A Bride Most Begrudging (17 page)

“Is the pain great, then?”

This had to stop. She could not sit here and ruminate over this temporary husband of hers. She was only here until Papa came for her, and she was less important than the rooster. “There is no pain at all.”

“Your hands are fisted.”

She immediately unfurled them as she felt the blood rush to her face.

“I’m just a bit nervous.”

“I’ll be gentle.”

She swallowed and gave him a slight smile. “I know.”

“Then why are you nervous?”

She said nothing but knew the moment he realized the source of her unease, for his face too turned red and he quickly saw to his task. He finally managed to free the bandage. “It’s bleeding again. I’m sorry. It’s just that the claw mark is located such that I can’t easily reach it.”

“Oh, your pardon.” She twisted her leg, but she could tell he was still having difficulty. After a few moments, though, he had the bleeding stopped.

“I need to put some comfrey on it.” She nodded.

He didn’t move.

“What is it?” she asked. “There is a sting to it?”

“No, no. It will provide relief almost immediately.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure how I can apply it to the back of your calf and then bandage it without loosing a great deal of the powder to the floor.”

“I can do it.”

He shook his head. “No, you’d have even more difficulty than I. No, what I need is for you to … to lie face down on the bed, please.”

Neither of them moved. She allowed her skirt to fall to the floor. It was one thing to sit on the edge of the bed and have him look after one limb. It was something else entirely to lie prone on the bed and have him lift her dress and attend to her.

“I’ll do without the roots,” she said.

“I’ve already picked and crushed them. Besides, it needs the healing powers of the comfrey. That blasted rooster cut into you rather deeply, and being new to the colonies, you’re more susceptible than most.”

“Susceptible to what?”

“Death.”

Well. That was certainly blunt. And, thankfully, made modesty seem rather trivial. Best of all, he’d just insulted the rooster. She swung her legs up onto the bed and rolled over. Her skirts were hopelessly twisted, but before she could fix them, he’d loosened them and flicked them up to her knees. She buried her face in the bedding, ignoring the outdoorsy smell of him there beneath her nose.

The comfrey roots did indeed feel wonderful. He said not a word as he worked over her, placing the powder on her injury, covering it with something soft and fuzzy, then rewrapping it with the rag. He maneuvered her leg as if it was of no import, lifting it, bending it, placing it on the bed. When the rag was knotted, she felt him glide his fingers along the edge of the bandage, smoothing it. Her stomach clenched, her heart skipped a beat, she forgot to breathe.

Was it a caress or simply a doctor seeing to his patient? She dared not move, for if it had been an innocent gesture, she certainly didn’t want to overreact. And if it hadn’t been? It
must
have been.

The smoothing stopped, yet she still felt his weight on the bed. She jerked when he took hold of her skirt, then called herself ten kinds of a fool, for he’d paused then in the midst of lowering it. Before releasing the hem, his fingers slowly brushed against her ankle. She spun over, landing on her back, plucking her skirt from his fingertips.

A mistake. Now she lay stretched out on his bed, facing him while he sat beside her, his eyes three times darker than they’d been before. He leapt up, grabbed his hat from the peg, and strode from the cottage.

She draped her arm across her eyes and took in great gulps of air. He
was
attracted to her. There was no denying it now. She’d seen that look on the men who’d asked for her hand in marriage and some who had not. The difference was
her
reaction. Instead of boredom or aversion, she felt every nerve in her body standing at attention—some nerves more than others.

What if he changed his mind and decided to exercise his husbandly rights? She lowered her arm to her side. She’d not be granted an annulment, that’s for certain, and that would be the end of the
Ladies’ Mathematical Diary
. Heaving herself up out of bed, she put the samp in bowls, hearing for the first time the indentured men in the yard.

————

The men seemed to enjoy the simple midday meal. Drew allowed them a moment’s rest so he could give Constance a tour of the garden. He explained what each plant was and how it was used before rounding up his men and leaving.

The indentured men were to view the land they could claim at the end of their service. It was located on the very edges of his property and would require some time to reach. Upon his return several hours later, he found the garden weeded, the yard swept, and the smell of turtle broth floating on the air.

Removing his hat, he entered the open cottage door and came to a dead stop. A clump of lavender blossoms roosting in Mama’s old porcelain cup sat in the center of the board and the movables hanging from the various pegs had been organized. All the clothing hung on one wall, the utensils on another.

Constance sat by the hearth, scribbling in the soot with a stick. She obviously hadn’t heard him come in. Staying where he was, he allowed his gaze to roam over her person, his thoughts returning to when he’d dressed her leg. She had freckles there too, but lighter. And her skin. So smooth, so soft. Heaven help him, he’d tried to remain detached, had even pretended in his mind’s eye doing such a thing for Gertard Jarvis. But all that had done was point out the lushness of Constance.

He’d spent much more time at the task than it required. It wasn’t until he’d lowered her skirt that he realized how tense she’d been. Even still, he’d wanted one last touch. She’d near flown off the bed when he’d lingered a bit long at her ankle. All set to apologize, the words stuck in his throat when he looked into her eyes. It was not disgust he saw there. Far from it.

He took a deep breath and pushed that image, along with the one of her dressing in the loft, to the far recesses of his mind.

Lord, I cannot open myself up to her
. No matter the silky skin, no matter the apparent attraction she may or may not have for him, no matter that she was his wife. It was of no consequence.

He allowed himself to remember the grief, the pain, the numbness he’d experienced as this land stripped loved one after loved one from him. Then Leah. The land had taken Leah a mere a week before they were to wed. He’d vowed never again to become involved. He’d meant it then and he meant it now.

“More spiders and flies?” he asked, his voice lower than he’d intended.

