A Bride Most Begrudging

  Christmas. Sweet heaven, she’d forgotten all about it. “What is today?”

  “The first day of December.” Scooping some stew into a bowl, he brought it and a spoon to her. “Here.”

  She set them on her lap. “I’m tired.”

  “Eat a few bites, then you can rest.”

  It took such effort to eat, and their conversation was already draining her. She stared at the steaming bowl.

  The bed tilted from Drew’s weight, then he took the bowl and spoon in hand. “Open up.”

  She wrinkled her nose. He grinned boyishly. “I promise not to miss, if you open up like a good girl.”

  She opened her mouth, the warm concoction pleasantly appeasing. He said nothing as she chewed but watched her mouth until she swallowed. Before presenting her with the next bite, his eyes briefly touched hers. She skittered hers away.

  She opened her mouth and again closed it around the spoon. He withdrew it much more slowly this time before returning it to the bowl. Chancing another glance at him, she ceased to chew. His stare was bold and unabashedly direct. Something stirred deep within her.

  He brushed her cheek with his finger. “Eat.”

  She finished the bite in record time.

  His gaze, soft as a caress, touched her lips. “Open.”

  She hesitated, then opened her mouth. He fed her another bite. Broth trickled from the corner of her mouth. Before she could wipe it, he was there with the spoon, scooping it up. He focused on her eyes as he put the spoon in his own mouth, cleaning it thoroughly.

  Her pulse pounding, she forced herself to swallow. “I’m all done. Thank you.” She slid under the covers and turned to face the wall, closing her eyes. But her heartbeat slowed not and her desire for him swelled.

  She’d make certain he never saw it, though. Never again. Many tense moments of silence passed before he finally stood and moved away.

  Upon awaking, she first looked to his chair. He wasn’t in it, but neither was it empty. Rising up onto her elbows, she scanned the cottage. Mary was grinding with mortar and pestle, but Drew was nowhere in sight.

  The chair had been pushed next to the bed, well within her reach. In its seat lay a gingerbread slate with a huge heart-shaped leaf resting atop it. On the leaf was inscribed a message.

  A cylindrical bucket is 6 inches in circumference and 4 inches high. On the inside of the vessel 1 inch from the top is a drop of honey. On the outside of the vessel on the opposite side, 1 inch from the bottom, is a fly. How far will the fly have to go to reach the honey?

  She studied the dry leaf, tracing its shape with her fingertip. What beautiful foliage this land produced. She’d never dreamed.

  She reread the geometrical exercise, then sighed. He’d finally acknowledged her interest in mathematics again. He must be feeling awfully sorry for her to have instigated such a thing. Still, she was pleased. Closing her eyes, she pictured the bucket, the honey, and the fly.

  “You’re home early today.”

  Drew shrugged out of his jacket. “We can only do about eight feet of bricking per day without squashing the mortar. So I’m having the men sheath the roof for now, then in the morn we’ll do more bricking. How do you feel?”

  “Better and better. I’m even beginning to miss my baths.”

  He tsked, waving his finger to and fro. “What would your father say?”

  “He’d be scandalized.”

  Chuckling, he glanced to the fire. “Has she been eating, Mary?”

  “It’s lucky you are that you came home early, Master, for I fear there’s a wolf in her stomach, I do.”

  Constance watched them exchange a smile, then looked at her hands. Things were different between Drew and Mary now. No longer was Mary meek and subservient around him. She looked him in the eye. She grumbled if he interfered with her chores. She laughed frequently and easily with him.

  He was different as well. The barrier he’d always placed between him and others outside his immediate family was no longer there. He teased her. He whispered with her. He shared his laughter with her.

  Constance refused to acknowledge the knot beneath her chest. She adored them both, and if they had found something special to share, she’d not sit here and moon over it. Lifting her chin, she blanched to find Drew standing behind his chair, staring at her.

  “Have you decided how far the fly will have to go to reach the honey?”

  Her gaze ricocheted from him to the untouched gingerbread slate and back up to him. “I’ve been toying with the idea in my head. Do you know the distance he must go?”

