Falling in Love Again (24 page)

Sunday was usually a day of rest, but not during a harvest. John gave the other farm servants the afternoon off while he and Mallory prepared for the harvest crew that would arrive in the morning. The crew would live in the barn until all the crops were in.

It was a hot, busy day. Furthermore, they were both disappointed when messages arrived with young Roger. Peterson's message was the same as the week before: Louis Barron still had not been found.

There was also a letter from Mallory's mother and another from Hal.

Her mother was frantic with worry and insisted Mallory leave John immediately:

Hal's letter was to the point:

She folded both letters and put them in the pocket of her brown dress. “I have no response,” she told Roger.

John didn't ask her about the letters, although she was certain he was curious.

That evening they sat on the grassy bank of the bathing pond, watching the fireflies flit in and out of the shadows.

“You've been quiet ever since the messenger left,” Mallory said. “Are you thinking about Louis?”

John leaned back in the grass and looked up at the stars. “He's one of the things I'm thinking about.”

“What is the other?”

“The letter you received from your lovestruck squire.”

She couldn't stop herself from answering as he'd answered her once, “Jealous?”

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. “Yes.”

His blunt honestly took her aback. Mallory decided to change the subject to one they could agree upon. “I wish I could be more help in finding Louis Barron. We passed letters back and forth for years, but I don't know the man at all.”

John leaned upon one elbow. “Please think,
Mallory. Did he ever mention anything personal about himself in any of his letters?”

She thought a moment and then said sadly, “No, it was as I told you. His letters were always vague responses to my questions or complaints. If he ever initiated a letter, it was only to ask questions after some major repair had been performed around the castle. Sometimes, he'd hire workmen who would show up to do things I hadn't authorized or felt were important.”

“Such as?”

“Oh, the brick walkway that led to a new grape arbor he had built. Only three months ago, he put in a new pond and had it freshly stocked with trout. Meanwhile, he refused to send a decent allowance for our day-to-day expenses. And anytime I talked about the needs of the farm, he ignored my requests.”

John lay back down. He was quiet for several minutes.

She placed her hand on his arm. “John, we'll find him.”

“I want to think so, Mallory, but the more time elapses, the stronger my doubts grow.” His next words shocked her: “I'm beginning to realize I may not get Craige Castle back for you.”

Before she could answer him, he got to his feet. “Come. I'm ready to go back to the cottage.” He offered her his hand.

Mallory placed her hand in his and he pulled her up. But he pulled her too hard and the bottoms of her new shoes were slick. Her feet went out from underneath her and John barely caught her in time before she fell into the pond.

He hugged her close and Mallory felt his swift, almost immediate reaction to her. She also discovered an answering response inside herself and pressed closer.

“Do you know what you are doing?” His raspy voice sounded hoarser than usual.

Mallory lifted her gaze to meet his and then had to turn away from the intensity of his too-knowing eyes.

“Do you want me, Mallory?”

Yes
. One word, that's all she had to say—but she couldn't say it. She had to be careful. She had to protect herself.

“You still don't know, do you?” he whispered. “I'm beginning to wonder if you'll ever forgive me. Meanwhile, I'd like nothing better than to lay you down on the grass beside the pond and make love to you. I want to take you and fill you until you can think of no other man but me.”

His hands gently pushed her away. “But I won't. You must come to me freely.”

“You may be asking too much.”

The intense light in his eyes faded. “I know.”

Without another word, he turned, took her hand, and walked with her back to the cottage.

Mallory wondered if he noticed that her hands were shaking.

Inside the cottage, he pulled the coverlet off the bed. “We can't go on this way, Mallory. I think it would be best if I started sleeping in the barn again.” Without waiting for her reply, he left.

She watched him until he'd climbed the path and disappeared into the gathering darkness. Slowly she closed the door and lowered the bar.

She was alone. It had been some time since she'd been alone in the cottage. She stretched. “Well, at least I'll get a good night's sleep.” Her voice sounded lonely in the empty room.

Having nothing else to do, she undressed and went to bed…but sleep eluded her.

Would she be stupid to give John one more chance? Or would it be even worse if she didn't?

The questions chased around and around each other. It wasn't until past midnight that she finally realized what her heart had been trying to tell her.

