Backwards Honeymoon

Even without hanging over the railing, though, she could at least take a deep, calming breath. It felt like the first one she’d managed all day. The air was unseasonably warm for northern Minnesota; if she’d realized that summer would come so early this year, she might have chosen a lighter weight of satin for her dress. Dancing in this costume was going to be—

The French doors of the room next to hers were open just a crack, and the murmur of masculine voices rubbed her nerves. Even on her own balcony she wasn’t alone; apparently someone had assigned the next room for some of the ushers to use.

She tried to close out the sound, but the chatter which had surrounded her all day seemed to have sensitized her hearing; she couldn’t help picking out words from the seemingly aimless conversation next door.

“And just in time, too,” a man’s voice said. “Another month and Doug would really have been on the ropes.”

Kathryn heard only a murmur in answer; the speaker must have had his back toward the balcony doors.

“Yeah,” the first man said. “He had to borrow the money from me to rent his tux because his credit cards are all maxed.” Another murmur. “Because he’s been on a losing streak, that’s why. He was hoping that last trip to Vegas—you know, when he was supposed to be in San Diego schmoozing customers for Jock—would straighten him out so he might not have to go through with this after all. But instead he ended up owing the casinos, too, and you know how they are about collecting debts. If this wedding had been scheduled for next month instead, Miss Ice Cube Campbell might find herself marrying a guy with two broken knees.”

It can’t be, Kathryn told herself. They can’t be talking about Douglas.

But there was no one else they could have been speaking of. And there had been a flat, calm note in the usher’s voice which convinced her he was speaking the truth—or at least giving the facts as he saw them. Still, he could simply be wrong, couldn’t he? Perhaps he was misinterpreting what Douglas had said and done…

The hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t go away.

She slipped back into her room and rang the bell for her maid. The few minutes that she waited for Elsa were the longest in Kathryn’s memory.

Douglas, she thought. A gambler so compulsive that he saw a trip to Las Vegas as a way to pay off his previous bets? She’d always thought him a careful spender. A man so broke that he couldn’t afford to rent a tux for his wedding? She’d seen him in formal clothes a number of times; it had never occurred to her that he might not own a tuxedo. A man so desperate…

That he’d lie and scheme to marry me, Kathryn thought.

Elsa tapped on the bedroom door and came in, looking hesitant. Kathryn gulped down her first instinct, which was to send Elsa shouting for Jock Campbell to come upstairs to his daughter right now. There was no sense in sending up an alarm, after all—and no one knew better than Kathryn how quickly a tasty bit of news could spread through the Campbell household. Let Elsa guess what was on her mind, and the butler, the gardener—even the paperboy—would probably know it before Jock Campbell did.

“Please ask my father to come upstairs now,” she said calmly.

Elsa looked confused. “But he’s greeting the guests, Miss Kathryn. And there’s still plenty of time before the wedding. You told me yourself that he’d be so sentimental about giving you away that you didn’t want him to come up till you were ready to walk down the aisle—”

“I’ve changed my mind, and I’d like to spend a little time with my father. Please tell him that.”

Elsa nodded and went out again.

Kathryn paced the floor. More than once her hand slipped under her veil to the back of her neck, to the top of the row of tiny satin-covered buttons which fastened the dress. Those fifty buttons running straight down her spine—the mark of a really professional dressmaker—had added a good bit to the price of her wedding gown. Now the irony was that she couldn’t get out of the dress by herself….

She pulled herself up short. Exactly when, she wondered, had she decided that no matter what her father said, she was not going through with this wedding?

With a firm tap on the door, Jock Campbell poked his head in. “Is it safe?”

Kathryn turned to face him. “Daddy—” She bit her lip, not knowing what to say next. Why hadn’t she thought this through before summoning him?

“How beautiful you are, my dear. As pretty as your mother, and that’s saying a lot. Elsa seemed to think you were feeling a bit lonely up here. Wanted the old man’s company, hmm?”

“I wanted to talk to you, yes. I’m…having second thoughts.”

“About getting married? Oh, now, it’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

“About Douglas, actually. Daddy….”

“Fine man, Douglas. Everything I could ask for in a son-in-law.”

Kathryn took a deep breath. “You’ve never had any doubts at all about him?”

Was there a flicker of hesitation in his eyes? “No, dear,” he said firmly. “And what you’re suffering now isn’t doubts, or even second thoughts. It’s nerves, pure and simple. Your mother had them, too. She even sent for me, just minutes before our wedding was to start. Told me she wanted to call it off. She didn’t, of course—and look how we turned out. Happy as clams for twenty-five years—and would be happy yet if it wasn’t for…” His voice choked, as it always did when he referred to his wife’s death.

