by Donna Hatch
Telling herself to cease being so mawkish, Emily replaced yesterday’s white gown, crumpled from travel and sleep, with the blue dress.
Once dressed, she realized she could not wash—there was no water in the basin, and no rope to pull or servant to summon to bring any. Instead, she sat at the small dressing table and decided she must do something about her hair. The floral circlet her sister had arranged so carefully was now a matted mess of wilted blooms. Emily removed the pins holding it in place and tore it from her hair, inadvertently pulling several strands loose from their arrangement at the same time. The resulting style was a sagging chignon with long, wild spikes spiraling out in every direction.
“Like Medusa,” she muttered crossly, then took the remaining pins from her hair, until the tangled mass descended well past her shoulders.
Leaving the dressing table, Emily returned to her trunk to locate her brush. After digging through the entire contents, she gave up finding it without removing everything. She gathered an armful of clothing, carried it to the unmade bed, and tossed the load upon it. This she searched through and, not finding the brush, repeated the process again until her trunk was emptied and the bed piled high with shoes, gowns, shawls, bonnets, petticoats, and chemises all strewn about wildly, as if an animal or a very small child had been amongst them.
And still no brush.
Her stomach growling with hunger, Emily returned to the dressing table and used her fingers to comb through her tangles as best she could. Gathering her hair was another matter, one she found exceedingly difficult without a brush. Three times she tried pulling the masses back and twisting them into a simple knot, only to have more pieces escape than stay.
Her arms ached and drooped. On her fourth attempt she stabbed the back of her head with a pin, cried out, let go of her half-done hair, and burst into tears.
It was thus that Eli found her, head buried in her arms, sobbing at the dressing table.
“Forgive me entering,” he said. “I knocked, and there was no answer, but I could hear you were in distress.”
Emily cried louder, embarrassed, and angry with herself at her inability to do such a simple task. She felt frightened at being so far from home, pledged to a life with a man she knew so little of and who could not give her the things she was used to.
There it was again. That snobbishness she so loathed in others. She did not wish to be notoriously picksome as her mother, but feared she was. I am just as bad. I am spoiled and utterly wretched.
“What is it, Emily? What is so terrible this morning? I haven’t shaved yet, if it will make you feel any better. Perhaps I look a little more like my old, hairy self.”
She raised her head to look at him through the glass but saw only her own, splotchy face, puffy eyes, and disastrous hair. “I do not look like myself,” she cried, then buried her head again. “Please go away, Mr. Linfield.”
“Eli,” he corrected. “Please,” he added more kindly. “And that is the one thing I will not do. I will not go away and leave you in distress. Besides, our breakfast is growing cold. So please tell me what is troubling you and let me do what I can to help, so we can begin our day together.”
“You can’t help.” She shook her head and did not look up.
“You don’t know that unless you ask.” He placed a gentle hand upon her shoulder. It was warm and comforting and somehow made her feel the tiniest bit better. This was Mr. Linfield, the groomsman. He would not judge her for how she looked. Yet, she found that she cared a great deal about how he saw her. She wanted to be beautiful for him. Beautiful and capable. I don’t want to let him down.
Swallowing her pride—if she’d any left—and mustering her courage, Emily lifted her head and met his gaze in the mirror. “I am pathetic,” she whispered. “I cannot even arrange my own hair.” She swallowed, awaiting his disappointment or perhaps laughter.
“I am quite certain you can,” he said easily. “It will take some practice, is all. Would you like me to help you today—not that I’ll be much better at it. But perhaps, between the two of us...”
She nodded, relieved at his answer and grateful he had not judged her, not aloud at least.
“All right.” He took a deep breath and looked down on her head, as if preparing for an invasion of some sort. “Hand me your brush. You must tell me if I am not using it correctly or hurting you. After all, I’ve only experience with horses.”
“I can’t find my brush.” Her voice sounded small and forlorn, as if she was five years old instead of a grown woman. I have been acting like I am five. For the moment, with her emotions so on edge, she couldn’t seem to help herself. Emily turned in the chair and inclined her head toward the mess of clothing and shoes haphazardly strewn across the bed. “I’ve made a mull of everything.”
“Not everything.” Eli’s brows arched as he looked at the pile. “Though near everything does seem to be on your bed. No wonder your trunk was so heavy. I did not realize it held so much. Was the brush not in your valise either?”
Emily brought a hand to her mouth and then her head as she bent forward, feeling like an even bigger fool. “I forgot about the valise,” she admitted.
“I set it right here last night, on the floor beside the bed.” Eli reached for it, just an arm’s length away. “I wanted you to see it as soon as you arose, guessing that whatever you might need most was inside.” He held it out to her.
“That was a good guess.” Emily took the bag, opened it, and saw her brush at once. “I’m so embarrassed. So sorry.” She met his eyes once more, apology in hers.
“Don’t be. You are in a new circumstance, and that will take some getting used to.” He held his hand out for the brush. “May I?”
Though she felt perfectly capable of taming her hair now that she had a brush, she handed it to him.
