The Wrong Bride Page 7

  Winnie made a derisive sound. “You know how to milk a cow?”

  “No, but I could have…could have gotten the hay and led her in place.”

  “That’s alright. Actually, though I do know how to and where the hay is, I don’t usually milk Jezebel.”

  Lance ignored the subtle put-down. “Who does?”

  “Jem, the boot-boy.”

  “Winnie, I think we ought to hire a couple more people to help out around here.”

  She stopped pulling on the teats, sat up slowly, adjusted the bucket and stood. He saw the wince and hand placed on the back of her hip as she straightened and leaned backward to rest the ache. “Yes, we might be able to. I’ve just been so stinting, so afraid in the beginning. Now, it’s habitual.”

  “And, frankly, you look as if you might use another dress or two.” She had been wearing the same dress since he’d come as well as that dirty apron. She scowled, and he knew he’d touched a sore spot.

  “There is little point. I have a decent dress to wear to church, I bathe every day. There are no dances, no fetes, no gatherings for me.” She shrugged. “So, what would be the point?”

  Lance caught the whiff of longing and stepped closer. Winnie backed up. He saw the gesture and his mouth tightened. “I’ll just get the bucket for you. Where d’you want it?”

  “Over there.” She pointed to where there was a very large bucket with a fitted top, sitting in a small trough of cold water. He picked up the bucket and she scurried in front of him to loosen the top and remove it. Inside, the container was half-full. He tipped the bucket and a stream of white liquid poured in.

  “Now what?”

  “I must feed the chickens.”

  Lance nodded. “Aren’t you afraid of being by yourself? What about animals of prey around? You should have a dog.”

  “We do, two of them. They’ve gone with Barnaby to help corral the animals. Early on, once we had stock, Barnaby set traps around the perimeter of the woods and hunted them nearly every day.”

  “Do we have pigs?”

  “Yes, they’re penned, in so far as we are able to do so, in a section of the near woods. We change that around every year, so they have fresh ground to roam. And we bring them kitchen and garden refuse.”

  He looked at her. “Hard work.”

  As they moved away, Winnie gazed quickly down at her worn, scuffed shoes. “Yes, it is.” She opened the door of the oversized chicken coop, and more than a dozen chickens and a rooster that had been penned in, ran out into the yard in a manic dash. It was always comical, and Winnie laughed. Lance liked the sound. She stooped to go inside and came out a moment later holding the apron that formed a pouch. “Here, chick, chick.” The wind blew tendrils of brown hair loose around her oval face, the pink mouth curved as she smiled indulgently. The chickens rushed from one place to another to find the cracked grain, strewed onto the ground. Winnie straightened and looked off in the distance, dreamlike, forgetting Lance for a moment. She raised a hand to stay the stray, loose hair that lifted around her face, the wind pushing and twirling the too-short skirts about her trim ankles. Lance wished at that moment he had been born a painter, the picture arresting and stirring him inside. And then he felt the movement in his groin and had to walk away. Winnie turned, wondering what had happened. Still holding onto her apron, she went inside the coop again and bent to collect eggs.

  Lance was restless, on edge. Winnie made him feel useless, and he told her so when she came in the kitchen door. She quickly remembered when Barnaby had made her feel the same. “I’m hale in body and I need something to keep me occupied.” He’d been in a hurry to be home, hadn’t wanted to be delayed by staying in a public house with all its attendant seducements. It was a strange situation to be in, isolated with the person of the opposite sex who had the most reason to hate him, and consequently, constantly having to be reminded that she was female. And a most attractive one to boot.

  Winnie studied him. “Would you like to do a little hunting?”

  “No.” He hated the sound of gunfire, even a little. Was sick of it, in fact.

  “Take Jezebel and roam around the land? Do a bit of fishing? Or just walk. It’s a good day to ruminate.” She sighed. How she would like a day in which she had nothing to do. “Or read.” Dear God, Winnie hoped she hadn’t forgotten how. It had been an eternity it seemed since she’d spent an evening or even an hour, during the daytime to read. There was always the business of the house, or the farm and animals, or something.

  “All good ideas, Winnie, but nothing that appeals to me. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I haven’t the enthusiasm I thought I would when…” he stopped. “Do I hear dogs barking?”

