His Brother's Bride (Historical Regency Romance)

by Rose Gordon

  Curious, Laura leaned toward the window. “I don't see anything so extraordinarily different than the landscape on the other side of the boarder.”

  “It's not the landscape,” he murmured. “I'm looking for a house.”

  “A house?”

  “To get married in,” he said, as if that explained everything.

  She sat back in her seat, staring at him. What an odd man he was. “Do they not have churches here?”

  “No.” He grinned ruefully. “They have kirks.”

  “And why is it you aren't looking for one of those?” Not that she even understood why he thought to drag her to Scotland to marry her in the first place; but if it's what he wanted, it wouldn't hurt to be agreeable.

  “In Scotland, it's not necessary to marry in a church. All you have to do is have two witnesses.”

  “Two witnesses for what?”

  “To hear you declare your undying love and devotion to me.”

  Laughter sputtered past her lips. “How about the words, 'Yes, I'll take that one.'?”

  “I suppose that will work—as long as you're pointing to me when you say it.” His hand shot to the roof and he gave three sharp raps. “Stop.”

  The coachman said something in response and then the carriage came to an abrupt halt.

  Laura lost her seat and would have been thrown to the floor if not for Henry's strong hands encircling her waist. She scampered back into her seat. “Thank you.”

  “You're welcome. Would you like to wait here or come with me?”

  Laura peeked out the window to the shabby house. “Are you sure they'll wish to be disturbed?”

  “Those people are exactly the kind who would like to be disturbed for something like an impromptu marriage.”

  “Why?” she drew the word out as she said it.

  “Because those who are in need of money are far more likely to agree to things that those who have all they need would rather not be bothered with.”

  She'd been impoverished once; she couldn't argue his logic. “I'll wait here.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Henry came back with a rotund, red-faced and red-haired woman wearing a green dress on his arm. “Laura, I'd like you to meet Mrs. Campbell. Mrs. Campbell, this is my intended, Laura.”

  “Aye, she's a pretty young lassie, isn't she?” Mrs. Campbell clapped her hands together. “Well, com' alon' then, lassie. We gots a weddin' to plan.”

  “Plan?” Laura squeaked.

  Henry shrugged.

  Laura lifted her eyebrows at him. She wasn't stepping one foot out of this carriage until she knew what was going on.

  “Don't worry,” Henry said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “She knows we're two young lovers on the run from your angry brother and we need to wed and bed before nightfall.”

  Laura gasped. “Did you actually say that?”

  “Does it matter? There isn't a person who's reached their majority who doesn't know what will be happening between us tonight.”

  “That might be true, but you needn't discuss it with strangers.”

  “I didn't,” he whispered in return. “But Mr. and Mrs. Campbell were unable to have children of their own, so won't you please humor them and act as their daughter for the day? Who knows, you might actually enjoy the attention.”

  She doubted that but looked into the pleading eyes of Mrs. Campbell. Clearing her throat and offering her best smile at the woman, she said, “It'd be my pleasure if you'd help plan our wedding, Mrs. Campbell.”

  A giant grin split the older woman's face. “Come alon', then.” She made a rolling hand gesture toward Laura. “An' ye, Mr. Ban's, will go see Mr. Campbell in de woodshed for some mari'tal advice.”

  Laura pressed her lips together to conceal her laughter and they exchanged a look.

  “I donna' mean ta be so fo'ward, but when wa' da las' time ye had a bath?”

  “A few weeks,” Laura said with a blush.

  Mrs. Campbell tsk, tsked. “Firs' thin' ye need is a good scrub.” Mrs. Campbell held open the door to her house.

  The interior reminded Laura of one of the cabins that the field hands on her father's plantation lived in, with all the furniture in one room. Except this one room was much larger, was better organized, and had nicer furniture.

  “It's no' much,” Mrs. Campbell said, wiping her hands on her white apron. “But et suits us nicely.”

  “It's beautiful,” Laura said truthfully. She ran her fingers along the beautifully carved headboard.

  “Mr. Campbell car'ed thet jist af'er we was married.” The pride in her husband shone in her face.

  “He did a wonderful job.”

  Mrs. Campbell lifted both hands and gestured openly to the entire room. “Mr. Campbell built the cabin 'fore we's married, then built everythin' ye see. Starting wit de bed,” she said with a wink.

