It isn’t what we say or think that defines us, but what we do.
—Sense and Sensibility
This is where my story began. I walk stealthily down the unending hallway and down the grand staircase. I can hear the crowd in the ballroom; someone would have made an announcement by now. I slink past the doors, not wanting to be seen, when out of the corner of my eye I catch a flash of color.
“Hello, Kate,” says Doris, catching me slink.
I turn to see her decked out in a pastel pink suit suitable for the wedding; shame it isn’t going to serve its purpose.
“Change your mind?” she asks simply.
I nod. “Do you know where Griff is?” I ask slowly, not wanting to give it away.
“You missed him,” she answers and I feel my heart fall to my knees. “He’s gone to London.”
I remember that had been the plan.
“Although he never leaves for town without a final ride on Fred,” she says and winks at me.
By the time I reach the front door I’m almost running. I sprint outside and run barefoot along the garden paths. The rain is still coming down in torrents, making my satin gown cling to parts of me that shouldn’t be seen in polite company, but I don’t care. Instead, I bolt through the garden gate and down the path to the stables. I reach it just in time to see Griff and Fred canter through the gate and disappear into the next field. I shout after him but it’s no use, he’s gone.
I pause and take another look back at Penwick Manor. I think of the guests inside. I could go back. There’s still time. I can dry my dress. Redo my hair. I could take Scott’s ill-gotten money and live the life. Instead, I merely stand there out of breath, soaking wet, and feeling hopeless when Ratina nickers at me. I smile. Within seconds I have her tacked up and at the mounting block. She stands patiently as I hike up my gown and swing onto the saddle. But as soon as I am mounted I realize that all I’d ever done was walk around, usually with Griff leading me. He had never taught me to trot, let alone gallop. My childhood ride from hell floods back but I shake it off. This is different. This is a matter of life and love. I lean forward and speak softly in Ratina’s ear.
“I need to catch that man,” I whisper. “He’s riding a very handsome stud. One for me, one for you; do we have a deal?”
She turns her head and looks at me as if she understands. I kick her gently with my bare heels and she takes off like a shot. I am completely out of control and desperately clinging to her neck when I spot Griff and Fred ahead of us. They are far away, maybe too far. Then, as though sensing my urgency, Ratina whinnies loudly and within seconds Fred answers. I watch as Griff and Fred pull up and pray that Ratina will stop when she reaches them. Fortunately she immediately slows down when she sees them stop and we slowly walk toward them. I must be a sight. My dress is now practically transparent and I can barely see through all the hair that is stuck to my face. But despite my appearance, Griff doesn’t seem all that surprised to see me.
“Hello,” he says calmly, as though a wet woman in an overly revealing dress riding a horse were the most common thing in the world.
“Hi,” I say back. “Going for a ride?”
“Yes, I was.”
“Good. We’d like to join you.”
Griff urges Fred into a walk and Ratina follows without any direction from me.
“Aren’t you otherwise engaged?” he asks after we walk a few strides.
“I had a change of plans,” I admit and stare straight ahead.
He stops Fred and Ratina pulls up beside him. Griff looks at me as if waiting for more.
“And a change of heart,” I continue more seriously, this time looking him in the eye. “You were right. I can’t marry Scott. I don’t love him. And I don’t love money as much as I thought I did. I want to stay here, at Penwick, if you’ll have me, Lord Saunderson, or whatever I should say.”
I bow my head as I imagine one does to aristocrats. Griff raises an eyebrow but the warm smile I expect doesn’t appear.
“I’m not the bloody king,” he says solemnly and grabs Ratina’s reins, removing his raincoat and putting it over my shoulders. “That’s better.”
I am dumbfounded. I admit a gooey happy ending all tied in a perfect bow is too much to ask but a little bit of romance is due. Or so I think.
“That’s all there is to it, then?” Griff asks as he kicks his horse forward, his hand still gripping Ratina’s reins, leading her along beside him as though giving me a pony ride. “You jilt Scott at the altar and assume I’ll run into your arms, grateful you’ve come to your bloody senses at last?”
Kind of. I don’t know what to say now. I feel my stomach knot up with each stride.
“I thought you loved me,” I blurt. “Last night—”
“Last night,” he answers, cutting me off and once again yanking us to a stop. His expression isn’t anger exactly, but if I’m not mistaken, it is grave disappointment. I imagine in me. “You were determined to marry Scott for his money. He was the answer to your problems. I was merely a distraction. You may have slept on it last night but so did I. I don’t want to be with a girl who shows such lack of character and judgment. I believed in you, Kate, even when I saw you chasing after that man in Switzerland. I thought you would realize what a fool you were. Despite all your pretenses of being Lady Kate, your behavior has been anything but ladylike.”
I flinch at his words.
“I do realize I was a fool!” I snap defensively. “And I love you.”
We sit there not speaking. The only sound is an occasional snort from one of the horses. I won’t take my eyes off him and, for once, it is he who refuses to meet my gaze. I begin to get very cold. We have remained here long enough that the rain has penetrated his coat and I shiver. This at least gets his attention.
“Let’s take you back.” He speaks calmly and leads us down the roadway to Penwick. His expression seems to soften and gives me hope. “But it’s too late for us. We’re not a romantic film or an Austen novel.” False hope, as it turns out, despite his voice finally returning to the soft warmth I’ve grown to love. “There isn’t going to be a happy ending. You should go home, back to America.”
I don’t know what to do or what to say. Ratina falls a few steps behind Fred and with Griff’s back to me I begin to cry. With the rain falling in torrents no one would ever know that I am heartbroken.
My friends help me pack. We are a solemn bunch. I have never seen Emma, Marianne, and Fawn so quiet. I have, of course, filled them in on every word, there were so few, that Griff had said to me. They listened but said little. What is there to say? That it’s all my own doing? That my blind determination to marry for money has cost me a fine man? I know the answers and don’t need to be told, just as I know that the Austenisms “good prospect” and “eligible match” mean something different than they once did. Griff is right. I am a fool.
“Get a load of those two,” Marianne says and gestures for us to come to the window. We all peek out just as Scott and Tatiana are piling their luggage into the back of the limo. He takes her hand and kisses it as he helps her into the backseat.
“That didn’t take him long,” Fawn says with a huff.
“They deserve each other,” I say with a shrug and go back to packing. I really don’t care anymore about either of them.
Fawn offers to fly me home on Mona tonight. She won’t take no for an answer, though I admit I don’t try very hard to decline. Marianne and Brandon will fly home with us. At least in front of them I can have a meltdown.
“I will file my story to Jennifer by Monday,” I say finally, in a weak attempt at humor at my own expense.
“Don’t worry,” Marianne says softly. “Leave it for a bit. We can hold the publication date until next issue.”
“Don’t be silly,” I snap. “The June issue is all about weddings! And I’ve dumped my billionaire, remember? And the man I love, the poor Lord of the Manor, has dumped me. If nothing else I need to file the story so you can pay me!”
Then I laugh. No one else does.
“Besides,” I continue brashly. “I know the ending. I have my answer.”
“What was the question?” Emma asks reluctantly as she folds my ruined wedding gown in the flattering shade of oyster, though now with watermarks, into my suitcase. I cross the room, yank it out, and throw it into the trash bin, much to the shock of my friends.
“At forty years of age, is it too late to marry for money?” I repeat the words that launched my quest. “And the answer is yes, it is. I’m old enough to know better.”