by Karen Kirst
Duncan didn’t get to meet Fletcher because he was asleep upstairs. Willa Murray repeatedly expressed her thanks, tears of joy sliding down her cheeks as she soaked in the volume of donations. Caroline took charge, enlisting the children’s help in distributing the goods while Willa rocked an infant to sleep before the fireplace. In chatting with the woman, Duncan heard about other families Caroline had helped.
“My neighbor to the west, Lenora Griffin, she’s not too fond of Miss Turner.” She blinked. “Sorry, I’m used to calling her that.”
“We havnae been married long.” He smiled to ease her self-consciousness. “Sometimes I get a glimpse of my wedding ring and forget why it’s there,” he teased.
That brought a bloom to her cheeks. “Lenora thinks she’s uppity. Says she thinks she’s better than everyone else. I disagree. She’s quiet, that’s all. Mrs. McKenna’s not one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, if you know what I mean. Her kindness has benefitted many hurting people in this town.”
The infant began to fuss. Duncan was put in mind of his own nephews, and homesickness coiled inside him. “May I?”
“Certainly.” She lifted the bundle. “He’s a picky one. Likes to be coddled.”
Duncan cradled the infant against his chest and talked to him in a funny voice he’d used with his brother’s bairns. He’d missed out on a year of their lives. Would they even remember their uncle? He wondered if it would be a wise idea to take Caroline home to Boston for a visit, then remembered the pesky detail of his background and her assumption he’d been raised poor as a church mouse.
“You’re a natural,” Willa said. “You and the missus will have fine-looking children someday.”
At the faltering footstep to his left, he looked up and straight into Caroline’s arrested gaze. She busied herself with another task, and the moment passed.
Before they left, Willa took Caroline’s hand. “You’re an answer to prayer, Mrs. McKenna.”
“We’re fortunate to have neighbors with generous hearts, aren’t we?” She gracefully deflected the praise.
During the ride home, Duncan mulled over the visit and, in particular, Willa’s comment. When he’d situated the horses, he found Caroline planting pretty purple towerlike flowers around the porch’s base. A straw hat shielded her from the sun’s unrelenting rays, and gloves protected her hands.
“Those are going to spruce up the place. What are they?”
“Purple fringe orchids. I took some from the main house gardens.”
He knelt beside her, his knees balanced against the cool earth. “Mind if I help?”
She handed him a trowel. “Not at all.”
After a few minutes of working side by side, he voiced his thoughts. “We haven’t talked about children.”
She froze, her face hidden by the hat’s brim. “I’m not ready.”
“To talk about it? It’s an awkward subject, I know, but a necessary one.”
“No, not that.” She covered the plant’s roots with loose soil. “To be a mother. I’m not ready.”
He sought to understand. “Is it the responsibility? Or do you not wish to have children?”
Duncan steeled himself for her answer.
Sitting back, she wiped her forehead with the back of her glove and looked at him. “The prospect of motherhood scares me. I grew up in a home devoid of warmth and affection. I seriously doubt my parents like each other, let alone love each other. You and I, we didn’t choose this. We were compelled to be together, to build a life with each other. I won’t bring an innocent child into a battle zone or worse, an unfriendly alliance.”
Duncan stroked her cheek, dislodging a speck of dirt. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
Her eyes darkened with uncertainty. “I’d like to think so. We’ve been married for more than two weeks, yet it feels like my world still hasn’t righted itself.”
“I feel the same way,” he ruefully confessed. He moved in and gently kissed her. She welcomed his touch, her lips trembling beneath his. Divesting herself of the gloves, she cupped the back of his neck, her fingers delving into his hair in tentative exploration. His wife was a heady mix of innocence and captivating allure. Ending the kiss was torture. Duncan wanted nothing more than to remain locked in her arms the rest of the day. That wasn’t what she needed, though. Him, either.
If he allowed emotion to overrule logic, they’d both get burned.
Chapter Sixteen
Caroline was not a good actress. She knew Duncan suspected something wasn’t right. How was she supposed to relax when the blackmailer had yet to respond to her request? Forty-eight hours had passed since she’d left the note. The suspense was killing her. Was he sending those documents to the newspapers or to her father’s business associates? Or was he merely making her sweat it out before demanding an even higher amount?
If only the blackmailer didn’t exist, if the documents he’d allowed her to see hadn’t looked authentic, then she would be cautiously optimistic. This new phase of her and Duncan’s relationship filled her with joy. His approval was almost as potent as his kisses. But the secret she carried cast a shadow over the progress they’d made. And the idea she was entertaining—namely, forging Duncan’s signature on the bank slip—would shatter the trust they’d built. Losing his good opinion would devastate her.
Deeply troubled, Caroline had brewed a pot of tea and opened her Bible, starting in Psalms for comfort and in Ephesians for instruction on how to be a good wife. Of course, she didn’t need to read the verses to know God didn’t condone lying to one’s husband.
The door unexpectedly swung open. Duncan poked his head inside and beckoned with his hand. “Can you spare a moment, lass?”