  Laura's skin grew warm and she did her best not to turn her lip up in disgust. She'd met several ladies, mostly intimate friends of Robbie's, who enjoyed bedroom activities. She, however, had never grown to enjoy them. Apparently Mrs. Campbell had.

  “Ye mek yerself comfer'ble. I'll get the wa'er ready.” She walked over to the cookstove and started a fire, then grabbed a large metal pail and exited the back of the house.

  Laura walked around the small, yet tidy, home, admiring the woman's belongings. Quilts hung over most of the windows, handmade by Mrs. Campbell, if she had to guess. A small table and four chairs were positioned next to a window. Shelves and cabinets lined the wall close to the table, presumably where Mrs. Campbell prepared their meals.

  Mrs. Campbell came back in; her large metal pail leaving a small trail of water drops behind her. She hoisted it up on top of the cookstove.

  “Turn so I can he'p ye undress.”

  Laura's eyes flew to the open window.

  “They's canna' see anythin'. But if it make ye feel better, I'll close 'em.” She walked over to each of the windows along the back of the house that were uncovered and hung a quilt over the small rod above each. “Thar.”

  Somewhat satisfied her modesty had been preserved, she turned to offer Mrs. Campbell her back.

  Mrs. Campbell wasn't overly gentle as she unlaced Laura's gown, but neither was she overly aggressive or intending to be cruel. She was clearly a woman who'd weathered some hard storms in her life, both literally and figuratively. She lived out on the plains in Scotland, where even now in the summer months, there was a slight chill in the air. The Campbells didn't appear wealthy, by any means, relying only on themselves to get by. It was little wonder Mrs. Campbell's hands were calloused and her movements not delicate. Lucinda, Laura's stepmother, hadn't ever had to do more than just speak and the task was done for her; she had taken joy in the sounds of Laura's screams when she insisted on brushing her hair for her or helping her dress.

  It felt good to be out of her dress. Henry had offered to help her remove it the first night at the inn, but she feared he wouldn't be able to help her dress again in the morning and slept fully dressed.

  “Ye can breathe, eh?” Mrs. Campbell said, sliding her corset down.

  Laura took a deep breath. “Yes.” She took another inhale. “And it feels good.”

  “Do ye know wot to expect yer bonny Mr. Ban's ta do to ye tonight.”

  And in one second, all that fresh air Laura had inhaled fled her lungs with a whoosh. “Yes. I've—”

  “Shush now,” Mrs. Campbell said with a giggle. “I tho't ye migh' ha'e tried him out once er twice already, no need ta confess.”

  Mortification flooded Laura and threatened to overcome her when the shameless woman continued on.

  “I wa'n't a vir'jin on me weddin' nigh', either,” she said with another giggle. “Mr. Campbell an' me...well we had our fun.”

  Laura closed her eyes, willing anything to happen just now to end this conversation. She'd even be willing to allow Henry or Mr. Campbell to glimpse at her in her shift if it would put an end to this woman's words.

  “It only gets be'er,
” Mrs. Campbell confided. “'Fore yer married, yer 'fraid of gittin' cau't. Afterwar's, well, he'll slow down a bit.”

  Laura nearly snorted. She didn't remember it that way. Intimacies with Robbie had been rushed; and if they weren't rushed, they were mortifying and painful. Well, they were painful, rushed or drawn out. Except that once... But the longer time had gone by, the more she doubted her own memory.

  “Ye donna' nee' ta be 'mbarrassed. If yer esca'in' to Scotland, ye must love him some'en' fierce.” She looked down to Laura's belly. “Unless...”

  Laura's hands went to her flat stomach. “No.” And it wasn't likely the flatness would ever change unless she began overeating; for she was quite certain that after so long and so many times she'd performed the act, she was barren. She had to be.

  A high pitched scraping made her cringe and she turned to find Mrs. Campbell dragging the copper tub to the middle of the floor. She then went to the cookstove and removed the pail of steaming water. She lugged it across the room and then poured it into the tub. “I'll be back.”

  Laura nodded and stared at the half-full tub longingly. It had been a very long time since she'd taken a bath. So long, she could hardly care anymore, as the time got closer, if anyone were to see her.

