by Mercy Levy
They didn’t speak much as Corbin checked her in and helped her to her room, but he promised to return for her the next morning to show her the town and the farm, so she could decide for herself if she was going to stay.
He said nothing else of his disappointment in her physical appearance, and Portia sheltered some hope that he had reconsidered, based on her skill as a seamstress. Surely someone who had taken the time to learn such a skill could be trusted to learn whatever was necessary to be a wife, she thought to herself. Fingers crossed, she bid goodnight to Corbin as he tipped his hat, then shut the door behind him.
Tomorrow, they both thought from opposite sides of the heavy wooden door, they would see if a match could be made.
4.
Portia was ready and waiting in the public house when Corbin arrived, this time dressed in his work clothes. He’d reflected as he turned his buggy toward home, that his bride-to-be hadn’t been at all impressed by his affluence. Rather, it had seemed to confuse her. She must have come from a poor farm indeed, to have thought him a gentleman, despite her profession as a clothier.
He took off his hat and set it on the table. Portia didn’t say anything, she just flushed prettily and fidgeted with her handkerchief as plates heaping with hash and eggs appeared in front of them. Portia quietly thanked the innkeeper, Hannah, and ducked her head for a moment before picking up her fork.
“Are you religious, Ms. Billings?” Corbin asked as he dug into his food.
“Well, Maggie didn’t teach me much, but she gave me a Bible to read, and my mamma was a Quaker, so I sometimes read with the Friends in Lancaster.”
“But you know how to pray?”
“I know how to give thanks to our Lord, if that’s what you mean. I never have had a reason to ask for anything.”
“Even when you lost your family?” He was sincerely curious now, and leaned forward, his breakfast forgotten.
“Praying wouldn’t bring them back, what could I possibly have to ask for?” He was surprised by her candid response.
“May I ask what took them from you?” Surely, he thought, an illness would have put a child on her knees to save her parents and herself.
“They were chasing the Indians from our territory and as they fled, they killed anyone that stood in their path,” she said softly. “Unfortunately, our farm was one of those places they crossed.” Her hands went quiet and she stared, unseeing, at the food in front of her. “I survived because my mother sacrificed herself to ensure that I did. No prayers were going to save her. I owe my life to her, not God.” Corbin nodded.
“Well, I can’t fault you for your thoughts. I’m so sorry you lost your parents that way. I can’t even imagine. My brothers and parents live in St. Louis, and my uncle and his wife live here with their sons.” He paused and offered her a small smile. “If you decide to stay, I hope you come to think of them as your family too.”
Portia glanced up, startled. If I choose to stay? She thought. Well, that seems different than yesterday.
“I see no reason not to follow through with our intentions, Mr. Geoffs. I feel like I made you a promise. I keep my promises.” Portia returned his grin with a slow, sweet smile born of her inherent shyness. Corbin’s heart jumped wildly in his chest as her hazel eyes crinkled at the corners and her full lips parted. He cleared his throat and nodded curtly, the grin disappearing from his face as quickly as it had sprung.
“Then perhaps we should get to showing you the town and the farm. I wouldn’t want you to be resentful because you were surprised with something you couldn’t live with.”
Portia picked at her food, then pushed the nearly full plate away. Corbin had lost his appetite with the realization that he liked the girl much more than he had intended. His carefully laid plan to avoid love seemed to come crashing down on him with every second he spent with the pretty seamstress, and he’d already found himself thinking of ways she could utilize her talent to help her settle in, and maybe even have her own spending money.
He led her to the buggy and helped her up, feeling the eyes of half the town on his back the entire time. He felt heat creep up the back of his neck, and leaped into the buggy, whipping his mares into a fast trot and escaping town as quickly as he dared without causing more stares.
Portia craned her neck to see everything as quickly as she could, and instantly noticed there was only one tailor in town. Her heart fluttered as she thought that maybe, just maybe, she might be able to help her husband-to-be make ends meet. After all, farming is not the vocation to make a man rich, she thought, remembering her father’s admonishment when her mother would complain.
