Always the Bridesmaid Read online

  Always the Bridesmaid

  Never the Bride

  Book 1

  Emily E K Murdoch

  © Copyright 2020 by Emily E K Murdoch

  Text by Emily E K Murdoch

  Cover by Dar Albert

  Dragonblade Publishing, Inc. is an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc.

  P.O. Box 7968

  La Verne CA 91750

  [email protected]

  Produced in the United States of America

  First Edition January 2020

  Kindle Edition

  Reproduction of any kind except where it pertains to short quotes in relation to advertising or promotion is strictly prohibited.

  All Rights Reserved.

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.

  License Notes:

  This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook, once purchased, may not be re-sold. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it or borrow it, or it was not purchased for you and given as a gift for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. If this book was purchased on an unauthorized platform, then it is a pirated and/or unauthorized copy and violators will be prosecuted to the full extent of the law. Do not purchase or accept pirated copies. Thank you for respecting the author’s hard work. For subsidiary rights, contact Dragonblade Publishing, Inc.

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  Thank you for your support of a small press. At Dragonblade Publishing, we strive to bring you the highest quality Historical Romance from the some of the best authors in the business. Without your support, there is no ‘us’, so we sincerely hope you adore these stories and find some new favorite authors along the way.

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  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Never The Bride Series

  Always the Bridesmaid (Book 1)

  Always the Chaperone (Book 2)

  Always the Courtesan (Book 3)

  Always the Best Friend (Book 4)

  Always the Wallflower (Book 5)

  Always the Bluestocking (Book 6)

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

  Amazon

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Publisher’s Note

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Epilogue

  About Emily E K Murdoch

  Chapter One

  Miss Tabitha Chesworth could feel her breath rising from her lungs and taste excitement and fear on her tongue as the soft morning light fell through the stained-glass windows. With one shaking hand, she smoothed the cream, silk gown embroidered with a scalloped edge. It fell to the ground like water, skimming past the dregs of snow which had lingered for two days. With her other hand, she clasped her bouquet tightly. She would not drop them, no matter how quickly her heart fluttered.

  Echoes of the organ, Handel’s Water Music, floated from the church door, and Tabitha swallowed.

  “Are you ready, Miss Chesworth?”

  The man’s voice made her jump as the verger, an elderly man, smiled with crinkled skin around his kind eyes. His feet stomped on the stone to keep his toes warm. Her own, in her slight, leather slippers, had lost feeling.

  His words seemed to come from a long way off, but she nodded. The church door opened, and Tabitha took a step forward.

  It was impossible not to be overwhelmed with happiness as the heavenly sound of music rose and slow, steady steps guided her down the aisle. Tears had never been too far away from her eyes during the planning of this wedding, and she forced down the burgeoning emotions.

  This was it. This was what she had been planning for, thinking about, desperate to reach for weeks now, and it hardly seemed real.

  Every eye in St. Gabriel’s turned toward her, and Tabitha’s heart swelled…until their gazes slipped past her to the figure following her, their smiles now focused on the bride.

  Tabitha’s emotions turned bitter, the joy transformed into envy, so unbecoming in a woman of four and twenty. She had known her big moment in the wedding between Lieutenant Perry and her cousin, Miss Reed, would be over as soon as Mabel entered the church.

  That knowledge did not remove the sting in her heart.

  As she neared the end of the aisle, Tabitha tried to reason with herself. After all, to be asked to be a bridesmaid was a true honor…even if it was for the third time.

  Well-practiced as she was in the art, she gave a brief smile to the nervous-looking Lieutenant and carefully stepped to the left so Mabel could meet her groom.

  The young, handsome vicar had driven Bath’s young ladies into such a tither, smiled out at his congregation and indicated they should be seated. Well, she had done it. After weeks of preparations, discussions, debates, and a few tears, she had managed to get Mabel to the top of the aisle.

  It was wrong of her, surely very wrong, to feel jealousy. Tabitha shifted in her seat as shame tinged her cheeks. This was Mabel’s day, not her own. Even if she wished it was.

  “Dearly beloved,” began Reverend Michaels, “we are gathered here today to celebrate the union between Lieutenant Thomas Perry and Miss Mabel Reed. God instituted the sanctity of marriage…”

  Despite the reverend’s good looks, Tabitha found it impossible to keep her mind on him or the service. It wandered, as it always did at weddings, to the other two occasions where she had been honored—and she must keep reminding herself it was an honor, for she was very grateful to be chosen as bridesmaid.

  Two other cousins, both without sisters, had sent her those delightful little cards announcing their upcoming nuptials and their wish to share it with her.

