by Carol Arens
“The ranch doesn’t need me. My mother runs it better than any man.” A punching wind blew something over outside. She heard it tumble across the yard. “And why aren’t you at home? What were you doing involved with the circus?”
“That’s a talk for another time. Right now we are discussing why you want to be involved in such dirty business.”
He shrugged one shoulder, tipped his head. “I see injustice and I want to make it right. It’s like an itch in my bones, righting things while crooked politicians act on things that only benefit them.”
Suddenly she suspected that lamplight was reflecting on the crimson sequins of her costume in a way that did not protect her modesty.
Agatha picked up the dog, positioned the furry little thing over her breasts. Too bad the tip of her wagging tail would not be hiding anything, but accentuating it.
Marry William? No! She could not possibly marry him—the very man she had dreamed of since she knew how to dream.
He was far too safe. Why, she could live in his house and never have to worry about anything for the rest of her life. She could sit in a chair by the window and watch the world go by—just like she used to do.
“I don’t know, William. You might make a difficult husband. You are just plain bossy.”
He laughed, low in his chest, and there in the corner of one eye, the mysterious twinkle flashed.
“You and my mother will like each other.”
“And you are assuming I have accepted your proposal.” The weak-kneed child inside of her wanted to—urged her to—crawl up into her prince’s arms where life would never hurt her. Where shadows would never chase her down and threaten her. “I have not.”
Speaking her mind in such a forceful way was not what she was used to. She would become used to it, though, once she spent enough time on her own.
William walked to the window and drew back the curtain. He traced his finger over the crack in the glass. With a curse, he let the drape fall into place.
“Is the wind worse?” She set Miss Valentine gently on the floor, exposing herself once again. It was not as though she could take back anything he had already seen.
“It’s worse, but not so bad as to keep half a dozen people across the street from ogling their mayor’s front door.”
“I don’t wish to marry. I’m sorry, William, but I don’t.”
Except, that maybe she did.
“It wasn’t what I woke up wanting, either.”
Without warning, Leah Madrigal’s wink flashed in her mind. The fortune-teller said that sometimes the glass ball saw things. No—that could not be. More likely the perceptive woman had seen the look of longing on Agatha’s face while she had been staring at William’s back.
“You, at least had a bit of warning.” She must be getting desperate to even bring this nonsense up. “I heard the fortune-teller tell you that you would soon marry.”
“She also said it would be a long, happy marriage.”
“With lots of children.” Leah had said that, too. “It can’t be me you are supposed to marry.”
William’s gaze dropped away. He jabbed fingers through his hair.
He glanced back up suddenly, stealing her breath with the determined set of his eyes.
“Also a subject for another time. I believe in facing one problem at a time.”
Even though she was not going to marry him, she did wish he had not called the proposal a problem. It felt like a tiny dagger twisting in her heart to hear it put that way. No matter that she completely agreed.
“If I did give in to this insanity, the issue would have to be faced at one time or another.”
“Another, then.” He strode forward so that they stood toe to toe. He cupped her cheeks in his long fingers, looked her steadily in the eyes. “I like you, Agatha. I always have. I’ve seen you fight things that wanted to enslave you. I am not one of them. Please don’t fight me.”
“It’s not so simple as that. I like you, too. But I need to stand on my own. Make my own decisions and live with the consequences.”
Dratted consequences! The result of William rescuing her might cost him his dream—the ambition of a lifetime.
Ruined reputations were not easily overcome.
Yes, she might keep her independence at the cost of her reputation—all on her own become the strong person she was learning to be. But in the end others would still see her as pitiful.
Worse, they would see William as unworthy of their trust. How could she live with herself knowing he lost everything for her sake?
She stepped away from him because she wanted to lean into him, feel his arms fold about her and deflect the ugly words that were bound to be spoken about her.
“You would want to be in control of me.”
“Only insofar as it’s for your own good.”
“Do you understand that it’s up to me to decide what is for my own good? I spent my whole life trusting Hilda Brunne to know what was best for me. I won’t allow anyone to have that power over me again.”
“That was evil power, honey.” He caught both of her hands in one of his, pressed them against his chest. The steady beat of his heart thumped against her palms. “I would never treat you that way.”
“I know that, William, but—”
“What if I declare, in the wedding vows, to try not to be overbearing, excessively protective. Even though it would be my duty as your husband to do so.”
How could she not laugh? He looked so sincere about saying vows that he did not agree with.
She could not let herself be swayed by that consideration, though. William English was a man who wanted control. He might be ever so sweet about it, but it didn’t change anything.
Freedom to grow was what she needed. For as much as he might not want to tell her what to do and when to do it, such behavior was in his nature.
A test. She would give him a test to see if he could really let go of control.
Sliding her hand down his shirt, she felt the firm ridges of his chest. She yanked her hand away then slowly, deliberately, picked up Miss Valentine and set her on the expensive divan.
