“Are you ready for the happy day, Evangeline?” Dorcas questioned.
“Yes. I believe I am,” she replied softly. “Although I admit I'm gladdened it will be a small affair.”
“Intimate and cozy. Yes. That suits you and my nephew perfectly.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Platte, for your kind understanding.” Evangeline admired Dorcas greatly. Well respected and generous, never had she heard an unkind word pass the woman's lips.
“Come, Evangeline, let us go upstairs to your room. I've a special gift for you. It's a daughter you'll be to me, dear.”
Opal shooed her on. “Go on. Melody and I will ensure all the items are accounted for as Corinne packs.”
Mrs. Platte engaged her in pleasant conversation, describing the grounds and home situated at Cherry Hill as the pair made their way upstairs. Evangeline drank in the details, painting the setting of her new home in her mind's eye while listening.
“It must be lovely!” she exclaimed at last. “Tan stone with black shutters and large window boxes suspended beneath each window? I cannot think of a more perfect home. Has the house been lived in much?”
“Not for some time, but the staff maintain everything, dear. All will be ready for your arrival.”
Evangeline's expression altered then, the looming changes in her life brought to light. “I shall do my best to learn the home and run things efficiently,” she promised.
“I know you will, dear. You'll do fine. Don't fret over it all. The first few months will be a time for you to become acquainted with married life. My nephew will consume much of your time.”
No reply came to mind, so she waited for Mrs. Platte to go on.
“I'd like you to have these, Evangeline.” Producing a string of pearls, Dorcas placed them in her palm and folded her hands around. “I never was blessed with a daughter, but through my nephew, I've gained you. It would bring me much happiness if you'd wear them on your wedding day.” Dorcas' eyes brimmed with tears. “I wore them on my own happy day.”
Touched beyond words, Evangeline held tightly to Mrs. Platte's hand and nodded her answer. Collecting herself she whispered, “Thank you...oh, thank you.”
“My greatest wish is to see you and my nephew happy,” the older woman smiled.
“I hope for that as well,” Evangeline confessed. “I...well, frankly, I never thought to marry.”
“I know.” Dorcas moved to the chair. “Thomas has undergone quite a change since his visit with your family last fall.”
Evangeline raised a questioning eyebrow.
“It's true. Gossip reaches these ears, make no mistake,” Dorcas laughed openly. “You did not think me unaware, did you?”
Uncomfortable, Evangeline blinked, her rounded eyes telling.
“But,” Dorcas went on, “the tales now hum of the woman who captured his heart.”
“Oh,” she observed in a measured breath. “Mrs. Platte...”
“Call me Aunt Dorcas, dear. We're family; indulge an old woman.”
“Mrs...Aunt Dorcas, I know not how to respond. Your nephew offered for me after the incident, and I shall never forget his kindness. My reputation would have been tarnished. He has professed no love, nor have I, and while I hope for a peaceful, contented life, I dare not assume his offer to be borne from any great affection.”
Dorcas smiled indulgently. “Evangeline, men do not cease sowing wild oats out of kindness.” Changing the subject to the upcoming wedding and move, Dorcas spoke of the staff at Cherry Hill, sharing her own insights on the personalities to be managed. “Of course, you may decide to replace one – or all – of the present staff, although I believe you will find everyone to your liking.”
Despite her confidence, the prospect of managing her own home incited a fair amount of trepidation. Cherry Hill was larger than Grey Manor and employed nearly double the staff.
“I understand your nervousness, Evangeline, but I hold great confidence in your abilities. You'll make a wonderful addition to Cherry Hill and do the Masterson family name proud.” Dorcas' eyes twinkled merrily. “Tell me, dear. Do you love him?”
A choked gasp escaped her. “Love him?” she stammered, poll-parroting the words in effort to formulate a proper response.
“It is a straightforward question,” Dorcas reminded with a chuckle.
“I...well, I have no experience in such matters. I...at times I enjoy his company.”
“At others you do not?”
Evangeline blushed deeply. “He can be quite unnerving.” She breathed deeply at admitting the truth.
“Oh, my dear! It's love if I've ever seen it!”