She closed the large book. “Is something the matter? I thought you and Anthony were cleaning out the tack room this morning.”
“I told him to take a break. I’ve brought you a gift. Come see.”
As she followed him past the garden, Caroline had the feeling that, like the curtain fabric, this gift didn’t come in a shiny box with a pretty bow. Still, curiosity hummed through her. He led her to the far side of the barn where a small paddock was used to let the cow graze.
He walked up to the fence and rested his arms on the top slat. “Well? What do you think?”
She glanced into the paddock. “That’s my gift?”
“Yep.” He looked extremely satisfied with himself.
“It’s a goat.”
“A nanny goat.”
“We already have a cow.” A cantankerous one that liked to swat Caroline’s face. Interested in the grass, the gray goat ignored them. Did Duncan think she’d be happy to have a second animal to milk?
“You said goat cheese was your favorite,” he persisted.
“When did I say that?”
“At that first dinner party I attended, when you tried to kick me out.” He arched a brow, but his blue eyes danced with mirth. “Did you not mean what you said?”
“I meant it. I’m simply surprised you remembered a minor detail about me, especially considering I tried to kick you out.”
His gaze heated. “I may not have let on, but I was fascinated by you from the moment you refused to dance with me.”
Caroline fought the urge to flee. She’d been dreadful. “I don’t believe I ever apologized for my boorish behavior. I’m sorry.”
Chuckling, he ran his knuckles along her cheek, making her nerve endings shiver with pleasure. “I didnae bring it up to make you feel bad.” He turned and nodded at the goat. “Back to the matter at hand. Since the mercantile doesn’t sell goat cheese, I thought why not enlist Tammy’s help?”
“Who’s Tammy?”
“The goat.” His grin widened. “She gives you milk. You make the cheese. I’m sure that book you borrowed from Cook contains a recipe.�
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“You’re right, the mercantile doesn’t sell it. However, multiple women in these mountains do. I can purchase it from them.”
“Think about the satisfaction you’ll gain from learning a new skill. Besides, I’m convinced your cheese will taste better than theirs.”
Caroline couldn’t resist the boyish appeal in his eyes. She burst out laughing. “Do you ever give presents that don’t require work?”
“Occasionally.” His voice dropped in timbre, and her insides went mushy. She was beginning to recognize that look. He was going to kiss her again.
He settled his hands about her waist. Feeling daring, she slowly slid her hands up the contours of his firm chest and over his broad shoulders before locking her arms around his neck. His breathing quickened and his heavy gaze probed hers. Anticipation tingled along her skin.
“I love being close to you,” she whispered, caressing the smooth strip of skin above his collar.
Her husband was strong and fearless, handsome and thoughtful. In his arms, she felt like nothing could hurt her, like the loneliness she’d lived with her whole life could be conquered. She felt like a different woman, one who was capable and desirable.
His smile held a tender, almost wistful quality she hadn’t witnessed before. “I love being close to you, too.”
As he dipped his head to claim her mouth, she wondered if he’d ever say words similar to these. He’d said he liked her. And he obviously enjoyed kissing her. But would he ever love her, faults and all?
Caroline couldn’t be sure how to quantify her feelings for him, and that made her vulnerable. If her heart succumbed and he later decided she wasn’t good enough, that he wanted nothing more than friendship, she’d be crushed.
Duncan eased away, his brow knitting. “Is something the matter?”
“I’m fine.”
Disquiet swirled in his gaze, and he shifted uneasily. “Caroline, there’s something I havnae told you.”
Apprehension slithered through her. Unlocking her arms from around his neck, she stepped out of his hold. “What is it?”
“Our visit to the Murrays reminded me how long it’s been since I’ve seen my family. My nephews are getting bigger by the day. I’d like to introduce you to my parents and my brothers someday soon. But before I can do that, I have to tell you the truth.”
That he wished to introduce her to his family meant a lot. It was overshadowed by the worry his words caused. Who could have guessed she wasn’t the only one keeping secrets?
“Just say it, Duncan.”
“I’m no’ a pauper, Caroline. I’m a verra wealthy man.”
Thinking back to the night of his arrival and his mountain man appearance, she rejected the idea. “A wealthy man doesn’t travel around the countryside changing jobs every few months, a single bag of possessions to his name.”
“I’m speaking the truth,” he said gravely. “I could purchase your house and property three times over and still have money left.”
The sound of swarms of angry bees buzzed in her ears. The clues had been there from the beginning, hadn’t they? His authoritative bearing, like that of a man accustomed to being revered and even obeyed, was not the marker of a subservient employee. He’d treated her as a social equal. Humility wasn’t a quality that sat easily on Duncan McKenna. In fact, she’d encountered his arrogance on more than one occasion. He was obviously an influential member of Boston’s elite citizens.
Mind whirling, she drifted away from the paddock, her gaze snagging on the rough cabin tucked amid verdant forest. What game was he playing?
Behind her, he spoke. “The McKennas are a prominent family in Scotland. When my grandfather traveled to America, he already had the capital to expand our business. God blessed his endeavors. The time came when he needed my father’s direct assistance. Corresponding with each other across the great Atlantic no longer cut it. No’ long after we arrived, he purchased a prime piece of property, complete with a sprawling estate, and moved us in.”
