by Kit Morgan
The preacher’s grin split his face wide. “Son, I think maybe you and Miss Sayer here ought to come down to the church tonight and get yourselves married,” he said with a smile.
“T-tonight?” Penelope managed, her knees weak.
“Maybe you oughta come now,” suggested Annie with a giggle.
“I have no objections,” August said.
“But ... but ...” Penelope stammered, “... I’ll need my dress ...”
“Let’s go fetch it,” said Annie. “I think it’s a fine night for a wedding, don’t you?”
Penelope looked at August, who stood staring at her, his face locked in serious intent. He was ready to marry her, and was giving her one last chance to change her mind. But in that moment, she realized she’d didn’t want to back out. This man had spent the last couple of years making a home for his bride. She knew of no one in her circle of friends and acquaintances back in England that would do all the work August had just to get married. To prepare a place for his future bride with such care astounded her, and when she thought on it, she realized what a lucky lady she was to have found such a man. Or in this case, been sent to one.
Without saying a word, she nodded.
Preacher Jo smiled. “Well – let’s go have us a wedding!”
* * *
The sun was beginning to set when the church bell rang. Penelope thought she might faint as August lifted the small veil from her face. Her mind raced over the afternoon leading up to this moment. They’d gone back to the mercantile where Preacher Jo and Annie had announced to everyone that the wedding was being moved up. She thought it odd the Cooke women made no protest – they’d simply gathered up the dress, Penelope and her sisters, and whisked them back to the Triple-C, where they proceeded to bathe, poke, prod, and do all manner of beauty-related things in order to get her ready for her big event.
Now here she was, standing next to an equally well-groomed August, who looked (dare she use the word) delicious in his black jacket and matching string tie. Her knees went wobbly the moment she saw him, and she prayed they didn’t buckle during the ceremony. Thankfully they hadn’t, and now it was almost over ...
“You may kiss the bride,” she heard Preacher Jo say. She stared at August, his dark blue eyes locked on hers, and quirked an eyebrow as if to say, well? He needed no further prompting, putting a hand behind her head, bending her back and kissing her soundly.
A whoop went up throughout the small church, and she heard Constance yell out something that sounded like yee-haw. By the time August broke the kiss, she was out of breath, and barely had her bearings when he took her by the hand and began to lead her down the aisle to his wagon outside. There was no wedding supper, no party afterward – there hadn’t been time to plan one for that night. Besides, August Bennett wanted to get his new wife home to his farm, and that was that. There would be time enough for a celebration at the hotel the next day, at the time originally scheduled for the reception. Right now, they would celebrate in their own way, just the two of them.
Penelope could only imagine what that meant ... no. Actually, she couldn’t – at least not in any detail.
“I can’t believe it!” Eloise cried. “Penelope is leaving us!”
“You’ll be doing the same thing once you’re married,” Constance stated matter-of-factly. “I don’t know why you carry on so.”
“It won’t be the same without her.”
“She’s not moving across the country, just a mile out of town,” Constance reminded her. “Besides, I’m positive we’ll be able to see her whenever we want.”
“Are you sure?” Eloise asked.
Constance watched as August helped Penelope into the wagon, then climbed up himself. “Well, they’ll want some privacy for a few days. Except for the party tomorrow.” She scrunched up her face in thought. “Eloise, are we to have a party once we’re married?”
“I’m not sure. Sadie told me they often throw parties when someone weds, but usually it’s right after the wedding.”
“We should have a party for all three of us!” Constance suggested. “Then we only have to do the work once! What do you think?”
“I ... think it’s too late for that,” Eloise replied, watching Penelope and August already driving off into the sunset.
“Oh, bother,” Constance sighed. “Well ... we’ll see her tomorrow, then.”
“What will they possibly be doing until then?”
Constance looked at Eloise. “Not sure. I suspect we’ll be finding out soon enough when we’re married.” She sighed again. “Well, nothing for it then – we’d best go back inside. The others will be heading back to the ranch soon.”
