“No, I don’t understand,” she cried. “I don’t understand how you could wait till today to throw me over for a bunch of islands!” She backed away from him, fists at her side. “I should have listened to Pa.”

“Meg, don’t look at me like that. It really is for the best. Maybe in a year, or two or three, I’ll be ready to marry and settle down. Maybe then we can—”

“Don’t you dare say it, Tommy Farrell. Don’t you even think it! I’d sooner die a spinster than marry the likes of you.”

“You don’t mean that…”

“I mean every word. I don’t ever want to see you again. Not ever!”

“Meg, please.”

“Just…just go!”

He stared at her as if making certain she wouldn’t change her mind. Then he swung around and rushed along the narrow dirt path leading out of the cemetery as if he couldn’t escape fast enough.

Watching him flee, Meg felt numb. Today was supposed to be the happiest day of her life, but instead, it had turned into a nightmare. How would she break the news to her family? To the guests? To the folks counting on this marriage to bring peace to the town? She pulled the garland from her hair, threw it on the ground, and stomped on it.

A movement caught her eye, and a tall figure stepped from behind an equally tall grave marker. Her gaze froze on the man’s long, lean form. A look of sympathy—or maybe even pity—had settled on his square-jawed face, crushing any hope that the humiliating scene had somehow escaped his notice. Her cheeks flared with heat. Could this day possibly get any worse?

He pulled off his derby and nodded at her as if apologizing for his presence.

“Sorry, ma’am. Forgive me. I couldn’t help but overhear.” If his dark trousers, coat, and vest hadn’t already marked him as an easterner, the way he pronounced his words surely did.

In no mood to forgive a man—any man, even one as tall and good-looking as this one—she grabbed a handful of satin, turned, and rushed to the church’s open door, snagging her wedding gown on the doorframe. She glanced over her shoulder to find him still watching her. In her haste to escape, she yanked at her skirt, and it ripped. The tearing sound might as well have been her heart.

Inside, the thundering organ music rang like a death knell. Hands over her ears, she kicked off her murderous slippers and ran down the hall in stocking feet.

Two

Grant Garrison left his boardinghouse and rode his mount down Peaceful Lane. Two-story brick residences lined the street, the boardinghouse where he lodged among them. Either the street name was a misnomer or someone had once had a strange sense of humor, because the street was anything but peaceful.

Even now, angry voices filled the morning air, the loudest coming from Mr. Crawford, who took regular issue with his next-door neighbor’s bagpipes. But he wasn’t the only one airing his lungs.