Louisa Rawlings

by Forever Wild

  “Did you get the preacher?”

  “Reverend Carpenter. The church is the other side of the depot. He said he could marry us at four o’clock today.”

  “And Uncle Jack?”

  “He went out with a fisherman at dawn. But he’ll be here at four.”

  “Did you ask any friends to come?”

  “No. It’s a hardship for them to make the trip from Long Lake. Ten hours by stage, and then back again as soon as the wedding is over.”

  He grinned wickedly. “Didn’t you even invite that young man who debauched you?”

  “Drew Bradford! You polecat! I don’t even know what that means, but it just plain sounds awful!” She giggled in spite of herself “But I didn’t invite Zeb.” She watched him as he finished his breakfast. Her eyes could never get enough of him. “What about your family?” she said at last.

  A small crease appeared between his eyes. “I didn’t have a chance to track down Willough.”

  “Willough?”

  “My sister. I thought she was at MacCurdyville, but she’s not. She may be at Saratoga, but I wasn’t about to march in on her—and my father—when my train was passing through.”

  “You don’t get along with your father?”

  He shrugged. “We’re not enemies We’re just…strangers. He doesn’t like my life, and I don’t much like his.”

  “And your mother?”

  He gulped the last of his coffee. “I’ll write to Willough before we leave, and tell her about our wedding. She’ll enjoy breaking the news to Mother.”

  “Drew…” Marcy said softly, seeing the pain in his eyes. She had grown up with love; somehow she had thought that all families were happy.

  “No. No serious talk. It’s our wedding day. Tell me, Mrs. Bradford that is to be, do you get seasick?”

  She bit her lip. “I don’t know!”

  He laughed. “Well, we’ll soon find out. We’ll take the train for Boston tomorrow. Our ship sails from there. And then, nine days later, we’ll be in Le Havre. That’s a port in France. We’ll take the train to Paris from there. I have a few letters from some artist friends in New York. With their help, we should be able to find cheap rooms in the Latin Quarter.”

  She smiled in delight, her eyes shining. “Oh Drew, it sounds so wonderful and magical!”

  “Come on,” he said, counting out the cost of their meal and dropping the coins on the table. “I want to walk off this breakfast, and then we’ll go back to the hotel.”

  “What for?” she purred seductively.

  “My God, you’re becoming a hussy already!” He reached out and pinched her sharply on the behind, managing to look innocent when she squeaked loudly and every other patron in the restaurant stopped eating to stare at them. “You know very well what for,” he said, taking her by the elbow and steering her out into the sunshine. “And then, maybe, if you’re good, I’ll show you your wedding dress.”

  She gasped in delighted surprise. “Wedding dress? But how could you…how did you know what size…?”

  He stopped and put his hands around her waist. He nodded in satisfaction. “Uh-huh. I was right.”

  “What about the…other measurements?”

  “I studied the clerks for a while, until I found one who looked about your size and shape.” He grinned. “Of course, I had to hold her in my arms to be sure she felt just about the way you did.”

  “Did you kiss her, too, you slack-jawed wolf?”

  “Only her ears, to get the proper measurement for the earrings.”

  She frowned in mock seriousness. “When we’re married, remind me to measure a rolling pin for your head!”

  He laughed and swung her around in his arms, then bent and kissed her on the mouth.

  She trembled down to her toes. “You can’t keep kissing me on the street like this,” she said breathlessly.

  “No.” His eyes enveloped her in their warmth, blue and clear as a summer sky. “Damn the walk,” he whispered. “I want to make love to you right now.”

  In their hotel room, he lay on the bed—shoes and frock coat off, hands comfortably behind his head—and watched lazily as she undressed. It didn’t take her long. The green dress, all one piece, unbuttoning from collar to hem; her muslin petticoat; flannel drawers and short-sleeved chemise. Plain black stockings, high, laced black shoes. She undressed in a leisurely manner, enjoying his eyes on her body.

  “You’re tanned all over,” he said. “How do you manage that?”

