Aileen 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.
Blake 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.
Tara 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.
In fact, Blake even treated Tara with respect. She had expected his anger. Instead, out of love for Aileen, Blake was doing what she asked. How many men would be that giving?
Few Tara knew.
And how many sisters would accept what Aileen was accepting without bitterness or rancor?
Tara began to wonder what it would be like if Blake had that same regard for her. Marriage wouldn’t seem so stultifying then.
Right now, she didn’t know what to expect.
She’d accepted his proposal because she’d been afraid of being unimportant. He’d been everything she’d counted as needful in a husband. He was wealthy, and willing to pay her father for her hand, he was handsome, and he was popular. People respected him.
But was that enough?
Certainly, her father had never set a good example of what men and women of good sense should search for in a spouse. Her mother had died right after she was born. Aileen had been her parent, and nothing about her marriage to Geoff had made Tara anxious for the wedded state.
However, now, watching Blake and Aileen, Tara wondered if there couldn’t be something finer about marriage that should not be missed.
And she was beginning to question if she knew what love was.
Was it the side glances and whispers that Aileen and Blake shared? Or the contentment that seemed to have become a part of them, even when they were away from each other?
Tara didn’t know. And in truth, what happened between a man and a woman was still a bit of a mystery to her. The marriage act, as she understood it, did not sound pleasant. Once, a young matron had warned her it was messy. Tara had been afraid to ask her why.
If it was those things, they didn’t keep Aileen from stealing into Blake’s room each night.
And what would happen when she was married to Blake?
Tara found she didn’t care if he touched her or not.
And of course, the tension inside her was building. On Wednesday afternoon, while her father was self-importantly entertaining the duke and the boring Arthur, she searched for a moment of peace with a ride.
The thought of exercise and fresh air seemed like a piece of heaven.
She entered the stable yard to come upon a very angry Blake holding his friend Sir Nolan Ogilvy by the scruff of the neck and the seat of his pants. He was ready to fling a flailing Sir Nolan into the long horse trough.
The scene was almost comical. Blake was a head taller than the redheaded Sir Nolan and weighed more. He appeared as if he could juggle the man if he so desired.
Angus and the stable lads had grins of approval on their faces as they watched—however, upon her arrival, their attitudes changed immediately. Angus cleared his throat as a warning and sent a pointed look in her direction.
Blake caught sight of her and put Sir Nolan on the ground. “Hello, my lady,” he said.
Sir Nolan, his balance wobbly, tried to bow and muttered a greeting.
Tara approached them. “What is going on here?” she demanded.
“Nothing, my lady,” Sir Nolan said. “Just a disagreement between friends.”
In truth, she didn’t like Sir Nolan. He had a pompous sense of his own importance, but then, most men in government did. He had pursued her once. She had used all her wiles to avoid his making an offer, but he had been persistent. He’d proposed and she’d said no—a decision that he had not accepted kindly.
She supposed it should have been to his credit that he was here for the wedding. He was Blake’s guest, not hers.
Tara looked to Blake. “This is the way you treat your friends?”
“I beg your pardon, my lady.” His tone was cool, derisive. “I no longer count Sir Nolan as one of my friends.”
“Oh, please, Stephens. I was just having some sport.”
“In what way, Sir Nolan?” Tara asked.
Dull red stained his cheeks. “In a man way.”
“A man way?” Tara queried.
“He made a rude comment about your sister,” Blake said. “About the sort of woman he thought she was.”
Tara’s temper flared. “Indeed, Sir Nolan?”
A wise man would apologize.
Sir Nolan was not wise.
“She is not like you, my lady,” he said. “I have the highest respect for you.”
“And for my sister?” she prodded.
His shoulders tightened. “Her reputation is not the best,” he insisted. “This should be no surprise to you and certainly does not reflect upon my regard for you or Stephens.”
“I see,” Tara answered, and she did. She saw very clearly.
With both hands, she pushed Sir Nolan in the chest. He fell backward and splashed into the horse trough.
A cry of approval went up from the stable lads, who had not taken their eyes off the exchange. Sir Nolan spit water and sputtered. Tara had no sympathy for him.
She picked his hat up off the ground and threw it at him before ordering, “Angus, bring Sir Nolan’s horse over here. He is leaving.”
