Chapter 28
“You look so beautiful, Riona,” Maureen said, an expression of awe on her face.
“Indeed she does, my dearest,” Susanna replied from a similar seated position. “When you wed, Maureen, we shall have a dress as lovely made for you.”
Two seamstresses knelt on the floor, waiting for instructions.
It was the final fitting of the dress and it fit perfectly, even if the dressmaker frowned and ordered everyone about with an insistence reminiscent of Mrs. Parker.
Riona fingered the pale blue garment at the throat.
The high neck of the gown felt as if it were choking her.
“Please do not move, Miss McKinsey,” the seamstress said. “If you do, we shall just have to take longer at this task.”
Obediently, Riona dropped her hands to her sides, staring through the parlor window.
Beyond was the expanse of lawn and the path leading to the village.
Still farther was the road that led to Edinburgh.
Or Inverness. South to England, north to Gilmuir.
She was not, however, inclined to flee. Only in her imagination could she give rein to such wicked thoughts of stepping down from the small pedestal, grabbing her skirts in her fists, and racing from the room.
Any destination as long as she was no longer here, poked and prodded and pushed into the role of an Edinburgh wife.
No more waking at dawn. No more standing on the hill and watching as the sun crept shyly over the horizon. No more greeting the day with excitement and enthusiasm and a huge swelling feeling of anticipation.
Her life had come full circle, and once more she would be a city woman, expected to be but one of a thousand proper wives.
Expected to dance and to hold polite conversation while hiding her boredom.
Perhaps she would entertain on a modest scale, although she would be more comfortable birthing a calf than acting as hostess.
If she were wise, she’d consider marriage to Harold an adventure, something akin to piracy. She was as little suited for that profession as she was for being a wife.
Would he waste her money? She might well find herself back here in time, dependent on her mother’s charity to survive. If that were the case, she would convince Harold to become a farmer and instruct him as she had another man.
No. She would not think of James, and certainly would not voluntarily recall those moments of lessons given in such amusement.
The first time he’d milked a cow, or helped in the weeding.
In fact, it would be better if she did not remember him at all, pretending that memories of him did not cling to every separate room or spot at Tyemorn.
Recollections of Lethson night stood out. Images of James, limned by moonlight, flashed into her mind. Her fingers curved as if to touch a shoulder, smooth down a thigh, hold his erection cradled in her hand.
Her mother stood, addressing the seamstress with a question.
“Whatever are you thinking, Riona?” Maureen asked her.
Riona blinked at her sister.
“You have the most unholy look of glee on your face.”
Riona motioned to Maureen, who leaned forward.
“Did you ever wonder what Captain Hastings looks like without his clothes?” she whispered.
Her sister blinked slowly, her expression changing to incredulity. “Is that what you were thinking?”
She nodded. “Do you never think of it?”
Maureen stared down at her interlocked fingers. “I like the feel of Samuel’s arm beneath his sleeve,” Maureen confessed.
Riona eyed her sister with impatience. That wasn’t exactly what she meant.
“Are you wondering about Harold?”
For a horrified moment, Riona tried to envision Harold without his clothing, but the image would not come to her. Yet it was all too easy to recall James. Perhaps Mrs. Parker was correct after all and she was hopelessly wanton.
Maureen was looking at her strangely, and Riona hurried to reassure her. “I’m going to be a bride,” she said. “Of course I would think such things.”
Her sister looked doubtful, but she was silenced now that the seamstress was returning to her side.
Riona was made to lift her arms, round her shoulders, all to allow the seamstress to inspect her creation. The boredom of the fitting was momentary and barely noticeable, however, in the wake of her thoughts.
Pity was an emotion to be spent on those more unfortunate than she.
The lame war veteran, the mother who cradles a dying child, a young boy with the pox.
A hundred examples of worthwhile candidates, two in her own family.
Her mother, for example, losing the husband she dearly loved and being told the story of his loss at sea nearly a year after it happened.
Or Polly with her daughter, lost to her since she’d emigrated.
She wasn’t an object of pity, for all that her future wasn’t what she wished.
Suddenly, she heard James’s footsteps in the hall. Why didn’t the other women in the room seem to note his approach? Riona froze, waiting, her breath trapped in her chest as he entered the room.
Even plainly attired as he was during the day, in his dark breeches and white shirt, he had an almost commanding appearance.
Yet there was more to him than his attractiveness, more than simple physical beauty.
He was a man to come to in need or lack.
A leader, someone to inspire confidence and hope.
Old Ned and the other men of Tyemorn had nothing but praise for him.
He had suggested that the irrigation channels be cut deeper, and the main sluice emerging from the River Wye dug at a different angle.
The upper pasture had been left as grazing land for the cattle, and sheep moved to a different location.
He and Ned had met with the other villagers, and they’d agreed to plant oats in twice as many fields next year.
For a man who had known little of farming before coming to Tyemorn, he’d learned much.
Was it being a ship’s captain that gave him such an aura of power? Or was it the man himself, beneath all his roles?
“Forgive me,” he said, bowing and taking a step out of the room.
“Not at all,” Susanna said, standing. She went to the doorway and, taking his hand between both of hers, drew him back into the room. “Will Riona not be the loveliest bride?” The question gave him permission to turn his attention to her.
Look away, she told him silently as he regarded her. Look away and I will pretend not to see you, either. So that the thought of you is not placed on the inside of my eyelids and in my heart as I take my vows.
He held his thoughts inside most times, making her wonder at them. Some were transparent and could be divined by the curve of his lips. Some were deeper still, as if his studied expression was deliberate in order to hide his opinions.
She could not fault him for his silence, because she felt the same caution with her speech.
With James, words could not be taken back.
A casual rejoinder could not be erased with a smile.
She could not easily tease him as Maureen did.
Each sentence seemed important, each separate voiced thought mattered.
A look stretched between them, and she wondered if all other voices faded away for him as they did for her.
She no longer heard her mother’s voluble chatter or the seamstress’s disapproval or Maureen’s comments.
She heard nothing, and in that strange and silent tunnel that stretched between them she spoke, finally, of what was in her heart.
Forgive me.
Forgive me for being foolish before I met you.
Forgive me for being rash before you came into my life.
Forgive me, if you will, for seeing the hurt on my sister’s face and wishing her happiness more than my own.
If I had known that you were to come, I would have been more cautious. But what is done is done.
But words didn’t flow between them, only a silence that grew larger and larger as neither spoke.
Abruptly, he was turning on his heel with military precision, gone from the room without a word to anyone.
Pressing her hand against her waist, Riona forced herself to breathe.
Susanna gazed after him before turning and glancing at Riona.
“Are you finished?” she asked the seamstress with uncharacteristic abruptness. When the other woman nodded, she waved her hand in the air in an almost rude gesture of dismissal.
They began to remove her dress, Riona actively helping them. More than once she looked in the direction of the doorway. Once attired in her simple day dress, she hurriedly left the room. A moment later the seamstress and her helpers departed Tyemorn Manor.
Susanna moved to pick up Riona’s wedding dress, smoothing her hand over the pale blue silk. She frowned at the mess the seamstress and her helpers had made.
“Harold McDougal is a grasping lout, and if your sister had no funds at all, he would be looking for another plump pigeon,” she said angrily.
Maureen looked a little surprised at her vehemence.
“She can’t marry Harold. You saw that yourself, Maureen.”
“But she’s betrothed to him.”
Susanna nodded. “Then I suggest we both start praying for a miracle.”