  She smirked. “There are dozens of waterfalls to bathe in…”

  “If I ever thought you’d played that scene for anyone else…” he growled.

  Her smile faded. He wasn’t joking. There was the edge of jealousy in his voice. She ran to the bed and leaned over him. “Drew. I’m yours. Always.”

  “Marcy.” He pulled her down to lie beside him, caressing her with gentle hands, praising with his kisses her face and bosom and soft neck. He kissed her until she was quivering; then he rolled off the bed and began to remove his own clothing, his fingers working impatiently at his waistcoat buttons. She snuggled against the soft bed, stretched voluptuously, her arms over her head, and watched him. “Oh, God,” he said, his hands poised on his cravat. His voice was husky with passion. “Someday I’ll paint you like that, a beam of sunlight setting fire to your hair, your breasts rosy with love and anticipation.”

  She sat up and put her hands on her hips. “Tarnation! You can be the painter tomorrow! Will you please hurry up and be the lover today?”

  He laughed at that and shed the rest of his clothes quickly, but when he held her in his arms, it was with a tenderness that made her want to weep. He kissed her breasts, her flat belly, her neck and ears, then turned her over and kissed her shoulders, the hollow at the small of her back. She moaned in pleasure and rolled back, reaching for him. Their bodies fused, came together, warmed by their passion and the bright sunlight that streamed across the bed. It seemed a glorious eternity while she soared like a bird in the heavens, her body trembling and pulsing, her heart and soul joined to his as surely as was her flesh. At last he sighed and moved away, sated. He leaned on one elbow and gazed lovingly at her. She smiled at him through half-closed eyes, too content even to speak.

  “You are Nature’s child,” he said. “So natural. So wonderful.”

  She frowned at him, mystified.

  He laughed and indicated her soft nakedness. “Look at you. In full daylight. Before lunch!”

  “Dang you, is that meant to be an insult?”

  “Hardly. But most women nowadays wouldn’t even make love to their husbands except at night. And in a darkened room.”

  “Is it wrong of me?”

  “Wrong? Good grief, I can’t believe my luck!” He smiled. “You look sleepy. And I know I am. I couldn’t close my eyes for a minute on that train, just thinking about you. We have time for a nap.” He helped her climb under the quilt, then pulled her into his arms.

  She snuggled against him; her eyes were growing heavy. She giggled softly. “Sleeping while the sun is shining. Now that’s wrong!” Feeling deliciously wicked, she closed her eyes and slept.

  She awoke to find him gone. The sun had shifted while she slept, and now shone on a patch of carpet. She thought, It must be well after noon. She jumped out of bed, hurriedly wrapping the quilt about her, and went into the adjoining small parlor. Drew was there, already dressed in an elegant suit of clothes. She was dazzled by his handsomeness, regretting again the plainness of her green gown. Then she remembered he had spoken of a wedding dress.

  “It’s about time you woke up,” he said. “I’ve had my bath already, and lunch should be arriving at any moment.” He indicated a small tub that had been placed in a corner of the room. “Get in. I’ll scrub your back.”

  Giggling, she dropped the quilt and climbed into the tub. “Am I never going to see my gown?”

  “In time. Here.” He handed her the soap. “Do your front. Because if I do it, we’ll never get to th
e wedding.” There was a knock on the door. Drew looked at her full bosom and stood up, smiling benignly. “Come in.”

  “Tarnation,” she whispered, sinking down to a more modest level under the water. A young bellboy had appeared, carrying in a large tray that rattled and clattered under its linen covering.

  “Over here, boy.” Drew tossed the lad a coin, trying not to grin as the boy gulped, stole a hasty glance at Marcy in her tub, and vanished out the door.

  “Drew Bradford! You might have warned me!”

  “And denied that young man a look at your beautiful shoulders?” He pulled the linen covering off the tray and picked up a bottle. “Have a glass of champagne.”

  “While I’m still in my tub?” This was surely the most extraordinary day in her life! “I’ve never had champagne.”

  He knelt beside her and handed her a glass. “I intend to spoil you as much as I can,” he said, and kissed her softly.

