Wed by Necessity

by Karen Kirst

  She lifted her chin. “I’m not going to accept a challenge for something you’ve obviously been doing your entire life.”

  “Fine. We willnae make this a competition. But you ken I can be as stubborn as you, lass. I’m no’ going to stop pestering you.”

  “You’re insufferable.”

  He grinned. “I’ve heard that a time or two.”

  Caroline removed her boots. When she started to tie up her skirts, she ordered him to be a gentleman and turn around.

  “All right. Let’s get this over with.”

  Deliberately not peeking at the white pantaloons he knew were visible below her knees, he took her hand and guided her into the lake.

  “It’s icky. And squishy,” she complained, her fingers clutching at his.

  “You get used to it. The water feels nice, though, right?”

  Her navy eyes thoughtful, she nodded.

  “Have you never gone swimming?” With reluctance, he let go of her hand and gave her the pole.

  She arched a brow. “Do you think Louise Moore Turner would approve?”

  “You’re a married woman now. You no longer have to live to please her. You can splash around to your heart’s content.”

  Staring out across the lake’s surface, she contemplated that for long moments. Ribbons of sunlight streaming through the lofty branches overhead set her hair to shining like a luminous pearl. Today she’d tied the mass back with a patterned ribbon. It didn’t matter whether her hair style was elegant or simple, her clothing stitched in Paris or in a Tennessee cabin—her beauty didn’t change. The disturbing loneliness in her eyes didn’t change. The sadness around her mouth didn’t change.

  Duncan’s heart pounded with the need to make things better for her, to make her forget the expectations and pressures of life. But all the while his mind was sounding an alarm. Let’s not forget she doesn’t share the same values. Her outlook on the world is defined by different parameters, one I understand but no longer adhere to.

  Behind him, he heard a plop in the water. He pointed out the target and urged her to try. Her first few attempts were halfhearted. Gradually, though, she loosened up and began to put effort into it. The frogs were fast. It was impossible to predict which direction they’d jump in. Each time she missed, splashing water on the both of them, her laughter danced on the breeze. The curve of her lips against perfect white teeth, the crinkles at the corners of her almond-shaped eyes, mesmerized him.

  Muttering a sound of determination, Caroline leapt forward and brought the pole down with such force it splattered bits of mud over the front of his pants. She clapped her hand over her mouth to try and stifle a giggle.

  “You think this is funny, do you?”

  He bent to scoop a palmful of mud from the lake bottom and straightened, dirty water streaming down his arm to his elbow. Grinning like a fool, he advanced.

  Her eyes rounded. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  Seizing her arm, he held her long enough to swipe the muck across her shoulder and exposed skin above the blouse’s scooped collar.

  “Duncan!” She squealed and wriggled out of reach. For a moment, she simply stared at him, and he couldn’t decide if she was going to march off in a huff or tackle him.

  She did neither. In a matter of seconds, she’d scooped up her own ammunition and came after him. Laughter rumbling in his chest, he dodged her. Caroline splashed after him and managed to get his back wet and dirty.

  “Oh, this is war,” he promised.

  By the time she called for a cease-fire, they were more wet than dry and far dirtier than when they’d arrived. Her hair hung in disarray past her shoulders. Flecks of drying mud dotted her face and arms. Like him, she’d be digging dirt from beneath her fingernails that night.

  Breathing hard, one hand pressed against her stomach, she pointed to the pail. “We’ve managed to catch only one. It’s going to be a light meal tonight, I’m afraid.”

  A carefree smile animated her features.

  “I dinnae care about that.”

  “No? I thought that was the point.”

  Quickly rinsing his hands, he shook off the excess water and waded over to her. He didn’t stop until he stood right in front of her. Her smile slipped and a groove appeared between her brows.

  “Did you enjoy yourself?” he murmured.

  Looking down, she assessed the damage. “I’m not going to relish cleaning these clothes, but I admit it was fun.”

