A Bride Most Begrudging

by Deeanne Gist

  “Please, call me Constance.”

  He crinkled his brow. “Sally gets to call you Sissy.”

  She smiled. “Sally is three years old.”

  A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “Yes, but I’m better looking.”

  Constance’s laugh tinkled out across the clearing. “Hurry back, Josh.”

  He tipped his hat. “I will, sister.”

  Turning, he passed by Drew and bumped him to the side with his shoulder. “Try not to pick the lock before I return,” he whispered, winking before sauntering up the trail.

  Drew glanced toward Constance. The sunlight at her back outlined the curves hidden beneath Nellie’s old dress. He swallowed. Dear God, please let Josh return before spring.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The moon and stars lit up the night sky with abandon, showering some of their beams on Constance. Leaning against a girdled tree, she greeted Orion. He stood as stalwart as ever, raising his club for a kill, while his brilliant belt housed that mighty sword. She looked a bit to the left and, yes, there was Venus dazzling in the rectangle of Gemini. High above and to the right of Orion shone Jupiter.

  With these old friends joining her, she could almost pretend she was in her flower garden back home. Almost. But sooner or later, she’d have to bid her friends good-night and go inside that cottage. With him.

  She glanced at the cottage door. Why had he allowed Josh to take Mary and Sally with him for the night? Had he misconstrued her rather warm response to his wedding kiss? She hadn’t meant to respond at all. But respond she did and with not just a little enthusiasm.

  She readjusted the hem of her sleeves. Something intense had flared between them. Most likely, it was a product of the excessive tension. Still, whatever the reason, it couldn’t happen again, and if he’d arranged for an empty cottage with a reckoning in mind, she would have to persuade him otherwise. Fortifying herself, she turned and entered the cottage.

  Due to the heat outside, the fire in the hearth was small and gave off little light. He sat on a bench in front of the fire, smoking a churchwarden pipe, its long stem protruding a couple of feet from his mouth.

  “Where are the candles?” she asked.

  He slowly expelled a stream of smoke. “What need have you for a candle?”

  She dabbed at the moisture around her hairline. “I’d like to work in my diary.”

  “The cruse is on the shelf, but it drips, smokes, and smells so bad, we never use it.”

  “The cruse? With grease? You’ve no candles?”

  “No need for them. When darkness falls, the family usually retires.”

  “But the family isn’t here.”

  He took a long drag from his pipe. “No, they aren’t.”

  He’d removed his hat at some point, and the glow of the fire framed his dark curly hair with bluish highlights.

  “Where’s my diary?” she asked.

  “In the cedar chest.”

  She glanced in the direction of the chest but saw nothing. The cottage was shrouded in darkness.

  “Have you any parchment?”

  “Why don’t you just go to bed, Constance? You’re bound to be worn out.”

  “Yes, I should be, but for some reason I’m wide awake.”

  He lowered his pipe. “I am also.”

  She barely caught his murmured words. Stretching her arms out in front of her, she headed toward the chest. At least, she hoped she did. Her hands made contact with the wall. Moving along its rough surface, she methodically felt up and down.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Looking for the chest.”

  He sighed. “It’s too dark. You’ll never be able to find the booklet inside that chest without some light.”

  “Then where’s the cruse?”

  “No, you’ll simply have to wait.”

  Tears immediately sprung to her eyes. This day had been almost more than she could bear. Too much had happened too fast. If she could just work on an algorithm, everything would fall into place for her. Swallowing, she continued her search, then jumped when she felt his hand encircle her wrist.

  “Come and sit down, Constance. If you cannot sleep, then sit by the fire. Even if you found your diary, the fire would not give off the light you’d need.”

  “Yes it would.” She pulled back her hand.

  He paused. “Are you crying?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I be crying?”

  “No reason I can think of, but that never stopped my sisters.”

  “Well, I’m not one of your sisters.”

  A great swell of silence encompassed the cabin. “No,” he whispered, “you’re my wife.”

  She swallowed. “Why did Josh take Mary and Sally with him? Didn’t you explain?”

  “I explained.”

  “Then why?”

  “Appearances. Emmett. The council.”

  “Who could we possibly be trying to impress with appearances?

  I’ve seen no neighbors.”

  “We’ve neighbors, Constance. They just live a good distance away. Still, word always seems to get around.”

  “But what does it matter? Who would care?”

  “The council. Emmett. Me.”

  “But I’ll be leaving soon. Why, I could take next month’s ship. There’s no need for me to wait for your brother.”

  He shook his head. “This isn’t London, Constance. Ships are few and far between here. But even still, you’ll be going nowhere until I’ve confirmation about your background from Josh or until your alleged father himself shows up.”

  She sighed. Her background again. “This is such a mess.”

  “Um.”

  They stood in the darkness. Her eyes had long since adjusted, but she still couldn’t make out his expression. She could smell him, though-that now familiar mixture of male, sunshine, and tobacco. His breath tickled her face. She took a step back. “I think I will sit down.”

  After settling herself on the bench, she suppressed the urge to scoot to its farthest edge when he joined her.

