The Bride Says Maybe by Cathy Maxwell

a hunter green waistcoat over a homespun shirt. He hadn’t bothered with a neckcloth.
    She wondered if he had been out exercising the horses. The smell of fresh air was about him. He had also still not shaved. She wondered when he would, although the few days’ growth of beard on his face was not unattractive. Besides, if a man wouldn’t shave for his wedding, when would he?
    As for him, he seemed to be taking a truly good look at her for the first time . . . and she sensed he wasn’t entirely happy with what he was seeing.
    It was not vanity for Tara to believe she was an uncommonly beautiful woman. Almost everyone of her acquaintance, including the Prince Regent, said it was so. Why should she doubt them?
    But she did.
    In moments of blinding self-honesty, Tara knew they were wrong. She clearly saw her defects . . . and lately, not just the physical ones.
    Now, someone else seemed to see them as well.
    He spoke. “The dogs are outside.”
    That was a concession. She recognized that she might have overreacted the night before. Having not been around dogs as pets, she didn’t understand those who doted on them. Thinking back, she had sounded a bit churlish last night. “Thank you. I know they mean a great deal to you.”
    He nodded but didn’t speak. Was he waiting for a compromise from her? The only person she’d ever met halfway was her sister Aileen.
    Then again, wasn’t a husband at least of the same importance as a sister?
    We are not married yet. Not until you are bedded.
    Those words seemed to hang in the air between them. Especially, “not until you are bedded.”
    But if he was thinking in the same direction, she couldn’t tell. Instead, he said, “I thought you might need some private time and your breakfast. That is why I came for you.”
    “Thank you.” She hesitated a beat, then heard herself say, “I was thinking, you could put a room for a water closet here. I mean you have the room, then it would be there for the bedroom.”
    A part of her must have wanted him to exclaim over her cleverness, a desire that caught her off guard—but then, maybe it shouldn’t. He was her husband, and shouldn’t she want to make the best of a bad situation?
    His response was a frown. “These are stone walls. They are a foot thick.”
    “They have done renovations to royal palaces. I’m certain something can be done here,” she replied.
    “Palaces,” he repeated, as if with that one word he could dismiss her suggestion as gibberish.
    “Yes, palaces, ” she answered. “Is this not a castle?”
    He shook his head, not even entertaining her idea. “This way.” He started out of the room, expecting her to follow.
    And she did. She didn’t have a choice. It was either follow him or wander aimlessly around Wolfstone.
    But when she had a chance, she was going to repeat her water-closet suggestion. Just because he was mired in his ways didn’t mean her idea lacked merit.
    He took her down the staircase and outside to where the garderobe was located. It was only a step or two from the back doorway, but still, certainly he could see how more convenient it would be if the room was upstairs.
    Also waiting outside were his dogs. They sat in a line by the door, the tallest to the smallest, like children waiting to greet a new governess. Their tails began wagging as he came out of the house, but their heads dropped when they caught sight of Tara following him.
    Well, not all heads dropped.
    Daphne, the black terrier, lifted her nose to glare with shiny black button eyes. She even gave a growl—
    “Daph-ne,” the laird warned in a low voice.
    The terrier stopped the growling but not the glaring.
    The dogs’ reactions startled Tara. They acted like individual people. They seemed to understand everything that was happening and had formed opinions. But that couldn’t be. They were dogs.
    She disappeared into the garderobe to see to her business. It was barely a more pleasant place in the light of day. There