  “That was the point. To make you laugh and forget what an idiot your husband can be.”

  “You’re not an idiot.” Her opaque gaze locked onto his. “At least, not every day,” she amended with a smile that, on Caroline, could be considered saucy.

  The water lapped their thighs. Around her, the material of her skirt floated, air bubbles trapped beneath it. Duncan gingerly raked her hair away from her face, trailing the silken strands to their ends, reveling in the sensations she wrought in him. She became very still while he caressed her cheek.

  “I’m a mess,” she whispered.

  “A beautiful mess,” he countered.

  Inch by inch, he lowered his head, giving her time to push him away. She didn’t, and he inwardly rejoiced. He’d been waiting for this moment since their wedding day. He’d just pressed his lips to hers and settled his hand at her waist when her hands came up and, framing his face, broke contact.

  “Caroline?”

  “Don’t kiss me because it’s convenient or because you’re curious.” She swallowed hard, her expression pleading. “Don’t kiss me if you don’t like me.”

  He understood then how crucial it was to proceed with care. By her own admission, she hadn’t ever been courted in earnest. Her heart was untried and fragile. He’d hurt her if he wasn’t careful. Duncan wouldn’t love her. She wasn’t the type of woman he’d allow himself to love. But they could develop a deep fondness for each other that included respect and trust.

  “I like you, Caroline,” he said truthfully. “Very much. That’s why the thought of you having feelings for another man bothered me.”

  “Oh.” Her hands migrated to his chest. “I—I like you, too.”

  He smiled, confident they could be affectionate without crossing into dangerous emotional territory.

  Spanning her waist, he tugged her against him. “May I kiss you now, fair lass?”

  “Please.”

  When their mouths met a second time, hers tentative and sweet with the blueberry preserves she’d eaten earlier, Duncan could only think how happy he was that they hadn’t kissed in front of their wedding guests. As her knees buckled and her fingers curled into his shirt, he felt off balance. He was acutely aware of the differences in their heights, the way her softness molded to him as she snuggled closer, her rose scent mingling with earth and grass. A rush of delight spun through him, catching him off guard. It didn’t take long for the embrace to speed from manageable to intense.

  He had to pull back before the haze enveloping his mind completely obliterated his common sense. Regret filling him, Duncan lifted his head and did his best to affect a lazy, unaffected smile.

  “I think we’ve established we like each other.”

  Her features were soft and unguarded, her manner shy. “I want to show you something.”

  “What? Now?”

  “If you’d rather not...”

  He cut her off with a quick, firm kiss. “Lead the way, woman.”

  As they climbed onto the bank, Duncan was afraid he would follow her anywhere. All she had to do was ask.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Caroline was positive she wasn’t making a mistake. Still basking in the wonder of Duncan’s embrace, she unlocked the door to her private sanctuary and allowed him to enter. They’d left the pond and come straight here. He’d w
ashed his feet as best he could before donning his socks and boots and rolling down his pants. Although disheveled, he was unbearably handsome, his features now as familiar to her as her own. His hair was tousled and dark copper in spots where it was still damp. Looking at his mouth made her feel funny inside, like she’d discovered a secret no one else was privy to. What they’d shared together, no other experience in her whole life could compare.

  Standing in the middle of the room, she moved in a circle in accordance with his movements, anxiously gauging his reaction.

  The room was a predictable box shape, about half the size of their cabin, the thick log walls barely visible behind neat rows of hanging masks. The masks were comprised of every shade of the rainbow and created a kaleidoscope of color, cheering the space. On the wall opposite the door, sunlight sought to breach the thick crimson curtain covering the window.

  Duncan looked awestruck. She couldn’t decide whether that was good or bad.

  He wandered slowly around the room, reaching out to touch an elephant’s trunk, peering closer at a lion’s mane crafted of golden threads, frowning at the one stark white, unadorned face mask tucked in one corner. When he reached her workbench, he bent to survey the neat arrangement of supplies and tools. With reverence, he picked up the undecorated butterfly mask she’d started this week and held it in both hands.

