“I know, I know,” Will said, nodding. “It’s just...scary, you know? Really scary. Evidently, I didn’t do too well in the husband category before and it worries me to think I might let another woman down.”
“Whoa! Whoa, Hoss!” Colt said, frowning. His grip tightened. “No one is perfect, and don’t forget that Martha’s the one who went looking for greener pastures. That had nothing to do with you and everything to do with her never-ending need for money and things and moving up in the world.”
“What if I’m stepping out of the frying pan into the fire? I imagine Blythe Granville is used to having whatever her little heart desires.”
“You’re worried about Blythe doing what Martha did?” Colt actually laughed. “Set your mind to rest. I can assure you she’s nothing like Martha, money or not.”
Before Will could respond to that, someone knocked on the door and said, “It’s time.”
Will closed his eyes and murmured something that might have been a prayer...if he still remembered how to pray.
* * *
From where Will stood in the parlor, he could see his bride-to-be as she descended the last few steps of Hattie’s wide staircase. He felt as if he were in suspended time or something. Aunt Hattie was playing the traditional wedding song, which was nothing but a backdrop for his thoughts. Though the room was filled with people, all he saw was the woman who would soon be his wife, the woman he would promise to love and honor and care for. How could he do those things when he hardly knew her?
He swallowed hard, realizing for the first time the importance of the words they were about to speak and what a truly monumental task lay ahead of him—ahead of both of them—if they made good on their promises to never dissolve the marriage. He drew in a deep breath and blew it out. He forced the troubling thoughts away and concentrated on the woman who would soon be his wife.
He watched as she took another step. Instead of a conventional wedding gown, she wore a dove-gray dress of some shimmery fabric that hugged the gentle swells and curves of her upper body and flared out gently from her slender waist. A deep vee edged with black-velvet ribbon and inlaid with delicate gray lace adorned the front and a black-velvet stand-up collar circled her neck. A pearl-and-silver brooch was pinned to the center. The long sleeves clung to her arms and ended with black-velvet cuffs closed with pearl buttons. More velvet edged the bottom of the simply styled dress. Black shoes peeked from beneath the hem.
Will’s gaze moved from her toes back to her face. He sucked in a sharp breath. Why had he never noticed how pretty she was? Her mouth was perfectly shaped and her nose was what he’d always thought of as patrician. Dark eyebrows framed large brown eyes. She looked a lot like her mother, Will thought before he continued his examination.
Her dark hair was swept up into a loose knot atop her head. Pearl-and-ivory combs were her only adornment. A few unruly tendrils curled around her pale face. Her eyes were downcast, as if to make certain she didn’t miss a step and take a tumble.
When she reached the bottom of the staircase where Edward Stone stood, she looked up at him. The man standing in for her father wore a charcoal-gray suit and was smiling as proudly as if he were giving away his own daughter.
She tried to smile back, but, even from where he stood, Will could tell it was an effort. Edward was using both his canes, so instead of crooking his arm for her to take, she looped her hand around his elbow and they proceeded toward the parlor. Once again, her gaze seemed glued to the floor. She hadn’t once looked Will’s way.
When she and Edward reached the spot where he, Colt and Brother McAdams waited, Hattie stopped playing and the preacher began the ceremony. Will hardly heard, he was too busy staring at Blythe, who looked scared to death.
“Who gives this woman in marriage?” the preacher asked.
“Her mother and I,” Edward said, speaking the words Sam Granville would have, had he still been living. Leaning a cane against his body, he took Blythe’s hand and placed it in Will’s. Then Edward kissed her on the forehead and took a seat.
Her hand was ice-cold. Will’s first instinct was to chafe it between both of his, but instead he gave her fingers a squeeze. That sent her eyelashes flying upward. Even though just moments ago he’d wanted to call off the whole thing, the anxiety in her eyes left him feeling shamed. Shamed and strangely protective.
Yes, she was timid, but she had stamina and grit, or she couldn’t have gotten him into the house. He couldn’t imagine Martha having the forethought to do what Blythe had done. And timid or not, she was no shrinking violet. In his experience, most women were scared to death to speak their minds, but he’d seen her anger flare up when she’d come right back at him for being ungrateful for what she’d done for him. His wife-to-be was a walking contradiction.
“Do you, William Michael Slade, take Blythe Isabelle Granville to be your lawful wedded wife?”
The sound of the preacher’s voice jerked Will’s attention back to the present. Blythe was actually looking at him. Maybe she was trying to see something in his eyes that would give her encouragement. He was proud that his voice was strong and steady. “I do.”
The remainder of the ceremony was pretty much a blur. A part of him was aware of them both repeating vows. He slipped a ring on her slender finger, something he’d run by Gabe’s store and picked up on the way to the ceremony. It was nothing special, just a plain gold band. With a surge of guilt, he thought that someone like Blythe, accustomed to the best and finest life had to offer, probably expected precious stones of some sort, but it wasn’t as if there was a lot to choose from at Gentry Mercantile. Will was just thankful that Gabe had had any kind of ring.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the preacher intoned, a note of satisfaction in his voice. “You may kiss the bride.”