That was exactly what Evangeline was afraid of.
Chapter Eight
Of all the...
Lacking the conviction of her oft – albeit quietly – uttered phrase, Evangeline closed her mother's bedroom door and sought the peace of her own room. Tomorrow morning she would marry. And now she knew in the greatest detail what would occur tomorrow night.
“Thank goodness,” Melody squealed. “I've been waiting for you. It's our last night together. The next time we have alone you'll be a woman known.”
The curve of Melody's mouth and glimmer in her blue eyes told what topic brewed in her thoughts. “Oh, Melody,” she sighed, “Mother has just exhausted that subject.”
Melody scrunched her face into a grimace. “Please ignore everything Mother mentioned at once. I beg you.” Lifting the blankets in invitation and patting the bed, Melody scooted over as Evangeline climbed beside her. “Has she frightened you terribly?”
The question, spoken softly, unleashed the myriad of emotions within her, and Evangeline didn't attempt to dam them up. “I'm near terrified,” she confessed. “You know my aversion to being embraced. How will I bear it? And after seeing...” She stopped cold, aware of her near slip at mentioning the unfortunate spectacle she'd witnessed.
Melody giggled. “It is a shame you walked in on Jonathan and me. But you must believe me! He did not hurt me in the least. When a man moves between your legs it is quite pleasurable.”
“Maybe for you, Melody. I fear Mr. Masterson will be greatly disappointed when he realizes I cannot...that I...that those attentions are most unwanted.”
“Evangeline, you will see things in a new light after Mr. Masterson pleasures you well. Trust me.”
Evangeline trusted no one on this subject. How could she when such opposing ideas were insisted upon with equal fervency? Changing the subject, she diverted her sister's attention. “Tell me all about Mr. Lane's proposal. Are you certain you wish to marry him?”
Melody hugged herself, joy radiating from her at the recollection. “He's perfect for me,” she announced. “And why wouldn't I want to marry him? He's handsome, able to provide for me, and he adores me.”
“You're confident he will give up his philandering?”
“You've so much to learn, Evangeline. Mr. Lane will be unable to think of another woman! I shall exhaust him in our own bed.”
“Wipe that sinful look from your face!” Evangeline admonished. “You are behaving as some wanton for heaven’s sake!”
“And that is exactly the way a man wants his wife to behave, sister!”
Shaking her head, Evangeline snorted. “Wouldn't you rather he respect you?”
“We respect one another a great deal. I shall let you in on a secret, Evangeline. A man is most open with his emotions and thoughts and dreams after passionate lovemaking. All his heart will be yours then.”
“How can you be sure that is true for all men?”
“There are cruel men, sister, but Mr. Masterson is not one of them. He will find comfort in your arms – and your bed – if you allow it.”
* * *
Reverend Oakley's pronouncement made final the marriage of Evangeline Leigh and Thomas Stanton Masterson on a chill but mild February morning. Guests discussed the small affair with interest, for the ultimate capitulation of Thomas Masterson to the bonds of matrimony was a subject of grea
t conjecture, especially with his choice of bride and the suddenness of the event. Threads from various conversations wound their way to Evangeline’s ears, causing a constant blush to stain her cheeks.
“What a beautiful complexion the bride boasts,” Francine Davis complimented, Olivia Castille alongside her as they made their greetings.
“You've the rosy cheeks of a Dutch girl,” Olivia cooed. “Congratulations, Mrs. Masterson. I wish you all the happiness in the world.”
“Thank you very much,” Evangeline replied.
Thomas appeared at that moment, pulling her arm to his.
“Yes. Thank you, Mrs. Davis, Mrs. Castille.” He paused briefly, then continued. “If you will excuse us, I believe we are being called to the table.”
The wedding breakfast proceeded with undue longevity. Honestly, Evangeline could remember no meal taking so long in her life. The intimate party offered less comfort than she'd hoped, for there was nowhere to hide – no opportunity to blend in. Heightening her awareness were the ever-present hands of her new husband. She nearly jumped out of her skin as Thomas slid his hand beneath the tablecloth's edge and along her thigh. Her brown eyes darted skittishly to his in a frantic plea, the shaft of winter sunlight streaming through the window revealing warm flecks of amber in their depths.