  She sipped at the champagne, making a face when the bubbles tickled her nose. It tasted a bit sour to her, but after it had gone down, it left a nice, warm feeling in her throat. She took another sip and smiled at Drew. By the time they had—together—washed her all over, she had finished that one glass and was starting on a second. She climbed out of the tub, feeling a bit wobbly, and allowed Drew to towel her dry. Reluctantly, she put down her glass (surely she had been mistaken to think it sour!), and turned toward the bedroom. “I’ll just get my shift and drawers”—she looked at him with accusing eyes—“and then you better show me my dress!”

  “No. Stay here. I intend to dress you from the skin out!” He brought out several large boxes and began to untie their ribbons. “Including your underpinnings.”

  “Drew! You didn’t get me a corset…?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “I’ve never worn a corset!”

  “You’ve never been married before, either! Here. Put on this chemise.” He handed her the prettiest garment she had ever seen in her life, a beautiful wisp of fine muslin, sleeveless, knee-length, extravagantly trimmed with lace at the neckline and hem. She slipped it over her head, enjoying the slide of the delicate fabric against her skin. The drawers came next, of the same muslin as the chemise, and trimmed with the same lace. She gasped when he pulled the corset out of the box. That beautiful thing was surely not meant to be hidden! It was of deep pink silk, lined and padded, its whalebones held in place with decorative quilt stitches and embroidery.

  Drew laughed delightedly at the look on her face. “You’d better eat some lunch first. You may not want to eat once I lace you in!”

  Lunch was cold chicken and ham with a mustard sauce. And ice cream and sweet cakes and fresh grapes. She wolfed down her food impatiently, eager to see the rest of her finery, and topped off the meal with a little more champagne. She was beginning to feel giddy. She stood up and sighed, holding her arms straight out at her sides. “Now, Drew, do your worst!” He put the corset around her, fastening the large hook in the center front, then hooking the smaller ones above and below. The corset reached just from the tips of her breasts—cradling and lifting them—to several inches below her waist, dipping down in the front to flatten her already trim abdomen. “It feels a little queer, but not at all what I expected!”

  He laughed and went to stand behind her. “That’s because I haven’t pulled the laces yet! Tell me when it’s tight.” While she sucked in her breath, he tugged at the tapes until she felt she couldn’t breathe.

  “Tarnation! Stop! I’ll never be able to bend over and lace my shoes!”

  “You’re not supposed to. The ladies who dress like this usually have servants. I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on me.” He looped the corset tapes, brought them around to the front, and tied them in a bow. He pulled out the next garment, a white cotton-and-lace fitted bodice that buttoned down the front, and looked very much like a chemise except that it was waist-length.

  “What’s that?”

  “A corset waist. So the lines of the corset won’t show through the dress.” He put it on her, stopping to kiss her as he fastened the last button, then produced a pair of gray silk stockings and frilly garters. “I didn’t buy you shoes. I didn’t know what size. Sit down.” While he put on the stockings and fetched her shoes from the bedroom, she poured them both another glass of champagne. The bustle came next, a little half skirt of stiffened and ruffled horsehair that tied around her waist. This occasioned a delay in her toilette while she danced around the room, sitting on one chair and another, trying to find the most graceful way to sit without the bustle slewing around and sitting beside her on the chair.

  “It can’t be done,” she said at last. “I’ll have to stand for the rest of my life!”

  He laughed and kissed her. “You can always lie down. Let’s get your petticoats.” White muslin trimmed with lace and tied on with a tape, followed by gray silk with a pleated ruffle at the hem and pale green embroidery. The gray silk fastened with a button on one side. “Damn,” he said, struggling to close it. “I should have pulled your corset tighter.”

  She looked down at herself. All these layers of clothing, and they hadn’t even reached the dress yet! She would surely need some more champagne to fortify her! And as long as there were a few more pieces of chicken…

  At last she was ready for the gown. Drew presented it with a flourish, his arms filled with yards and yards of pale gray taffeta. When he held it out, she saw that it was trimmed with fringes and pleatings and puffings of the most delicate shade of pink she had ever seen.

