A Bride Most Begrudging (30 page)

You may make yourself a new Christmas Day gown, and though I look forward to seeing you in a lovely confection, I shall be jealous of it and wishing it were me that hugged those luscious curves. Make haste, my love, in your pursuit to good health
.

Heat stole into her face and she darted a quick glance at Mary. But Mary paid her no mind, just continued to knead and punch the lump of dough beneath her fists. Constance reread the missive, his words provoking a scandalous reaction in her.

“Mistress?”

Constance jerked guiltily, her face burning. Stuffing the leaf under the coverlet, she attempted a casual smile. “Good morrow.”

“How feel you this day?”

She took a fortifying breath. “I’m tired of laying abed, Mary. I wish to break the fast at the table.”

Wiping her hands on her apron, Mary reached for a trencher. “You’re sure you feel up to it? It’s early yet, it is. The master left word you were to stay abed for another fortnight.”

“You’ve seen him?”

“I see him every morn.”

“Did he say what has kept him away from the cottage?”

“It’s anxious, he is, to finish the roof. Seems it’s time to be putting the tobaccy leaves in those great barrels.”

Constance bit her lip. “And he thinks to keep me abed for another fortnight?”

“Those were his words, they were.”

Fluffing up her pillow, Constance leaned back against it. Was that truly what needed to be done? She didn’t want to take ill again, but still, she couldn’t possibly lie abed the entire two weeks. “Very well, Mary. I’ll break my fast in bed, but if I continue to feel fit, I might sit in his chair for a short while this afternoon.”

————

And so the week went. Constance worked in her diary, she sewed on her gown, she sat for spells in his chair, and she slept quite a bit. She’d just woken up from one such nap when Drew burst into the cottage.

“We’re dried in!” His tall, raw-boned body exuded triumph edged with self-satisfaction as he swaggered to the bed, planting his feet on the dirt floor like some captain at the helm of his ship. An open, honest smile spread across his face, wreathed in dimples.

She couldn’t help but respond with a smile of her own. “The roof is on, then?”

“The roof, the chimney, the siding—everything! All that’s left is the interior.”

She held up both hands. “Congratulations.”

He strode forward, grasped them in his, and brought them to his lips. “Thank you.”

They stayed as such, absorbing the first sight they’d had of each other since making their pledges. My, but he was handsome. Massive shoulders beneath his coat, cheeks and nose red from the chafing wind, and his eyes. Eyes the color of a robin’s egg—frank, admiring, and deliriously pleased.

“What’s next?” she asked.

Releasing her hands, he removed his jacket, his movements hardy and robust. “The tobacco. I should have been well into the packing of the hogsheads by now, but I’m behind.”

“Because of the house?”

He gave her a crooked grin. “Among other things.”

She flushed. “But I thought you didn’t send the tobacco back until spring.”

“It depends on when a ship comes through. One year we had a ship come just after Christmas and half the colony wasn’t ready. Those that were, reaped the bigger profit.”

“And those that weren’t?”

“Waited for the next ship, which didn’t arrive until March.”

She frowned. “But what about Josh? Isn’t he supposed to factor the tobacco for you?”

“Hopefully he’ll be on whichever ship comes through first.” He eased down onto the bed, taking her hand into his lap. “How do you fare?”

“Very nicely. Mary won’t let me do a thing, so I’ve no choice but to be a slug-a-bed all the day long.”

He hooked a stray tendril behind her ear. “Good for Mary.”

She lowered her lashes. “Thank you for the wool. It’s beautiful.”

“Is there enough for a proper gown?”

“Oh, yes. Plenty.” She smoothed the blanket over her legs. “But, Drew, I’m unsure of the styles here. Are they the same as in London? Precisely what
is
a proper gown?”

“Whatever you make will be perfect.”

“And you’ll let me attend the Christmas service?”

He nodded. “As long as you continue to improve, I think it will be all right.”

“There will be other women there?”

“Every woman from this part of the colony will be there.”

“Grandma too?”

“Grandma too.”

She leaned against the wall, and he reached behind her to adjust the pillow. “Did you get my note?”

She smiled. “Yes. The sweetheart didn’t have to take any steps to capture the maiden within his arms.”