She looked over her shoulder as the wagon disappeared around a tree. Penelope and August’s wedding had to be the fastest, smallest wedding she’d ever seen, and she’d been to a few in her twenty-two years. Yet theirs had had more feeling and more heartfelt vows than any she’d attended before, and those couples had often known each other for years before they were wed. Penelope and August had only known each other a few days.
Constance smiled. She hoped she and Ryder Jones would have an equally heartfelt union when it came their turn to say their vows. Then they too could ride off into the sunset to home.
* * *
August pulled the team to a stop in front of the farmhouse. They had hardly spoken a word to each other on the drive out. Confused by his silence, Penelope cringed when he offered to help her down. Was he having second thoughts? Did he regret his decision to go ahead and marry her? They’d only known each other a few days, after all. But she’d made her mind up to go through with it – what would cause him to balk at the union now?
She watched as he went to the back of the wagon for her few belongings. Belle had brought them to the church and put them in the wagon bed for her. He pulled out the small satchel then scanned for more. “This is it? This is all you have?”
“Yes,” she said with a nod.
“It isn’t much.” He glanced at the house. “I was worried I might fall short of your expectations, like I was cheating you ...”
She smiled at that. Granted, what he was offering didn’t really measure up to what she’d been accustomed to. She and her sisters had grown up in a comfortable home in Sussex much larger than the small farmhouse before her. But given the position of the family – complete with curse – she was counting her blessings. “Your house is like a mansion,” she said.
“Our house,” he corrected. He walked around the wagon and held out his arm. “Shall we, Mrs. Bennett?”
“Not Mrs. Red?” she replied puckishly.
He grinned. “Whichever you prefer, m’lady.”
She smiled and took his arm, no longer worried. If he really hadn’t wanted to marry her, he wouldn’t have. Her new husband was a man of his word, and when he said he was going to do something, he did it.
He removed her arm from his, opened the door, and in one swift move, scooped her up. “Oh!” she cried at the unexpected movement. “What are you doing?”
“Carrying my bride across the threshold, of course. Don’t they do that where you come from?”
“Yes, of course, but I didn’t know you also did it here.”
He carried her inside. “Now you know,” he laughed as he set her on her feet. He dropped her satchel to the floor, and looked into her eyes. “Welcome home, Mrs. Bennett.”
She smiled and fought back tears. Home ...
He gazed at her, tucked a finger under her chin, and descended upon her. The kiss was warm, inviting, and she shivered as his other arm wrapped around her and pull her against him. She knew what was coming – Sadie and Belle had explained everything to her – but it didn’t mean she wasn’t still nervous ...
When he finally broke the kiss, he smiled. “Shall we go upstairs, Mrs. Bennett?”
“I have a first name, you know.”
“I like calling you Mrs. Bennett.”
She swallowed as he brought his face to hers once more
. “And what shall I call you?”
“You’ve already been addressing me as Mr. Bennett. Like I told you before, call me August.”
“August ...” she said, fighting the urge to call him ‘Mr. Bennett’ anyway. “I ... I am not so sure I am ready to go upstairs.”
He straightened. “You’re, you’re not?”
She shook her head. “I am sorry, I ... it’s just that ...”
He backed away a step and put his hands on his hips. “Well, now, doesn’t that beat all? A man has to wait ... well then, Mrs. Bennett, that means there’s only one thing to do!”
She tensed at his voice rising in volume. “What ... what’s that?”
“Go take care of the horses, while you make us some tea.”
“Tea?” she said, exasperated. “You want me to make you a cup of ...?” She stopped, realizing what he was doing. He knew she was frightened – and was letting her take her time.
He smiled, knowing that she knew. “Of course. I’d like to enjoy a cup of tea with you before we ... retire for the evening.” He raised one eyebrow in question. “You can boil water, can’t you?”
She would’ve blanched, had she not been aware he was teasing her. “Yes, I can boil water. Is the stove hot?”
