Back Roads to Bliss (Saskatchewan Saga Book #6): A Novel Read Online Free Page B

a gray eye toward her sister.
    Shocked silence. Then, “Gretna Green!” Sarah breathed. “Gretna Green! Allie! You wouldn’t!”
    There was a trill of delighted laughter from Allison. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” she asked saucily.
    Sarah was clearly horrified. This, her expression said, must be some sort of low joke. Allison had done some foolish things in her life, but this was, beyond all, the most madcap. Gretna Green indeed!
    Nowadays it was the custom for couples to walk up the aisle of the churches in their respective parishes and exchange vows before the altar. Banns must be published beforehand, or in some cases and for a large fee, a special license could be obtained, making a hurried wedding possible; the practice of standing before witnesses and declaring themselves husband and wife had been prohibited by an act of Parliament in 1745. But as far as banns were concerned and obtaining parental approval—no such law existed in Scotland; Allison was clear on that.
    England’s runaway couples, eluding disapproving parents perhaps, or deeming it circumspect to be married immediately, were in the practice of fleeing across the border into Scotland to the first place a ceremony could be performed. And that was Gretna Green, a changing post for stagecoaches on the London to Edinburgh route. Here a pseudo priest, rumored to be the blacksmith of the village, called in a couple of witnesses who were ready and waiting and paid well for their services, read the Anglican marriage service, and it sufficed.
    That her sister would entertain the thought of such a ceremony was shocking to Sarah. And perhaps frightening. She knew her father’s wrath well and never dared rouse it herself, though she had been a terrified observer numerous times when Allison had breached the etiquette of the day or of the home.
    “Oh, Allie,” she said now. “Papa will be so angry.”
    “Let him,” Allison answered airily. “I’ll be a married woman, and he’ll have no say over me whatsoever.”
    “And Mama,” Sarah continued, twisting her handkerchief. “How can you deny her the satisfaction of putting on the grandest wedding ever known in Midbury? I’m sure she has it all planned in her mind. The white wedding gown—”
    “Silver. I never have liked this switch to white.”
    “Queen Victoria—”
    “If Queen Victoria jumped off the parapet of Balmoral Castle, would you do the same? You and the whole wide world may wear white if you wish, but as for me—”
    “As for you, Allie, it won’t be white or silver, if you run away.”
    Allison was nonplussed, but only for a moment. “Well and good,” she said firmly. “Orange blossoms, veil of satin—they’re just popular because Victoria had them at her wedding. Did you know, Sarah, that the cost of the lace on Victoria’s dress when she married Albert was one thousand pounds?”
    “So?”
    “A thousand pounds for lace alone, Sarah! Tell that to Mama and see how quickly she changes her tune about a big wedding. Anyway,” Allison said impatiently, “why are we talking about Victoria? I never have been that impressed with her—”
    “Oh, Allison!” Sarah reproached her sister for this near-blasphemy and criticism of the august presence who so influenced an entire age that it would henceforth be known as the Victorian era.
    “Pish and tush!” Allison said. Sarah’s mouth pruned up, but at least the expletive had been milder than the one used earlier. “There’s so much to do!” Allison said, changing the subject, throwing out her arms dramatically and looking around. “Justthink, Sister, I’ll never sleep in this room again. I’ll be a married woman—”
    “Living at Flagle Manor. Oh, Allie—”
    “Flagle Manor? Flagle Manor? Who said anything about Flagle Manor?”
    “But,” Sarah stuttered, “isn’t that where you’ll live? Norville doesn’t have a place of his own. Oh, maybe rooms in London—”
    Once again Allison fell back on the unmade bed, this time