  Winnie listened, then her face lit up. “Yes! It’s Barnaby and his new wife come home.”

  “New wife?” Lance chuckled. “Isn’t he a little old in the tooth?”

  Winnie quirked her eyebrows and smiled coyly. “Well, he’s not, evidently, because he had enough youth left in him to get the lady in question with child. Besides, he’s not yet fifty, I believe.”

  Lance burst out laughing, the first full out, deep masculine sound of its kind Winnie had heard from him, and it made the hair on the back of her neck stand out. “Sorry. I suppose I shouldn’t laugh at his predicament,” he said, turning solemn, “but it’s hard to imagine.”

  “Yes, but there it is,” Winnie said, his laughter causing the ends of her own mouth to turn up at the corners. “Now you have someone to divert you.”

  “Oh, you’ll think me foolish, but I can’t wait to see the old devil. And his wife.” He grinned and Winnie found herself smiling back at him before he turned away and strode from the house, leaving the kitchen door wide open. Winnie sighed, glad to have everyone back. It would be easier to deal with Lance and she wouldn’t be so on edge now that he would have a companion in Barnaby. All of Lance had seemed to relax when he heard the wagon, carriage, dogs and all.

  Winnie went out to find Lance and Barnaby embracing and the introductions being made. Then they started unloading, and Lance, Jem and Barnaby carried the carcasses of meat into the house to hang in the frigid cellars. Winnie stood by and Missus Frances, that is what Winnie decided to call her cook and companion, hugged her and handed Winnie a large package. “For me? What is it?”

  “Oh, go inside and see. You’ve been needin’ somethin’ fer a while now, an’ Barnaby said we made so much money from sellin’ the animals, we could splurge a little. The carriage is full. Christmas is comin’, and I spent some of my salary on necessaries.” She smiled. “I’d never had a house o’ my own before,” she added softly. Frances smiled at the obvious pleasure that lighted Winnie’s face as she hugged her gift to her breast, the spread of her mouth as she whispered ‘thank you’. “I have to go on now. The hams and such are waitin’ to be smoked, an’ I’ll be helpin’ with that. Would you be wantin’ me to stay on?”

  “No, certainly not. You’re a married woman now, and…why don’t we sort it out so you can stay in the cottage? I’ll start the stove, make breakfast, and you can come over when you’re ready in the morning. We’ll settle on some kind of schedule later.” Winnie smiled. “You must be exhausted.” She wanted to talk to Frances, woman-to-woman, as she’d done over the years, but that would have to wait for a later time. Winnie had never explained to Frances the circumstances of her marriage to Lance and wondered what Frances would think if she knew.

  “I am, an’, all the same, I’m not. I haven’t had so much fun since I was a girl.” Missus Frances blushed. “Barnaby will make a fine husband. For tomorrow, I think I ought to come early. We have workers coming.”

  “Ah! Then, you’re right, of course. I’ll be ready early, too. As for Barnaby,” she chuckled, “I’m sure he will be a good husband, and, by the way he handles Jem, likely a good father.” Winnie clutched the package. “Thank you so much for the gift.”

  Frances nodded and started off after the wagon and carriage, heading for the stables and smoke h
ouse. Winnie hurried inside into her little space, sat on the cot, and opened the package. It had been heavy and large, Winnie’s arms barely going all the way around. Inside she looked with wonder, then gasped. On top was a new bonnet, brown with plaited ivory silk under the brim, a pair of half-boots and gloves, of soft leather, and beneath those were two dresses, one a warm day dress with long sleeves and a new best dress she might wear to church. It was even festive enough for a ball—as if going to a dance were among the possibilities for her, Winnie thought wryly.

  “Good t’ see ye home,” Barnaby said to Lance, clapping him on the back after getting the smokehouse working, wiping his hands on a handkerchief.

  “You’ll not know how good it is to be home.”

  “How does she look to ye?”

  “Winnie?” His eyes wandered away from Barnaby for a minute, then swung back. “She…”

  “No. No. the place is what I meant.” He cocked his head. “An’ mebbe Winnie, too.”

  “Oh, the place is in so much better shape than I remember, thanks to you. And Winnie…? I’m not sure about her.”