Will’s sharp gaze snapped to the minister’s. He was smiling, and why not? He’d had his way. Blythe’s reputation had been reclaimed and Will, known scoundrel that he was, had been brought to heel, but surely the minister knew the statement would cause them both considerable embarrassment. Under the circumstances, couldn’t he have omitted the traditional bride-and-groom kiss?
Will glanced at Blythe and saw her watching him with a wary expression. Deciding that the best option would be to just get it over with, he lowered his head and kissed her. He intended it to be a swift, impersonal brush of his mouth against hers, but the feel of her lips, warm and soft and pliable beneath his, sent such a tremor of awareness through him that the kiss lasted a second longer than he intended.
Feeling a bit disoriented, he lifted his head and looked at her again, trying to gauge her reaction. If possible, her creamy complexion held even less color and the expression in her eyes was as dazed as he felt.
Before he had time to think what it all meant, the preacher introduced them to the gathering as man and wife. In a matter of seconds he was surrounded by well-wishers who gave him slaps on the back, handshakes of congratulations and those awkward hugs men sometimes gave each other.
Blythe, too, was being hugged and kissed and smothered with well wishes. He noticed that even though she was responding to the goodwill, her smile was forced. He saw her lift a hand to her forehead.
“Please, everyone,” Aunt Hattie said, “feel free to enjoy the refreshments while Miss Priscilla Garrett entertains us with some of her lovely piano playing.”
He might have been born in a country town, but his mama had taught him about courtesy. He was about to ask his bride if she would like a cup of punch when he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Win Granville standing next to him.
“Thank you for stepping up, Slade,” Blythe’s brother said. “I was a bit concerned about your motivation, but she seems to find the crazy arrangement acceptable, so there’s nothing for me to say.”
“No, there isn’t.” Will said.
“Win, you ar
en’t already harassing your new brother-in-law, are you?” Libby Granville said, a mock scowl on her attractive face. Without giving her son a chance to reply, she smiled at Will. “I’d give you a hug, but I don’t know if you’re a hugger or not,” she said, extending her hand. “Welcome to the family, Will. It will be wonderful having another son.”
As Will took her hand and attempted to return her smile, he couldn’t help thinking that she was being much friendlier than he expected her to be. He also realized that Libby was a perfect picture of what Blythe would look like in twenty or thirty years.
Blythe. He caught sight of her from the corner of his eye. She was surrounded by her friends: Abby and Rachel Gentry, Allison Garrett, Ellie Carpenter, Meg Allen, Grace Mercer and Lydia North. Someone said something and everyone started laughing. He saw Blythe once again reach up to massage her right temple. Saw her eyelids flutter. Saw her sway... The next thing he knew she’d crumpled slowly to the floor.
Chapter Nine
Will felt as if the floor fell out from beneath him. Gasps of surprise swept through the room. Without thinking, without stopping to ask himself why, he pushed Win Granville aside and rushed to the group of women who were standing around Blythe’s motionless body, varying degrees of shock on their faces. Rachel knelt beside her, her fingertips pressed against Blythe’s wrist, checking her pulse. Will went down on one knee.
“Is she all right?”
Rachel smiled. “She just fainted.”
“Fainted?”
“Yes. It happens sometimes when someone is in a state of constant worry or overstimulation. Not to mention that she’s been sick this week.” She smiled at him. “I’d say she’s had her share of concerns the past few months, wouldn’t you?”
For the first time Will fully understood how much Blythe had suffered since learning she’d been duped and discarded by the man she loved and then snubbed a second time simply for helping him.
“Here’s the smelling salts,” Hattie said, passing the jar to Rachel.
Rachel unscrewed the lid and passed the pungent stimulant in front of Blythe’s face. She gasped and her eyes fluttered open.
“Thank goodness!” Libby said. Will saw the concern in her eyes. Though she’d been kind to him, he wondered what she really thought of her daughter’s latest circumstances. And him.
“I want to get her outside into the fresh air,” Rachel said, holding out a hand for Will to help her to her feet. Still holding on to him, she said, “We’ll let her rest a bit and then you can take her home.”
Take her home. His home. Their home. The thought that he wouldn’t be returning to his place alone was hard to believe. He’d gotten used to being by himself, of not having to answer to anyone, and coming and going as he pleased. All that would change now. He had a wife.
“I’ll take her for you,” Win said, stepping between Will and Rachel.
That snapped Will out of his stupor. He reached out and gripped his new brother-in-law’s shoulder. “I’ll get her. She’s my wife.”
Granville stared into Will’s eyes for long seconds. Weighing each other. Gauging. The room was so quiet you could hear the proverbial pin drop. Finally her brother gave a sharp nod of his head and stepped away.
Will bent and scooped Blythe into his arms. Hers automatically went around his neck and her head lolled against his shoulder. He doubted she weighed as much as Banjo. The scent of something sweet and floral drifted up from her shiny brown hair. If he turned his head the slightest bit, his lips would be touching her forehead...