She made her choice, and once it was made, fell into a sound, dreamless sleep.

The next morning, before dawn, she woke rested for the first time in weeks. She knew then that she'd made the right decision. She dressed quickly in her gray dress and hurried up to the barn.

John was already too busy organizing the harvest workers to exchange more than a few words of greeting. Mallory went to work. The harvest had begun.

Mallory worked as hard as anyone, but at one point, she managed to slip away. She found the Reverend Luridge sitting with Lord Woodruff in Cardiff Hall's dinning room chairs. The chairs and a small table had been set up on a small knoll overlooking the fields. His lordship had brought out ink and paper and was already busily scribbling away.

“Reverend, may have a moment in private with you, please?”

“Why certainly, Mrs. Dawson,” he said, coming to his feet.

Mallory led him several feet away from Lord Woodruff. “Reverend, I would like to surprise my husband during the harvest home and I need your help.”

H
arvesting fields is hard, back-breaking work.

A team of five men could expect to do two acres of fields a day. With the sixty men from the shire and the twenty-five men on the harvesting crew, John hoped to have the harvest done in ten days. Often, the men would break into song to relieve the tedium and strain of using the hand sickle row after endless row.

The women and children worked as hard as the men. Mallory divided her time between helping with the meals to feed such a large crowd and going out in the fields to tie off the sheaves of wheat after they'd been cut and gathered.

Her fingers ached from pulling at the stalks and twisting the ties. Her shoulders were sore from lifting, bending, and carrying. Each night she fell into bed exhausted.

John did not join her in the bed. He slept in the barn with the harvest crew. When the two of them did see each other, they rarely had time or energy to say more than a few words in passing, but no one from Cardiff Hall or the village noticed or made comment of their estrangement. Everyone, including Lord Woodruff, who wrote furiously while sitting at his desk beside the fields every day, was worn out.

Reverend Luridge insisted Sunday should be a day of rest. Most of his parishioners slept through his sermon. Then, that same Sunday afternoon, Evie had her baby. The people of Tunleah Mews considered the birth a good omen. Lord Woodruff practically danced for joy, declaring that the baby would be a harvest metaphor for his great “epic.” Many people wondered what he meant.

Roger, the messenger, arrived late in the afternoon. Again, Peterson had nothing new to report and wanted to know what John wished to do. John sent back a message asking him to continue stationing men at all the ports and at the shops and places Louis had been known to patronize.

Mallory thought John might come to her Sunday evening, but he did not.

Finally, by midday of the following Friday, the last field was cut. When John took the last sheaf in his hand and held it high over his head, everyone cheered.

Tears came to Mallory's eyes. John had done
it—but more than the harvest, John had given this village a sense of community which, according to Sylvie Hanson and Mrs. Irongate, had not existed before.

In the middle of all the cheering, John and Mallory's gazes met. He walked over to her and offered her the sheaf of wheat. “We did it,” he said.

“No,
you
did it.”

“I wouldn't have attempted it without you.”

No words of praise had ever sounded sweeter to her. “You're a very special man, John Barron.”

“And are you glad you married me?” he prodded.

Mallory just smiled and walked away, pleased at this sign that his heart remained true.

That night the men dug two pits and started roasting the meat. A keg of ale kept them company. Mallory sat at the table beside the cottage window listening to them laugh, joke, and sing.

She was about ready to go to bed when she saw John approaching the cottage. His neck cloth was untied and hanging around his throat. He'd rolled up his sleeves, and he moved with a loose-limbed gait. She hurried to open the door, happy to see him. “John, come in.”

He ducked his head under the low threshold and entered. This was the first time he'd been in the cottage since he'd left the night before the harvest. For a second, Mallory was tempted to run her hand across his strong, broad back…but then she noticed he was weaving slightly and the expression in his eyes was slightly glazed.

He said her name with a soft sigh. “Mallory.”

The fumes on his breath almost knocked her backward. “John, you've been sampling the brew!”

“Someone had to do it,” he confessed almost regretfully, as his tall form started to list to the right.

Mallory propped him up and walked them both over to the bed where she sat him down. He grinned up at her, his smile slightly silly. “Are you happy to see me?”

“Yes, very.”

