We cannot let them down.”

  “I know.”

  “If it means anything to you, I wish I could take you to Florence.” He put his gloved hand over hers, and it was such an uncharacteristically open display of affection, it caught her by surprise. Aidan was not that sort. He had kissed her only once, quite properly, upon her acceptance of his proposal, and he was certainly not one for holding hands. “Your happiness is important to me, my dear, and you have been unhappy in the past, I know.”

  He wasn’t looking at her, but as she studied his grave, boyishly handsome profile, she felt a powerful rush of fondness and affection.

  Aidan might not be the most demonstrative of men, or the most expressive, and he was, as her cousins were wont to say, a bit of a dry stick. But he had a loyal, faithful heart. She would always be able to depend upon him. He wouldn’t break promises. She could trust him to take care of her and their children no matter what might happen. He would never demand that she do crazy things like follow him into the desert on a bloody treasure hunt. He wouldn’t expect her to make impossible, irresponsible choices. Most important, he would never tear her heart into pieces.

  She and Aidan were not passionately in love, but they suited. They fit. They both appreciated the responsibilities of their position and accepted its obligations. They both knew this was the life they’d been born to live, a life built around their estates, their families, and the carrying on of traditions that were important and necessary.

  “Your happiness is important to me, too,” she answered. “And I know it would grieve you to forsake your responsibilities in Parliament for a holiday. I would not ask you to do that.”

  “Those words means a great deal to me.” He smiled. It was an Aidan smile, no more than a subtle curve of the lips, and it didn’t twist her heart all around or make her stomach dip or make her giddy with excitement, but that was quite all right with her. She’d had enough of that sort of thing to last a lifetime, and she was perfectly content with what she had now.

  You long to jump off, but you just can’t work up the nerve, so you tell yourself you’re content to look at the view.

  It was ridiculous, she told herself, ridiculous of Will to bring up that stupid story. She didn’t want to jump off cliffs. Or ride a horse fast enough to break her neck. And if she was content to be an armchair traveler, what business was it of his anyway?

  “Beatrix?”

  “Hmm?” She blinked, and Aidan’s face came back into focus. “I beg your pardon?”

  “You are frowning all of a sudden. Did I say something to vex you?”

  “No.” She shook her head. “Of course not, I was woolgathering, darling. Forgive me.”

  He returned his attention to the road, and she worked to force Will’s absurd observations out of her mind. Three days back after six years away, and he thought she was the same Beatrix he’d left behind. Well, she wasn’t.

  She was no longer the scared little girl who couldn’t dive off Angel’s Head. And she wasn’t a lovesick fool, either, mooning over him and waiting for him.

  It was just Will, stirring up old memories. Will, who couldn’t keep commitments, who refused to honor his responsibilities at home, who went off halfway around the world two weeks before his wedding day without a second thought. Well, she wasn’t made that way.

  Her life might not be very exciting. It wasn’t like jumping off cliffs, or racing along the road to St. Ives in an automobile, or treasure-hunting for Tut’s tomb, but it was the life she’d always known she would be expected to lead. And it was the life she wanted.

  She glanced behind her at Paul’s carriage, which was following Aidan’s back to Danbury, and watched Aunt Eugenia smile and wave at her. She smiled back, then she looked again at the man beside her, turning her hand in his to entwine their gloved fingers. Yes, she repeated firmly, this was the life she wanted.

  With that, she resolved to put Will out of her mind, and during the days that followed, she was careful to avoid any possible accidental encounters with him—she stayed away from the village, avoided the lane to Sunderland Park, and even pleaded a headache to avoid seeing him at church.

  Instead, she occupied her time working with Auntie to make preparations for her wedding, and for the trip to Pixy Cove. She also took long walks with Aidan in the groves and woods surrounding Danbury, and as she listened to him describe his own estates and talk about their future together, she was able to put her priorities back in order.

  After a week had passed, Will’s return began to seem like little more than a bad dream, and by the time of Marlowe’s house party, Beatrix felt she had fully regained her equilibrium. Having managed to avoid him for a full week, and relieved that it would be at least another four before she ran the risk of encountering him again, by which time he might have returned to Egypt anyway, she happily boarded Sir George’s yacht, but she had barely stepped off the gangplank and onto the ship before her hard-won equilibrium went sliding away.

  Standing on the deck of the Maria Lisa, talking to Sir George and looking rakishly handsome in dark blue flannel trousers and buff-colored waistcoat, with the cuffs of his white shirt rolled back and his navy reefer jacket hooked by his fingertips over one shoulder, was Will. He must be accompanying them to Pixy Cove.

  With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Beatrix glanced behind her, but the hands were pulling up the gangplank, and unless she wanted to jump over the side, there was no escape. For the coming four weeks, she would be trapped in the same house with him, and with that realization, the serenity Beatrix had worked so hard to regain during the past week vanished as if it had never been.

  Chapter Six

  Sir George and Lady Debenham were passionate about only one thing, and that was sailing. As far back as Will could remember, their favorite entertainment during the hot days of August was to give water parties aboard their yacht, offering a select group of their acquaintances the opportunity for a tour along the Torbay coast.

  As the boat skimmed along Devonshire’
s stunning coastline, most guests at these affairs were content to stand at the rail and admire the view, but not Will. It had been a long time since he’d been sailing, and when Sir George offered him the helm, he was happy to take it.

  Occupied with guiding the three-masted yacht across Torbay Harbor and north around the point whimsically called Hope’s Nose, Will didn’t know Trix was aboard. Being occupied with estate business during the past week, he hadn’t talked to Paul. If he’d thought about the Danbury transportation arrangements, he’d have guessed they would have come by rail, as they had usually done in past years. But after he’d handed control of the Maria Lisa back to Sir George, he discovered that guess would have been wrong. As he started along the starboard side of the ship toward the observation saloon where refreshments were being served, he spied Beatrix standing by the rail.

  She was near the door to the saloon, leaning on the rail and staring out at the sea. The stiff breeze whipped the skirt of her white yachting suit in his direction and stirred the fat blue ribbon bow on the side of her white straw boater. One of her hands gripped the rail to keep her balance on deck. Her other hand was at her neck, and he came to an abrupt halt, transfixed by the aimless, innocuous movement of her fingertips back and forth beneath her jaw. How many times had he kissed her there? he wondered, remembering nights in the moonlight, with the scent of gardenias in the air, and her skin soft and warm against his mouth.

  As he stared at her with these images of the past going through his mind, Will felt the slow burn of arousal spreading through his body. Watching her, thinking of those days, he suddenly felt like a randy, desperate youth all over again, and when she lowered her hand, exposing that tempting little bit of bare skin above her collar, his mind began conjuring up images far more explicit than anything he’d actually seen during their many midnight rendezvous so long ago.

  Desperate to regain his composure, he lifted his gaze a notch to her profile. Her expression was pensive, almost dreamy, with an upward curve at the corner of her mouth that made him wonder what she was thinking about right now.