  “What’s in your diary that was so important?”

  “I wanted to work on an algorithm.”

  He stretched his long legs in front of him and propped his hand against the bench, leaning away from her. “Did you now?”

  She wet her lips. “Yes.”

  “And which algorithm would that be?”

  Placing her hands on either side of her knees, she grasped the bench seat. “I saw a fly in the cottage today.”

  He tapped the stem of his pipe against his lips. “Now, that’s an algorithm I’ve never heard of.”

  She slid him a glance, then turned back to the fire. “I also saw a spider.”

  “My, what a busy day you’ve had.”

  She allowed herself to relax a bit. “Let’s assume this cottage is 21 feet long, 10 feet wide, and 10 feet high. On the middle line of one of the smaller side walls and 1 foot from the ceiling is a spider. On the middle line of the opposite wall and 9 feet from the ceiling is a fly. The fly, being paralyzed by fear, remains still until the spider catches it by crawling the shortest route. How far did the spider crawl?”

  He readjusted himself on the bench. “Whatever was your father thinking to indulge you in the area of academics?”

  She drew a circle in the dirt floor with her toe. “He was too busy with his business interests to take much note of my activities, and by the time he realized Uncle Skelly had seen to my tutoring, it was too late.”

  “What of your mother?”

  “She died when I was three. I’ve no recollection of her. But upon her death, one of my sisters and I were sent to Uncle Skelly and Aunt Katherine’s country home.” She tucked a loose curl at her nape back into her cap. “Since my aunt and uncle never had children of their own, they devoted much of their time and love to us.”

  “But what possible purpose could you have had for an education? Particularly in mathematics? ‘Twas pure folly.”

  “
Pure folly? But why?”

  “Well, I would venture to guess that if your time had been spent exclusively on skills of a female sort, you’d be safe at home. Instead, you maneuver your way out of five marriage contracts and get kidnapped as well. No, it’s my guess your father rues the day you learned your letters and numbers.”

  She flushed. “Five contracts was a bit of an exaggeration. It was only two.”

  “Only two? Well, then. That makes all the difference.”

  She stiffened. “My education encompassed what every woman is expected to know.”

  “Such as?”

  She lifted her chin. “Piety and needlework. Catechism and the Bible. Civility, of course, was instilled by two gentlewomen and a French woman.”

  “And the more secular subjects?”

  “Uncle Skelly hired tutors for me.”

  “What all were you taught?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. Several things. Latin, French, rhetoric, logic, mathematics, geometry, writing, spelling.”

  “Your poor father. When did he find out?”

  “When I was thirteen.”

  He grimaced. “What did he do?”

  “He fetched me home. I’d have had to go home anyway, though, since a marriage contract he’d made for me was about to mature. Having long before transferred my affection to my aunt and uncle, I went rather unwillingly.”

  “And now?”

  She looked into the fire. “Now, I’m quite fond of Papa.”

  He pulled his feet back and propped his elbows on his knees. “Let us see. How far from the ceiling was the fly?”

  “Nine feet.”

  “Nine feet. And the spider was one foot below the ceiling, correct?”

  “Yes.”

  He took several drags from his pipe. “Have you figured a solution for your puzzle?”

  She shook her head. “I do much better if I can draw pictures.”

  He set his pipe down. “All right.” Bending toward the fire, he scooped up a handful of cold soot and spread it out. “Sketch away.”

  For a space of several beats, she considered him. Unable to resist, she found herself on her knees beside the pile of soot. Sketching out the cottage and insects with her fingers, she sat back. “What do you think?”

  He pursed his lips. “I think I should come up with my solution and you should come up with yours. Then we can compare them.”

  She looked from him to the soot and back. “All right. When do we compare?”

  “How long will it take you to come up with an answer?”

  “How long will it take you?”

  “I already have one.”

  She gasped. “You lie!”

  He grinned. It was a two-dimple grin. She hastily looked down at the soot.

  “How long will it take you?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Five minutes.”

  “Done.”

  She smiled. “Then go sit over there with your own soot.”

  Chuckling, he moved to the opposite end of the hearth. She had already started scribbling in her ashes.

  Twenty minutes later, she sat back. He was still crouched over his soot.

  “Your time is up,” she said.

  He straightened. “Humph. It’s been up for some time now. I was simply giving you some extra.”

  She suppressed a smile. “What’s your solution?”

  “You first.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “How will I know you aren’t stealing my solution?”

  “How will I know you aren’t stealing my solution?”

  “I’ll explain how I came about my answer.”

  “As will I.”

  “It’s 29.7 feet.”

  He shook his head. “I say 31 feet.”

  She clapped her hands together. “You’re wrong! I win.”

  “I think not. You are wrong and I win.”

  “The route the spider took was 29.7 feet. I’m sure of it.”

  “Well, then, would you care to place a wager on it?” he asked.

  She nodded. “All right. If I’m wrong, I’ll wash all the dishes tomorrow evening. If you’re wrong, you’ll wash them.”

  “Ha! That’s no bargain for me. You’re supposed to wash them anyway.”

  “Then what do I have that you want?”