The dog scratched the fabric then circled searching for a comfortable position. After finding the cushion to her liking, she settled in to lick her injured paw. A damp circle darkened the fabric.
Agatha watched William frown. Purse his lips.
As she suspected, he did not want animals in the house.
“I believe that dogs belong—” he closed his eyes, shook his head “—where their mistress says they belong.”
My word. She had not expected that.
“She needs to be taken to the veterinarian. No doubt he will agree that she must have a soft place to recover.”
“I’ll have him look at her tomorrow. I’ll put her back on the couch, myself.”
“I’m grateful, William.” More than he could guess. “She’s a brave little soul.”
“Now will you marry me?”
She could not possibly marry him. With her gaze fastened on his eyes, she slowly shook her head.
“Please don’t turn me down. For both of our sakes, you’ve got to become my wife—tonight.”
“I suppose we could marry then divorce after the risk of scandal has passed,” she suggested even though it was not what she had ever dreamed she would say to this man.
He shook his head. Reflected light from the flames in the hearth danced in his hair. If she did agree to marry him, maybe one day she would be bold enough to run her fingers through those dark locks.
“There will be no divorce.” Funny how she was relieved to hear that. “If you choose not to live with me, I will support you financially. But a divorce will not do.”
“I suppose I could make a very long visit to the Lucky Clover.”
; “I would permit that.” He was far too handsome, flashing that teasing smile. “Will you marry me now?”
“I would go home to the ranch according to what I decide. Not what you will permit. You must understand that I need to make my own choices.”
“I’ll do my best, Agatha. I swear it.” He did look sincere. “Do you choose to marry me?”
Did she? He’d saved her future that awful night when he’d kept her from turning to laudanum for comfort. He’d sat down beside her, put a book in her hands and become the comfort.
Now, his future depended upon her.
“I can’t. I have nothing to wear.”
“Step right up close to me, honey.”
She did. He measured her height with the flat of his hand. She was as tall as the button on his collar. Next he cupped her waist with his fingers, seeming to judge its size.
The last thing he did before he stepped away from her was to kiss top of her top of her head, pluck a dried leaf out of the tangled mass. From the corner of her eye she saw it drift to the floor.
“Will you marry me if I show up here with a preacher and a wedding gown?”
“And a witness. Don’t forget a witness.”
* * *
It had been a couple of hours before that William had decided that a tornado was not poised at the edge of town ready to rush in and blow everyone away.
The dressmaker had not been pleased to be awoken at four in the morning, but she hadn’t minded being paid triple the amount for the three gowns he’d purchased.
Her expression had been miles beyond curious so he’d simply told her the truth—nearly the truth, that they were for his wife.
No one need know that the preacher had not crossed his threshold until nearly five o’clock. That the man’s good wife had found Agatha reading a book on the couch in the parlor and hustled her upstairs to dress her in the wedding gown draped over his arm.
The dress had been intended for a bride in Cheyenne, but given what he was willing to pay, the seamstress said she could make another.
The promise of more business had apparently been enough to keep her from asking questions and simply extend her good wishes.
With any luck this marriage would be accepted without a great deal of unwholesome talk.
He’d lose votes for sure if anyone spread lies about Agatha’s virtue.
No one voted for a candidate who punched them in the nose—which he might do if anyone maligned sweet Agatha.
He’d been so caught up in his thoughts and staring at the dust he’d forgotten to wipe from his boots, that he failed to hear the rustle of fabric at the head of the stairs until the preacher nudged him in the ribs.
“Your bride awaits, young man.”
Glancing up, William had to catch his heart. It felt like it had escaped his chest and gone running up the steps to embrace her.
Agatha Marigold Magee was captivating! Out of the blue, without warning, she enchanted him.
Dawn light shone through the window onto the landing, igniting the flame color of her hair and reflecting fairylike sparkles in the crystals bordering her lace collar. Her eyes glittered bright green, but not by any trick of early sunlight.
How had this dazzling creature been his neighbor for so many years without him noticing how lovely she was?
Because she had not always been dazzling. Before Ivy came home, Agatha had been a wraith hiding in shadows and seldom seen in public.
With one hand on the bannister, she descended to the foot of the stairs. When she placed her pale, slender fingers in his hand, he was struck by the enormity of what he was about to do.
In moments this fragile woman would become his—to protect for the rest of his life.
There was something about Agatha Magee that hit him deep in his heart. Ever since the night of the barbecue at the Lucky Clover, he’d felt touched by her.
There had been a storm that night, and seeing her sitting in a corner of the parlor watching the dancers whirl by, he’d been moved in an unexpected way. Not with pity, exactly, but something akin to it. Compassion for her plight, maybe?
Yes, she was the sister of the woman he had hoped to marry, but his attention toward her had not been only for Ivy’s sake.