They turned down a road just past the farrier on the edge of town, and Portia sat taller. The only house on the horizon was a large, white two-story building, the likes of which she’d only seen when delivering finery to the wealthier residents of Lancaster. She glanced at Corbin, who did his best to stifle a smile at her obvious astonishment, then turned her head in every direction to take in the landscape.
The farm was the most beautiful landscape she’d ever seen, including the mountains and forests of the journey she’d just taken by train. Flowers grew in front of the wide veranda, and trees dotted the yard and hemmed in the paddock off the stables. There was a large red barn, like the ones she’d only seen in children’s story books, and the fences were made of thick timbers, both sturdy and appealing to look at.
“This… This is your farm?” She finally whispered, and Corbin pulled the buggy to a stop for her to take it all in.
“This is my home. I have five men who live here full-time and work the land, and my foreman lives right over there,” he said, pointing at a smaller house on the edge of a wooded area. “His wife and son both work for me, when she isn’t teaching school, and little Daniel isn’t attending.” She leaned forward and rested her hand on his knee for balance, without thinking. Corbin held his breath, a statue in his seat to ensure her touch wasn’t disturbed.
“This is more beautiful than anything I’ve ever imagined,” she breathed, sitting back. She glanced down at her hand and swept it to her chest with a gasp. “Oh, Mr. Geoffs, my apologies. I have never… I would never,” she stammered, and dropped her gaze to her lap.
“Look at me, Ms. Billings,” he commanded, and slipped his finger under her chin to tip her face up to his. His eyes were dark and possessive and something in the way he looked at her made her heart swell in her chest and pound like the war drums in her dreams, terrifying her. “You’ve decided to stay, which makes us betrothed, dear Ms. Billings. There’s only one thing left to ensure that we are compatible together.”
“You’re not angry with me taking liberties?” she asked, going from flushed to pale as dismay and embarrassment and discomfort chased one after the other across her face.
Corbin drew close to her and brushed his lips over hers, inhaling her gasp of shock as a spark jumped from his mouth to hers. She melted into the kiss and he deepened it, parting her pulling her bottom lip between his before releasing her.
“I believe we have an agreement, then?” He chuckled, his voice husky with need. Portia could only nod her head, her throat closed off, body trembling as unfamiliar emotions and physical desire coursed through her. “Are you ready to be married, Ms. Billings, or would you like to stay in town for a while longer? I’m willing to pay through the week so you can decide, but no longer.”
Portia bit her lip and flushed again as she tasted him there. She had started a dress before she left, but the shop had been so busy, she hadn’t had time to finish before she left. Maggie had assured her that she would have time to finish it, but without a sewing machine, she would have to complete it by hand, which could take double the time Mr. Geoffs had given her.
“Sir, I can be ready in a week, if only…” She paused, afraid to ask for anything before she’d proven she was determined to earn her place in his home.
“If only what, Ms. Billings?”
“Is there anyone who can let me use their
sewing machine? I left most of my clothes with the girl who replaced me, as she had almost nothing to wear that would bring respect to the shop. I started a dress, but if I have to finish it by hand, it will take more than a week to have it ready.” Corbin blinked slowly.
“You don’t have to be afraid to ask for help, Ms. Billings. I’m sure we can find you the assistance you need. I want to get back to running the farm, and that means getting you settled in. Whatever hastens that, is no trouble to me.”
Portia flinched at the reminder that she was a fixture for his farm. When he’d kissed her, the way her body reacted had reopened her heart to the possibility that she could have love in her life. She looked up into his face and flushed slightly at the intense way he gazed at her.
“You do want to be part of all this, don’t you?” He asked her, confused by her sudden mood change.
“I have to admit I am lacking in one regard, Mr. Geoffs. I know how to run a business or a household, but I don’t know how to be a wife. My guardian was a widow when I came to her, and my parents died when I was so young, I haven’t seen married people together.”