  He took a deep breath. “I have no idea.”

  “I see.” She bit her lip. “Well, I...it was...thank you. I really appreciate your giving me the puzzle. I’ve just been too tired as of yet to give it my full attention.”

  He picked up the slate and leaf, then lowered himself into the chair. “You must not be as well as you appear, then.”

  She gave him a tentative smile. “No, I do feel much better. Truly, I do. I simply tire very easily.”

  “That will pass.”

  They sat in awkward silence--nothing like the easy silence that passed between him and Mary. This was tense and uncomfortable. She groped for something to say but could think of nothing.

  He shifted. “The snow has ceased.”

  “Has it? Oh, Drew, I’m so glad. I did worry you and the men wouldn’t be warm enough. Are you...uh...they warm enough?”

  “Fine. Just fine. Everyone’s plenty warm.”

  Another stretch of silence, this one worse than the last. She contemplated her toes, wiggling them underneath the coverlet. He studied his nails. Then they both looked at each other.

  “Why don’t you eat something, Drew? Mary made some wonderful--rack-coon, was it, Mary?”

  Holding her arm above the fire to test its warmth, Mary lifted her shoulders. “You needs must ask the master. My tongue has a time with those savage words, it does.”

  “Aroughcoune.”

  “Yes. That. Mary baked some today.”

  “Is there any left or did your wolf eat it all?”

  “Mary exaggerates. There’s plenty.”

  He continued to sit there. Saying nothing, just staring at her. Say something, Constance. Quickly.

  She fingered the string that gathered her nightdress together at the neck. “Um, I think I can sleep on my tick again. You needn’t give up your bed any longer. I’ll--”

  “No.”

  She stilled. “But, your bed.”

  “You need to stay quiet for many more days. I’ll not risk your having a relapse.”

  “But--”

  He leaned forward, close to her ear. “I like having you in my bed, Connie. Please.”

  Her eyes widened. His face turned a dull red. He shot to his feet. “I believe I’ll have some dinner now after all.”

  Tossing the slate and leaf to the foot of the bed, he strode to the shelves and retrieved a trencher. She watched him, dumbstruck. Her insides jangled, her heart pounded. He couldn’t possibly mean what she thought he did. No, that’s why he was so embarrassed. It had come out sounding different from what he’d intended.

  Still, Connie? Connie? Where had that come from?

  He had his aroughcoune now but did not return to his chair. He, instead, sat on the hearth, legs extended, feet crossed, eyes glued to the food he was devouring.

  She allowed her gaze to roam back to the slate and leaf. The heart-shaped leaf. Could it be? Might he actually be--no. Impossible. He was merely feeling sorry for her. Responsible for her. It was Mary who received all the soft looks. Mary who was uneducated. Mary with whom he was at ease.

  The thudding of her heart slowly settled back to its natural rhythm. She must be very, very careful not to allow herself to misconstrue his actions to fit what she wanted them to fit.

  Closing her eyes, she pictured the bucket, the honey, and the fly.

  What a clodpate. Drew pounded another nail into the roof’s sheathing, thinking of a t
housand things he should have said but didn’t. No, he’d blurted out whatever thought happened to be in his worthless head. By trow, but his tongue did twang as readily as any buzzer’s.

  Holding two nails in his mouth, he withdrew a third and continued with his hammering. Treating the woman you were trying to court like some heifer at rut time was disastrous at best and irrevocable at worst. She’d barely gained the strength to feed herself. He should be coddling her, not pressing her with clumsy advances.

  Pausing, he took a moment to look out over his land. At the bottom of the hill and several acres beyond lay the James River, where soon he’d build a huge wharf so the tobacco ships could sail right to his front door. This spring would be the last time he’d need to roll hogshead after hogshead to the public warehouses.

  He felt a surge of satisfaction. Mayhap he’d build Nellie a barge so she and Gerald could row over for a visit. And Sally, wouldn’t she love to run down and welcome Josh home from his factoring fresh off the ship? By trow, but it was going to be grand.