He laughed. “It will be. Let me stoke it and add some wood, then you can do your job while I do mine.”
She let go a sigh of relief. She might be married to this man, but that didn’t mean she knew him completely, or that she wasn’t going to have to get used to his ways. She followed him into the kitchen, and watched as he added wood to the cook stove and got it going again. Then he smiled, and left without another word.
After he was gone, Penelope glanced around the kitchen. August really had seemed to have thought of everything. There was a sturdy table against the wall with three chairs. The fourth was near the kitchen door. The stove wasn’t very large, certainly not as large as the one out at the Triple-C, but it would serve for their needs. In fact, it could probably heat most of the house. A hutch graced another wall, containing plates, bowls, cups, everything she would need. And instead of having to go outside for water, there was a pump with a surrounding catch basin built right into a corner of the floor. That would certainly be handy for cold winter mornings, she mused. He even had pretty yellow curtains in the windows.
“I must say, Mr. Bennett,” she said aloud, “you do have good taste.” With that, she set about making her new husband his cup of tea.
Thirteen
They sat in the parlor, teacups and saucers in hand, and sipped. Even the parlor was charming, and Penelope wondered why she hadn’t paid closer attention when he showed her the house a few days before. He’d wallpapered the room in a pretty yellow pattern with tiny rose buds. The tea set, too, was beautiful, and she wondered if he’d had help from some of the women of the town in picking it out.
She smiled. He was clearly far from being the big, tough, uncouth cowboy she’d expected – if anything, he was closer to being a gentleman farmer like those she’d known in England.
“This tea is excellent,” she commented.
“I know.”
She looked at him. “I wasn’t aware you were an expert on tea.”
“I’m not. Credit to Sadie Cooke on that score.”
“I see. And who helped you decorate the house?”
“No one.” He set his cup and saucer on a small table in front of the settee. “I did this myself,” he added with pride.
She looked at him in shock. “You decorated this all on your own?”
“Of course. Don’t you like it?”
She glanced around the room. “I adore it, August, I really do. It’s charming. The whole house is.”
He put an arm around her. “I knew the woman I married would love it. You know what this means, don’t you?”
“What?”
“That you’re the right woman.” He bent down and gently kissed her forehead.”
She was vaguely aware that her teacup and saucer were no longer in her hand. He’d taken them from her and set them next to his on the table.
He wrapped her in both arms and held her against him, her head titled back in such a way that her lips were at his mercy. “So, here we are,” he drawled. “Just a married couple sipping tea in the evening.”
She swallowed hard. “Mm-hmm,” she managed.
He lowered his face to hers. “And what do you suppose we should do now?”
She swallowed a second time—a miracle really—her mouth had gone completely dry by now. All she could do was blink.
He smiled wolfishly. “I have something in mind, Mrs. Bennett ...” he whispered, then nipped at her ear lobe. She jumped in his arms. “A little skittish?” he said against her ear.
“A ... a bit, yes. I’m afraid I’m not accustomed to ... to ...”
“To what?” he asked, his voice a rasp. “To this?” He nibbled and kissed his way from her ear down her neck and to her shoulder.
“Ohhhh .... my goodness ...”
“Oh yes ...”
“Mr. Bennett ...” she gasped as his hands began to roam.
“August,” he corrected, his mouth on her ear.
“You ... you ... I ...”
“I have something to tell you, Mrs. Bennett.”
She gasped for breath as her whole body shivered. “Wh-what?” she squeaked.
He lifted his head to look at her, and his smile was the gentlest she could imagine. “Don’t be afraid.”
And Penelope wasn’t, not for the entire rest of the evening.
* * *
Penelope opened one eye and squinted at the bright morning sunshine. She stretched, and groaned when her leg cramped. She covered her mouth with a hand, afraid she’d wake August.
But there was no chance of that. He wasn’t in bed with her.