Corbin felt the familiar tug of desire low in his gut at her confession. He took her slender, callused hand between his and turned so she was forced to do the same. Facing him from so close, he could see the glint of gold overtake the green in her eyes, and the pink in her cheeks that he had realized was due to her natural ruddy complexion, the flush only deepening when she was startled or embarrassed.
“I’ve never been married before either, Ms. Billings. May I suggest that we take small steps, to avoid regrets or resentment?” She swallowed hard and licked her dry lips as he continued. “May I ask that you call me Corbin, instead of Mr. Geoffs? My uncle and my father both claim that distinction, and at least one of them is always around, so…” Portia flashed him a smile and let out the breath she’d been holding.
“Only if you call me Portia, sir. In the shop, I always used my first name with the customers. It made them feel like close friends, and made the work more personal. We should be friends, shouldn’t we?” Corbin chuckled at her relieved enthusiasm.
“I think it would be a good beginning for us if you weren’t so afraid of me. I admit that I was startled by your appearance when you arrived, but you seem to be exactly as you presented yourself. While I believe we need to address your false modesty at some point, I appreciate your honesty and frank nature.” The smile began to fade from her face, and he touched her cheek trying to stop it from slipping away completely.
“I don’t blame you for looking at me the way you did. Not a day goes by that I’m what took my parents is also in me. My mother wasn’t white, but my father loved her.” Portia sniffled and exhaled deeply.
“That’s because to him, she was everything he braved the wild for, I’d imagine,” Corbin replied with a smile. “She was beautiful and strong and hardworking, and you never questioned them being together, did you?”
Portia frowned, but nodded. “I didn’t realize anything until the soldiers came. They asked a lot of questions about my mother, called her filthy, and asked if I knew why my father would want to be with an ugly Indian.”
Corbin took a deep breath and exhaled carefully to control his desire to curse aloud. Not false modesty then, he thought, just an innocent girl told she was ugly by cruel, bigoted men. Glory had been a bigot too. He’d written it off as her upbringing, and forgiven her for what he believed to be her ignorance of the world. Instead, his fiancé had stolen heirlooms he’d brought with him to Wildwood from St Louis, and run off with a cowboy… the first time. After that she’d shown up with a politician, an actor, and a grifter. All cut from the same cloth, as far as Corbin was concerned.
He sat back in the seat and looked out over his home. Portia could fit in well, if she wanted to. Her shyness would fade and in a few months, he predicted she’d be more welcome in town than he was. He waved to Verna as she appeared on the porch, beckoning them in for whatever she’d been baking when he left, and her special sweet tea.
“Home is here, if you want it, Portia. We’ll find you a machine for your fancy dress, and before you know it, you’ll feel like you’ve never lived anywhere else.”
Portia clung to the sideboard as Corbin urged the horses closer to the house. He set the brake and jumped down, then helped her to the ground. His big hands circled her waist and for a moment, she was pressed the length of his body, warming him and making him hold her tighter.
Corbin smiled and released her suddenly, then caught her arm as she stumbled. It would take everything he had, but Portia deserved more than to be thrown down on a bed the way he wanted to. She’d have the dress of her dreams, the wedding of her dreams, and then he’d make her his in every way. One way or another, she’d learn how beautiful she really was.
5.
One week stretched into two, as Corbin’s aunt Liz and Verna, and even Charlotte from the newspaper all conspired against him to drag out the weeding preparations until he died of sheer desire to touch his fiancé.
They kept Portia busy too. Charlotte had moved her out of the hotel and into her home the day after she arrived, and Corbin hardly saw her between fittings and sewing circles and whatever else the women in town had her doing. But when he did finally get a few precious moments with her, Corbin couldn’t even be mad. Portia fit in exactly the way he’d figured she would, and the entire town seemed in love with her.
Of course, that was a problem too. Corbin watched a young cowhand ply his charms on Portia from the boardwalk in front of the saloon where he and Matthew had been banished by Matthew’s wife. The sheriff cleared his throat and the dude looked up to see Corbin glowering at him, his hat tipped back on his head to make his displeasure more visible. With a little bow and a hard swallow, the cowhand retreated, and Portia glanced up at the men with a beaming smile.
