Marriage By Arrangement (2 page)

Four horses harnessed to Papa’s carriage pawed the gravel path.

Her hand on the carriage door, Molly, Megan’s maid, stopped frowning. Her booted foot quit tapping. A grin brightened her homely face. She handed Megan a white, folded gown, gathered high her ankle-length woolen skirts, hopped up into the carriage, and took up the multiple reins.

Cailin pulled Megan into a hug. “Do be careful.”

Megan nodded. Green eyes sparkling, her wedding gown draped in her arms, she climbed the step, and settled inside the open carriage.

Molly gave a chirrup and slapped the reins, and the vehicle lunged forward spewing gravel and dust.

Cailin watched, hugging her arms, pebbles pricking the soles of her thin slippers, until Papa’s carriage clattered down the drive, and turned into the road leading to Inverness.

Oh, God, I pray Megan’s doing the right thing.

She pressed her lips together. Despite her own wedding excitement, she must keep her sister’s secret, or Papa would send an army of servants galloping after Megan and stop her.

Cailin turned and hurried back, her high-heeled slippers sometimes sinking into the grass. She held her veil in place, draped her cumbersome train over one arm, and rushed through the violet shades of descending dusk on a line to the candle-bright castle. She drew a deep breath as a stiffening breeze blew in scents of moor and wood.

People would gather soon inside the ballroom and expect to see her.

She panted so, she could scarce hear the crickets chirping as she rushed over the rough ground and onto the stone walkway leading to the front door and the entrance hall.

She hadn’t soiled her wedding dress, but she brushed a clinging straw from her skirt and straightened her satin-clad shoulders.

Already she missed Megan. All her life she’d counted upon her sister to hold her hand before she entered her bridal chamber. She’d expected her sister to help shoo away the butterflies that swooped through her stomach no matter how often she tried to talk them away. She had scarcely been around men, and the duke was a stranger. She frowned. And his kiss had held so little promise.

Another terrifying thought swirled through her brain like a ghost. Since Papa had betrothed Megan to a cruel man, what type of man had he selected for her? Were safety and titles and lands more important to Papa than both his daughters’ happiness?

She shivered.

Gasping for breath, she nodded to the full-liveried doorman who opened the door for her and entered the stone castle, glad to be inside, away from the promise of rain. The servant knew better than to gossip about where she might have been.

Her quick footsteps clacked against the polished granite of the long entrance hall. She had stayed too long with Megan.

Already the guests assembled in the ballroom.

She glanced at the vaulted ceiling where daylight was fast fading through the thick-paned windows.

Oh God, please take away my fear.

“Cailin, come in. Everybody’s waiting.” Several of her bridesmaids stood at the open double doors to the ballroom, eyes dancing, faces flushed, and beckoned.

Clutching her bouquet, she choked down the lump in her throat, lifted her white skirts, and entered the ballroom. Just inside the doorway, she stopped and caught her breath.

Flowers lined every nook and cranny. The sweet scent of English roses almost made her dizzy. She blinked. The ballroom was a fairyland, with tall candles, white bows with flowing ribbon tails, and flower garlands tucked into every possible space. The floor-to-ceiling mirrors that lined all four walls reflected candlelight, guests, and gaiety.

Papa had gone to great expense on the decor.

Joy bubbled over her anxiety like fresh water cascading down a dangerous cliff. Surely if Papa had done all this for her, he had secured a worthy man as her groom. She glanced into one of the mirrors to adjust her veil, and then faced the festive scene.

Tall beeswax candles cast a warm glow throughout the guest-clogged chamber perfectly reflecting the rosy luminance growing inside her heart. How could she be so happy one moment and so uncertain the next?

The lilt of music from the string quartet surrounded her. She and her bridesmaids swept past three white-draped tables laden with elegant food and five more overflowing with beautifully wrapped gifts.

As formally attired men and beautifully gowned women gathered around her, she smiled in response to their congratulations.

Mums rushed to her side and spoke in a low voice with her sweet Lowland burr so different from Cailin’s own boarding-school English accent. “My dear, though we had but a few days to prepare, your wedding couldn’t be more exquisite.”

She kissed her mother’s smooth cheek. “Thank you for a truly wonderful day. Yours was the tasteful hand guiding Papa’s iron gauntlet.”