His eyes widened. “How did you figure that?”

Leaning forward, she glanced at Mary tending the fire, then whispered, “The maiden turned ’round and ran straight to him!”

Chuckling, he hooked her chin with his finger. “Such shocking behavior from a maiden? I think not. You’d better check your work again. It was thirty steps he took.”

“Yes. You’re quite right. But I still think if the maiden had any sense at all, she’d have never run away.”

He, too, shot a glance at Mary before leaning forward and briefly touching his lips to hers. “What about my other note? Did you find it?”

Liquid honey poured through her. “I most certainly did,” she whispered. “What were you thinking to write down such things? Why, anyone could have seen it.”

He grazed her lips with his thumb. “I didn’t write down the half of it. Besides, Mary can’t read.”

Her pulse skittered. “Oh, Drew. I’m feeling ever so much better.”

His eyes darkened. “Are you?”

She nodded.

After a slight hesitation, he picked his jacket up from the chair and pulled it on.

“Where are you going?”

“I’ve hogsheads to pack, my sweet. I won’t be back until well after nightfall.”

“For how long?”

“Until they’re done.”

“The whole crop?”

“Pretty much.”

Her shoulders drooped.

Drawing the strings on his jacket tight, he gave her a tender smile. “I’ll try to check in when I can.”

“Can’t you take your meals here? The tobacco barn’s not as far away as the big house.”

He shook his head. “It uses up precious daylight to come back here for meals. We’ve little enough light in the day as it is.” His gaze lingered on her lips. “I’ll be thinking of you, though, Connie-girl. Rest assured, I’ll be thinking of you.”

————

And think of her he did, for every day something new greeted her when she awoke. A length of fine silk ribbon the color of oyster shells, a real wax candle to read by after dark, several more mathematical puzzles, and yesterday, a pair of soft homemade leather shoes—one shaped for the right foot, one shaped for the left. Ah, such luxury.

When she opened her eyes this morning, a large blackened cooking pot sat in his chair. Frowning, she peered over its edge, then squealed. Covering her mouth with her hand, she looked to Mary. “What…?”

“It’s Mr. Meanie, it is. The master said he’d be home for supper this night and he says to me,
‘Mary, it’s something special I’m wanting to give my wife for supper.’
A few minutes later, he comes back with Mr. Meanie hanging limp in his hand. He was going to put the cock right in the chair, but I stops him, I did. Thought he best set it in a pot first.”

Sliding her hand to her neck, Constance peeked into the pot once again. The gray and white rooster lay at an awkward angle, a sad reflection of his once proud demeanor. Mr. Meanie.
Mr. Meanie
. Drew had killed his precious rooster. For her.

Tears welled within her eyes. The ribbon, the candle, the shoes, as sweet and special as they were, all paled in comparison, for this, without a doubt, was an act of genuine love.

Swiping at her eyes, she flung the covers back and slid her feet to the floor. “I want to cook it, Mary. Can you tell me what to do?”

“Oh, Mistress. You needn’t do that. I’ll be happy to cook that old rooster for you.”

Shaking her head, Constance moved to Mary’s side. “You don’t understand. I
want
to cook it. Please? Will you teach me?”

Mary blinked. “Why, of course I will. Just don’t tax yourself. If you start feeling woozy, promise to tell me?”

Smiling, Constance threw her arms about Mary. “Oh, thank you! I will, I will.” She pulled back. “And don’t worry. You’ve seen how I’m more out of bed than in these days and getting stronger by the minute.”

Mary didn’t look convinced but argued no further. “You’d best put on an old dress, then, for you’ve some plucking to do.”

————

Drew knew she’d be pleased, but he wasn’t prepared for the sight greeting him now. Constance stood beside the board dressed in Nellie’s remade frock, with all that glorious hair tucked beneath her cap. Her cheeks were flushed, her smile captivating and her eyes brimmed with life, pleasure, and unmistakable warmth.

Sweet heaven, but she was beautiful. She glided around the board toward him. “Welcome home, Master Drew.”

Her low, silvery murmur so distracted him, he almost missed the significance of her words.
Master
Drew? He searched her eyes, then felt his chest expand a good two or three inches. She was pleased with him. Very pleased.

