Before they ordered, Jake excused himself. Margaret only had a moment to smile to herself and wonder where this evening would go before Abigail sauntered over.
“Good evening, Miss Singleton,” she said with a smile reminding Margaret of a snake looking at a mouse. “How pretty you look tonight.”
“Thank you,” Margaret replied with as much cheer as she could muster. “You look lovely as well.”
Abigail’s dress was deep navy blue which seemed designed to draw attention to her bright blue eyes. She smiled in a way that Margaret assumed was supposed to be modest, but came across as sly. Margaret wondered what the other woman was doing there. She didn’t need to wait long to find out.
“You know, I actually feel terrible for you Miss Singleton,” Abigail said, leaning over the table and resting her hand near Margaret’s plate so no one else could hear what she was saying. “Jake has brought you here, all the way from Boston, for a sham marriage that will never work. He loves me. He always has. You’re just a… placeholder.” Abigail smiled at Margaret, her eyes full of pity. “You’ll spend your days working on silly suffragette nonsense while he’s doing real work.”
Margaret didn’t know what she wanted more: to burst into tears or to stand up and punch Abigail Drake in the nose.
Out of the corner of her eye, Margaret saw Jake approaching the table with a look of concern in his eyes. Abigail must have seen him as well, because she dipped into a short curtsey and left with a parting: “Good evening, Miss Singleton.”
“What did she want?” Jake asked, returning to the table just as Abigail flounced back to her seat.
“You,” Margaret replied. Her voice wavered on the word and she had to grip the table as she concentrated on forcing the lump in her throat down to her chest.
Jake stared grimly after Abigail. Margaret didn’t want to examine his expression too closely. She was afraid she would find longing there – she didn’t know if she could handle that.
This evening was supposed to be about them. About Margaret trying to decide if Jake was the man she was willing to spend the rest of her life with. Now, Abigail had planted even more doubts in Margaret’s mind than what she’d begun with.
“Do you still love her?” she asked.
Jake frowned. “You know I don’t.”
“Do I?” Margaret asked, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. “You kissed her that night at her party.”
Jake’s hands twitched next to his plate, but apart from that there was no reaction to her words. “No,” he said. She was about to berate him for the obvious lie, but he added: “She kissed me. I pushed her away.”
“I must have missed that,” Margaret replied with venom. As soon as she said it she wanted to take it back – she hated that tone of voice, it reminded her of her mother and all the fights they’d had about Margaret’s suffragette duties. “I’m sorry, I’m just… jumbled. Can we go?”
“Margaret, you can’t let Abigail get to you – that’s exactly what she wants,” Jake said, as he reached across the table and took her hand. Margaret allowed herself a moment to enjoy the warmth of it. “You’re going to be my wife, and I want people to see you with me. I’m proud to be with you.”
Margaret sighed in frustration and pulled her hand away. “There you go again with what you want. What about what I want? If you wanted a woman you could order around then you should marry Abigail.”
Tears were still threatening to fall out of the corners of her eyes. Margaret tried to swallow the lump in her throat but it was getting harder to breathe. She wished Elizabeth were there – Elizabeth would be able to set Jake straight, to explain to him why Margaret was feeling the way she was feeling, and then tell him exactly what to do to make her feel better. But Elizabeth wasn’t there. Margaret was alone.
“I don’t love her.”
“You don’t love me, either.”
He hesitated. Margaret’s eyes shot up to his. There was something in his expression that she couldn’t place, but it looked almost like… hope. Hope, and a touch of fear.
Margaret’s eyes went wide and she ducked her head so he couldn’t see her face.
Jake tapped the table with his free hand. He reached into his pocket, pulled out some bills and left them on the table. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
Margaret gratefully allowed herself to be led outside. She was still reeling from her accusation and his response. He couldn’t love her – could he? He hadn’t said anything. He’d been so cold and distant.
Well, that wasn’t true. He’d held her like she was the most precious thing in the world after he fished her out of the stream. He’d hovered over her, terrified, when the doctor had examined her. He’d held her with such tenderness in the kitchen that for a moment Margaret could forget how he’d ever even looked at another woman. He’d only had eyes for her.
Margaret dared to hope, in that moment, that Jake felt something for her besides a mere business interest. Her mind flashed back to all of the moments they’d shared over the last few days. The way he’d looked at her when he was laughing, the way he’d held her when he’d pulled her out of the stream, the way his whole body seemed tensed like a coil when he saw her half-naked in her bedroom. That look of pure want in his eyes had been enough to make Margaret’s stomach lurch and heart flutter. If he wanted her like she wanted him, then maybe this marriage would work out after all.
