They made their vows to each other, his in a strong voice, hers wavering, but firm.
After the ceremony, friends and family made their way to Elliott’s home, which had been cleaned, the woodwork polished to a high sheen for the wedding reception. Every archway and doorway had been embellished with flowers, the large dining table, as well, had been decorated for their wedding breakfast. Elliott had had the table specially made and delivered to accommodate the forty guests they’d invited.
Helen sat at one end of the table, opposite her husband. She chatted with Renee on one side of her and Mrs. Pringle, owner of Brine’s Bakery, who had supplied the luscious wedding cakes, on the other. The guests enjoyed a delicious meal consisting of hot cakes and maple syrup, boiled eggs, fried potatoes and biscuits and sausages, plus dainty fruit tartlets. There were three cakes also, in three flavors—almond, chocolate and lemon.
Over the conversation of the guests, she heard the clock in the hallway chime four bells. She could hardly believe how quickly the day was passing, already it was late afternoon. Frankly, she was exhausted after having risen early in the morning and was anxious for the festivities to end. Heat seeped into her cheeks as she thought about joining her husband in his bed. She sighed, wishing now she weren’t a virgin. From her girlhood friends, she’d heard of the initial pain involved in making love for the first time. She felt excited and apprehensive at the same time.
By 7:00 p.m. she was so tired she was having difficulty keeping up with the conversation and her eyes open. A hand suddenly cupped her elbow. She smiled shyly at Elliott as he assisted her to her feet. Then he turned to their guests and said, “If you will excuse us, my dear wife needs her rest.”
Her cheeks felt hot while she said her good-byes. Elliott escorted her from the dining room and up the stairs. They reached the second floor, and she said, “I should check on the boys, don’t you think?”
“Of course,” he said, giving her a slow smile. “I’ll join you later, once I’ve seen our guests out.”
Helen peeked into Harry and Tom’s bedroom and smiled when she heard the even breathing of their sleep. Early to bed, early to rise, had been Helen’s motto in life, but she admitted she was surprised by how early the boys had gone to sleep, especially with the reception happening downstairs. But they’d attended the wedding and had spent the earlier afternoon with playmates outdoors, and obviously had exhausted themselves.
Closing the bedroom door, she treaded softly down the hallway. She reached the guestroom, her room while she’d been the nanny, deciding to wait for Elliott there. They needed to talk this night—before sharing their wedding night in his bed.
Bending down from where she sat on the side of the bed, she removed her shoes and stockings then lay down, just to rest until Elliott arrived.
Within moments, he entered the room. Helen sat up, tossed her legs over the side of the bed, then froze in position when his gaze settled on her. She waited for Elliott to say—do—something. After a long while, after his eyes had taken in each and every curve of her body, he raised his eyes to hers. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, Helen Falconer. I feel blessed to be your husband, proud that you are my wife.” He sank down to his knees in front of her.
“Elliott?” she said softly, catching his hands as they fluttered over her body. “Stop. We must talk.”
He frowned. “This is our wedding night, albeit it is rather early to retire, but I find I can’t wait any longer to have you.”
She grew insistent. “No, truly, we should have talked about this the night you proposed to me.”
Sighing, he said, “Now that we’ve married, none of what we feel or say will make a difference. Do you understand?”
“Yes, I do.” She’d heard the steel in his voice and knew he’d never give her up, especially now that they were married. Her love for him grew even more because of it. She raised her eyes to him, knowing they held worry. “But I need to know, do you truly forgive me for having doubted you in the past? For having made your life miserable by breaking our engagement?”
He groaned and sank back on his heels as he stared up at her. “Doubting my intentions, doubting my love for you is hurtful, Helen. Do you know that? If I hadn’t forgiven you, I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me. Now it’s my turn. Did you marry me because of deep-seated guilt because of the past or because you love me?”
Haltingly, she replied, “Initially, when we first met again, I have to admit guilt played a part. But, once I’d started working for you those feelings subsided, mostly because I began to believe you’d gotten your just revenge by placing me in charge of your two mischievous sons. But then I soon fell in love with them. I love you, Elliott. I always have.”
Love and desire blazed in his eyes. She saw it, believed it—believed in him.
“So, are we through talking?” he asked.
She nodded.
He swept an intimate look over her bodice. “Come, it’s time to retire…in my bed.”
She rose then, reaching down and pulling him up to his feet. They made their way to his room.