  A coal from the fire shifted. He considered her. Had she worded it any other way, that blessed kiss from this morning would never have crossed his mind. Now he was at a loss to think of anything else.

  His gaze moved to her lips. He hadn’t expected them to taste so good, her to feel so soft. And her response. Sweet Gemini. Had she walloped him in the stomach, he’d have been less surprised.

  She cocked her head. “Is there nothing I can do as a forfeit?”

  The implication set his blood pumping. “A kiss.”

  He heard her quick intake of breath. “I thought we had an agreement.”

  “A kiss does not a marriage make.”

  She nodded. “According to my papa, it does.”

  Shifting, he pulled at his pant legs. “How did you arrive at 29.7 feet, Constance?”

  “I like not the conditions of the wager and withdraw from play.”

  He arched his eyebrows. “You concede defeat?”

  “Certainly not!” She fluttered a hand about her neckline, then rested it in her lap. “Cease jesting with me, Drew.”

  The sound of his name flowed off her lips like the finest of wines. “I’m not jesting in the least.”

  “Then let us choose another prize.”

  “I’ve already chosen. I want a kiss. If you win, you may choose what you want.”

  A vein in her neck jumped. “A week without washing supper dishes.”

  “I think not.”

  “Then I think not about your prize.” She smoothed her hands along her skirt. “I say 29.7 feet and a week without washing the supper dishes.”

  He pursed his lips. “I say 31 feet and a kiss, given freely.”

  She glanced at her drawings in the soot. “Done.”

  His body’s reaction was swift and profound. “Done.”

  He closed the distance between them and knelt down on one knee beside her. She visibly swallowed before she pointed to the spider’s route drawn in the ashes, along with a triangle.

  “Line AB is the hypotenuse of the right triangle,” she explained. “Its distance equals the square root of 20 squared plus 22 squared. Which is 29.7 feet and the path the spider took,” she finished, running her finger along the path.

  He studied her drawing and figures. She’d taken the cottage and unfolded it in her drawing, then connected the spider’s location to the fly’s in one straight line. From there, she had figured the length of the line by drawing a right triangle.

  He should have thought of that. It was so simple once he saw it. He tightened his jaw. Now, not only would he have to wash the dishes for a week, but she’d know he wanted a kiss. He slid his eyes closed. Heaven help me.

  A beat of silence. “How did you come up with 31 feet?”

  He opened his eyes. “The wrong way.”

  She moved nary a muscle.

  “You’d better get yourself in your pallet, wife. ”He made no attempt to hide his emotions. “Right hastily.”

  Her gaze skittered to the bed and back. “I don’t get the bed?”

  By my troth, could she not see what a state he was in? “Not unless you intend to share it with me.”

  “I think I’ll go make my pallet now,” she said as she stood. “Good night, Drew.”

  There it was again. His forename. He watched the darkness of the cottage swallow her, then heard an oomph and a soft expletive. He knew the moment she found the cedar chest. After some muffled sounds, all was still.

  “Drew?” Her address whispered across the room.

  He stiffened. “Yes?”

  “I’ll be needing something to wear to church tomorrow.”

  He expelled the breath he’d been holding. “We won’t be going to
church until Christmas Day.”

  She gasped. “What?!”

  “No one does. It’s too far and none can afford to lose a full day in the fields every week.”

  “Then why in the world were they so sanctimonious about us, to the point of forcing marriage?”

  He took his time in answering. “I’d like to say that the fact that we don’t attend church regularly doesn’t mean we aren’t expected to live Christian lives. But the truth of the matter is, I’d two females in a settlement of men desperate for wives. I imagine they couldn’t stand the thought of your being single yet out of their reach.”

  “But marriage only made me further out of reach!”

  “Go to sleep, Constance.”

  He heard her mutter and flop around in her pallet, and then everything settled into silence. If anyone had told him a week ago he’d be married today, he’d have thought they were in their altitudes. If anyone had told him he’d be spending his wedding night on the opposite side of the room from his wife, he’d have thought the drunkard was addled as well.

  Tapping out the contents of his pipe, he stirred the fire’s embers, then looked again at her scratchings in the soot. She may not be an earl’s daughter, but she wasn’t common born either. So exactly what did that make her?

  Your wife, whispered the inner recesses of his mind. Slamming a lid down on that thought, he made his way to the bed.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The sun, amidst streaks of pink, yellow, and orange, barely peeked over the horizon. Yet Josh’s attention rested not on nature’s glorious display but upon Mary. Kneeling on the ground behind Nellie’s cottage, her fingers moved with dexterity as she plucked chicken feathers from the hen he’d wrung earlier.

  “Mary, I must away. Have you a moment?”

  She paused, then carefully placed the feathers in a pouch beside her. “I do.”

  “When I reach England, I will inquire into the whereabouts of your man.”

  “Yes, Master Josh.”

  He frowned, then squatted down in front of her. “Your man’s name is Obadiah Robins and he was a street sweeper?”

  “Yes.”

  “When did you see him last?”

  “It was the spring of ’41, it was.”

  “And when he didn’t return home, you made inquiries?”