Eli began at the back of her head, starting at the top and gently pulling the brush down through her hair. After a minute of watching him in the mirror, Emily allowed her eyes to close and her shoulders to relax. He was careful, as he’d always been. Gentle. Tender. She no longer felt embarrassed that she had been unable to find her brush; she felt grateful. Because his touch was... heaven.
He continued several minutes, during which she felt first her worries and then her defenses melting away as some other foreign and delicious sensations moved in to take their place.
“What do you think?” Eli ceased brushing, and Emily held back a sigh of disappointment.
“I think I shall require your help every day.” Not having a lady’s maid may have its advantages.
He laughed. “You haven’t even looked yet. Open your eyes.”
She did and saw that he had indeed tamed her tangled mass. It fell sleek and shiny, down her back and over her shoulders.
“I much prefer brushing your hair to brushing Fortune’s,” he said jovially.
“Thank you—I think?” She felt grateful the reflection in the mirror now looked more like her old self. “I suppose I should put it up.”
“Only if you want to,” Eli said. “There is no one here to judge you for it either way.”
“In that case, I shall leave my hair down for now. I should like to investigate this breakfast you mentioned.”
“Right this way.” He set the brush on the table, then pulled her chair out for her.
Emily stood and turned, and found her nose nearly touching his chest. Her heartbeat quickened, and the same giddiness she’d felt at their wedding returned. She lifted her head to look at him.
“Thank you for trusting me,” he said. “I know this—” he indicated the sparse room, “—is different from what you are accustomed to, but if you will be patient with me, and yourself, I believe you can be happy here.”
“I am already.” It was true. Had she not spent yesterday laughing and talking more comfortably than she ever had with anyone? When he drew near, did Eli not make her heart pound with excitement? Was he not every bit as kind and gentle as she had always known him to be? Piec
es of her fear slipped away at these realizations and the comfort that he would be patient with her. So long as she kept trying, Eli would not give up on her.
These thoughts struck her core, and with them came the understanding that her greatest fear was not about living with less or having to learn to do things for herself, or what the neighbors might think. It was about failing. She was afraid she would fail at this endeavor, at her marriage to Eli, and it was that possibility she found terrifying.
Because I care for him a great deal already. From those summers as children when they had waved to one another, to the years she had known him while he worked for her father, Emily had admired Eli from afar, and she had secretly wished for a man like him to come into her life. Not a man like him. I was waiting for him. For Eli. Their marriage had not been mere happenstance. “I did not suggest it randomly,” she murmured, shocked at this discovery.
“What was not random?” Eli’s brow wrinkled, anxious concern in his gaze.
“I—” It was one thing to admit her feelings to herself, but what would he think to know she had—perhaps subconsciously—wanted to marry him? And, when the opportunity came to have him, she had leapt. Be honest. You must tell him.
“The night in the stables, I didn’t just come to check on Fortune, I came to talk with you. I was troubled and knew you would listen to my concerns about marrying Lord Rowley. And later, when I suggested we marry, it was not just to salvage my reputation or that I wished to be free of the earl. It was because—I wanted to marry you.”
“As I wanted to marry you,” Eli said kindly, still with that look of concern in his eyes. “You’re a little pale. Are you feeling well?” He held onto her arm, as if worried she might faint. “Perhaps we should go into breakfast. Once you’ve eaten you may feel better.”
“I feel perfectly marvelous.” If she was a little lightheaded... well, that was his fault for standing so near to her. Since his hand had first found hers during the wedding ceremony yesterday, she had not seemed able to control her body’s reactions to him. Not that she wanted to. This kind of lightheadedness she found rather enjoyable.
Chunks of her fear were shattering all around them now, breaking into pieces, turning into dust. She wasn’t afraid of him or his touch; she enjoyed it. With Eli she could speak her mind. She could be herself. It had always been that way. It was always him.
Acknowledging this, and finally being allowed to let those feelings, her heart’s desire, surface sent her spirits soaring. It was all she could do not to behave like Sophia and run and jump on the bed, then fly about the room. For the first time that Emily could remember, she was not afraid of anything. She smiled up at him, wondering at this miracle and the joy and freedom in her pounding heart. “I think I am in love with you.”
He searched her eyes, the initial concern in his changing to shock, then disbelief, and then, at last, cautious hope. His lips rose slowly as his hands came up to touch her face. “I know I am in love with you, Emily. For me there has never been another.” He bent his head to hers, and their lips touched briefly, then he crushed her to him in a not-so-gentle hug.
Chapter Fourteen
“Chocolate?” Emily’s eyes lit up, and she smiled before tipping the cup to her lips a second time.
“I promised that you would be well taken care of,” Eli said, pleased to have surprised her. “I believe that includes indulging in a daily cup of chocolate as part of your morning routine.”
“You knew?” There was no accusation in her voice, only happy astonishment.
“I am a spy, remember?”
She laughed. “I believe you must be.”
The morning had not quite gone as he had envisioned, but he hoped—after taming her hair and hearing her sudden, unexpected confession that she cared for him—that they were back on track. He wasn’t certain what to make of his wife’s wildly swinging emotions thus far, but he supposed they were warranted, given the extreme changes to her life.
