The McCloud Home for Wayward Girls

Ruby held a check and a typed letter in her hand and stared down Clive Jones, catering manager of the Beaulieu Hotel. “What do you mean our reception has been canceled?”

Clive sat behind a massive oak desk and clutched a large black leather reservations log to his chest. “There was a clerical error. It seems another party had already booked the ballroom for Saturday the twenty-seventh of November. My assistant should never have written you a contract.”

Ruby frowned. “But this is our wedding. The invitations have been mailed. You can’t just cancel the reservation.”

Clive exhaled loudly. “The reservation is not confirmed until the deposit has cleared. You will find wording to that effect in the contract.”

Ruby waved the check in his face. “But I sent you the payment a month ago. On time. And now you send it back to me with a cancellation notice!”

Clive tugged at his collar. “We never deposited the check. We were looking into the misunderstanding.” He fiddled with a cuff link. “We deeply regret the mix-up. Perhaps we could look at another date?” Clive set the book on his desk and opened it. He thumbed past one page, and then another. His pale eyes darted back and forth while his long white fingers scanned columns of cramped ink notations. “It won’t be until January. What with all the holiday parties.”

Clive continued to thumb through his book. “Of course there is April or May. And most couples prefer a springtime wedding.”

Ruby panted as if she had just climbed stairs, or ran for miles, or whacked an incompetent clerk over the head with a heavy book. She took a long moment to calm herself and process the information. “Can you tell me who has booked the room that evening?” There was a new lift to Ruby’s voice.

Ruby laughed out loud. “The Garden Society. In November!” Ruby ripped first the letter, and then the check, into strips of meaningless scrap. “Tell me,” she said, fixing Clive with cadaver-cold eyes, “is Hester Fraser, as president of the Garden Society, the contact name on that event?”

Back at the house, she received a call from the florist. They would, regrettably, be unable to service the wedding due to a prior commitment. The photographer called with a similar excuse, as did the bakery. Within the next few days, they began to receive the invitation response cards. They all came back with regrets.

Daniel found Ruby facedown on the bed and with her head buried in a pillow, which did little to muffle the sobs. He patted her gently on the back. “We knew we’d make an enemy.”

“I’m not defending her. Nor am I surprised at her reaction.” Daniel pulled Ruby’s hand into his own. “I told you she threw a fit. I’ve never seen her like that before. I knew there would be hell to pay.”

Daniel had described the breakup to Ruby months ago. He proclaimed it the worst confrontation of his life. Hester had been apoplectic with rage. She called him a lech and a degenerate, and wanted to know how many of the girls in the home he had availed himself of over the years. He actually feared she might strike him.

Daniel helped Ruby to a sitting position. “Personally, I never wanted a big wedding. Is it really so important to you?”

Ruby took a deep breath. She had always wanted a formal wedding with a whole sea of onlookers. She wanted to wear a white dress, drink champagne, and slice into an iced tower of at least six layers. It would have legitimized everything. Daniel had chosen her and was willing to stand up in front of the entire community to say so. Peering into the deep pools of Daniel’s eyes, she knew, then, how little any of that mattered. “I thought it was.”

Daniel laughed. “She can’t. Not in the end, anyway.” He pulled Ruby’s hand to his lips. “We will be married.”

“We marry here. Today. No matter if there are only the servants and girls in the house as witnesses. We’ll have a service in the parlor and dinner in the dining room. I’ll call Reverend Murray right now.”

“Because we’re not ready. I don’t have a dress or flowers. What will we serve for dinner? And your kilt. You’ve sent away to Scotland for the clan tartan. You were going to wear formal Highland dress.”

Several days later, Ruby fingered her new gold band absentmindedly as she walked out of the library and straight into the path of William.

“William,” she said. “What a surprise.” He wore the same glum expression she’d left him with all those weeks ago.

“Ruby. I’m glad I ran into you.” His voice was sad and his eyes were red. “I wanted to say good-bye.”

It was only four in the afternoon, but Ruby thought she smelled whisky on his breath. “You’re leaving?”

“I’m going to clerk for a law office in Boston until school starts in January.” He jammed his fists deep into his pockets. “I either cut the mustard, or they cut the cord.”

Something churned in her tummy. The breakup had not rendered William angry or mean. It had, however, cuffed him sharply. That day, in his car, he had turned from her, needing a moment to compose himself. His eyes had been runny and his voice had wavered, but still he’d been a perfect gentleman.

“Good luck to you.” He took a step back, hesitating, and then leaned forward. “And don’t let her get to you. She’s out for blood, you know.”

“And just so you know,” he said. “Your man, Daniel, he really wasn’t her type.” William lifted his eyebrows. “Still, she’ll never forgive. I want you to know, I had a long discussion with my parents. Hester had them talked into pulling their financial support from the home. I think I’ve convinced them it would reflect poorly on them, make them look petty and vindictive.” He shifted from one foot to the other. “People of character don’t take their anger out on charities, now, do they?”

William brushed a lock of hair off his forehead. “Because it made Hester madder than a gored bull.” He crossed his arms over his crisp white shirt. “Plus, you’re still the best girl I ever met. Even if you did break my heart.”