Thomas leaned near, his breath upon her neck sparking a flourish of gooseflesh. “Calm yourself, Evangeline. No one is aware of my hand but you and me.”
Straight and stiff, she kept her gaze fixed firmly upon her plate, covered with food she no longer had appetite for. “Please...it makes me uncomfortable,” her voice quivered.
When he made his reply, her body tingled from head to toe. “Yes, I know. And you are lovely when uncomfortable.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Masterson,” Augusta Preston greeted, expression heated as she devoured the former with hungry eyes. “I wish you well on your nuptials.”
Thomas received the greeting with the utmost politeness, all while his hand slid to the inside of her knee. His fingers gently traced tiny circles atop the pale rose gown, but Evangeline would swear to the saints the material afforded her no protection from his heated caress. No words would pass her lips despite the necessity good manners demanded.
“Mrs. Preston, I speak on behalf of myself and my bride in welcoming you.” His fingers continued their devilish dance beneath the table. “Thank you for coming.”
“I wanted to be here for you.” Sympathy oozed from the blond haired, blue-eyed woman. She moved around the table under the guise of allowing the groom to take her hand and stared directly over his shoulder into Evangeline's eyes. “I understand, Thomas. You had no choice but to marry this girl.”
Thomas, a blackguard if ever Evangeline had met one – for his hand never ceased the languid caresses beneath the table – leaned back slightly and...laughed. Laughed! What sort of man laughed at his wife's humiliation? Double humiliation if you counted the private game his hand played as well!
Of course everyone would pity him having to marry me! Plain Evangeline.
Trapped with her anger, shame and hurt feelings, she hoped to get through the day without shedding a tear. The last thing she wanted was to further add to her shame.
“Mrs. Preston, while I appreciate your concern, I believe you have been misinformed,” Thomas chuckled.
What? Could it be he was laughing at Mrs. Preston?
Evangeline perked up at his unexpected response, uncertain where this was headed, both eager and terrified to get on with it.
“Pardon me?” The woman showed her surprise.
“It is my wife who deserves your sympathy, for I determined to gain her hand by any means necessary. So you see, it is I who left her no choice by design.”
Between his brazen confession, his deep voice plucking her every nerve as a harpist might ply the string and that abominable hand upon her thigh, Evangeline's world tipped and warbled in what she would dare name delicious distress.
Delicious distress? What nonsense! Get hold of yourself, Evangeline!
Mrs. Preston stood open-mouthed a moment before her eyes narrowed slightly and the fake smile refitted itself unnaturally across her mouth. “In that case, I offer congratulations.” Augusta's blue eyes gouged into Evangeline as she rounded the other side of the table in a show of friendly affection. “My dearest Mrs. Masterson,” she fawned, clasping Evangeline's hands and leaning down. “I commend your scheme,” she whispered. “Playing hard to get has earned you a husband, but he shall tire of you quickly.”
Evangeline drew in a sharp breath. The reply she bit back scorched her tongue, quite an unpleasant sensation, yet necessary. She'd not give license to uncharitable speech.
Augusta's lips curled in triumph.
Oh! She knew exactly what effect her words produced, Evangeline fumed. But to be honest, the only reason they riled her so was her own fear of their truth.
“Again, I wish you all the happiness you deserve,” Augusta stated, tone dripping sweet.
Liar, Evangeline accused silently.
“Mr. Masterson, if ever there is a way I can offer comfort or service do not hesitate to call upon me.”
Being a respectable lady was a heavy burden indeed in this moment. Never had she battled jealousy or ill-will, both extremely unpleasant emotions. Silent fears multiplied as Evangeline considered the awful truth her feelings revealed. She wanted her husband's heart.
“Your offer is kind, but unnecessary, Mrs. Preston.” Thomas' clipped reply checked the woman's boldness.
“Why, Mrs. Preston! What comforts could my nephew possibly lack now that he has such a lovely bride?”