He wanted to believe that she did love him—a little, at least. But it was too soon for that. She had allowed him to kiss her, though, and that fleeting second, followed by the longer seconds when he had held her tightly to him, had been the best of his life.
The rest of their breakfast was perhaps not as fine as she was used to, but it was all he could manage until they hired someone to cook. When Emily discovered it was he who had prepared everything, she praised every bite.
“You were here last week, getting all of this ready?”
“Well, not the food,” he said. “Would have been a bit moldy by now, don’t you think?” He loved teasing her. “But I did arrange for the delivery of some basic items, and I cleaned and aired the cottage. Would you like to see the rest of it?”
“Oh, yes.” She dabbed the side of her mouth with her napkin, then placed it upon the small, round table that filled a good portion of the tiny kitchen.
Eli pulled out her chair for her and showed her around the rest of the cottage—all two rooms of it. “This is the sitting room.” He led her to the main, rectangular room at the front of the house. A large stone fireplace and shelves covered one wall, with a well-worn sofa, a few chairs, and a rug his mother had made finishing out the room. It was not large by any means, but room enough for the two of them—and any children that came along eventually.
“It’s so cozy,” Emily exclaimed. “I can imagine curling up in here before the fire with a good book. I think this shall be my favorite room.”
He hoped not, but did not voice that thought just yet. He showed her the other bedroom next. “This is my room, same as it was when I was a child.”
Emily peered in at the room smaller than her own, and he wondered what she was thinking. Feeling sorry for him? Wondering how he survived with so few material possessions?
“How marvelous that it is so close to your mother’s room. She must have always come when you had nightmares.”
Again, her reaction surprised him. Eli could not remember ever calling for his mother at night, but he sensed a topic for exploration. “Did you have many nightmares as a child?”
Emily nodded. “My parents could never hear my cries. Our rooms were too distant from one another. It was always a nanny who came—if anyone.”
“Well, if you have a nightmare now, I shall hear you, and I shall come at once,” he promised.
Her smile seemed somehow wistful. “Thank you, Eli.” She glanced down the portrait-less hall. “I think I shall enjoy it here very much.”
Chapter Fifteen
Emily bent to inhale the sweet scent of a rose. “I have found a new love, aside from horses.”
“Of course you have—me.” Eli looked up long enough to wink at her, then returned to his work, clearing underbrush and spreading manure beneath the roses along the north walk.
“Well, yes, there is that—I mean you,” Emily said. “But I also meant these flowers and gardening. I’ve never seen such beautiful grounds in all my life.”
“Wait until we have returned them to their former glory.” He wondered, as he had a dozen times in the first two weeks of their marriage, when and if her feelings for him might surface again. They had not, since that first morning here, and he fervently wished they would, along with an opportunity to kiss her again.
“It would seem the restoring might be more quickly accomplished if you allowed me to help.” She frowned at him.
“Perhaps sometime,” he said, giving her the same, vague answer he had before. “I don’t want to overwhelm you with all that needs to be done around here.” He had already shown her the field that was theirs, and they had discussed at length what might do well planted there. They had talked about the possibility of selling of some of their garden flowers to local estates, as well as taking the apples from their small orchard to market. Though the parcel of land that went with the cottage was not large, Eli believed that, if tended carefully, it could turn a profit. Enough, with his small income, to keep them at least as comfortable as they were now.
“Stop working a minute and take a drink.” Emily appeared at his side, a dipper in her hand, and the bucket he had felt too heavy for her to carry.
He accepted the dipper, gulping the water too quickly, so that some trickled down the sides of his mouth. Emily touched one of the squiggles of water making its way down his chin. “What am I to do with you, Mr. Linfield?”
“What do you want to do with me?” he asked, brows rising up and down as he flirted shamelessly.
She laughed. “Everything. But you won’t let me. I can work, if you’ll only teach me how. I know I was horrid that first day, with my missing brush and my clothes thrown about, but have you seen my room since? And do I not look presentable?” She turned her head, showing off the simple knot at the back of her head.
“You look more than presentable,” he said, eyeing her bare neck. He took another drink to cool himself, then licked his lips, wishing he might lick hers instead. “And I have seen your room. That you managed to contain all your numerous articles of clothes within that one, narrow wardrobe is a feat indeed.” He had stood in her doorway for a moment every night, checking to see that she was well and that nothing troubled her. Though it was wrong, he almost wished she’d have a nightmare so he would have an excuse to come into her room and comfort her in bed. Patience, he reminded himself. All in good time. The sweet torture of wanting her was not entirely unpleasant.
“I am glad one of us is looking well.” Emily’s nose wrinkled as she stared at him. “But you, good sir, are not. You’ve more dirt on you than the plants you’ve been digging about. I believe you shall require a bath before dinner. I shall help.”
A surge of cool well water caught him square in the chest and across his face. He sputtered and blinked as the bucket clattered to the ground and Emily ran away shrieking. Feeling as shocked as he had the morning she’d told him she thought she loved him, Eli started after her, tossing the dipper aside.