  Finally, his astonished gaze sought hers. “You made all of these?”

  Hands clasped tightly behind her back, she nodded.

  “They’re magnificent.” His gaze roamed the room again. “You’re very talented, Caroline.”

  Pleasure unfurled inside, and she felt like she could breathe again. “Wendell knows about my work because I needed a window and asked him to cut it out for me.” It was high enough on the wall to prevent anyone from peeking in while she was working, and she kept the curtains closed when she wasn’t. “You’re the only other person I’ve brought here.”

  He replaced the mask in progress and sank his hands in his pockets. “There are quite a number of them. How long have you been doing this? Did someone teach you?”

  “I’m self-taught. I’d had some art instruction from my tutors, of course. Mostly sketching, painting on canvas and clay sculpting. The summer I turned eighteen, my mother decided to host a masquerade party—we don’t have the space for a grand ball—and invite friends from Charleston. Masquerade balls are a yearly event there, and an unofficial competition exists between the attendees to outdo each other. Skilled mask makers are paid handsomely for their work.”

  “And this party sparked your interest?”

  She smiled, remembering the fun she’d had coming up with ideas for her own mask. She’d corresponded with Alberto Senetti, a well-known artist in Charleston, who’d brought her vision to life. “My mother gave me the freedom to work with a famous mask maker. It was the most beautiful mask I’d ever seen. My gown was ivory satin studded with seed pearls. My mask covered half of my face and was crafted of white owl feathers, ribbons and pearls to match my gown.”

  “You must’ve been a vision.” The admiration in his gaze warmed her. “I’d like to see it.”

  “I’m afraid that’s not possible,” she told him with regret. “My mother and I got in an argument after the guests left. She was upset. She said I hadn’t applied myself to capturing some young man’s fancy. I forget now who he was.” She did remember the anger and disappointment she’d felt. “Up until that point, I’d actually enjoyed myself, spending most of my time with Jane, Jessica and their sisters. My mother hadn’t been keen on inviting locals, but I begged her.”

  Duncan looked annoyed. From the start of his employment, his disapproval of Louise had been obvious. At least to Caroline. “I’m sorry you had to endure that.”

  “I’m used to it.”

  His brows descended. “What happened to the mask?”

  “I pitched a childish fit and ripped it to shreds before her eyes. I’d intended to anger her. I only ended up hurting myself. I regretted my actions immediately.”

  Glancing around again, he said, “And so you decided to remake it? Where is the copy?”

  “There isn’t one. I couldn’t hope to re-create Mr. Senetti’s craftsmanship.”

  “You should give it a try.” He ran his fingertip along the edge of a rounded grizzly bear mask. “May I?”

  She smiled in answer.

  He gingerly lifted it from the nail it was perched on and held it up to his face. Only his eyes were visible. “Well?” his voice was muffled.

  “Nice.” She sidestepped him and chose a sleek black, elegant leopard. “But I think this one would look better.”

  They exchanged masks, his eyes dancing and his smile relaxed. If only he’d remain like this forever... Happy in her company.

  After hanging up the bear, she took hold of Duncan’s shoulders and directed him to the mirror suspended above the workbench. Standing beside him, she watched as he studied his reflection.

  “I can picture you at a masquerade wearing a three-piece suit in solid black,” she said. “Every man would wish they could be like you, and every woman would want to know your name.”

  He chuckled and set the mask aside. “I widnae mind attending a masquerade if only to give your talent a chance to shine. These creations shouldn’t be hidden in a stable, Caroline. People should be able to enjoy them.”

  Three empty spots seemed to scream her secret. Maybe people would get a chance to do just that, though not of her own free will. She’d crafted the letter asking for leniency and planned to deliver it in the morning while Duncan mended the fence.

  “I wanted to do something just for me.” Picking up the jaguar, she returned it to its spot. “Without the pressure of trying to impress anyone.”

