Chapter 23
The wedding was but days away.
Virginia had never felt more like a powerless pawn.
With her wedding looming so near, it was impossible not to admit that if Devlin O’Neill loved her, just a little, she would be more than thrilled to be marrying him.
But he didn’t love her, not at all; until recently, his intention had been to send her home, done with her at last. It hurt still.
And as for his grand gesture of buying Sweet Briar with the intention of giving it to her, that had become tainted by the suggestion of blackmail in his offer.
It was to be a wedding gift—and Virginia did not have to ask him to know that if she refused to marry him there would be no gift at all.
She could not be unhappy with his “gift,” but she wished it had been offered with no consequent threats.
And she would not refuse. Devlin was paying off the plantation’s debts and in a few days, her home would belong to her, at last. She was marrying a man who frightened her, a man still bent on revenge, a man she continued to hopelessly love; the future was uncertain and shadowed with doubt.
At least she would have a refuge if she ever needed one.
She took the safest possible course; she retreated into herself.
She slept late and went to bed early. She immersed herself in books.
She tried hard not to think, and when she did, she thought of Sweet Briar and how one day her children would inherit it.
She kept her distance from Devlin, knowing it would hurt to be near him, and that was an easy task.
He spent most of his waking hours either at the Defiance, as she was in the final stages of being outfitted for her tour, or at the Admiralty, being briefed upon the war.
She suspected that he might be avoiding her, as well, and she could only surmise that he found the impending marriage more than distasteful.
Most evenings he took his supper out, leaving her to dine alone in the huge, empty dining room.
Upon crossing each other’s paths, they both became polite, formal strangers, which relieved Virginia to no end, no matter how odd it was.
Mary de Warenne was another problem entirely.
Virginia liked his mother and suspected that, had circumstances been different, they might have become deep and abiding friends.
Now, however, his mother was busily and happily planning their small wedding.
Virginia was constantly called on for Mary wished her to approve every detail, every decision.
The wedding would be held at their Mayfair home in the old chapel there—fine.
The wedding would be restricted to the immediate family—fine.
The reception afterward would also be at Harmon House—fine.
There would be salmon, pheasant, venison, and would French champagne be inappropriate?
No, that was fine. And finally there was the matter of Virginia’s gown.
Mary de Warenne’s couturier was beside herself with enthusiasm. Virginia nodded at lace, at beads, at silk, at satin—she had no idea what the dress would be like and she did not care. Why couldn’t they just plan the event, have her appear at the appointed hour and leave her entirely alone?
But Virginia could not be rude to Mary. The effort cost her dearly, but she was polite, friendly and, in general, quite amiable. The moment Mary left her though, Virginia would lock herself in her room, take huge calming breaths and, somehow, avoid the terrible need to cry.
It was noon. Virginia knew what day it was—she kept track of the days with the morbid fascination of a prisoner on his way to the guillotine. It was December 9—in three more days she would be walking down the aisle. Her stomach tightened at the thought, and it was a painful stabbing in her gut.
“Virginia?” Mary knocked on her door. “I have your gown! You must see it—may I come in?”
Virginia was seated by the window, staring out at the back lawns and the river. Her heart lurched and she stood. “Come in,” she said.
Mary entered, a bulky, wrapped garment in her arms. “It is beautiful beyond words, and you must try it on!” She rushed over to Virginia and kissed her cheek. Her face was alight, her eyes sparkling, and she was a very beautiful woman, indeed.
“I don’t really think I should try it on,” Virginia said slowly, her heart beating uncomfortably now. She sensed it would be hard to maintain her composure if she tried on her wedding dress, but how to avoid doing so? What logic could she use?
“But what if it needs an alteration?” Mary exclaimed, already placing the garment on the bed and removing the brown wrapper. “Look! Just look!” she cried.
Virginia hugged herself, ill. Mary held up a white silk dress and Virginia had to look.
Almost hypnotized, she saw a gown with a square neckline and long sleeves, covered with a layer of lace that was heavily beaded, the skirts impossibly full, the train elegant and long.
She forced a smile; it felt sickly. “How beautiful,” she whispered. How could this be happening? How?
She was on the verge of marrying Devlin—and he did not love her, not at all.