In that moment Aunt Dorcas endeared herself completely to Evangeline; a tidal wave of gratitude and respect for the dear, dear woman swelled within her. She cast a look of unabashed adoration toward her new aunt.
“Of course,” Mrs. Preston agreed with what appeared to be difficulty.
“I hate to interrupt, but it is time for our goodbyes. The bride and groom need to depart to reach Cherry Hill at a reasonable hour.”
Aunt Dorcas fussed and clucked over Evangeline lovingly, stirring her to clasp the woman's hands tightly. “Thank you, Aunt Dorcas,” Evangeline declared with a lump in her throat.
“Uncle Winston and I shall visit you both soon.”
The overwhelming reality brought tears to her eyes as her mother and father hugged her, their well-wishes reaching deep into her heart. Her tears brimmed as Melody hugged her. Smiling broadly, Melody held her hands an extra moment, communicating all the words they'd not the time, nor the privacy, to share.
“Be happy, sister,” Melody exhorted with a final squeeze of hand.
Thomas shook hands one final time, and the party gathered to see them off. As the carriage pulled away, Evangeline waved her final farewell and settled in her seat. She was a married woman, alone with her husband, on her way to a new home to embark on a new life.
Apprehension pounced, embedding its cruel claws.
* * *
Thomas noted immediately the change in his bride, and a smug grin curled his lips. The things he would do to her – with her – this night. What he'd give to be privy to her thoughts. He'd learned to discern her moods over the last months, but much more yet needed accomplished. Knowing her inside and out, forward and backward – this was his aim. Currently, her awkward rigidness compelled him to comfort her.
“Mrs. Masterson,” he smiled, “what troubles you?” Thomas laced his arm behind her and pulled her close. No open resistance met his gesture; neither did she relax against him. Rather, she tensed and her brown eyes grew wide. The shy display fueled his desire, and he held her closer. “Evangeline...”
Awaiting her compliance, he regarded her seriously.
“I...I am nervous to meet the staff at Cherry Hill and to make a good first impression. Your home is larger than Grey Manor, and I'm feeling a bit out of my element.” She relaxed against him then, as if the admission lifted a heavy weight from her.
> Yes. Further study was needed, for her answer surprised him. “Sweetheart, the staff will be enamored at once with you. Is that all that is on your mind?”
So small and delicate she was, her brown hair peeking out from under the fur-lined hood, hands tucked inside the matching muff. He wanted to earn her complete trust – to be worthy of it. For once in his life he did not desire freedom from responsibility, but craved it. Why this woman? His heart swelled with tenderness.
Because she is genuine.
She was a woman who would share his heart, his life – the only woman not throwing herself in his path in hopes of trapping him, of using him. No. He had trapped her. The question was whether he could love her without hurting her. Selfishness had ruled him for so long. Learning he had to take a wife had angered him, but Thomas now acknowledged that his father had acted in his best interest. He struggled to accept the harsh reality that had his hand not been forced, he'd likely have dismissed the treasure now in his possession. Another failing. Closing his eyes, he focused on his new found purposes. To be a man of worth, to succeed as his own father had done. To love this woman. The selfish nature remained intact, Thomas mused with irony, for in loving her, he gained.
In time, the chill pervaded every nook and cranny in the carriage. He wrapped her small frame in his own more closely, blanketing her with his heat.
“Mr. Masterson!” Panic tainted her voice and she backed away instinctively.
His hold prevented much separation. “Shh,” he crooned.
“Please, let go of me...”
But he continued to hold her close, soothing sounds and gentling touches given freely to comfort even as they underscored his display of authority. “No, Evangeline,” he denied her request. “I am not hurting you, sweetheart. Be still and relax.”
“I...I cannot,” she pleaded even though she obeyed, stilling at once, Thomas noted.
“Yes you can, Evangeline. That's better.”
Her shaky breath filled the otherwise quiet carriage compartment. Conquering her fears was his first concern. As long as she clung to fear she'd not surrender to pleasure, and as much as he wanted to indulge her every whim, he could never allow her fear to dictate his actions. He would be master over her mind and body – not fear.
A Practical Arrangement Page 11