She’d been a blind idiot. Stepping out of the path of a hornet zipping past, she wrapped her arms around her middle. “I can only imagine the amusement you’ve had at my expense. You must think us a batch of country bumpkins.” A harsh sound escaped. “Serves me right for acting the way I did.”
“No, Caroline.” As he came around to stand in front of her, his distress was palpable. “That’s no’ how it was. I should’ve been honest with you. At first, I simply didnae feel the need. You and I were nothing more than unfriendly acquaintances. And later, I was angry about our night in the storm and the aftermath.”
Guilt clawed its way to the surface. How could she be upset with him when she was harboring a secret of her own?
“Tell me something. Why would you give up a life of ease and success for this?” She gestured to the rural scene.
His mouth pulled into an unhappy frown. “I woke up one day and discovered I didnae like the man I’d become.” Pushing his fingers through his auburn locks, he studied their surroundings instead of meeting her gaze. “I bought the lie that material wealth, social standing and education determined my worth. Deep inside, I knew there was something missing. I didnae have peace. The thrill of new accomplishments, new acquisitions—whether it be a prized stallion, the latest in weaponry, a valuable antique—never lasted. True contentment was elusive.”
Caroline understood all too well. A squirrel darted between the porch and the nearest tree, winding through the colorful blooms she’d planted. Those flowers represented a kind of freedom. Although humble, this was her home to fix up however she liked. The vegetables she tended provided sustenance for her and Duncan. Feeding the chickens, tossing corncobs to the free-roaming hogs, milking the cow—those tasks benefitted her household. While scrubbing floors wasn’t an enjoyable activity, it was her floor. Hers and Duncan’s. No one critiqued her appearance or her work.
Being a farmer’s wife wasn’t glamorous or easy, but there were rewards she couldn’t measure in money or accolades. Caroline hadn’t believed it to be true until recently.
“So you woke up one day, packed a bag and left?”
“Not exactly.” He grimaced, and remorse flooded his gaze. “I resisted the truth for a long time, until one day, my selfishness blinded me to a man’s plight. A man died needlessly because of me.”
“What happened?”
“Edwin Naughton was my valet. He was in charge of making sure I walked out the door looking like the lord of the manor that I was.” He paused, lost in thought. “He accompanied me on a hunting trip, along with several of my closest friends. Caught up in the revelry, I ignored the obvious signs of his illness. He was a stoic man. I cannae recall him uttering a single complaint until that trip. Instead of sending for a doctor, I told him to retire for the night and sleep it off. One of the other servants found him dead in his bed the following morning.”
“Oh, Duncan.” Caroline enfolded his hand in hers, drawing his troubled gaze to her face. “You can’t blame yourself.”
“As his employer, I was responsible for him.”
“Did he ask to see a doctor and you refused?”
“No, but—”
“The outcome may have been the same even if you’d acted differently.”
“I cannae be sure, can I?”
“Is that what drove you from your home and family?”
“Aye, his death was the catalyst. No’ long after, I attended a worship service and answered the call to follow Jesus and to live according to God’s Word. I finally found that peace I’d been chasing in temporary things. Suddenly the clothes, the parties, the excess...it meant nothing. When I tried to explain my decision to leave, Maureen didn’t understand. Neither did my family. It took months of exchanging letters for them to accept that I wasnae ever returning to my old life.”
At the mention o
f his former fiancée, jealousy resurrected the multitude of doubts she harbored about herself and this relationship. She released his hand and tucked hers in the folds of her skirt. “Did you ask her to come with you?”
He hesitated. “I did.”
Caroline nodded her understanding, confused by the riot of emotions inside. A few short weeks ago, she would’ve railed at how one woman’s rejection had ultimately sent Duncan into her life, ruining it. Now, she could only feel relief.
“D-Did you love her?” She rubbed her boot against the grass and uttered a self-conscious laugh. “Stupid question. Of course you did. You proposed to her.”
“I proposed to her while entrenched in my former life.” Gently tipping up her chin, he said, “The man I am today would never have chosen her.”
“You didn’t choose me, either. You were saddled with me.”
“And you with me,” he challenged softly. “I have the same doubts as you, Caroline. You didnae have the opportunity to mull over a proposal from me and accept it.”
Caroline suspected her answer would’ve been surprising to most, especially herself.
He cocked his head to one side. “You aren’t angry that I didnae tell you?”
“I’m not thrilled.” She couldn’t muster outrage, not when she was withholding information from him.
“Caroline, I—” He stopped and, turning his head, put distance between them. “Good afternoon, Sylvia. To what do we owe this visit?”
Beneath her mobcap, her yellowish-brown eyes were big and watchful. “I’ve a missive for Miss Caroline.”
At the sight of the slim, ivory envelope, her stomach dropped to her toes. Her feet felt leaden as she forced her legs to carry her forward.
“Who sent it?” she managed in a raw whisper.
Concern etched Sylvia’s features. “I don’t know, miss.”