  “Understandable. But it’s clear you have talent. The proof’s on these walls.”

  She prayed the owner of Lambert’s Curiosities and Antiquities agreed with Duncan. Otherwise, her family’s livelihood and reputation could suffer.

  * * *

  Something was bothering his wife, and he had no idea what it was. Duncan didn’t think it had anything to do with him. After cleaning up from their mud fight yesterday, they’d prepared fried chicken and roasted potatoes—she’d declined to observe how to kill said chicken—and conversed more about her hobby over a leisurely meal. He was in awe of her ability and humbled that she’d revealed that part of herself to him. A private person, Caroline was accustomed to presenting a facade to others, one that masked her true self. The more he glimpsed of that strong, smart, sweet woman, the more invested he became in this marriage.

  After dinner, he’d hung the completed curtains. Her blushing pleasure at his praise lingered in his mind. He’d longed to hold her again. Knowing he had to proceed with caution, he’d fought against it and had paid with an interminable night of tossing and turning in his lonely bed.

  “Turn left up ahead.” Beside him on the wagon seat, Caroline pointed to a grouping of dogwood trees. “The Murrays are the only inhabitants of this cove.”

  She was radiant in her fitted, tangerine-hued blouse tucked into a navy skirt. The vivid color complemented her complexion and offset her dark blue irises. The effect was marred by the worry at the back of her eyes. She’d been skittish the entire morning, ever since he’d intercepted her on his return from fixing the fence. When he’d asked where she’d been, she’d spluttered something about wanting fresh air. She was a terrible liar.

  So what could she have been up to?

  Duncan prayed it wasn’t something that would shatter the tenuous harmony they’d achieved. He liked spending time with her. He liked discovering new things about her. He wanted—no, he needed—her to trust him, to continue to open up to him. Thinking too hard about the reason for that was something he refused to do.

  Maybe it had been an innocent jaunt in the
forest. It was possible she thought he’d be angry if he discovered her taking a break from chores.

  Guiding the team onto the lane, he glanced at her profile. “You know, I don’t expect you to work from dawn to dusk. I don’t mind if you take walks or spend time in your art room.”

  Her features became pinched. “I’m glad you feel that way, because I’m not used to being responsible for every aspect of household management.”

  “You’re trying. That’s what matters.”

  Was she the finest cook he’d encountered? No, but she was still learning, and he was enjoying teaching her. She’d made peace with Lulabelle and gathering eggs no longer spooked her. She’d proved to be an accomplished seamstress and anyone could sweep and mop a floor.

  The Murrays’ two-story cabin was in good shape, but the vegetable patch was overgrown with weeds and the barn had multiple boards that needed to be replaced.

  With a quiet command, Duncan guided the team to a stop. Free-roaming chickens squawked and scuttled out of the way. Behind the cabin, the steep hillside housed hunting dogs that had commenced furious barking the moment he and Caroline arrived.

  “Fletcher Murray has been ill for almost a year,” Caroline explained above the racket. “He suffers from a blood disorder that leaves him weak. The older kids pitch in with the farmwork, but it’s been a struggle to make ends meet.”

  Coming around to her side, he placed his hands on either side of her waist and swung her down. “It’s kind of you to help them.”

  “I can’t take credit for the idea.”

  “No, but you executed it.” Following her to the rear of the wagon bed, he added, “You solicited donations, and you’re taking the time to come here personally. You could’ve delegated those tasks.”

  Her response was cut short as the door banged open and a passel of chattering kids spilled out, greeting Caroline with shy smiles and regarding him with open curiosity. Her smile reappearing, she introduced him. They ranged in age from three to fourteen and, though their clothing was threadbare and several were barefoot, their faces were clean and their hair neat. Each one pitched in to carry the crates and baskets inside. Excitement shone in the younger ones’ eyes. The older children recognized it for what it was—handouts from caring neighbors—and so their enthusiasm was muted.