With the playfulness of a very large puppy, he put his arms around her waist and fell over onto his back, pulling her with him.

Mallory lay on top of him, held firmly by his iron embrace. It felt good to be this close to him. She rested her head against his chest. His fingers stroked her hair.

John yawned, then whispered, “I missed you, Mallory.”

She rubbed his whisker-rough jaw with the back of hand. “I missed you, too.”

“Enough to let me be your husband?” he asked, snuggling into the mattress.

“Oh, John, more than enough.” She reached up to place a kiss on his lips—and then discovered he'd passed out cold. For a second, she stared, certain he must be playing a trick on her.

When he snored, she knew it was no game.

Smiling, she rose and with a great deal of effort removed his boots and tucked him in under the covers. She then undressed down to her petticoats and crawled happily in beside him.

 

The next morning a pounding on the door woke them both. John sat up and immediately groaned, grabbing his head.

Mallory slipped on her brown dress and answered the door. It was Wadham. He nodded a greeting. “We need Mr. Dawson. I arrived this morning to find one ale keg empty. We'll need another for the feast.”

Mallory looked over her shoulder at John, whose face was very pale. “John, he says the men have already finished one keg. Would you know anything about it?”

John rose stiffly to his feet, pulled on his boots, and made his way to the door. “I know about it intimately.” He pressed a small kiss to her brow and followed Wadham, who was declaring they had to get busy and clean out the barn for the party.

Mallory quickly dressed and joined the men and women cleaning the barn. Even with the help of Mrs. Irongate and the women from the harvesting crew, setting up for the feast required as much hard work as the harvest had. Furthermore, Mallory wanted this day to be extra special.

By four in the afternoon, all was ready and the first families had started to arrive. Every family brought at least one dish of food to share with the others. Soon the buffet tables were filled with every form of vegetable known to a farmer's garden. There were potatoes, cabbages, turnips, and carrots. Blood sausages and cheese were laid out on cutting boards, baskets of bread placed beside them. The highlight of the meal would be the desserts. The children couldn't stop eyeing
the cherry and apple pies set out on a separate table. When Mrs. Watkins and Lucy walked in with their contributions, three large puddings and a bowl of rich custard, the children clapped, “oohing” and “ahing” with anticipation.

Mallory smiled at the children's excited expressions. Many had tasted pudding before, but few had sampled a custard. Mrs. Watkins beamed with well-deserved pride.

Lord Woodruff sat at his writing table, engrossed in finding words to describe the children's reaction to the custard. Over the last week, he'd written constantly, and Mallory sensed he seemed happier with his work. Certainly, she reflected, there were fewer wadded-up balls of paper at his feet. Furthermore, the villagers displayed more tolerance for his oddities.

Mallory suddenly realized the feast was about to begin and she wasn't ready. Begging Mrs. Irongate to supervise the carving of the meat, Mallory headed for the cottage at a run.

She practically bowled John over coming around the bend in the path. He caught her by the arms and steadied her. “You're going the wrong way.”

She looked up at him and stopped, stunned. John had changed to a clean shirt and donned his jacket. He was also wearing the neck cloth trimmed in lace he'd brought with him from London. He looked the part of a gentleman farmer—a very handsome gentleman farmer. “You shaved,” she said inanely.

“And managed to catch a few winks of sleep this afternoon.” He ran his hands up and down
her arms. “Mallory, I've been a damn fool. I miss you so much—”

“Dawson!” Freddie Hanson's voice shouted over the growing noise of the crowd. “Where's your cavalier's hat? You're the lord of the feast, man, and you must look the part!”

John raised his hand holding the ancient hat with its bedraggled gold plume and placed it on his head. Everyone watching from the barnyard roared with laughter. Mallory took advantage of that moment to slip away.

She hurried down to the cottage and changed from her “serviceable” gray dress to the lovely yellow muslin. Reaching behind her back, she tightened the laces and wished she had a mirror. She brushed her hair until it shone and then pulled it up on top of her head and tied it in place with a piece of green ribbon. The ends of her hair curled down past her shoulders. She knew John would like it this way.

Her stomach felt nervous and fluttery, and she pressed her hand against it. What if John didn't like what she'd planned? Immediately she erased all doubts from her mind. John loved her; she knew that now, just as she knew he was the only man she would ever love.

