A Bride Most Begrudging (41 page)

He waved his hand toward the structure. “Help yourself.”

A small intimate smile crept onto her lovely sunburned face. “I’d prefer a guided tour. From you. Please?”

“I’m rather busy.”

She peeked around his shoulder, exposing a nice portion of freckled slender neck. “So I see. What have you in the crates?”

“Furniture.”

Her eyes widened. “Furniture! You told me not the house was finished. When did you complete it?”

“A fortnight ago.”

Her face lit with pleasure. “Why, that’s wonderful! Congratulations! We must have a celebration.”

He had to put some space between himself and her. His blood was pumping, his heart was hammering, and his senses were reeling. “What are you doing here?”

She hesitated, then held up her basket. “I decided to bring you something special for your midday meal.”

He frowned. Had her voice taken on a husky quality, or had he imagined it?

She raised the basket higher, pressing its handle against her chest. “Go ahead, take a peek.”

He quickly lifted a corner of the cloth.

“Trout,” she whispered. “I caught it and made it myself.”

“Caught it?”

Her entire face spread into a smile, dazzling him. “With a frying pan! You’ve never seen such a thing, Drew. The trout are so plentiful, I needed only to scoop my pan into the water and up came enough fish for dinner and supper too!”

He couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “I know. So you fried it up too?”

She hugged the basket closer to her, nodding her head proudly.

There may have been trout in the basket, but it was the scent of Constance that filled his senses. Lilacs and woman. A lethal combination.

He gave himself a mental shake. Her ticket home was floating right down by the wharf, and he’d not stand here billing and cooing in the meanwhile. He glared at her. “I already have a meal.”

Turning, he moved back to the crate he had been working on. He’d meant to hurt her feelings, but he’d not done a very good job of it, evidently, for she followed him to the crate and rested her shoulders and back against it, flinging her chin up toward the sky. Long cinnamoncolored lashes lay against her cheeks as he moved his gaze along the enchanting profile she displayed.

Grabbing the crate’s side, he wrenched it off, jostling her from her position. It mattered not. She settled right back against it.

“I’m not leaving, you know.”

His heart stopped beating.
Did she know about the ship?

“At least not until you’ve eaten my trout.”

Lips thinning, he grabbed the basket from her. “Then by all means, let me eat.”

She jumped from the side of the crate, laying a hand against his. “No, not here. Not like this. Take me inside, Drew. Take me inside, show me the house, and we’ll sit down and eat in there.”

He jerked his hand free. “Why?”

“Because it’s important to me. I want to see what you’ve worked for, what you’ve sweated for, what you’ve forsaken your family for.”

He whipped himself up to his full height. “Forsaken my family for? Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Sally and I never see you anymore. You leave before dawn and return well after nightfall. You’ve even quit taking meals with us. She misses you.” She fingered the laces at her neck. “We both do.”

He scoffed. “It’s a lonely life, the life of a farmer’s wife.”

“Only if that wife is a widow. Which I’m not. What keeps you out so long?”

“Somebody’s got to work around here.”

She took a deep breath. “And that somebody’s got to eat.” She lifted a brow. “I went to a lot of trouble to fry that fish for you. So you’d best just resign yourself to taking me inside, showing me my new home, and eating your midday meal.”

He spun on his heel, heading toward the house. “Well, don’t do me any more favors.”

He didn’t want her in the house. It held no memories of her within its walls, and he’d wanted to keep it that way. But she was going to ruin that for him too.

Well, so be it. He would take her inside. He’d show it to her. He’d eat her pox-smitten trout. Then he’d kick her fancy backside out.

He slammed open the front door, moved into the great room, dropped the basket of trout onto his new hardwood floor, and plopped down to eat. He’d taken no more than two bites when her voice reached him from the front steps. He looked up to find her hovering in the doorway.

“Will Sally be all right out there?”

“Of course,” he replied. “The men will look after her.”

She hesitated. “I’ve never been in before.”

He ripped off another bite of fish with his teeth. “Well come on, then. Otherwise, go away and leave me be.”

Her shoulders straightened and she stepped across the threshold, pausing there before entering the great room. Removing the bones from his mouth, he said not a word as she circled the room, touching this, running her fingers along that.

He found some spoon bread in the basket and shoved it into his mouth. “You obviously made the bread too. Mary sure didn’t.”

She sighed. “No, she didn’t.”

“Well, I wish you’d let her. That’s what she is, Connie. My cook. And I like the way she does it.” He tunneled around in the basket. “Is there anything to drink?”

“Yes. There’s some cider in the wine skin there on the left.”

He dug through the contents, purposely abusing the other prepared foods, then yanked out the wine skin, squirting a stream of cider into his mouth.

She settled across from him, her skirts billowing out around her. “The workmanship is exquisite, Drew. I had no idea the house would be so fine.”

He wiped his hand across his mouth, then burped. “Even we colonists have some skills.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, loosening the top of her bodice. “I meant—”

“What are you doing?!”

She froze, eyes wide. “What?”

He jumped to his feet. “Don’t
what
me! You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

She looked down at the basket. “Is something amiss?”

He ground his teeth together. “Your bodice, Constance.”

She snatched her hand away from her laces. “I was merely warm.”

“Well, it’s spring and Virginia gets much, much hotter come summer. So if you’re hot now, you’ll be miserable in the summer.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t mind.”

He fisted his hands. “Well, I do! Now lace your bodice and get out of here.”

She fumbled with her lacings. “But I haven’t seen the house.”

“Out!”

She stumbled to her feet. “Why are you shouting, Drew? Why are you angry?”

