The Pregnant Bride. Catherine Spencer

that load of rubbish?”

      She looked away, embarrassed. What would he say if she admitted that, after they became engaged, Mark had gradually taken over picking out her wardrobe for her, right down to the shade of her stockings? As an Armstrong wife, you’ll be scrutinized from head to toe every time you appear in public. Slip up and your photo will be plastered all over tomorrow’s newspapers.

      “Hey, I’m sorry!” Edmund reached across and covered her hand with his. “You’ve got enough to deal with, without me getting on your case. I’ve never met the guy and have no business passing judgment on him. But just for the record, what you’re wearing now is stunning. Blue suits you.”

      “It’s part of my trousseau. The only clothes I brought with me were those I’d packed for my honeymoon.”

      He leaned back and gave her such a thorough inspection that she practically squirmed. “Mark doesn’t know what he’s missing, Jenna. If he did, he’d surely be here now, instead of me.”

      “Oh, no!” she exclaimed, more rattled by his compliment than she cared to admit. “This isn’t his kind of place at all!” Then, realizing what she’d said, she clapped a horrified hand to her mouth.

      “Too upscale, you mean?” Edmund’s eyes danced with mischief.

      “Oh!” she gasped. “You must think me so ungracious!”

      His face took on a sober cast and he rearranged his cutlery before finally saying, “Can I ask you a question?”

      “Of course.”

      “What was it about this Mark person that made you decide to marry him?”

      She lifted her shoulders, mystified that he couldn’t figure that out for himself. “I loved him.”

      “Why?”

      “I don’t understand what you mean. Love doesn’t have to have a reason.”

      “Sure it does, Jenna. We might like a lot of people, but as a rule, we love very few. What made him special?”

      She thought about that for a minute, then said, “At first, he was interesting and fun and exciting…and…”

      And a little bit insecure. Too much under his father’s controlling thumb. Too much in thrall to the family name and reputation.

      “Go on.”

      “He seemed to need me.” I made him feel important in his own right. With me, he was somebody other than the son who always did his father’s bidding. “We became friends.”

      “And lovers?”

      “Eventually, yes.” Silly to feel uncomfortable with the admission. She was twenty-seven, after all; well past the age of consent. “We were compatible. Comfortable with each other. His family accepted us as a couple. So, when he proposed…”

      I couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.

      “…I accepted. I was ready for marriage and I thought we’d be happy together.” Irritated to find herself trying to justify a decision which, at the time, had seemed absolutely right, she flung out her hands. “What does it matter? He obviously didn’t agree, and now I have to accept that, too.”

      “How did he break the news that the marriage was off?”

      “He had his best man deliver a letter to the church.”

      “He had his best man deliver a letter?” Edmund made no effort to mask his disgust. “Jeez, I take back my apology. The guy’s pure pond scum!”

      “He’s not nearly as bad as I’ve made him sound. If anything, he’s a rather unhappy man. I thought I could change that. Apparently, I was wrong.”

      “A guy who sends someone else to do his dirty work isn’t fit to be called a man, Jenna! And what I find hard to understand is why you feel compelled to go on defending him.”

      “Because if I don’t,” she cried, at her wits’ end with his probing questions, “I look like an even bigger fool for having agreed to marry him in the first place. And my pride’s taken enough of a beating for one week.”

      Edmund drew in a long breath and gestured for the waiter. “Mark’s the fool, sweet pea,” he said, “but if you can’t see that without my having to beat you over the head with the idea, we might as well drop the subject.”

      They feasted on steamed crab dipped in melted butter and washed down with white wine, but although the meal was every bit as delicious as he’d promised, Edmund became increasingly withdrawn and never did make good on his promise to share some of his own history. Nor did he suggest lingering once they’d finished eating. Indeed, his taciturnity during the drive back to The Inn made her wonder if he regretted having invited her to dinner to begin with.

      The path from the parking area to The Inn wove among plantings of shrubbery interspersed with the pale faces of daffodils. Concealed floodlights showcased the mighty cedars looming in the background. Strategically placed benches just big enough for two lurked in the shadows. Piano music drifted through the darkness, the notes falling soft and clear in the night.

      Everything about the place spelled couples, romance, honeymoons, happy-ever-after. Added to Edmund’s aloof silence, it was more than she could bear.

      Just a few yards farther on, the path forked, with one way leading directly to The Inn’s front door and the other descending to the beach. As they approached it, Edmund stopped. “I’m too restless to turn in, so I’m going for a walk,” he said, looking pointedly at her high heels. “I’d ask you to join me but you’d break an ankle in those shoes, so I’ll say good night instead. You should sleep well after the day you’ve had.”

      Numbly, she watched him turn away, and willed herself to do the same. To walk into The Inn and not look back. To accept that her interlude with him had come to its inevitable end.

      His silhouette became indistinct, swallowed up by the night. The sound of his footsteps crunching over the gravel grew fainter.

      Do him and yourself a favor and disappear inside before you say something you’ll live to regret, Jenna! He can’t fix what’s broken in your life and you have no business expecting him to try. He’s already done enough.

      She swallowed, and braced herself to face the night alone. Her self-confidence had already eroded into near oblivion. Why expose it to further abuse? But no amount of common sense could ease the raging loneliness in her heart, or prevent her from calling out just before he disappeared from sight, “Edmund, wait! Don’t go without me, please!”