Once inside, Helen daringly reached up and started unbuttoning his fine white shirt. He impatiently finished undressing, then pulled her down to the bed and lay down beside her. His hands cupped her breasts, and she groaned. His kisses promised unknown but wildly anticipated pleasure. She couldn’t get enough of them.
Then and there she decided he must love her—must have forgiven her. He took such great care to bring her joy and pleasure that she felt only a momentary twinge of pain when he joined with her. He made love to her twice more during the night, and Helen realized if he’d asked it of her, she would have joyously done so again a third time. They entered into an exhausted sleep in each other’s arms.
She felt his hands on her early the next morning. Rolling to face him, she smiled. She kissed the pulse beating in his neck and breathed in the wonderful male scent of him.
“Mine,” she heard him murmur. “Finally.”
Her heart nearly burst with gladness. My God, he loved her. He truly loved her.
She pulled back from him to give him an impish smile. “For always?” she breathed, her eyes misting over tearfully again.
“Always, Helen.”
New Orleans, June 1878
Elliott headed toward Helen, where she leaned against the railing of The Lucky Lady, a flute of champagne in each hand. Upon George’s refusing the offer of the steamboat, Elliott had decided to keep it after all, hiring a capable captain for it. It was a solid investment for him, used mainly for passenger travel and some cargo hauling as it made trips up and down the Mississippi River.
Finally, five months after marrying, they went on their honeymoon. Arrangements for someone to care for the boys had to be made, and his business affairs taken care of, in order for them to have this month together. Now the honeymoon was nearly over, and they would be returning home within the week.
“Here, sweetheart,” Elliott murmured as he handed her a flute. “To us,” he said, tapping his glass against hers. “Yes,” she said softly, then drank along with him.
Sinking against the railing, elbow to elbow, they were both quiet as they looked out at the river. Lights from the city of Minneapolis reflected off the water. They’d decided to enjoy the month of June up north, leaving the heat and humidity of Missouri behind them. The weather had been lovely thus far and they’d basked in it, taking tours of each city they traveled through as they headed north, relaxing on the steamboat’s deck in the evening after supper.
“Oh!”
Elliott startled at the sound of his wife’s singular utter. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her against him.
“Why look at the dancing lights,” she exclaimed, “and the colors!”
He followed the direction of her eyes and frowned. “Dancing lights? The only lights I see are from the city.”
“No, no, look above the city lights, into the sky w
here it’s darker. Do you see them?”
He tipped his head back a bit further, watching, then gasped. “I can’t believe it. I’ve read about the Aurora Borealis, but never imagined seeing them in my lifetime.”
“I’ve read about them,” Helen said, “in a science book in your library. I just never imagined seeing them either.” She grinned at him, pulled up onto her toes and kissed his cheek. “How lucky we are, and so blessed.”
His grin deepened. “You are so right. We have a wonderful life together, don’t we?”
She nodded, and he caught the dimple in her cheek and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes. “What?” he asked in a dubious tone.
“Nothing,” she said slowly, shrugging her shoulders and nestling even closer against him. He looked at her, puzzled, when she took his hand and settled it against her middle. “Well, something…” she added softly.
He looked at her for the longest time, her brows arched above her lovely eyes, then knew. “Are you…”
“Yes,” she said quickly.
“Are you sure?” He pulled her to face him and wound his arms tightly around her, holding her flush against his body.
“Yes, and so very happy.” He caught the hesitant look in her eyes as she bit her lower lip, then said, “I hope you’re as happy about this as I am.”
Elliott’s eyes filled with tears. Helen was going to have their child and he couldn’t be happier. Now he understood why she’d been sick for that month before they left on their honeymoon.
“Ecstatic. You are the wonder of my life, Helen. I welcome any children you give me—a houseful of them. As a matter of fact, I’ve always wanted my own baseball team.”
She frowned. “But what if we have all daughters?”
“Girls can play baseball,” he said with a sure nod. “Just you watch.”
THE END
About the Author
Nancy Schumacher is the owner-publisher of Melange Books, LLC, writing romance under the pseudonym, Nancy Pirri and erotic-romance as Natasha Perry.
She is a member of Romance Writers of America. She is also one of the founders of the RWA chapter, Northern Lights Writers (NLW), and is a member of Midwest Fiction Writers and Romancing the Lakes chapters in Minnesota.
www.nancypirri.com
Kiss or Kill Under the Northern Lights Page 27
