He was big and loud and about as far removed from Reverend Peter Smythe, who presided over the tiny church in Hollings, as Amelia could have imagined. Weddings, it seemed, were a rare event in these parts, and cause for celebration. He’d brought along his wife and four strapping sons to be witnesses. Amelia had a feeling her wedding was in some way supposed to act as a bit of an incentive to the sons to get themselves married. The oldest of them, still single, had nearly as much gray as his father.
Because Small Fork didn’t have a church, Amelia and Boone were to get married in his courtyard, which was probably the prettiest setting within a hundred miles.
From her room, Amelia could hear the reverend’s voice booming out directions. They were expecting quite a crush of people, given the rarity of the event and the prominent place Boone held in Small Fork. Such a wedding would have taken weeks to prepare back home, but here, it seemed that everyone within miles had dropped what they were doing just so they could attend.
Amelia cocked her head. “Did I just hear a violin?” she asked Maggie, who was struggling to do something with her hair. She’d gotten quite proficient at dressing hair when the Pierces had lost their fortune and had to do without a maid.
“I believe there is a small orchestra setting up,” Maggie said through the hairpins in her mouth. “Or at least several people with instruments,” she added wryly after a particularly grating squeak. She jabbed in a few more hairpins and let out a sigh. “Your hair is so slippery, I cannot do what I planned.”
“I wish I had your curls, Maggie,” Amelia said, eyeing her sister-in-law with a bit of envy. Maggie’s dark curls looked lovely no matter how she wore her hair.
“If I had a curling iron,” Maggie said wistfully. “At least you have a lovely dress.”
Indeed, lovely dresses were nearly all that Amelia had. She wore an exquisite green-foam silk gown she’d worn once during her one and only London Season. It sat slightly off her shoulders, revealing just a bit of the creamy skin below her neck. It was one of her more modest gowns, appropriate for a young, unmarried woman.
“There, I give up,” Maggie said, stepping back to get a better look at what she’d been able to accomplish. She sighed. “You look lovely, Amelia. Truly, truly beautiful.”
“I wish there was a mirror somewhere in this house. Can you believe a home without a mirror? The only one I know of is the tiny one Boone uses for shaving, and that will hardly do. I suppose I’ll just have to trust you.” Amelia looked down at herself, remembering just how lovely she’d looked in this gown, and laughed. After Carson had left England, she’d rarely made the effort to look beautiful, for she didn’t want to attract any male attention. She’d actually had a row with Edward until she’d agreed to wear this gown, never imagining it would one day become her wedding gown. Suddenly, ridiculously, there were tears in her eyes.
“Oh, Maggie, am I doing the right thing?”
Maggie looked as if she might cry, too, which certainly didn’t help Amelia feel any better. “You know, Amelia, I am a bit of an expert at reading people, and I have a good feeling about Boone.”
“You do?”
“And I had a bit of a bad feeling about Carson. But it wasn’t my place to say anything, not really, and you were so in love, I thought perhaps my feelings were wrong.”
Amelia shook her head. “What I’m feeling has nothing to do with Carson. It has everything to do with Boone. I hardly know him. I hardly know if I like him or not. He’s so quiet, and I have the feeling he thinks I’m completely frivolous.”
Maggie laughed lightly. “You’ll simply have to teach him otherwise. You do know that the Duchess of Bellingham had similar doubts before her marriage.”
“I had heard.” The duchess was an American heiress forced to marry the impoverished duke.
“She not only had misgivings, she was ardently in love with another man and disliked the duke completely. And yet, you’ve seen them happy. Rather nauseatingly happy, given how opposed she was to the marriage.”
Amelia tugged lightly at the intricate lace of one sleeve. “My friend Julia was forced to marry a scoundrel and he tried to kill her.” Even Amelia knew she was being completely ridiculous, so she shook her head as if to erase such a thought. “I know Boone is a good man. But what if I never come to love him? What if he never comes to love me? Wouldn’t that be horrible?”