She squealed, then laid a hand against her chest. “I didn’t hear you.” She glanced at the window. “Where are the indentures?”

“Setting traps. What are you working on? More spiders?”

Shrugging, she set her stick down. “How did it go with the men?”

It was a wifely question. One she’d asked before, as if she had a real vested interest.

He hung his hat on a peg. “I’m glad I took them. It’s the first time I’ve seen any animation amongst the group.” Brushing off her hands, she rose. “That’s good.”

“It’s a start.” He noticed the embers. “You kept the fire going.” She glanced at the pot hanging over the ashes. “Yes.”

Yes, indeed. The pot was heating. The yard was swept. The cottage was spotless. But the eggs were still in the hen house. “You ready to gather some eggs?”

She studied him for a moment. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.”

She moistened her lips. “Then I guess I’m ready.”

He gave her an apron to wear, telling her to tuck it up and form a pouch for the eggs. They entered the chicken coop together, neither saying a word. The chickens rushed toward them and he could see Constance was skittish. He gathered the eggs. She, sticking close, placed them in her apron. Mr. Meanie gave them no notice.

————

At suppertime, the indentured men were not animated exactly, but certainly more relaxed. Rather than sitting stiffly alone, looking at nothing but the food they consumed, they now lounged about the clearing, some sitting, some leaning on an elbow, but all grouped in clusters of three or more, quietly visiting during their meal. Constance moved amongst them, enjoying the hum of their conversations superimposed over the drone of the forest’s insects.

She’d acted as hostess to many meals, but never had she derived such pleasure from compliments and requests for seconds as she had this evening.

Although gutting the turtles was most disagreeable, she found she actually enjoyed preparing the soup. Never mind that Drew stood at her side, guiding and tutoring her through each step. No, her sense of pleasure came from a task completed from its earliest stages to its last.

“Might I ’ave another serving, Mistress?”

She turned to find an empty bowl extended to her by a set of bony arms. In between those arms were a bony face, a toothy grin, and a head of wild blond hair.

The men had reluctantly introduced themselves to her this morning when she’d given them ash cakes, but she was terrible with names and couldn’t remember any of them. “Certainly, Mr… . ?”

“Pott. Samuel Pott, mum.” He reached up to tip his hat, but of course there was no hat to tip.

She curtsied with a smile and fetched him a second serving.

“Ah, thank you, Mistress. It’s a feast the king ’imself would be ’appy to ’ave.”

“You’re most welcome, Mr. Pott.”

“Call them by their first names, Constance.”

She glanced over to see Drew issuing this command while taking in more bowls for second servings. So magnanimous was she at the moment, she chose to ignore this bit of rudeness. Still, she must at some point remind him never to correct her in front of the servants. “You’re most welcome, Samuel.”

She looked down to see Samuel had turned as pale as death, and all the indentures stopped in midmotion. Drew might have missed the slight he’d just given her, but the men didn’t and they expected her to retaliate in kind—toward Samuel.

This was only their second day away from the ship, and she knew only too well how they felt. That they were relaxed at all was indeed an impressive recommendation of Drew’s ability with them.

She knelt down so as to be on Samuel’s eye level. “You’ve nothing to fear from me or my husband. If you serve us well, you will be treated well.”

Lowering his lids, Samuel nodded.

She cocked her head. “You know, I’ve six sisters and three brothers—all of them older than me but one. You remind me somewhat of my oldest brother. He quite enjoys his soups and chowders and has a fine set to his shoulders, very much like you. Therefore, I’ll not be forgetting your name again, Samuel. Please forgive me for doing so this time.”

He’d raised his gaze in the midst of this, and although she hadn’t drawn a smile from him, she hoped she’d restored at least some of the casual mood from before. “Oh, no, mum. There’s nothin’ to forgive, there’s not. But I’m much obliged, I am.”

She nodded and stood. At a rustling in the brush, she turned to see Mary and Sally trudge into the clearing. “Mary! Sally!” Waving, she rushed over to them. “I’m so very glad you’re back. Care you to have some turtle soup?”

Mary shook her head. “No, thank you. Grandma fed the both of us before we took leave, she did. It’s sitting down for a moment I’d like to be doin’ now.”

“Well, let’s go inside and sit, then.” She looked down at Sally. “And what of you? Would you care for some soup?”

“Nellie has a baby!”

“A baby! How very wonderful. And how very wonderful it is to see you.” She extended a hand to Sally, but before the child could grasp it, she caught sight of Drew and ran squealing into his arms.

Propping her on his hip, he joined them. “How’s Nellie?”

“Fine,” Mary answered. “It’s a big lusty boy she’s had.”

“No problems, then?”

“No, sir.”

“What did they name him?” Constance asked.

“They didn’t.”

“They’re waiting for the baptism?”

Mary shook her head. “They’re waiting until he’s three.”

“What?” Constance exclaimed.

“More often than not,” Drew explained, “the children here never see their third birthday. So most people in the settlement distance themselves from the little ones.”

“How dreadful! Surely you didn’t do that to Sally?”

He tightened his lips. “I’ve never been able to distance myself.”

“Well, I should think not.”

He set Sally down. “It’s not something I’m proud of, Constance.” With that, he spun around and returned to the men.

“Of all the ridiculous …” She turned to Mary. “Come. Tell me of your visit.”

chapter
T
EN
   

WITH THE CONCLUSION of the meal, Mary oversaw Sally while Drew and Constance headed to the creek with the soiled pots, bowls, and noggins.

Once there, Constance set the bowls down on the bank. A feeling of contentment flowed through her. She’d made it through her wedding night without mishap. She had two dresses that fit her reasonably well. She’d completed several chores throughout the day. And best of all, her wager of last evening would bear its first fruit tonight. She didn’t have to clean the dishes.