“I’m not shouting! I’m not angry! I’m just ready for you to be gone from here, and as soon as the ship in port is loaded with tobacco, I will put you on it and be done with all this!”

Her gaze flew to the window facing the water, but of course, she wouldn’t be able to see the ship from here. “Right now? There’s a ship out in the harbor right now?”

Bitter cold swept through him. Was that eagerness tingeing her voice? He couldn’t quite tell. “Yes.”

“And … and you want me on it?”

He felt his chest heave in order to take in enough air. “Yes.”

She moved toward the window, her back to him. “Why?”

Because I love you and I want you to be happy, not miserable
. “You don’t belong here, Connie. And you know it.”

She bent her head down. “Because of my math?”

“Among other things.”

“But we’re married, Drew. We said a handfast, to Morden, to God, and to each other.”

“Consider yourself a widow.”

She spun around. “But you’re not dead!”

“No one will know.”

“I will know! God will know! Surely you do not think I would return home and take another husband when I already have one?”

His temper began to climb. He said nothing.

“Well, I’ll not do it, Drew. I’ll never take another. Not ever.” She bit her lip. “I want not to go. I want to stay.”

By my troth, must she rip his heart from his very chest, leaving nothing in its wake? “So you think, but years from now you’ll be thanking me.”

She wrung her hands. “You’re attracted to me, Drew. I know you are.”

His heart slammed against his ribs. “It matters not.”

Tears spilled over and onto her cheeks. “How can you say so? It matters. It does.”

“It doesn’t. Not in the long run.”

“When did you decide to send me back?”

Forsooth, why couldn’t women have been given the foresight of men? Why couldn’t they see what was best for them? Why must they always fight it? “You know when.”

“Christmas Day.”

“Yes.”

“Yet you’re still attracted to me.”

He clinched his teeth together. “Yes.”

“Then take me to wife, Drew. Just one last time before you send me away. Please.”

Heat shot straight through him. “Absolutely not.”

A new flood of tears. “Why?
Why?
”

Because it would kill me, it would
. His mind scrambled for another answer, then zeroed in on one equally as important. “Because my seed might take root, and I do not want you to have my child.”

chapter
T
WENTY
-
S
EVEN
   

“COME
ON,
SALLY!” she snapped, turning around for the umpteenth time.

Sally pumped her pint-size legs but gained little ground. For the first time, resentment reared its ugly head. If it hadn’t been for Sally, Constance could have made if not a dignified, then at least a swift, exit from the big house, then given herself over to the vanquishing weight bearing down upon her heart.

Instead, she’d had to go out to where Josh and the men were eating their meal and exchange pleasantries before collecting Sally and heading toward the cottage as if her very life hadn’t just been wrenched from her body. But it had. And if she succumbed now, Sally would no doubt report it all to Drew in vivid detail.

Compressing her lips, Constance marched back toward the child.

Sally’s steps faltered, her eyes widening. “I hurry!” she implored.

She hauled Sally up and off her feet, propping the child against her waist as they moved toward home. Sally wrapped her legs and arms around Constance, whimpering.

Constance hardened her heart, offering no comforting word or gesture, for she had nothing within her but anguish. Nothing. By the time they reached the clearing, Sally had exchanged whimpers for actual sobs.

They were minor compared to the sound Constance made upon the sight that greeted her. Screeching in horror, she barely kept herself from dropping the child.
“Noooooo!”

Letting Sally down with a thud, Constance ran toward her seedbed, waving her arms. “Shoo! Shoo!”

The goat looked up inquiringly, a tobacco stem still in its mouth.

“No! Oh, no! How could you!
How could you?!
”

The goat shied away, then bolted when Constance struck its flank with every bit of force she could muster. Pain shot through her hand, surging up her arm. She paid it no heed but spun to face the damage, then fell to her knees, covering her mouth.

The flat of tobacco seedlings was no more. Snowflake had nipped the buds off all but two plants. Short stubby stems no more than a quarter inch tall stuck up above the imprisoned earth. An agonizing wail slowly escaped from her as she grabbed her stomach and rocked back and forth.

Mary rushed outside. Looking at the scene, she quickly captured Sally in her arms, carried her into the cottage, and left Constance to grieve alone over the ruined seedbed.

Constance plunged her fingers into the fertile soil, tangling them in the roots beneath the surface. Curling her fists, she yanked the fibers out, crushing them within her hands.

She squeezed harder, harder, her arm muscles quivering, her fingernails drawing blood. The desolation within her strained against the boundaries of her being until like a great serpent of the deep, she roared to her feet, hurtling the roots at the seedbed.

They hit with a very soft, dissatisfying thump. She booted the flatbed with her foot, jamming her bare toe and moving the flatbed not one mite.

Fury clawed through her.
Blast these infernal seeds. Blast Drew. And blast him for making me care!
With quicksilver movements, she grasped the flat’s edges, pulling it up and over. Dirt spilled out into a huge jumble, and she let the crate fly.

You want me not to bear your child? Well, you’re too late, you three-suited knave! You’re too late!
She kicked the dirt, stomped the roots, and cursed with renewed vigor.

“Sissy? Your di’ry make you feel better?”

Constance jerked her head around to see Sally tentatively holding out the diary, her tiny chubby hands extended.

It wasn’t until she tried to focus that she realized tears obstructed her view. Mopping her eyes with a hard swipe, she lost sight of Sally and beheld only the diary.

The pamphlet took on a life of its own, growing larger and larger in Constance’s eye, until she perceived it as a laughing, mocking, heinous creature.