“You would still have your children to love,” Maggie said, sounding infinitely sensible. “Speaking of children.”
Amelia gave Maggie a curious look, then smiled. “Oh! Are you…”
“No. No, not yet,” Maggie said quickly. “What I am rather awkwardly trying to talk about is tonight. With Boone. In bed.”
“Oh.”
“Do you have any questions?” Maggie asked, sounding very much like she prayed Amelia would have none.
“I don’t think so.”
“The most important thing to know is that Boone will know what do to and it can be wonderful. I don’t know what you’ve heard, but you must know that the physical love between a husband and his wife is rather spectacular.”
Amelia could feel her cheeks flush. She’d never spoken to anyone about what happened in the marriage bed. “What if the man…”
“Yes?”
“What if the man doesn’t know what he’s doing?” Amelia asked in one quick breath.
“Well then you shall both have a wonderful time discovering what makes you happy.”
Boone was sweating profusely, and he felt as if he was going to be quite sick. He eyed the kitchen sink, judging whether he could reach it in time should he feel the need.
“Here,” Edward said, staring in sympathy at his future brother-in-law. “Drink this.”
Boone looked up to see Edward holding a small glass filled with a dark amber liquid. “I don’t drink,” he said.
Edward looked at the drink in his hand, shrugged, and downed it with one swallow, gasping as the fiery liquor went down.
“Good God, no wonder you don’t drink,” he said, shuddering. “That is the most hellish concoction I’ve ever put in my mouth.” He went over to the bottle and sniffed.
“I believe it’s Kentucky whiskey.”
“Remind me not to go to Kentucky,” Edward muttered. “There, you see? It did help. You are looking much better now.”
Boone grimaced. “You’re sure Amelia’s okay with this wedding?”
“I’m sure.”
“She doesn’t feel forced? You didn’t force her, did you?” Boone, already filled with misgivings about their marriage, felt nearly paralyzed with uncertainty. What could he possibly give this girl? She was a member of the English aristocracy, and he knew enough to realize she was marrying far beneath her class. Her brother was an earl, which meant she’d likely lived in a home that was far more impressive than anything he could build for her. She would miss her home, her family. She hated Texas, and surely she would come to hate him, as well. Oh, Lord, his head felt as if it were about to explode.
“I must be honest with you, sir. This is not the life, nor the husband, she dreamed she would have when she left England. But I wouldn’t let her marry you if I thought you were not up to the task. And to answer your question, no, I did not force her to marry you. If you want my honest opinion, frankly I’m surprised she agreed to your proposal so easily. It’s not like Amelia to do anything she doesn’t want to, which can only bode well for you.”
Edward’s words did little to calm Boone’s doubts. Outside, people were gathering for the wedding. He could hear the reverend’s voice, the sound of fiddles tuning up, which meant dancing and yet another thing for him to dread. He looked out to the courtyard and smiled for the first time that day, seeing so many of his patients and customers milling about wearing their Sunday best. Someone had thought to set up a table, which was laden with food for a wedding feast.
Edward took out a pocket watch and snapped it closed. “It’s time for you to head out,” he said solemnly.
Bo
one stood with the Reverend Beaumont in front of the fountain and waited for Amelia to appear, when a sudden and sickening thought occurred to him. What if she changed her mind? What if he were left standing there like some fool waiting for his bride? He wouldn’t blame her if she did. Certainly, even if her brother had not forced her into this, circumstances had. She’d acted skittish and distant toward him ever since that kiss, and he’d tortured himself with doubts about his ability to please his future wife. Perhaps he’d enjoyed the kiss far more than she had. Perhaps when she’d begged him to touch her, he’d been going about it so wrong, she’d felt obliged to take it upon herself to guide him.
His stomach clenched and he willed himself not to get ill.
“The ladies always take their time,” Beaumont said with false bravado, which only served to increase Boone’s anxiety. He could almost hear his father’s voice in his head. “What did you expect, you little shit, that you could have a girl that pretty? You?”