Because if she were honest, she had to admit that her feelings for him had changed. She wasn’t just attracted to him anymore – mere attraction had gone out the window the moment she’d seen him hoist little Will into his arms. She’d begun to fall in love with him that day. She’d been falling so gradually that she hadn’t realized she loved him until it was too late.
On the way home, Margaret’s body was acutely aware of Jake’s proximity. The moon was high and full, bathing the world around them in soft white light. The wheat fields tossed in the breeze and in the distance Margaret could see the stream that had nearly claimed her, glittering innocently in the dark.
Jake pulled over outside of his mother’s cottage. Instead of climbing down from the buggy, he turned to Margaret, taking her hands in his.
“I’ve grown to care for you a lot, Margaret,” he said in a rush. The words had a rehearsed air to them, as though he’d gone over them in his head before speaking, and now he needed to get them out as fast as possible before they were forgotten. “I know I said that I wanted this to be a mutually-beneficial marriage, but I don’t know if I’ll be satisfied with that anymore.” He looked so deeply into her eyes that Margaret wondered if he would be able to read her thoughts. “I want more. I hope that in time you’ll learn to care for me in the same way.”
Margaret couldn’t speak. He was saying all the right things, and even though a part of her mind was still echoing with Abigail Drake’s taunts, and even though she could still remember the feeling of utter betrayal when she saw him kissing the other woman, Margaret wanted to believe him. She wanted to believe that she hadn’t imagined their chemistry. That he was as intrigued by the possibilities of them together as she was.
He took a deep breath. “I never asked, so I’m asking now: will you marry me, Margaret Singleton?”
Margaret answered in a breathless whisper before she even had time to think: “Yes.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
He smiled then, and Margaret felt his smile melt into her skin and settle in her bones.
Jake jumped off of the carriage. He went around to help her down, but Margaret misjudged the dismount and managed to bump her chest against his when she landed.
She looked up and realized how close they were. Just as close as they’d been in the kitchen. Just as close as they’d been when she’d seen his eyes flicker down and wondered if he would kiss her.
Jake was staring at her lips now. There was nothing hesitant or unsure in the way he looked at them.
It was Margaret who leaned in first. She reached
up to thread her fingers through his hair – it was so much softer than she’d imagined – and brought her face towards his, lingering in the space just before their lips touched. She heard him gasp. She would never forget that sound – she knew that regardless of whatever came next or whatever the future held, she would carry his sharp intake of breath in her mind for the rest of her days.
Then they were kissing. Margaret’s mind went blank. Nothing mattered but the feeling of Jake’s lips moving against hers, of his tongue moving into her mouth to caress and draw her tongue into a dance. The kiss was anything but chaste. Margaret wanted to push herself closer, to feel all of him, to drag him down to the ground and press and press so there was no space between them.
But Jake pulled away, gasping for air, his pupils blown up to the size of saucers. He looked down at her and licked his kiss-swollen lips. Margaret thought her knees might buckle at the sight.
“Well, that’ll make the wedding night more interesting,” he said. His voice was hoarse and gruff and made her shiver from her shoulders to her toes. “I’m looking forward to it, by the way. Very much.”
“So am I,” she answered honestly, her eyes buried in his.
He held her face between his hands, gently, lovingly.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice husky, kissing her lightly on the lips before returning to the buggy and leading the horse towards the barn.
Margaret watched him go. She pressed her fingers gently to her lips and couldn’t suppress a wild grin.
Twenty-One
Margaret was still grinning when she woke up the next morning.
She lay still for a moment, letting the sunlight streaming through the window warm her up. She felt comfortable and safe, and although there was a small, niggling worry in her mind that she was going to be married by the end of the day, there was also a lot of anticipation. The memory of the kiss she’d shared with Jake was enough to make her look forward to seeing what would happen between them next.
Cora came to wake her up with breakfast in bed and the promise of a bath when she was finished.
“You’re looking happier this morning,” Cora said, giving Margaret an approving look. “Glad to see my son took his foot out of his mouth for a few hours.”
“Only a few,” Margaret chuckled. She was so glad she could smile and joke about her future husband’s awkwardness instead of taking it personally like she had when she’d met him.
After Margaret had bathed, she and Cora did her hair in a simple bun. Cora produced a headband made with baby’s breath blossoms. Margaret was touched by the effort she must have put into crafting it, and she had to admit that the white blossoms looked lovely in her hair. When she tried to pin back the little strands which framed her face, Cora smacked her hands away.
“Don’t you dare – Jake would never forgive me if I let you pin those back.”
Blushing, Margaret left the tendrils to hang next to her temples.
Margaret went outside to breathe in the Montana air. It was sweet and warm, and she realized she could spend the rest of her life breathing it in. The dog with the black spot on her back trotted up to Margaret within moments. Margaret ran her hand over the dog’s head.