  “Ye owe her somethin’, too. ‘Twasn’t I who kept it up. If not fer her, I doubt it would be standin’ as prideful as it does now.”

  “Yes, of course. But I meant…we’re not sure how we’re going to get on. She hates me, I barely remember her, and, to tell the truth, I don’t know if we’ll ever get along.”

  Barnaby frowned, considering for a moment. “Hard to imagine Winnie hatin’ anyone. She had a hard time of it, y’know? Parents wouldn’t take her in, and there was quite a row about it.” He scowled. “Ye don’t remember her, what happened? She said ye were drunk, before, durin’, an’ after. I didn’t quiz her too close about that part, an’ she didn’t offer much either, but the durin’ part sounded bad.”

  Lance looked away after his breath came back. “I wish I could remember it, but it isn’t clear in my head. However, I’m home now and we’re trying to figure out what to do. I’m embarrassed to tell you this, but she says she wants a divorce, her dowry back, and some recompense for her labor.”

  “Hmmph! I’m thinkin’ ye may have some work on yer hands, then.”

  “I wouldn’t mind work, real work. The other I can’t deal with right now.”

  Barnaby brightened. “Say, the reapers an’ threshers are comin’ tomorrow. That ought to give ye real work. Ye can hold the men to account and mebbe even pitch in.”

  Lance nodded. “I like the sound of that.”

  “Ah, well, if ye’ll excuse me, I have a wife awaitin’ to home an’, so far, I’m likin’ the married life.” He grinned. “Mebbe ye will in time, too.” Barnaby flashed Lance a wide smile and Lance nodded again, a crooked smile on his mouth. Bloody hardly likely, he thought.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The workers came and, fortified by the drink and food provided, they headed home with coin in their pockets after the harvest. The weather so fine for the few days the work took to finish, now the weather could do as it wished, Winnie thought. The barn, stable loft, and sheds were stuffed with hay and grain for the animals. Winnie and Frances stood in the barnyard and watched the added help go off with smiles on their faces. All at once she remarked to Winnie that she should have brought home new clothes for Master Lance, pointing meaningfully at Lance. Winnie turned to look, then revolved quickly, her face coloring instantly. It was practically indecent. His clothes were too tight and there was no mistaking that bulge in the low middle of his breeches, and his hard muscles strained at the fabric of his shirt. Frances chuckled at the confusion on Winnie’s face, but Winnie said nothing, trying not to be disturbed by the sight. Winnie had to be careful around Frances, who might be quick to pick up on the friction with Lance. Every morning Winnie got up early off the cot so as not to be discovered by the woman. Until Lance was ready, Winnie would keep her desire to not be tied to him to herself and not share it with Frances.

  Lance had asked the second time what she would do if they divorced. “I don’t know,” she replied, clearly annoyed by his asking. “I suppose I could become a companion to some lady or other. I’ve not thought of it, to tell the truth, but I shall before long. Are you suddenly eager to be rid of me?” He denied the charge and suggested they wait until the following spring to make a decision, because he wasn’t eager to make changes just yet, either, though he was no fonder of Winnie that she of him. Just coming from the war, his home was the same yet different, too. He’d once said to Barnaby that though he’d come home without severe injury, he wasn’t the person he once was and needed time to mend his unsettled spirit.

  “Glad it is ye’ve come home, Master Lance. Winnie wasn’t the only one looking through the lists of the dead.”

  “What d’you mean, Barnaby?”

  Barnaby shrugged. “Wal, there’re some of the fellas in town who found Winnie pleasin’ to the eye, besides her bein’ a capable lady, ye know.” He told Lance the story of her trying to return to the Alexander household without success. “If she hadn’t found that note and threatened to show it to her sister’s intended, she wouldn’t have been able to wiggle anythin’ from them. She used the dowry money to buy stock, and that’s how we started. It took five years to get where we are now, an’ that’s pretty snug, wouldn’t ye say?”

  “I would, indeed,” Lance was forced to admit. He had taken over the books knowing it hurt Winnie’s feelings, but he needed to keep occupied. “Don’t worry, Winnie,” he told her. “I see where you’re putting money into an account in your own name. Though,” he added with a mischievous smile, “I could walk into the bank tomorrow and they’d hand it over to me. But, whatever we decide, I won’t touch what is yours and yours alone.” It stung that she was losing control of the house which she’d grown fond of and thought of as hers alone. Winnie took note of Lance’s restlessness, however, understanding his need to keep himself busy. At first, she’d thrown herself into work, too, to staunch the hurt feelings she’d left the Alexander house with.