  A wry smile crept over Tabitha’s face. She had thought, in their childhood days, that she would be the first to marry, though had never admitted it to anyone. She was the eldest, and marriage and a happy home had always been her dream. A dream of a future never to come.

  Guilt washed over her, and Tabitha forced her attention back to the wedding.

  “…for richer, for poorer,” her cousin Mabel was saying, her hands enclasped with the young lieutenant, their eyes on each other, “in sickness and in health…”

  Her mother, Tabitha’s Aunt Margaret, was seated beside her. She was crying softly and sniffing someth
ing dreadful.

  Tabitha rolled her eyes, but she was accustomed to wedding etiquette and well-practiced at the art of comforting mothers. She pulled a lace handkerchief from her sleeve and gently pressed it into the lady’s hand.

  Her aunt’s blubbering halted enough for the congregation to hear the groom repeat the vows of love to his bride.

  “Thank you, my dear.”

  Tabitha returned her smile, hopeful their interaction was over, but it was not to be.

  Aunt Margaret giggled and nudged her in the ribs painfully. “Always the bridesmaid, never the bride!” Without another word, she turned back to watch her daughter become Mrs. Thomas Perry.

  Tabitha’s smile froze, and she forced down the anger and sadness which her aunt’s thoughtless words had created.

  The folklore saying had never occurred to her, but there was no denying its veracity: she had been a bridesmaid three times, three times in the last two years, and she was no closer to finding her own happily ever after.

  She tried to concentrate on the prayer, but it was impossible to prevent intrusive thoughts.

  She did not set high expectations for a man. If anything, her hopes were broad and easily found. Handsome if possible, of course, but there were more important qualities she had never considered in such short supply. Honesty, kindness, a strength in himself and who he was, far more important than physical prowess, and a certain disregard for the rigid rules of the ton…

  But society, at least her society, was small. She had encountered and been introduced to almost every eligible young gentleman of her equal, as her mother would put it. Tabitha smiled bitterly at the thought. Yes, her mother had made sure of that, and not a single gentleman had caught Tabitha’s attention for long.

  What did one do when one’s opportunities to meet eligible young gentlemen had, it seemed, come to an end? Where did she find new, potential suitors?

  As delicately as she could, she tried to look around the church surreptitiously. There was Mr. Prander, Mr. McKee, and Mr. Lister. All gentlemen she had known for at least a decade, two of whom were now married. The third…well, perhaps the less said about Mr. Lister the better.

  Something clenched uncomfortably in her stomach. She was not noble enough to meet any titled gentlemen, and her mother would never allow her to be introduced to a gentleman of trade.

  Her gaze paused on Lieutenant Perry who was staring misty eyed at his bride. Perhaps the army was her best option. Perhaps her new cousin could introduce her to a set of gentlemen.

  But would any of them be interested in courting a woman who had been a bridesmaid too many times?

  Sudden movement around her jolted Tabitha from her thoughts.

  “–our first hymn,” Reverend Michaels was saying, and Tabitha quickly rose to join the congregation, fumbling for her hymn book.

  The rich tones of the organ rose, and with them, her spirits. She was rarely despondent for long, and there was always tomorrow. There was always another chance of happiness, and who could tell? Perhaps she would meet the gentleman who was perfect for her at the next ball?

  It was only when Tabitha had found the correct page of her hymnal that she realized someone was tapping her on the shoulder.

  Plastering a smile on her face, she turned to see Miss Sophia Worsley, a rebellious woman well-known in Bath for her failed betrothal, with an eyebrow arched.

  “Miss Chesworth,” she hissed under her breath. “You simply must decide a debate between myself and Miss Seton. Is this the first or the second time you have been a bridesmaid?”

  Tabitha attempted to keep her frustrated sigh quiet and widened her false smile. If she was not able to answer this question sanguinely, then the wedding reception was going to be a tortuous affair. “Actually, Miss Worsley, ’tis the third.”

  Miss Worsley’s eyes widened, and she glanced with merriment at her friend as she whispered, “Well, you know what they say, Miss Chesworth. All you need to do to break the curse is be a bridesmaid seven times, and you are almost halfway there! Always a bridesmaid…”

  “Never a bride,” finished Tabitha, and she tried to laugh. It felt hollow and bitter in her throat.

  The hymn started, and the congregation lifted their voices. Tabitha inclined her head politely to both Miss Worsley and Miss Seton, but before she could turn back, someone standing near the back of the church caught her attention.

  It was a gentleman. He was tall with a blue, silk cravat tied most extravagantly under his neck, and he was staring at her fiercely with no shame across his face.