She sat up and looked around the room. She hadn’t noticed that it was just as lovely as the rest of the house the night before; she had other things on her mind. Like what her new husband was going to do to her. She soon found out ... and had marveled at the experience. Sadie and Belle had informed her of all sorts of things that went on between a man and a woman, half of which she wasn’t sure she believed. This morning, however, not only was she a believer, she hoped to become a devoted follower!
She flopped back against the pillows and stared at the ceiling while she collected her thoughts. She was married to the handsomest man she had ever met. She lived on a quaint little farm in the countryside. Her sisters were soon to be married and would be her neighbors, or at least close by. She sighed in contentment. Her life had taken a turn for the better since she’d pledged herself to become Mrs. August Bennett, and she couldn’t think of a single thing that could shake her from her happy mood.
“What’s for breakfast, Mrs. Bennett?”
All right, maybe that ... Penelope sat up, realized she was naked, and pulled the quilt up over her chest. “August!”
“Yes, that’s me,” he said from the bedroom doorway. “I’ve finished feeding the stock and my morning chores are done. And now I’m hungry. So what’s on the menu?”
She looked at him in horror. “Oh, ah ... well, let me get up and dressed, and I’ll make you ... something.” She paused before adding, “um, you do know that I ...”
“I know,” he said compassionately. “Do the best you can. And I’ll eat it, because you made it.”
She blushed, grateful for his understanding.
“Well, I have a few more things I can get done outside. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.” He looked her up and down. “If not sooner.” He winked at her, spun on his boot heel and left.
She remembered that saying, and knew it meant she didn’t have much time. She jumped from the bed, found her clothes (which had been scattered all over the room in the enthusiasm of last night) and dressed, trying not to get all moon-eyed thinking about the night before. She then dashed downstairs to the kitchen.
Where doubt assailed her all over a
gain. “Oh dear, what do I do?” She looked through the various cupboards, but found nothing but a single loaf of bread Belle had left for them. She could hardly serve her new husband only a slice of bread for breakfast – what kind of a wife would that make her?
She glanced around the kitchen again, and spied a small basket next to the back door. “Of course! I know what I’ll do!” She grabbed it, and headed outside. If Belle could gather eggs, so could she – and August’s new chickens had to have laid some by now. She hoped.
Penelope scanned the barnyard searching for August. Not seeing him, she headed for the barn. “I can do this. It’s easy. They’re only chickens, they won’t hurt ... oh, dear.” She stopped short in front of the barn and audibly gulped. He was in there ... Clyde, the mad rooster.
She noticed the barn was closed up save for the hayloft above. Maybe if she were lucky, Clyde wouldn’t be at home ...
She opened the door and peeked inside the dim interior. “Hello?”
Silence.
She stepped inside, gripping the basket. “Here, chickens ... come out, come out, wherever you are ...” she said weakly. She studied her surroundings, feeling increasingly foolish. She should not be afraid of a few hens – and Clyde was probably elsewhere. Didn’t chickens hate being cooped up inside a dusty old barn?
Penelope’s eyes adjusted to the low light, and she took in the smell of hay and straw, leather, wood, and dirt. She then heard clucking. But where were they? She glanced around and discovered the hens had taken up residence in an empty horse stall. “There you are,” she cooed and drew closer. It appeared they had set up nests, and she was delighted to find several hens settled into the straw, hopefully atop their eggs.
“Now, you don’t mind if I nick a few of these, do you?” she asked as the hens eyed her with suspicion. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me feel guilty.” She stepped into the stall.
One of the hens hopped up and took off, clucking in protest at her approach. Penelope gasped in delight when the hen sped past her, leaving behind three eggs in the straw. “Wonderful!” She reached for them, and was taken aback to discover how warm they were. The other hens watched her, clucking and making other odd sounds she wasn’t accustomed yet to hearing. “Thank you very much, my dears. You’ve been most kind to provide us with breakfast this morning.” She put the eggs in her basket, stood and smiled down at the hens. She felt almost giddy at her small triumph, and turned to go.