And then, like a vision, she appeared at the doorway on her brother’s arm, smiling as if she were happy, as if this wedding was something she welcomed. Boone nearly fainted with relief.
She walked the few steps toward Boone with her brother, then kissed him on the cheek before turning to her groom and offering him a brilliant smile. God help him, but he felt his eyes burn with unshed tears as he smiled back.
They both turned toward the preacher, who boomed out the vows so everyone in the small courtyard could hear, and within minutes, Boone was slipping a simple gold ring on her finger. It had been in his store waiting for an owner for as long as he could remember.
Amelia stood before him, staring at that ring, and then looked up at him, her eyes shining. “We’re married,” she said, as if stunned by such a strange development.
“Kiss ’er, Doc!” someone yelled.
Amelia got up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly to the hoots and hollers of the men around them. A wedding, Texas-style.
Within minutes, the couple was surrounded by well-wishers, the fiddlers started playing lively music, and the whiskey and tequila started pouring.
Amelia couldn’t believe how many people, total strangers to her, had shown up at her wedding, bearing small gifts and large platters of food. She’d expected a tiny ceremony attended only by her brother and Maggie, not this raucous gathering.
“You are the most beautiful bride I’ve ever laid eyes on,” Agatha said, hugging her tightly.
“Oh, Agatha, you didn’t have to come, but thank you so much,” Amelia said, feeling close to tears that this woman had left her dying husband to see her wed.
“Poor Enrique doesn’t know if I’m there or not anymore, I’m afraid. Besides, I haven’t missed a wedding in Small Fork in thirty years. ’Course, there haven’t been too many of them,” she said, laughing.
It was good to see Agatha smiling again.
Amelia saw Boone looking rather out of place in the midst of a group of back-slapping men, all with nearly empty glasses in their hands. But Boone was smiling and shaking his head at something. That’s when Amelia saw Julia hovering near the fringes of the crowd, and she made her way over to her friend.
Grasping her hands, she said, “I’m so glad you came.”
“I am, too, but I think I’ll be headin’ home now. You look beautiful, Mrs. Kitteridge,” she said.
Hearing herself called Mrs. Kitteridge should have sounded strange, but Amelia had been calling herself that in her head for months—even if it was for another Kitteridge man. “Thank you. I’ll be by to visit in a few days, if that’s all right with you.”
“Are you two going on a wedding trip?” she asked, with strange intensity.
It took only a moment to realize Julia lived in fear of Boone leaving her, even for a short time. Even though Julia fought to hide her anxiety, Amelia knew the other woman was hoping they were staying put. “We’ve nothing planned.”
Julia shook her head apologetically. “I’ve been hearing things, is all. Probably nothing but rumors.” She smiled and gave Amelia a quick hug. “I’ll see you soon. I hope you like your gift.”
Amelia clapped her hands together, delighted. “I adore gifts! Dare I hope it’s one of your vases?”
“My favorite so far.”
Julia left and Amelia turned to see Boone smiling at her in a way that made her feel self-conscious, as if she’d been doing something extraordinary by talking to Julia.
He moved to her side, not an easy task with so many rowdy men hampering his path.
“There’ll be plenty of time for the wife later, Boone,” yelled one of the rough-looking men. “C’mon and have a drink with us.”
“You all start the dancing,” Boone shouted back and to Amelia’s surprise, they moved away from the crowd and started swinging each other around in time to the music, appearing to be having the time of their lives. The only three single women in the crowd were already taken, and looked rather exhausted by the exuberant dancing.
“When shall we have our dance, Dr. Kitteridge?” Amelia asked saucily. Boone’s cheeks instantly turned ruddy, a clear sign he was feeling uncomfortable. “Do not tell me you cannot dance. Why I shall file for annulment on the spot.”
She said it to be funny, but Boone looked bothered by her words.
“I’m only jesting. Surely you know that,” Amelia said gently. Boone could be prickly about the most unusual things, which only reminded Amelia how little she knew her husband.
“I never learned how to dance. I didn’t have much chance to socialize when I was younger.”