  Chapter Two

  It was impossible for Richard St. Maur to look at the ‘happy couple’ without deep disdain and disgust creeping across his handsome features.

  Well, it was done, and he supposed, not entirely a disaster. He had certainly attended far worse weddings than this. The woman had a solid reputation, but he never thought Perry would lower himself to matrimony in the first place.

  In their college days at Oxford, they had joked about such men: swains to love, utter slaves to the whims of another, without any thought or care for themselves.

  And yet, here Perry was. Debased to the stooping lows of marriage, chained forever to a woman, doomed to repeat the mistakes of all those before him.

  An irritated cough he recognized disturbed his thoughts, and Richard turned to his sister, Charlotte, who looked pointedly at her hymn book. Richard rolled his eyes, picked up his own book, and rustled through the delicate pages.

  A beam of light pierced his dark brown eyes, and Richard screwed them up, shifting in the pew away from the light. It must have been two years since he stepped inside a church. But then, it had been three years since he had vowed never to marry. The line of the Dukes of Axwickes would end with him.

  My God, three years. Richard felt the exhaustion in his bones. Yet, it had been the right decision, he was still sure of that. After everything his father had done, or not done, it was hardly a difficult choice that the male line must end.

  His father had been an only child, and there was only Charlotte and himself left. It was a strange thing to consider, the end of the St. Maur line, and him the last, but it was the right decision. No more could ever come after him.

  The name of Axwick would go to the Winslows, those distant cousins he had never met, and much good it would do them.

  He had never been tempted to rescind that promise, no matter how many ladies in tight corsets had fluttered by him at the races, or at Almack’s, or crossed the street before him in tantalizing bonnets, kicking up their skirts with shrieks of mock horror.

  But no. ’Twas not for him, the entrapment of matrimony and the continuation of the family line. The world had enough drunkards and gamblers without adding any more.

  The singing had begun, and Richard opened his mouth to join them when a casual glance over the top of his hymnal made him stop, mouth open.

  One of the bridesmaids was speaking to a pair of young ladies behind her—chittering about the cost of the silk gown, no doubt—and in all other occasions, he would have ignored them.

  But she was different. Something hot in his stomach lurched, and he craned his neck to see more of her.

  It was unfathomable that such a woman was a bridesmaid and not the bride. To his astonishment, she was a rare thing indeed: a true beauty.

  He realized his mouth was still open, and he shut it quickly, feeling the tension of embarrassment in his shoulders.

  How could this be? It was bizarre to have such a strong reaction to her—a woman that he had never even met before. A score of people separated them in the church, but there was something…a spark, an attraction, call it what you will, but it had grabbed hold of his stomach and twisted it in a knot.

  Her eyes lifted from her conversation and met his own.

  Richard gasped under his breath, a low sound none heard but himself. Her eyes, green and sparkling, had more presence in them than diamonds glittering in candlelight.

  He must speak with her. He could
not fathom where the need came from and had never felt a need like it.

  A delicate pink touched her cheeks, and the woman turned back to face the front of the church, her hymnal raised.

  Richard luxuriated in his power. He was no fool; if his title was not enough to turn the heads of most pretty young things, his height, charming smile, and serious countenance usually did the rest.

  So, she had noticed him, too. All the better. Richard stretched his shoulders and grinned. Just because he had vowed off marriage didn’t mean he was completely forbidden from worldly pleasures, after all. It was not a hardship to imagine losing oneself in the arms of a woman that was startlingly beautiful.

  By God, he would love nothing more than to pull her closer than appropriate so she could feel the scandalous nature of their embrace, and then closer still so their lips…

  “Why aren’t you singing?” Charlotte’s whisper was accompanied by a nudge to his ribs, and Richard nudged her back instinctively.

  He swallowed. Well, he would not lose anything by asking, would he?

  “Who is the pretty bridesmaid?”

  Charlotte glanced at him, an eyebrow raised.

  “That one.” He nodded at the woman who had turned away so prettily.

  “The one with the chestnut-colored hair?”

  Richard smiled. He was immediately thumped on the arm by his sister.

  “You are not to go mistress hunting in church,” Charlotte whispered, half scandalized, half laughing. “Can you do nothing to control yourself, Richard, or must I warn every woman I meet against you?”

  “Please do,” he whispered back. “You will only direct them to me, with that sort of introduction. Have you not learned young ladies want what is dangerous and forbidden?”

  He did not need to glance at Charlotte to know she was rolling her eyes. His older sister had always been the more sensible of the two of them, but not bearing the weight of the line of Axwickes helped. It was a terrible thing to be the heir.