  His elbow rested on his knee, the hammer hanging from his hand. Would Josh have little ones of his own racing down this slope? Most probably. He rolled the nails from one side of his mouth to the other. Would he and Constance have little ones racing down it as well? Did he even want babes of his own?

  His eyes wandered to the half-finished barn. If they were to have children, he should probably go ahead and make a necessary. And a smokehouse. He sighed. And if Constance was to be the mother, he might as well construct a schoolhouse. She would surely want to educate not only the O’Connor offspring but every woman in the colony. Forsooth, his father must surely be spinning in his grave.

  His grave. How many more would Drew be digging before he was laid in his own? More than he’d want. Some small and from his own seed, no doubt. Would it be worth it?

  A cool breeze wafted from the river as he squinted against the sun’s descent. What if just one of the babes survived? What if the child grew to adulthood? What would his dreams be? His pursuits?

  He gripped the hammer. Yes. Yes. He wanted children. Lots and lots of them. But first, he must convince Constance to stay. And that was going to take some doing.

  He thought for a moment, then straightened, slowly removing the nails from his mouth. He knew precisely the thing to get back in her good graces.

  What in heaven’s name was he up to? He’d been acting near giddy from the moment he’d arrived home. They’d eaten and visited, same as every night, but he was much like a young boy awaiting his birthday surprise.

  Moments ago, he’d whispered furiously with Mary while she stoked up the fire and set several pots to boil. Now he stood on his chair, hanging a large sheet from several old ceiling hooks. When he was finished, the cloth completely enclosed a small portion of the room in front of the fireplace.

  She blushed with mortification. They wanted some privacy. How could she have been so addlepated? She would not lie here in his bed and force them to hide behind a curtain for...for whatever it was they were going to do. She would sleep in her tick tonight and she’d brook no argument.

  Drew appeared from behind the curtain, his glance dashing away from her the same moment it found her. Saints above, how awful. She was about to tell him her intent when he whisked himself out the door.

  “Mary, quickly. Get over here and help me up to my tick before he returns.”

  Mary peeked around the curtain. “Up to your tick? Whatever for?”

  Constance threw back the covers. “Let’s not make this any more embarrassing than it already is. Just help me up there and with haste.”

  “Mistress, get back under those coverlets! You’ll catch a chill for certain.”

  Mary bustled over, and Constance, her feet already on the dirt floor, held out her hand for help. “Come. I can’t make it clear up there by myself. Now, make haste. He might return any moment.”

  “Of course he’ll return, and he’ll be plenty furious if I assist you with such a thing. I’d just as soon not have to deal with his wrath, I wouldn’t. It’s hard he is working to try and please. I’ll not be spoiling it, I won’t.”

  Constance stilled. Oh, dear. She was probably right. He’d be angered and then their little tête-à-tête would be ruined. Blast. She’d simply have to feign sleep. Immediately. “Perhaps you’re right. Already I’m feeling weary. I think I’ll go on to bed now. Dig you den, Mary.” With that, she dove under the covers, turned her back to the curtain, and closed her eyes.

  “Merciful me. What a pair the two of you are.”

  The door slammed open, a cold rush of air swooshing into the room. Constance peered beneath her lids just long enough to see him haul in a huge half-barrel of some sort.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself to ignore their whispered giggles and the sound of splashing. He came and went from the cottage several times, chilling the room even more. What in the world?

  Finally all was still. “Connie?”

  She took the deep, even breaths of a slumbering person.

  He touched her shoulder. “Are you awake?”

  “She’s awake,” Mary said from across the room.

  Constance felt a rush of heat suffuse her cheeks. Thank the heavens it was dark. What could Mary be thinking?

  “I’ve a surprise for you, Connie. Would you like to see?”

  A surprise? For me? She slowly lay back on the pillows. The darkness was even more pronounced than usual, for the curtain shrouded the fire and its light.

  “Come. I’ve something for you.”

  “Right now?”

  “Right now.” He peeled back the covers and helped her sit before scooping her up into his arms.