Pressing her skirt against her thighs, she poked out the toe of one shoe. “Look, they’re perfect. Much better than Nellie’s discards.”

His gaze moved down the length of her. “I can’t see much of it. Perhaps you could lift the hem of your skirt a bit more?”

Withdrawing her foot, she tsked. “Such suggestions, good sir.”

Their eyes met.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m saving the ribbon for Christmas, I haven’t had to make use of the candle yet, and as you can see, the shoes serve me well. Where did you get all these things?”

“That’d be telling.”

Her features softened. “Did you make the shoes?”

He nodded once.

“There’s a left one and a right one. You’ll spoil me.” Leaning toward him, she placed a hand against his chest. “Thank you.”

His blood pounded. He covered her hand with his. “I should have done it long ago.”

She twined her fingers within his. “You killed Mr. Meanie.”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

Taking another step forward, she stood on tiptoes and touched her lips to his. “I love you.”

He froze for a mere instant before propelling her to the door, slinging his jacket around her shoulders, and pushing her outside. The door hadn’t thumped to a close before he’d crushed her against him, his mouth claiming hers.

Running his hands up and down her spine, his mouth strayed to her ears, her neck, her shoulders. She threw her head back, her cap floating to the ground as mountains of hair spilled atop his arms.

It was then he saw the coat no longer covered her but lay crumpled at her feet. “Your jacket.”

“Leave it.”

Snagging the coat, he again settled it about her shoulders, scooping her hair from beneath its confines.

Her lids fluttered open, eyes smoldering with desire. “When?”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “I will arrange it.”

She fisted her hands, wrinkling his shirt within them. “When?” she whispered.

“Tomorrow.”

————

She couldn’t eat a thing. Her body hummed, her nerves stood on end, her skin prickled.

Drew ate like a starved man. “This is wonderful, Mary. Absolute perfection.”

“The mistress made it, she did.”

He paused, drumstick halfway to his mouth. His attention swerved to her. “Wanted to roast the little roister yourself, did you?”

Constance pulled her focus away from his lips, suppressing a smile. “Such wit. I wanted to learn to cook. For you. I thought it was a good place to start.”

Tearing a piece of meat from the bone with his teeth, he held her gaze and chewed. “Very tasty.”

A quiver surged through her, pooling at the pit of her stomach. “Thank you.”

“Aren’t you going to try it?” He wiped his sleeve across his mouth.

She studied the wing and thigh on her trencher. She hated Mr. Meanie. But she’d gotten to know him and they’d reached an understanding of sorts. Now she was to have him for supper.

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling guilty?”

Breaking off a piece of the wing, she brought it to her lips and took a bite. It did taste good. Very good. “I wonder if all grouchy males are this palatable.”

Drew choked.

She looked up, tilting her head. “Are you all right?”

He turned a dull red. “Eat your supper, Connie.”

chapter
T
WENTY
   

SHE COULDN’T DO anything right. She’d been clumsy in the milking of Snowflake—which resulted in a near miss from the goat’s hoof, she’d knocked her shin against the bench, she’d sewn a sleeve on inside out, and now, she’d kicked over the sand bucket they kept for extinguishing cooking fires.

Falling to her knees, she scooped handful after handful of sand back into the bucket. The more she scooped, the bigger the mess. In a few short hours it would be nightfall, and she’d be Drew’s wife in every way.

Her face heated. How ever did one make it through their own wedding party? She’d never much thought about it before, but every guest
knew
what was going to happen between the couple come sunset. She paused, looking at the sand. How awful!

Mary knelt down beside her. With expert hands she corralled the scattered sediment and returned it to the bucket. “Mistress, I’ll do this, I will.”

“No!
I’ll
do this. I made the mess; I’ll clean it up.”

Mary slowly withdrew her hands, then stood. Constance sat down on her heels. “Your pardon, Mary. I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“What ails you, Mistress?”

The door opened. Constance jumped to her feet.

“What happened?” Drew asked.

Constance stood mute. Mary resumed scooping the sand.

Surely it wasn’t time yet! It was still light outside. Drew closed the door. “Connie?”