  Mrs. Campbell came back inside and lifted the pail back onto the stove again. “I won't get this one so hot.”

  Laura nodded, and from the edge of the nearly covered window in front of her, she could see Henry and Mr. Campbell walking past and couldn't help but wonder what they were talking about.

  ***

  “Now be sure ta kess an' touch her aplenty tonigh'. Ye rush ta 'de bed an' ye migh' as well become a monk t'morrow.”

  Henry blew out a deep breath. For the last fifteen minutes, all Mr. Campbell had been able to talk about was Henry and Laura's wedding night; which, by the way, was making Henry looking forward to it less and less with each passing moment.

  “Sir,” Henry interrupted. “I know you mean well, but—”

  “Tin lis'en to wot I says,” the old man said, banging his fist on the table.

  Henry sighed. He'd been the one who'd told Laura to humor Mrs. Campbell by allowing her to plan a wedding for the afternoon. He supposed it was only fair he endure Mr. Campbell's uncomfortable conversation.

  “Now,” Mr. Campbell continued, “Mrs. Banks will be differen' than da lasses ye had 'fore.”

  Henry almost snorted but didn't want to interrupt and have him start over again.

  “Ye be gen'le, ye kin?”

  “I kin,” Henry mumbled, pressing his fingertips against his eyelids.

  Mr. Campbell looked doubtful. “Yer fa'er have dis tak wit ye, lad?”

  “Yes,” Henry bit off. “He did.”

  “Aye,” the older man said; a hint of sadness in his green eyes that made Henry regret being so short with the man. Mr. Campbell hadn't had the opportunity Father had, explaining such a topic with three sons. He was only trying to be helpful.

  A bit of shame came over Henry. “But there is no harm in being reminded,” he said solemnly.

  The corners of the older man's eyes crinkled. “Good. Did he tell ye wot to 'spect on the sheets?”

  Henry nearly choked on his own tongue. “Yes.” Not that it mattered. She'd been married before; but at the moment, he was too shocked to put that into a coherent statement.

  “Aye. An' does ye know how to 'splain it to her?”

  Oh gads. This must stop. “Sir, my future wife is a widow. I'm sure she knows exactly what to expect.”

  Mr. Campbell's eyes flared wide and then he cocked his head to the side. “An' do ye?”

  “Yes,” Henry said through clenched teeth. “No. I mean—” He cleared his throat. “It's not what you think. She's a widow and we're getting married; but we have not been...sharing intimacies in the interim, if that's what you're implying.”

  Mr. Campbell threw his hands into the air. “I sed no such thin'. I'd ne'er im'ly a lass as fine as that one woul' be easy wit her vir'ue. I was jist askin' if ye knew how ta bed a widow.”

  “I'd imagine it'd be the same as bedding any woman,” Henry muttered.

  “Nay. It's more diff'cult. She has 'spectations.”

  “Expectations?”

  “Aye.” The old man nodded once. “Me bro'er married a widow.” He grimaced. “Wretched lass, she was. He donna' hav' any kin. His lass donna like ta share his bed.”

  Silence filled the air between them. There were only two possible explanations for that: one, she'd still loved her previous husband and poor Mr. Campbell couldn't compare, or two, she'd sincerely hated intimacies. Henry shook off the thought.

  “Ye, mus' make this yer bes' performance, lad. O it migh' be yer las'.”

  ~Chapter Twenty~

  “Mr. Ban's, yer bride is a'mos' ready,” Mrs. Campbell informed him with a wide grin.

  Thank heavens. Much longer out here with Mr. Campbell and his marital advice, and Henry might abduct the bride and take her to Gretna Green to get married over the anvil, as he should have in the first place.

  “I s'pose tis time to git da groom ready, eh?” Mr. Campbell said.

  “Pardon me?” Henry said at the same time Mrs. Campbell said, “Aye. His clo'se are layin' out on de bed.”

  “Clothes?” Henry repeated. He gestured to what he was wearing. “What is wrong with what I have on?”

  “'Tis dusty,” Mrs. Campbell said, twisting her lips.

  “An' unfas'ion'ble,” Mr. Campbell added, shocking Henry to the toes. Mr. Campbell was wearing a tattered white shirt with more holes in the front than Swiss cheese and a pair of threadbare tan trousers that sported stains of green, black, grey and red all down the front and back. What could he possibly know about fashion?