Kathryn watched him strive for control. He had to work even harder at it than usual, but then this was an especially emotional day.

“Daddy,” she said. “I’m really sorry to upset things, but this is not just nerves.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kathryn.”

It was a rare day when she heard that stern note of finality in her father’s voice, and something inside Kathryn curled up tight.

“Every bride has nerves,” he said flatly. “If they all acted on the feeling, the institution of marriage would be extinct. I’m going downstairs to get Douglas, and after the two of you have talked, I will accept your apology for doubting my judgment in this matter, and then we’ll go on with a wedding.”

“No!” The word was out before Kathryn could even try to keep the panic out of her voice. She saw Jock’s frown and said more quietly, “No. Please don’t bring him up here.”

“Are you afraid to face him, Kathryn?”

Yes. “I…Of course not.” She groped for an excuse, anything that might do. “I just don’t want him to see my dress before I get to the altar.”

How dumb can you be? she asked. She’d just neatly contradicted herself—saying one moment that she didn’t want to proceed with the wedding at all, then the next proclaiming that the groom wasn’t allowed to see the bride before the ceremony…

It was apparent that Jock Campbell hadn’t missed the idiocy of the comment. He didn’t even comment, just shook his head and went out.

Great job, Kathryn. Next time why don’t you just stab yourself in the heart?

And now the clock was running. Jock would walk down the stairs at his normal relaxed pace, run his eye over the crowd to seek out his prospective son-in-law, pull Douglas aside in a casual way so as not to raise the concerns of the surrounding guests, and escort him upstairs. She had no more than twenty minutes, Kathryn estimated, before the two of them would be at her door.

She could already hear Douglas’s smooth, patrician voice denying any misdeeds, claiming shock and surprise that anyone could make such an accusation. And what was she going to tell her father? That she chose to believe what she’d overheard from an usher rather than accept the reassurances of the man she was supposed to be trusting with her life?

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t face down the two of them together. Which left only one alternative.

Kathryn tore open her closet, grabbed jeans, a pair of sneakers, and the first blouse her hand touched, and plunged into the bathroom. Putting both hands to the back of her neck, she clutched at the wedding gown, braced herself, and pulled hard. Buttons flew everywhere; for a moment the ceramic-tiled bathroom sounded like it was full of exploding popcorn.

She stepped out of the gown and wadded it up in the bathtub in order to leave herself enough room to step into her jeans. Tearing off her veil, she flung it over the door of the shower, then kicked off her white satin shoes and thrust her feet into the sneakers. Only then did she remember that she didn’t have a cent on her, so—listening carefully for noises from the hall—she tiptoed back across the bedroom to where her honeymoon outfit was spread across the bed, dropped her engagement ring atop it, and grabbed the tiny evening purse that lay beside the dress. It was all she had time to take.

Still buttoning her blouse, she ducked back into the bathroom, pausing only to lock the door behind her, and went on through into the sitting room beyond. It opened into a secondary hall, around the corner from the main one which led to the grand staircase. There was no one in sight; she took the back staircase and peered around the corner at the bottom into the kitchen, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw it empty. All the employees must have already gone to stand at the back of the ballroom in order to watch the ceremony.

A ceremony which was not going to happen.

Kathryn paused for a moment outside the back door, then headed for cover behind the nearest large tree and started to work her way across the garden trunk by trunk. Her plan was so simple it could be summed up in two words: Get away. She didn’t care where, and she didn’t care how.

Her heartbeat slowed a bit as she increased her distance from the house, and with the first hurdle behind her, she turned her attention to figuring out how to get off the estate. Jock Campbell’s big Georgian-style house didn’t look a bit like a moated castle, but with its high brick walls and iron gates it was nearly as impregnable.

And getting out wasn’t much easier than getting in—especially today, when the guards would be extra alert in order to secure all the wedding gifts on the premises, to say nothing of protecting five hundred guests who were all wearing their best jewelry. And in a very few minutes, as soon as Jock discovered her abandoned wedding gown, it would become even more difficult to circumvent the security arrangements.

She was chewing on that, trying to figure out the weak spot in her father’s defenses, when she popped out from behind a hedge into the narrow driveway beside the gardener’s cottage and tripped over a pair of legs sticking out from under an old car.