Knowing Papa, Mums had no voice in Papa’s choice of a husband for her, but Mums planned the wedding and reception.

Mums beamed.

“And Mums, you look splendid. That lavender silk is absolutely perfect.”

Above her mother’s low-cut bodice, a heavy diamond necklace twinkled against her ivory skin. Diamonds sparkled in her ears and in her shimmering blonde hair that barely showed strands of gray.

“Thank you, dearest.” Mums’s soft, gloved hand felt warm under Cailin’s chin. “You positively glow. His Grace cannot help but be pleased.”

Warmth banished some of the butterflies flitting inside her stomach. “Oh, Mums!” She slid her arm around mother’s narrow waist. “Thank you.”

The clatter of feet on the polished parquet floor shifted her attention to the athletic, debonair man approaching like a royal ship with all flags flying.

Insignificant, less colorful vessels followed the duke’s wake.

Was His Grace always surrounded by so many attendants?

A splash of contentment washed over her. How lovely to be an important part of her new husband’s dazzling entourage.

“Your Grace.” A shy flutter ran through her heart. She dropped a curtsy to the duke.

Beside her Lady MacMurry dipped even lower.

“Oh, the both of you, do address me as Avondale.” Her new husband awarded her a stiff smile. “After all, we no longer need stand on formality.”

Perhaps he was nervous.

“Thank you, Avondale.” She leaned closer to the elegant duke and gazed into his eyes, but found his attention focused on the stringed quartet. Moths swooped into her stomach.

Was the flesh and blood man she had pledged herself to somewhere inside this handsome façade? Or was this stranger playing the role of the real man? Who was this person to whom she was bound for life?

“I say, Cailin. These Scottish tunes please me not. Don’t your musicians know any good English melodies?”

“Why, yes…Avondale. Mums, would you see to it?”

Of course, her groom must think of his English guests before he could concentrate on his bride. The thought returned the smile to her heart, but didn’t banish all the alarm peeking around the edges.

With the Highlanders defeated just two days past at Culloden, even Lowland Scottish tunes seemed no longer in vogue, though their Lowlanders, unlike the Highlanders, remained ever faithful to England and King George. Thank God, they’d taken no part in The Rising.

Mums nodded. “Certainly, dear. I’ll make my way over to the musicians presently.” She strolled off in a swirl of lavender silk, leaving her flowery scent behind.

Cailin slipped her arm through her husband’s and couldn’t keep her gaze off the muscular sword-wielder wrist that emerged from the lace edging his jacket sleeve.

Today she would not let thoughts of wounded and dead Highlanders intrude on her happiness. She would celebrate her Wedding Week in the best English tradition. With God’s help, she would see this arranged marriage overturn the norm. No matter what she had to do, she would make Avondale happy and pray God he would return the blessing.

As they continued their circuit of the room, her new husband pulled away. So she stepped closer and rested her hand lightly on Avondale’s arm. He bowed and spoke pleasant words to each person he encountered.

Apprehension curled like wisps of fog through her heart. Avondale’s manner towards her seemed so very…remote. As if she were only another member of the fawning company surrounding him. Barely noticing her, he seemed intent on making each person he met adore him. Where had the affirmation gone that she’d seen in his eyes as they pledged themselves to each other?

To gain his attention, she squeezed his satin-encased arm. A trill rippled up her spine. Avondale’s bicep felt tight with muscle. What other surprises had he in store for her?

Rather than turning his attention to her, he sniffed with apparent dissatisfaction the new smoke, called a cigar, which he’d plucked from his gold satin vest and rolled beneath his patrician nose. He slid the offending brown oblong into the breast pocket of the portly groomsman who hovered over him. “Get rid of this.”

“Avondale,” a high-pitched voice called from the entry.

Her husband instantly pivoted to face the front-hall, bronze eyes twinkling above a wide smile. “Ah, finally appears my royal mother.” He raised his cultured voice. “Over here.”

A hush settled over the room, leaving the music sounding loud.

Tightness gripped her throat, but she would not pant for breath.

Last evening when the duchess arrived, Cailin had a momentary meeting with the intimidating woman. The encounter had not gone well. The woman had barely acknowledged her.

Cailin blinked rapidly and raised her chin. With time, she would surely grow to love Avondale’s mother. How could she not when the lady looked a petite, though much older image of her aristocratic son?