His steps actually faltered. Where had that come from? he wondered as he carried her to the front porch. He knew exactly where it came from. Despite the fact that she was the kind of woman he’d vowed to stay away from and Win Granville’s sister to boot, she was still a woman. A very warm and feminine woman, and, truth be told, he was as susceptible to her charms as any man.
Ruthlessly ridding his mind of the dangerous thoughts, he deposited Blythe on the swing and stepped back to make room for Rachel, who sat down next to her. Blythe’s eyes were closed and her head leaned to the side, resting against the chain. Banjo sat near the steps, the eager thumping of his tail saying without words that he was happy to see familiar people, even if they weren’t paying any attention to him.
“Will, will you fetch my bag? I need my stethoscope.”
“Sure,” he said. With a last look at Blythe, he went to do Rachel’s bidding.
* * *
As soon as he left, Rachel took Blythe’s wrist once more and glanced at the watch hanging around her neck to check her pulse. Blythe was glad Will was gone. His size and physical presence was intimidating, and the intensity radiating from him was exhausting. Would she ever learn to relax in his presence or was she so tense because his nearness reminded her of their kiss? It was all she could do to stop herself from pressing her fingertips to her lips that still throbbed from the touch of his.
What kind of woman did that make her? How could she believe she loved one man three short months ago and now feel a bewildering excitement at the touch of another? Even as she thought it, she realized the truth. Devon’s kisses had never once made her feel the way one kiss with Will had.
“How are you doing?” Rachel asked.
Anxious. Frightened. Confused. As if he understood her need for comfort, Banjo moved to the swing and sat down in front of Blythe, placing his massive head in her lap.
“I’m fine.” Her hand moved to caress his bony head in a gesture as automatic as breathing.
“Well, your pulse is still too fast,” Rachel said. “You need to calm down. I know this is an unsettling situation, but it will be all right.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you and Will, and I trust that God will help you work things out. Now,” she said, changing the subject, “do you still have any of the symptoms from your illness last week?”
“A bit of a cough. Nothing serious.”
“Fever?”
“I don’t think so.”
Will stepped through the doorway carrying Rachel’s medical bag, Gabe close on his heels. Edward followed more slowly.
“Can I do anything?” Will asked.
“Yes. You and Gabe can both bring the buggies around, please. Will, I suggest that you get Blythe to the farm so she can rest.”
“Why do we need our buggy? Are you ready to leave already?” Gabe asked. “You haven’t had any refreshments.”
“And I won’t be having any,” Rachel said with a slight smile. “Your son or daughter is ready to make an appearance.”
“What?” Gabe said as panic gathered on his face.
“Our child will probably be here before dinnertime,” she said, smiling.
“I had a feeling today was the day,” Edward told them.
“How could you tell?” Gabe asked.
“We doctors just see a lot of little changes toward the end of a term.”
Without another word Gabe leaned over and picked up his wife. The dog skittered aside.
“Put me down, Gabriel Gentry!” Rachel demanded. “I’m as big as a house and you’ll break your back.”
“Hush, woman!”
“What’s going on?” Caleb, who’d just stepped through the doorway, asked his brother.
“Rachel’s in labor. I’m taking her home.”
She glanced at Caleb, frowning crossly. “It’ll most likely be hours before the baby comes. I don’t know why he’s in such a dither.”
“Having the baby is your job. Dithering is mine,” Gabe said as he carried her down the steps and headed toward the back of the house where the buggies were parked.
“I’ll go let everyone know what’s going on,” Caleb offered.
Everyone but Will seemed to forget Blythe in the excitement of bab
y Gentry’s imminent arrival. “I’ll bring the buggy around,” he told her and then followed Gabe around the house.
At any other time, the antics of the three men might have been amusing, but not today. Blythe closed her eyes. She was tired to the bone, worried sick about her future and embarrassed beyond words that she’d fainted at her own wedding reception. What else could possibly go wrong?
“Well, if it isn’t the blushing bride.”
The sound of the mocking voice sent Blythe’s eyelids flying upward. To her surprise, Martha Rafferty stood near the porch, her hateful gaze fixed on Blythe, who was speechless at the woman’s audacity.
“What’s the matter, Mrs. Slade? Is Will already too much for a little rich girl like you to handle?” A crafty smile curved her mouth. “He is a lot of man. I can attest to that.”
Her implication was clear. Blythe felt hot color rush into her face. Her first inclination was to jump up and scratch out the other woman’s eyes or to smack the gloating expression from her face, but she was a Granville, and ingrained years of learning to handle herself in these sorts of situations came to the fore. She would not sink to Martha Rafferty’s level, would not even answer her question.
She was a Granville, and unlike her untidy appearance the day before, today she looked like the lady of polite society she was. The costly dress she wore and the fact that she was able to hold her own with the woman standing in front of her gave Blythe at least a measure of confidence.
“What are you doing here, Martha?” she asked, adopting her mother’s most imperious tone, even though her stomach was churning and her hands were clasped together to keep them from shaking. “I can’t imagine that you came to wish me and Will your best, so I suggest you run along before he comes back.”
As if saying the words made it happen, Will pulled the buggy around the corner of the house and came to a stop in front of the hitching post. The expression on his face was thunderous.
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