Realizing it was growing late, she hurried back up to the barn. Everyone was waiting for the feast to begin. The children were running in and out around the tables while the adults stood talking.

The Reverend Luridge appeared at Mallory's side. He took arm and patted her hand. “Are you ready?”

A shiver of anticipation ran through her. “I think so.”

“He doesn't know anything?”

She shook her head. “It's going to be a surprise.”

The Reverend Luridge led her to the head table, which had been set with Cardiff Hall's china. “Excuse me, everyone,” he called in a loud voice. “I need your attention.”

Everyone in the crowd shushed each other. When John, standing over by the keg, turned and saw her, his gaze warmed appreciatively. It made her feel very feminine.

“Before I give the blessing on this great feast,” the Reverend Luridge was saying, “I've been asked to perform another small ceremony. Mr. Dawson, would you come forward?”

John handed his cavalier hat to Hanson and pushed his way through the crowd to stand by Mallory's side.

“Your wife, Mr. Dawson, has requested that the two of you repeat your wedding vows before we start the feast,” Reverend Luridge said.

Mallory felt as nervous as a bride until John, his face lit with surprise and pleasure, took her hand in his. “I would like nothing better,” he said.

The Reverend Luridge addressed the gathering. “I won't do a proper service because we're all hungry, but I'm going to say the important words. It's symbolic, you know, on this day of great celebration for our hard labor in the fields, that this couple wishes to renew their vows, because marriage is hard work too. It can be back breaking—”

Many of the men guffawed at this observation.

“It can also be fruitful,” he continued, nodding toward a group of children impatient to start eating. “But it is always a challenge—at least, the good ones are.” He turned his attention to the couple standing before him and began to recite the words from memory.

“John Dawson, will you have this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to live together after God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep her with you so long as the two of you shall live?”

John didn't hesitate. “I will.”

The Reverend Luridge turned to Mallory. “Mallory Dawson, will you have this man to be your wedded husband, to live together in God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Will you love him, comfort him, obey him—” (John gave her hand a little squeeze on the word “obey”) “—honor and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, keep yourself only unto him, as long as you both shall live.”

“I will.”

The Reverend Luridge gave them a beatific smile. “Then I pronounce you man and wife.” He rubbed his hands together. “Now for the harvest prayer.”

“Wait, Reverend,” John said. From his pocket, he pulled out her wedding ring. “I want to place this ring on Mallory's finger and I want as many witnesses as possible when I say to this woman, who has taken a vow to
obey
me—” His words
were met by several chuckles around the room. “When I tell her,” he repeated, “that she shall never remove this ring from her finger again.” He slid the sapphire-and-diamond band on the ring finger of her left hand.

“Good heavens,” the Reverend Luridge said, startled. “That ring must be worth a fortune!”

“It was my mother's,” John answered, his gaze never wavering from Mallory's. And then, ever so slowly, he bent his head and kissed his bride.

After that, the harvest feast became a true celebration. There were few women in the room with dry eyes. Mrs. Irongate and Mrs. Watkins hugged Mallory with tears streaming down their faces, which dried quickly when they saw the ring. They appraised it with knowing eyes.

“First-rate,” Mrs. Watkins said.

“It's been a while since I've seen a diamond that fine,” Mrs. Irongate agreed.

Finally, everyone sat down to the feast, and a fine meal it was, too. John insisted upon feeding Mallory from his plate, the way any bridegroom would do for his bride.

Lord Woodruff sat beside them. “I say, this is fun. We should do it again next year.”

“Yes,” John agreed, giving Mallory a conspirator's smile.

Mallory waited until Lord Woodruff had wandered off, who knew where, before she said, “You're going to miss this, aren't you?”

John looked around the room. Most of the children were finished eating and begging their mothers for a slice of pie or a spoonful of custard. The men had gathered in a group around the ale
keg while the women formed their own clusters around the children and the food tables.

“Yes, I will. Before coming here, I thought the only thing I was good at was being a soldier, a fighter. But I've now learned it's more rewarding to plant something, even something as simple as an idea, and watch it grow.” He leaned toward her. “Thank you, Mallory.”