  “Come, lad, the bath es ready.”

  Henry cast a quick glance to where Mr. Campbell was still sitting on his low stool, not making a move to get up. He turned his eyes back to the eager Mrs. Campbell. “And do you plan to bathe me, madam?”

  She flushed but didn't say anything. “Come.”

  Warily, Henry followed Mrs. Campbell inside her modest home.

  “Shall I leave?” Laura asked with a slight giggle when she saw him.

  Henry nodded his head and dropped his eyes to the steaming tub. “That might be for the best. I should hate for my intended to get jealous and cry off when she sees the fine Mrs. Campbell here bathe me,” he said dryly.

  Laura waggled her eyebrows at him. “Oh my!” she said on another giggle.

  “Love, I thin' that's 'nuf wine.” Mrs. Campbell walked over to where an empty glass was resting on the end table near where Laura was standing. “I only mean' fer ye ta have 'nuf to relax a bit.”

  Laura's lips dipped into an overdone frown. “I'm not drunk.”

  “Nay,” Mrs. Campbell agreed and then added, “Not yet.” She plunked the glass down on the counter then motioned for Laura to come over to her. “Les' go ou'si'e an' tell Mr. Cam'bell where ye wan' ta have the cer'mony.” She then looked at Henry. “The food will be done soon, so ye be'er hurra if ye donna wan' me peekin'.”

  Henry didn't think there was anything that could make him flush with embarrassment, but Mrs. Campbell's statement proved him wrong.

  “C'mon, lass,” Mrs. Campbell said, leading Laura out the door. When she shut the door, it caused a small breeze to blow through the house, filling Henry's nose with the delicious scent of shepherd's pie.

  He licked his lips and then scowled when his eyes fell on the atrocious costume Mrs. Campbell had laid out for him: a kilt. He shuddered.

  This was his idea, he reminded himself, as he stripped off his coat and then removed his cravat and waistcoat. He threw them over the back of a nearby chair, then removed the rest of his clothes and stepped into the tub.

  Gripping the sides, he lowered himself into the steaming water and proceeded to bathe. He picked up the half-cake of soap on the edge next to him and spun it to create a foamy lather, then washed. The warm water felt good against
his skin, but he didn't want to linger. The sooner he finished, the sooner they'd be married; and the sooner they were married... The soap slipped from his hand and he scowled down at the part of his anatomy that had suddenly decided to make its presence known. There was no use in denying he was drawn to Laura. He was. And no matter how uncomfortable his chat with Mr. Campbell had become at times, he still wanted nothing more than to strip her of her clothes and— He squeezed his eyes shut. The last thing he needed was to let his lusty thoughts get away from him while he was in the tub. He had no doubt Mrs. Campbell would be bold enough to follow through with her earlier threat.

  He stood and turned his back to the door in case she chose that exact moment to open the door, then grabbed the towel and quickly dried off, all the while staring at the offending clothing he was expected to wear. His eyes traveled back to the ones he'd worn when they'd arrived. They weren't so bad. A bit dusty and wrinkled, perhaps. He picked up his shirt and sniffed. And foul-smelling. Yes, they were a tad sour. An image of Laura wearing the Scottish costume Mrs. Campbell had given her flashed in his mind and he dropped his shirt and sighed. For Laura. He was doing this for her.

  Slowly, he walked to the bed and began getting dressed. Kilts didn't go down very far, anyway—right around the knee; but with Mr. Campbell being a good five inches shorter than Henry, he felt almost as exposed wearing the kilt as he had been with only the towel. He took a deep breath and finished dressing, then went outside and froze when his eyes landed on the form not ten feet in front of him.

  Hair flowing in the breeze and her large plaid skirt flaring wide all around her, she spun and spun, laughing as she did. His heart slammed in his chest. He might hate the revealing kilt he was wearing, but it was worth it to see Laura so happy out in the middle of the field like that.

  “Oh, excuse me,” Laura said with a giggle as she came to a halt.

  Pray continue. Henry cleared his throat. “You're looking very beautiful.”

  Her hazel eyes scanned his body and another giggle passed her lips. “You're very muscular,” she said laughingly.