“You will be the most beautiful bride ever seen at Harmon House,” Mary gushed. “Let me help you out of your clothes.”
Virginia turned, giving Mary her back, facing the window.
An elegant yacht had berthed at their dock and a number of sailors were tying the lines.
She blinked back a tear, vaguely wondering who had arrived, as she did not recognize the vessel.
A man leapt from the stern to the dock and the sight he made was terribly familiar.
Virginia froze.
He leapt over the stone path, ignoring it, and started swiftly up the lawn.
“Sean!” she cried. And thrilled, she threw open the window, waving. “Sean! Sean!”
He heard her, looked up, and he waved back.
Virginia left Mary behind, racing downstairs at breakneck speed.
As she skidded through the house and into the family salon, she vaguely realized that Devlin was in the library, speaking to someone.
She had not realized he was home; it hardly made a difference.
She flung open the terrace doors and raced outside.
Sean was bounding up the stone steps to the patio. He grinned at her.
“I am so glad to see you,” she cried, and she rushed to him, throwing her arms around him and holding him hard.
She felt him tense in surprise, but Virginia felt so safe, so secure, so beloved that she did not care and she clung. Finally he patted her back, almost as if he felt awkward. “This is not the greeting I imagined,” he murmured.
Virginia realized he did not hug her in return and she let him go, smiling up at him. “I am so happy you are here!”
His gray gaze wandered over her face.
She smiled again and touched his cheek. This time she did not speak.
He pulled away, clasping her hand gently. “You are going to make the groom jealous,” he said tightly.
She glanced behind her and saw a curtain fall at the window. She faced him and shrugged. “I know that is not possible,” she said.
He stared closely at her. “Are you all right?” he asked, clearly concerned.
That was her final undoing; she could not speak, and she shook her head.
“Come.” He released her hand and pressed her back. “Let’s take a turn about the gardens.”
It was about to rain, but she nodded in assent.
Sean slipped his cloak off and placed it about her shoulders. “You are not a happy bride,” he remarked as they went down the steps to the lawns.
“Oh, no one has told you?” How hysterical and bitter she sounded, she thought. “Devlin has decided to be honorable and save my sordid reputation, at long last.”
He faced her, pausing. “You sound very angry.”
“Sean!” Tears threatened. “I am more than angry—I am being forced into a loveless marriage with a man I cannot stand!”
He started and cursed. “I thought you were in love with him, Virginia. At Askeaton you had stars in your eyes.”
“Do you see stars now?” she flung.
His mouth was tight. “No, I do not.”
She tucked her arm in his and they started to walk again. “I tried to run away. But Tyrell betrayed me and called Devlin. He bought Sweet Briar and he has made it clear that if I marry him, the plantation will be my wedding gift.”
Sean halted. “He has blackmailed you into this?” He was incredulous.
Virginia hesitated. “Not exactly. But the suggestion was clear—Sweet Briar is to be a wedding gift. If he wanted me to freely have it, he could simply sign the deed over now.”
Sean stared and finally said, “Virginia, I heard you were living openly with him. I heard you were his mistress, and so it seemed to me that his finally marrying you was the right thing for him to do.”
She hesitated. Because she had willingly enjoyed his bed after the terrible Carew ball, she could not tell Sean that they had played a deadly charade.
Did Sean still love her? She knew he remained fond of her.
Now she worried that he was more than fond of her and that she should not have involved him in her crisis.
She finally said, “I don’t want to marry him—but I also have no choice. ”
He tilted up her chin. “You loved him once. Can you genuinely claim that you do not love him now?”
She opened her mouth to deny it. No words came out.
And his reaction, a terrible darkening of his eyes, followed by the shadow of anguish, told her everything that she had to know. His feelings had not changed.
“My feelings do not matter,” she finally said, hoarsely. “What matters is that he has hurt me time and again, and if we marry, he will somehow find a way to hurt me another time. I can no longer bear it, Sean, I can no longer bear his terrible indifference!”
Sean swallowed. Tightly, he said, “Virginia, I do not think he is indifferent. I know my brother. No one knows him as well as I. If he did not wish to marry you, nothing on earth could persuade him to do so, nothing and no one.”