“My mother’s pleasure is of utmost importance.” Avondale’s gaze was flinty and compelling. “You must make her happiness a priority.”

Her heart twisted. “Yes, of course,” she murmured.

But not because the duchess’s good graces had been ordered, but because her own duty as a wife included bringing harmony to the House of Avondale. She gave the approaching duchess her most heart-felt smile.

The dowager stopped a few feet away and gazed at her with lifted brows and narrowed eyes. The tiny woman’s cool expression made Cailin feel as if she was interviewing for a position as lady-in-waiting rather than being welcomed as a daughter-in-law.

Unable to keep her smile from wavering, she bit her lip. Would the dowager accept her love? She tightened her hand around Avondale’s bicep. Regardless, she would strive to be an obedient, dutiful daughter-in-law.

The duchess thumped a ribbon-decorated rosewood cane on the floor. The hard tap of her folded fan stung Cailin’s arm. “I’m sure you’ll be a great asset to my son.” The plump, long-widowed dowager’s low-cut gown of black silk with silver stripes accented her fair skin and elaborately coiffed white hair. She held herself stiffly straight and made flabby arms and a ponderous bosom appear high-fashion.

Duchess Avondale’s retinue of dandified aides and sparkling ladies crowded around the short woman like soldiers around their commander. All eyes dissected Cailin.

Her cheeks grew hot. Heat spread from her face through her body. Perspiration made her bouquet almost slip from her hand. She dropped her gaze from the aloof hazel eyes to the woman’s neck, and then clamped her lips to keep her mouth from falling open.

A necklace of large matched pearls hung around the wrinkled neck. The perfectly round, luminous pearls were so exquisite they had to be the famed Heritage Jewels given to the First Duchess of Avondale by Queen Mary in 1699.

Shaking off her awe, Cailin stepped forward and embraced Her Grace, the Dowager Fourth Duchess of Avondale. “I’m so pleased to become your daughter.”

The woman smiled distantly, her expression cool as the snow atop Ben Nevis, and backed from Cailin’s embrace without returning the hug. She slipped her hand through Avondale’s offered arm.

Cailin pressed her hand over the smarting ache in her chest.

“That Scottish music is quite too awful.” Duchess Avondale’s shrill voice echoed through the crowded room. She thrust her gold filigreed fan over her jeweled ear as if the Lowland Scottish air, causing many a foot to tap, gave her an earache.

Every nearby Lowland face registered consternation. Behind their pearl-handled fans, the Scottish women whispered. Fashionably dressed men shifted their feet and ducked their heads.

But the English, dotted among the crowd, nodded, and their condescending expressions echoed the dowager duchess’s sentiments.

Cailin glanced across the room and caught Mums finally speaking to the musicians. The music squeaked to a halt.

“Oh dear, the duchess doesn’t know the difference between Lowland and Highland tunes.” The sudden silence caught the sotto-voiced whisper.

From long experience, Cailin knew that in seconds each Lowland Scot would cover his discomfort with whatever tactic he normally used to cope with English arrogance.

As the notes of an English minuet tinkled to a weak start, each returned to the festivities, pretending the English duchess had not insulted their music.

She peeked at Avondale, expecting him to explain the dowager’s rude snobbishness.

Instead, his breath warm against her cheek, he murmured in her ear, “I say, where does your father hide his good cigars?”

Concealing her hurt at his callousness behind her fan, she smiled. “Why, in his study.”

He raised a dark brow, but tucked her hand inside his unoccupied arm. “I see.”

With the dowager clinging like a rudder to Avondale’s right arm, she lightly held his left, smiled, made small talk, and accepted toasts and applause. Soon her good sense overcame her hurt.

The duchess had probably not heard her speak of her happiness in joining the family. Surely, her new mother-in-law had not meant to snub. And, of course, Avondale would not scold his mother. A man must honor his parent.

Despite the dowager’s haughty attitude, every invited guest pressed forward, seeming eager to meet a bona fide duke and duchess and say something witty so the two would remember them.

Other than Avondale’s unexpectedly distant behavior, Cailin discovered her first taste of being titular-almost-royalty exhilarating. After all, she was Avondale’s wife, and, as such, she would be the person closest to him in all the world. His mother and aides would soon return to court, and she would have her husband to herself.