Amelia recalled what Carson had told her about Boone’s childhood, and then felt terrible for making him feel self-conscious. She’d just assumed that Boone could dance because Carson had danced, if not well, with enthusiasm. “I don’t expect it’s a necessary skill for a physician,” she said. “In fact, I don’t expect there are many formal balls in Small Fork to hone one’s dancing ability.”
Boone looked down at her and something in his eyes made her heart catch for just a moment. He gave her a crooked grin. “I seem to be lacking in quite a few skills required of a husband.”
“Nothing that cannot be overcome with proper tutoring.” She laughed when his eyes widened with surprise, but she couldn’t help herself. She adored flirting; it was one of her better skills, and she certainly didn’t mind using it on her new husband.
“I am a fast learner,” he said, in that measured way he spoke. She wished he talked more, for she loved his accent, the slow, clear way in which he spoke, as if every word had its own hidden, subtle meaning.
The party continued, growing more and more raucous, and Amelia found herself dragged into a dance more than once. After a few startled moments, she relaxed and began to enjoy being thrown about the dance floor with such abandon. During one dance, she saw Boone, head bent listening to another man, his face intent, and Amelia wondered what could be so serious a topic on his wedding day.
The last few days he’d been kept busier than usual with his practice, thanks to the very men she was dancing with now. Ranch hands were a rather careless lot when it came to their health, it seemed. One young man was watching rather mournfully from the sidelines on crutches, with his leg in a splint.
Eventually, her brother claimed her for a dance, and it was like going from a tumultuous sea to a calm pond. “I daresay Boone cannot dance any worse than my partners thus far,” Amelia said, laughing up at her brother, who was positively elegant in his formal attire. He knew he stood out, but he announced it was only befitting to dress his best at his sister’s wedding.
“I feared for your life,” Edward said dryly.
“They are all lovely men. They just need a bit of refinement. Perhaps I should open up a school for Texas gentlemen to teach them a bit of deportment and other necessary skills.”
“I hardly think they need to know the proper way to bow working on a ranch,” Edward said.
“Everyone should have basic manners, Edward. Just look at you. If you h
adn’t had the proper education, you wouldn’t have been ready to take on the earldom.”
“With my fine employees, a lap dog could do what I do.”
“True,” Amelia said, just to needle him. No doubt her big brother had expected her to protest.
“I have learned quite a bit and am taking on more work,” he said, sounding almost peevish, which only caused Amelia to laugh aloud.
“I’d forgotten how easy it is to tease you,” Amelia said. “I’ve given Boone fits in my efforts to make him laugh. He’s a hard nut to crack, though.”
The fiddlers stopped their rather buoyant waltz and Amelia begged for a rest, much to the disappointment of several young men.
Boone immediately went to her and pressed a cool glass of lemonade into her hand. She looked particularly flushed from the dancing in the day’s heat. A fine sheen of perspiration covered her face, making her hair cling to her cheek in wet strands. Another woman might have looked simply sweaty, but Amelia seemed to glow with happiness.
“Oh,” she said, looking down into her glass with delight. “Is that ice? Truly? Thank you. I feel as if I might faint.” She pressed the cool glass against her forehead and let out a sigh, a sound very much like the one she’d made when he’d kissed her.
Boone felt such a rush of lust, it took him a moment before he could speak. “It’s the last of the ice until winter,” Boone said. “The warehouse is nothing but a soggy puddle of sawdust about now.”
“This is the best wedding present,” Amelia said, meaning it.
“You look like you are enjoying yourself.”
“I am,” Amelia said. “I do love to dance. I could dance all day and all night if it weren’t so dreadfully hot. I wish you would try. These men certainly have had no formal training.”
Boone stared out at the men who were so exuberantly dancing about. “I don’t like to look foolish,” he said.
Amelia frowned. “I don’t know who looks more foolish, then. These men with their enthusiasm or you, who refuses to dance with your bride.” Her words came out far harsher than she’d meant, perhaps because she truly was disappointed not to dance with her husband on her wedding day.
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