Storm at Marshbay by Clara Wimberly Read Free Book Online Page A

uneasily toward a large bolted door at the end of the house facing the courtyard
    “We will need to do something about that door, then,” she announced.
    “Mother,” Ian said, “It’s been a long time.”
    “Not long enough,” she snapped. “I can still see her lying there before that door and that beast of a horse above her. Oh I’m sorry, you must excuse me.” She then hurried toward the house, her handkerchief to her mouth.
    “Oh, dear,” I said, “I’ve upset her.”
    “No.” Ian said. He stood and quickly pulled me to my feet.
    “I need to be honest with you. You’ve no doubt heard that was where the accident with Marguerite happened?”
    I suddenly saw the bolted door in a new light. “I knew what happened was in her studio but I didn’t really know where that was. If it will bother you or your family, of course I’ll change the location.” 
    He shook his head. “I know how much you love the courtyard.” 
    “I do, but…” The truth was that the beautiful courtyard reminded me of him. Of our conversation the day I told him I would marry him. It was the place where I first realized my feelings for him. But I had no idea the place must hold terrible, gruesome memories for him and his family.
    “Isabella, I think I know you well enough now to know that you are not a girl who asks for much. I don’t want to deny you anything. If I know Mother, by the time of the wedding, no one will know there was a door there.”
    “You’re sure it won’t bother you?”
    “It won’t. I’ll be too busy looking at my beautiful bride.”
    I carried those words in my heart and they comforted me as I counted the days until my wedding day.

    On the appointed day, the carriage delivered me to Marshbay about an hour before the wedding. My dress would be waiting for me in a room near the courtyard.
    As I stepped from the coach Ian, who had obviously been waiting, hurried from the doorway to help me down. I glanced up at the skies, happy I hadn’t insisted on an ocean-side wedding. The weather had been beautiful— warm spring days with the breeze from the ocean gentle and fragrant— until today. Though I’d hoped the gray skies might clear, as the day went on the clouds had grown thicker and more ominous.
    “Don’t worry,” he said, squeezing my hand. “Whatever the weather decides to do I’m sure Mother has prepared for it.”
    I had to smile. Mrs. Fitzgerald could drive you crazy with her perfection and her organization. But I confess I don’t know what I would have done without her help.
    Ian escorted me into the house. I had succeeded in pushing away all thoughts of that door and Marguerite. My wedding might be different. But I meant to do my best to make it as beautiful and memorable as I could.
    He stopped at the foot of the stairs.
    “Go put on your dress. I need to change and then I will be waiting for you in the courtyard.” His eyes were tender as he looked into mine. “Everything will be all right. We will make the best of this, you and I.”
    “Thank you,” I managed. I don’t know why his words moved me so much. They weren’t the most romantic in the world. I didn’t expect romance, but his words reassured me he was not the cold man my father had been. 
    The dress I chose was simple, a soft, silk white crepe, with a lace bodice and long lace sleeves, buttoned at the wrist. The long train was trimmed in lace, as was the veil I wore. I knew it flattered me more than a conventional gown would.
    Once dressed, I entered the courtyard to the music of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy. White orchids and pink roses adorned the temporary altar. Pink and white crepe swags, intertwined with the same flowers, were draped along the chairs at the end of the row so it made an aisle of sorts for me.
    Ian was the first person I saw when I walked down the stairs and into the courtyard. At first he looked a bit bored, but when he turned and saw me, his entire face changed. His gaze told me I was beautiful, and