  With their lives returned to as usual as they might under the circumstances, Frances now came to the house in midmorning. Lance and Barnaby took care of the animals along with Jem. The boy seemed a decent sort, the fellow rescued by Winnie. It was another irritation to Lance when everyone around him sang Winnie’s praises. She had taken to straightening his bed again and keeping his room neatened, but that was all she would bend to do. When he came down from his room, she was already up and about with housekeeping, though there was a pot of boiled oats on the stove. It might have been coarse fare, but she sweetened it with honey and cinnamon, and anyway, it was food superior to what he had as a soldier, particularly in the beginning. Otherwise they didn’t speak to each other. If Frances noticed anything at the mid-day meal, she said nothing. In the evening, when the kitchen was cleaned and ready for the next day, Frances left with Barnaby, and the house became eerily quiet with just the two of them. After weeks of this, Lance couldn’t abide it and went to town, leaving early one morning and coming back before night fell, just as Frances was leaving. With him was a young, very pretty girl.

  “This is Isabelle,” he said matter-of-factly to Winnie.

  Winnie’s eyes widened. What was he thinking, adding another person to the staff just when the season was drawing to a close and there would be less, not more work? And Winnie was coming close to reaching her goal of getting her dowry back from Lance’s estate. A second, closer look, and Winnie knew what might be up. Isabelle was amiable and plump in all the places that mattered to men, unlike the quick-tempered, easily angered Winnie, who was always tired and looked that way and undernourished to boot. “She will do laundry, help Missus Frances in the kitchen. She’s enlarging every day, if you take my meaning,” he said, challenging Winnie to argue, “and she’ll keep the ground floor rooms clean.” Winnie wondered at Lance’s reasoning and suspected some sort of trickery, or perhaps he would find Isabelle very amenable to his masculinity. She, Winnie, would have to relinquish her little pantry bedroom and sle
ep upstairs on the same floor as Lance. She glared at him, but he seemed very proud of what he’d done. “There are a few purchases in the wagon, too. I’ll have Barnaby help me bring them in.” So, instead of Frances going home, she showed Isabelle where she would be staying and then took her around the house as Winnie frantically moved all her personal items from the little room that used to be hers, trying not to cross paths with Frances or Isabelle. If she did, Winnie was ready with an explanation to Frances as to why her clothes were in the room. Perhaps Frances, already yawning and anxious to ride home in the wagon, hadn’t noticed. At least Lance hadn’t insisted the new girl clean the upstairs, so presumably Isabelle wouldn’t know they didn’t sleep together.

  It turned out to be small consolation. The next day, having just straightened her new room and heading toward the stairway and Lance’s room, Winnie saw Isabelle come from Lance’s room and was staggered. “I…I’ve jest lit the fire in the master’s room, as he ast, that’s all.”

  Winnie tried to smile, but her face felt tight and hot. “In future, I’ll take care of it, thank you, Isabelle.”

  Downstairs, Isabelle had started the stove, and Winnie began making breakfast, this time adding bread fried in butter to go with the boiled oats. She brought out a pot of strawberry preserves and served herself and Lance breakfast in the dining room. It would no longer do for her and Lance to eat in the kitchen, and perhaps Lance had planned that, too. “Very nice,” he pronounced, just coming into the room. Winnie’s eyes grew wide. Lance was wearing a new set of clothes, trousers and shirt that were snug but not immodest like his previous set, a waistcoat and coat, was freshly shaved, his dark blonde hair brushed back, curling around his forehead and ears, and he looked better than ever, except that his eyes were red-rimmed. He must not have slept the night before. Did it mean that he and Isabelle had been together already? Surely not, though there was that odd meeting upstairs with Isabelle this morning. Winnie moaned inwardly. All the new expenditures meant less money set aside for her eventual leaving. He was in control of the house purse now. After rising to pour the second cup of coffee for both of them and finishing her meal, Winnie went to the kitchen to find Isabelle happily helping herself to the food at the kitchen table just as Frances came in the kitchen door.