  “Oh, Drew,” she gasped. “It’s beautiful! But so extravagant. All these things. Can you afford them?”

  He laughed ruefully. “Probably not. And when we’re starving in Paris, we may both regret this day.” His forehead creased in a sudden frown. “Dammit, Marcy,” he muttered. “I wish I had more to spend on you.”

  “No serious talk today. You said so yourself. Open that other bottle of champagne and then show me how to get into this wonderful dress!”

  “The skirt comes first. Of course, it’s really two skirts together.” He slipped the double skirt over her head, arranging the long train of the underskirt, then showing her how to pull the hidden tapes of the overskirt so it bunched up in graceful poufs over her hips and bustle.

  “I’ll never be able to move. What about the top?”

  “Not yet. This model comes with a tablier. It’s a kind of apron. Here. Let me.” He wrapped the tablier around her waist and hooked it in the back. It draped beautifully in front, its graceful curve trimmed with a thick pink fringe.

  “Now the top?”

  He shook his head. “No. I decided to be practical. You’ll be able to wear this gown for daytime and evening. If we fill in the low neckline with a chemisette…” He produced a sleeveless, high-necked garment of fine pleated batiste, which tied on under her bust and was finished with a frill of lace at the neckline. At last he helped her into the short basque jacket that fit snugly and accented the slim grace of her figure. Only when he had given her a matching pink parasol and hat, and pale green kid gloves, did he allow her to return to the bedroom and look at herself.

  She gaped in astonishment. Who was that woman there? She pirouetted around the room, returning again and again to the mirror to stare in disbelief. “I look at least twenty-one!” she said.

  His mouth twitched. “Indeed. At the very least.”

  “Don’t laugh at me. Oh Drew!” She threw her arms wide for sheer joy and flung herself flat on the bed, grinning up at him.

  He smiled in pleasure. “I’ll give you the ring in church, but come into the other room for your earrings.”

  “Drat!” she whispered, biting her lip.

  “What is it, Marce? Is something the matter?”

  Her eyes were wide and filled with dismay. “I can’t get up! I can’t even move!” She wriggled helplessly on the bed, trying in vain to bend in the middle. “We’ll have to get married in this bedroom. I’m not joking, Drew. Truly, I feel b
uried in all these clothes.”

  He threw back his head and roared with laughter. “I think you’ve just had too much champagne.” He reached down and pulled her to her feet, steadying her against himself when she wobbled slightly. “I think you’re a bit tipsy.”

  “I am not!” Her voice sounded strange to her ears.

  “Tipsy or not, I love you.” He kissed her softly, then deepened his kiss, his mouth moving on hers, his arms pressing her tightly to his hard chest.

  Panting hard, she pulled away from him and began to giggle. “I’d like to say you take my breath away, but I think it’s this blamed corset!”

  Laughing, he pulled out his watch. “It’s time to go to church. Come get your earrings; then we’ll go.”

  She put on the earrings, lovely gold filigree balls, turned about once more for a final inspection, and declared herself ready. “No. Wait,” she said suddenly. “There’s a bit more champagne.”

  “You’ve had enough.”

  “I’m fine, Drew. And we can’t leave the rest. It will only go to waste.”

  “No. It’ll go to your head. And get that stubborn look off your face. It’s foolish to drink any more.”

  “Oh, bosh! I’m fine. Look.” She poured out the rest of the champagne and drank it quickly. Just let him try to stop her, she thought. She drew herself up, straightened her hat, opened her parasol. “You see? I’m perfectly fine!”

  He sighed in resignation. “It’s your head. Come on, bride.”

  They set off for the church. She thought, I really do feel fine. We must have champagne in Paris whenever we can! She took Drew’s arm. It felt more secure. The road was suddenly wavy and difficult to walk on. And the arm that held her parasol refused to stay up, but kept drooping so the parasol dipped down and bumped against her knees. She stole a sidelong glance at Drew. She wasn’t sure, but he seemed to be chuckling under his breath.