  “Drew! Sweet heavens, I can walk.”

  He said nothing but carried her to the curtain, then stepped inside it. Immediately, light and heat embraced them. And there, in the midst of it was a barrel of water, with a scent rising from its depths, the likes of which she’d never smelt before.

  Setting her gingerly on the hearth, he allowed his hand to travel the length of her arm to the tips of her fingers, where his lips touched them. “For you, my lady. Enjoy.”

  Then he was gone, the closing of the cottage door loud in the subsequent silence, the gooseflesh on her arm still tingling.

  Mary stepped forward. “Come. Let’s get you into the bath so the master doesn’t have to linger overlong in the cold.”

  A bath? A bath? She looked up. Mary smiled. “Come. It’s just right.”

  As if in a dream, she allowed Mary to undress her and assist her into the barrel. The warm water swirled around her, encircling her as she lowered herself into it. The water came up to the slopes of her shoulders, teasing them as it lapped up over her.

  Dipping hands and soap into the tub, Mary quickly worked up a lather from which the most delicate fragrance arose. Constance sat as if disassociated with her own body.

  Closing her eyes, she felt Mary lather her arms, her back, and her hair, before pausing. “Wish me to continue?”

  Constance stirred. “I’ve never before submerged myself in warm water. Have you?”

  “No, mum. Is it as heavenly as it looks?”

  “Even more. Do you suppose I’ll be going to hell now?”

  “No, mum. If it was to hell you’d be sent for such a thing, the master wouldn’t have allowed it to happen to you. Wish me to continue?”

  Constance opened her palm. “No thank you. I can finish.”

  Mary nodded. “I’m going to go check on Snowflake. It’s time for her evening milking.”

  “Surely Drew has seen to it for you?”

  “It’s best I go check. You will be all right?”

  “Yes. I’ll be fine. Thank you. And Mary?”

  “Yes, mum?”

  “I’m sorry you’re having to do my chores as well as your own.”

  A small shy smile touched Mary’s features. “I’m happy to do them for you, Mistress. It’s glad I am you’re feeling so much better.”

/>   She turned and left, a soft whoosh and a click the only signs of her departure.

  When he saw Mary leave the cottage, he’d assumed Constance had finished. Not so. He could see clearly her silhouette through the curtain with her head hung back over the edge of the barrel.

  Mary should never have left her. Didn’t she realize how dangerous it was for Constance to fall asleep in a tub full of water? He stepped inside the curtain and froze.

  Constance’s hair, still full of lather, was piled atop her head, her eyes closed, her face relaxed. The graceful curve of her neck gave way to delicate shoulders peeking above the water’s edge.

  “This is absolutely divine, Mary. You must try it next. But first, I needs must rinse my hair. Will you help me?”

  He should turn around and walk out. He picked up the empty bucket. Dipping it beneath the surface, he filled it with water. Constance, eyes still closed, covered her face with her hands and bent forward. “I’m ready.” Her voice was muffled and husky.

  He poured the water over her hair. It took several more dousings before all the soap had washed out.

  “A rag. Is there a rag I can use to dry my eyes with?”

  He knelt beside her and placed a dry rag in her hand. She pushed her hair back, drug the rag down her face, peeped over the top, then squealed and sunk deep into the water.

  “Will you be my wife, Connie?”

  The fire crackled. She said nothing. Only stared at him through those long lashes spiked with water.

  “I mean, my real wife. Till death do us part?”

  The rag came further down her face, revealing her nose, mouth, and chin. “Why?”

  Because I love you. Because I want my children to be your children also. He remained silent.

  “What about Mary?”

  He frowned. “I wouldn’t sell Mary. She could stay.”

  “Oh, Drew, please. I like it not that you can buy and sell Mary, or me, or anyone else at your whim. And that’s not what I meant. I thought, well, things between the two of you are...different.”

  He relaxed some. “We worked long and hard to care for you while you were ill. I’ll always be grateful to her. But I’ve never had any feelings for her. Besides, I’m married to you. Even if I had interest elsewhere, I would never pursue it while married to another.”