Then addressing Sir Nolan, she said, “Your invitation to the wedding breakfast was obviously a mistake. Ride back to London, sir, and tell everyone how you’ve been treated. And let them know that if anyone thinks to say a word against my sister in my hearing, they shall receive the same treatment.”
On those words, she went marching for the house, so full of steam it was a wonder she didn’t fly. She’d reached the line of beech trees when Blake caught up with her. He took her arm and swung her around. Only then did she realize he’d been calling her name.
“What do you want?” Tara demanded crossly.
“Nothing,” he said, holding his hands out as if to show he meant no harm. “Except to say that was excellent, Tara. I did not know you had that in you.”
“Had what?” she said, placing her gloved hands on her hips.
“That love for your sister.”
That remark struck right where she felt the most guilt. And she was not going to discuss it with him. She started to walk away, but he hurried to place himself in her path.
For a moment they stood. She refused to look up at him. He seemed to wait.
Hell would freeze over before she would speak.
He broke the silence first. “Thank you. Aileen means everything to me. I might have killed the man. My intent was to drown him in the trough.”
“And been hanged for it. How anyone thought to knight Nolan Ogilvy is a mystery.”
He laughed, the sound genuine.
She shifted her weight and glanced toward the house, her plans for riding forgotten. “Is that all you wished to say to me?” She’d brought haughtiness back in her voice, knowing it would annoy him.
Blake stepped back, his disappointment in her change of attitude clear.
Tara took a step past him but stopped. “Guilt is an uncomfortable emotion. I don’t enjoy it. I’m usually very honest with myself and others.”
“Of course,” he murmured.
He was so handsome standing in his riding clothes. At some point he’d lost his hat, so the wind ruffled his dark hair . . . and yet his looks did not move her the way Ruary’s had.
“I want to cry off, Blake—”
His eyes lit with happiness.
“—but I can’t,” she finished. “I know I’ve treated you shabbily. This whole state of affairs is my fault. If I hadn’t bolted on you . . . ?” She left the question up in the air to say with a new understanding, “I’ve probably disrespected many men in the worst way. Although I will not apologize for rejecting Sir Nolan.”
“Completely understood,” Blake said. “I’d not seen that side of him before. Not until he had the stupidity to speak of your sister with disrespect.”
“You would have seen it if you’d been female. He is quite aggressive.” She sighed, heartsick. “If I don’t marry you, then they shall talk of me the way they do Aileen. They already call me a man eater.” She shrugged. “But this will be different. Sometimes the expectations in London are very high—”
“You don’t need those people, Tara.”
“What do you want me to do? Stay here in the valley, waiting for time to pass before I can return to town?”
“You could do worse, Tara.”
“But if I wait, I’ll be too old to return. I am already growing too old.”
Blake tilted back his head and laughed. “What are you, all of one and twenty? Tara, you have a life ahead of you.” He took a step toward her and placed his hands on her arms. “Don’t make a decision out of fear. There is too much at stake. Not just for Aileen and myself, but for you as well.”
She shook him off, backing away, not knowing if she trusted him.
Not knowing if she trusted herself.
She hurried to the house.
Tara spent the night before her marriage alone in her room.
Most weddings in the valley were cause for days of celebration, including a few rowdy tricks played on the bride and groom before the wedding night. They were a preparation for the most raucous of pranks, when the guests would carry the bride to her groom on that special night of all nights.
It was all in good fun, but Tara had let it be known she wanted none of that. No, her wedding had taken on a definitely more somber tone.
Still, the servants were excited. Ellen worried over what dress her mistress should wear, and should Tara’s hair be styled up or left to curl around her shoulders?
But for Tara, that night before her wedding was one of deep introspection.
She remembered when Aileen had left for London. Losing the sister she had depended upon for so much had been frightening. But Tara had overcome those fears. She’d also taken on some resentment, she realized. Yes, she had let Aileen go, but she’d started to assume then a feeling that she would always be left behind.
Tara sat in the middle of her bed, her legs crossed, stunned by the possibility behind those revelations.
“Perhaps I want someone who is wholly devoted to me?” she whispered. The words sounded magical in their meaning. But then, no one had ever been that way toward her. Not Aileen. Not Blake. Not Ruary.
In truth, there was only one person who could save her.
The next morning, when Ellen came in to prepare Tara for the wedding, she was surprised to see her mistress already up, dressed and anxious to go to the church.