He’d been overcome with a strong urge to make her smile, to whirl her about the dance floor until she did.
Of course, she could not whirl about the dance floor. He’d had to support her, lead her with slow precision. He could not help but wonder what would she have been like that night had she not spent years as the captive of her nurse?
He liked Ivy, but had Agatha been the healthy one—?
It didn’t matter, because at that time, she hadn’t been.
Before Agatha’s father died, when he had approached William about a marriage deal—his wealth to save the Lucky Clover in exchange for the social prestige the ranch would give him—he had been assured that Agatha was too weak to ever suit his needs. Bearing a child would kill her, so the doctor had said.
So it had been arranged that he would marry Ivy—just as soon as she could be located.
Now here he was, marrying Agatha after all.
It was true that he needed this marriage to safeguard his reputation for his political future, but that was not the whole of it. He wanted to protect Agatha’s reputation as well.
Looking at her now, she did not quite seem the forlorn girl he remembered. For one thing, it was apparent that she was not a girl, but a woman.
A strong-minded woman, but one who was still far too thin, too frail.
Something about her made him want to stand in front of her, arms spread to deflect every stressful thing life might place in her path.
As her husband, he could. Although, apparently with great discretion.
Clearly, his hovering presence would be no more welcome than Hilda Brunne’s had been.
With the four of them gathered in front of the grand fireplace in the parlor, the preacher went through the vows. They were the typical, sacred ones that brides and grooms recited.
Amazingly, Agatha held his gaze through them all. She did not shy away, look frightened or even resentful, as she might have.
Preacher Wilson asked if he would love, honor and cherish her. Yes, he would. Perhaps in some small way he already did cherish her. In a short moment she would share his name—become his family.
Next, the preacher asked Agatha if she would love, honor and obey him.
She blinked, frowned then slid her attention to Mr. Wilson.
“I imagine I might come to love him—in time, sir. Perhaps honor him as well. But obey? In truth I cannot vow to do that, as Mr. English well knows.”
“Oh! Well said, my dear,” Mrs. Wilson gasped. “It’s as though you have been married for ten years already.”
“Mr. English, shall I proceed or do you wish to—”
“Agatha, honey, I vow to you that I will do my best not to interfere with your free will—as best I can. You may continue, Mr. Wilson, if my bride is willing.”
Seconds ticked by. Agatha cocked her head, studying William this way and that.
“Yes,” she said when he was good and sure his heart had quit beating. “And I do promise to obey you—as best I can. Please do carry on, Mr. Wilson. I wish to—”
Agatha took a long slow breath, held William’s gaze. What was it she wished? He only hoped it was something he could give her.
“I wish to kiss my groom.”
* * *
There! She’d spoken what was on her mind! It hadn’t been easy. The girl she had been all her life wanted to run upstairs and hide under a blanket.
But the woman she hoped to become wanted to kiss her husband—to feel his arms curl around her, lift her off her toes and make her feel—wanted.
&n
bsp; Now, there it was. Spoken for all to know. She wanted William to want her.
Apparently the preacher did not know what to make of the unconventional vows. He blinked at her, his mouth half-open on a stalled comment.
“Hurry up, Herbert. Let the youngsters have their first kiss.”
“Oh, my—well—by the power invested in me by God and the territory of Wyoming, I now pronounce that you are man and wife. Please do kiss your bride, Mr. English.”
She wasn’t sure what she was expecting but it was not the briefest graze of his lips across hers. Why, she barely felt the warmth of them.
In her many dreams, kissing William had always felt warm and exciting, holding the promise of the commitment of a lifetime.
While she was suddenly committed for a lifetime, the warm excitement was lacking.
By six thirty, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson had departed, leaving Agatha alone with her groom.
She didn’t know what to do—barely knew what to say. This time yesterday she had been wiping sleep from her eyes while helping Laura Lee make fried potatoes and eggs. Less than twelve hours ago she had been living the adventure of a book character.
“You must be hungry,” she said, taking note of how her wedding gown swirled about her when she turned. How it caught the first rays of dawn streaming through the window.
She had never worn anything more lovely in her life.
Unable to help herself she twirled again just to watch it shimmer. If Mother Brunne was watching from the great beyond, it would be with much disapproval.
“I’ll fix us something to eat after I change out of the gown.”
“I’m sorry, there’s no one here to help.”
“I’ll manage. Just yesterday I was helping Laura Lee fix breakfast for a hundred people.”
“I meant with the buttons on the back of the gown. You can’t reach them.”
Her breath caught. He was right. She could not. Either she could fry up potatoes in her wedding gown and risk a splatter, or she could allow him to help her take it off.
Then what? Put on the red costume again because she did not care if eggs exploded on it? Be humiliated? Or flip eggs wearing her corset and petticoats? Cooking in her underwear would still be humiliating but it would also be prettier.