“Oh, Corbin, I have the most wonderful news. Mr. Schaeffer said he wants to clear a space in his store for a mannequin and some of my handstitched men’s shirts and ladies’ blouses.” She clapped her hands, and Corbin laughed and jumped down to the street to meet her.
“That is not at all surprising to me, Portia. But please, tell me. Have there been any more delays on our wedding? Because a man can only take so much waiting, and your future husband is the only person in town who can’t ever seem to get time with you.” Portia’s face fell, and Corbin inwardly cursed himself. “Now, beautiful, don’t be sad. I’m just a jealous fool who thought you’d liked me more than anyone else.”
“Well, I only delayed the wedding so that I could prove to you how much I do like you, Mr. Geoffs,” she said curtly. Corbin cringed at the use of his surname. She softened the blow with a kiss to his cheek. “Would you like to see what I made for you?” He sighed and frowned at her.
“Good God, woman, I want to have you in my house, not something you made for me. This had better be the end of the postponement.” She bit her lip and nodded, still unsure of his temper, or how he would discipline her if he was cross. “Then show me my present, Ms. Portia Billings, and let’s have a wedding.” She blushed and ducked her head, then handed him a paper wrapped package.
Inside, was a shirt softer and finer than any he’d ever seen, even on men ten times as wealthy as he. Portia took the paper back as he examined the fabric, then pulled her behind the saloon to keep the street dust away from it.
“You made this with your own hands?” He gasped, and she pressed her hands to her cheeks to hide the furious blush that heated her like a fever.
“I had to wait a few days for the fabric. I telegraphed Maggie, and she brought it right away. She and I worked all night on it.” Portia gestured toward his uncle’s house and stables. “She’s sleeping now, but I hope you will meet her. She’s the closest thing to a mother that I have.
Without a word, Corbin crushed his surprised fiancé to his chest and kissed her soundly, the shirt almost falling to the ground as he dug the fingers of one hand into her hair and held her tigh
tly while he unleashed his desire on her, delving into the sweet warm cavern of her mouth with abandon.
Rough hands startled him back to himself, and he was yanked back from his innocent betrothed by the sheriff and a deputy, while Charlotte and another woman clucked over poor Portia, who was staring at him with wide eyes, her normally high color ashen with shock.
“You best apologize for taking liberties with the lady, then skedaddle on home, Corbin,” Matthew said in his ‘official’ voice. The corners of his mouth twitched as he hid a smile, but his eyes twinkled merrily. “You can kiss her all you want tomorrow night, after you say your vows. For now, you just git.”
Portia giggled and sniffed back tears at the same time, and Corbin tried to apologize as his friends dragged him away before he could make a scene. Belatedly, Portia realized she was holding his shirt, and wordlessly held It up to Charlotte.
“Oh, no problem, dear. I’ll take it to him. Poor man’s been waiting on you to say, “I will” for so long, he’s forgotten he’s a gentleman. Best not to tempt him with any more of you until it’s time.” The older lady took the shirt and the paper wrapping that Portia still clenched in one fist, and strode around the corner, as more women came to retrieve the bride-to-be and bathe and ready her for the wedding the next day.
“Corbin Geoffs, you great lout,” Charlotte called out as Matthew laughed at Corbin’s stupidity while walking him to his horse. The men turned, and Charlotte shook the shirt at him like a handkerchief. “You had better not forget to wear that tomorrow, or you’ll see a whole ’nother side of your pretty young bride,” she chastised him, and Corbin nodded.
“Thank you for bringing it to me. I still can’t believe that she thinks she needs to prove her value to me, but I do love this gift,” he confessed. “Tomorrow is going to be a lot fancier than I had planned on and a whole lot more fun for Portia because of it. Thank you,” He added, then tilted his head to one side. “Charlotte?” He followed the woman’s gaze, and his heart sank into the depths of his gut.