“How are you feeling today, girl?” she asked. The dog’s tongue waggled out of her mouth as she panted at Margaret. “You’re a good dog… Cambridge,” Margaret said. “You like that name, girl? Do you like the name Cambridge?”
The dog certainly didn’t object.
Margaret and Cora left for the church before Jake. Margaret sat in the buggy with her hands bundled in her skirt, feeling the nerves slowly starting to build as they approached the town. She was doing the right thing, wasn’t she? Greg Barnes drove the buggy with Margaret and Cora in the back, glancing back at Margaret every few moments with an inscrutable look on his face. When they finally arrived at the church – a small, intimate building which looked like it had seen hundreds of weddings, baptisms, and funerals – Greg climbed off of the buggy and helped Margaret off first.
“I’m glad you’re marrying him,” he muttered when she was on the ground. “He’s been in a better mood since you arrived.”
Margaret smiled in surprise, but before she could answer, he had already turned to help Cora down. For the second time that day, she was touched by a simple gesture from someone who cared about her future husband. Their approval was worth so much to her.
Several of the town’s women were waiting for them at the entrance to the church. Margaret hadn’t met any of them yet, but they had come together to celebrate her marriage to one of their own.
Margaret noticed the woman in the middle of the group and screamed.
“Lizzie!”
Elizabeth Sharpe stood at the top of the steps leading into the church, wearing her Sunday best and a radiant smile. Margaret ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time and throwing herself into the other woman’s arms.
“What are you doing here?” she asked.
“We got Jake’s telegram!” Elizabeth replied, squeezing Margaret tightly. “You didn’t think I would miss your wedding, did you?”
“How could you possibly get here in time? When did he telegram you? Did the girls come?”
Elizabeth laughed. “One question at a time, Margaret! No, they couldn’t get the time off of work. But they sent gifts, and Jake sent a telegram right after you arrived telling us he would marry you within a week. Joseph and I left immediately.”
Margaret was sad that the others couldn’t come, but she was so grateful for Elizabeth’s presence she could feel tears welling up inside of her, and she decided not to make any room for being annoyed with Jake for taking this for granted. She pulled away from Elizabeth and wiped her eyes.
Behind Elizabeth, Margaret could see her husband, Captain Joseph Sharpe, standing with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He stepped forward to hug Margaret as well – he was as solid as a tree-trunk and so tall he had to bend at the waist to reach her. When he pulled back his eyes immediately went to his wife. Margaret was struck by the love in his eyes, which was only matched by the love in Elizabeth’s eyes. Margaret wondered if she and Jake would ever love each other the way those two did.
Margaret was ushered inside, and in a flurry of motion, laughter and tears, she was changed into her wedding gown and stood in front of a mirror to admire herself. The dress was long and decorated with lace, with a choked collar and – she hadn’t noticed before – pearls stringing around the collar and wrists. She looked like a picture in a magazine.
The women and Cora left, leaving Margaret and Elizabeth alone. Margaret wasted no time explaining everything that had happened between her and Jake. Everything. From the initial indifference, to their conversations, to him fishing her out of the stream, to his decision to move up the wedding without consulting her – but clearly he’d had that in mind all along. She told Elizabeth how she’d felt when Jake caught her undressed, the way she’d felt when he’d held her in his arms, and how kissing him had shaken her to the core. She laid herself bare to the other woman. When she was done, Margaret asked the question she had been asking herself.
“Am I doing the right thing?” she asked.
Her emotions had been up and down all week. She wanted to marry him, but then she wasn’t sure – she would tell herself that she was sure, and then her mind would conjure reasons to feel insecure. She hated it. She hated not knowing.
Elizabeth considered it carefully. “Honestly? Margaret, I think Jake gave you a bad first impression. What’s important is how he makes you feel – does he make you feel secure in this relationship? Do you trust him?”
Margaret sighed and ran her hands over her dress distractedly. “I—I suppose he does, in his own way. But I would be lying if I said that I was completely secure.” She added quickly: “But I adore his nephew. William is such a sweet boy. I couldn’t leave him now, Lizzie, not when he’s already lost so much.”
Elizabeth frowned at that. Before she cou
ld speak, however, they heard a commotion outside. Margaret and Elizabeth rose as one to look out of the window. Townspeople were milling around the church, waiting to go in and begin the ceremony. Margaret had been so intent on telling Elizabeth her story she hadn’t realised so many people had already arrived.
Among the crowd was Abigail Drake. Wearing a white dress.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Margaret muttered.
People were pointing to Abigail and muttering, clearly unsure of what her purpose was. The women who had helped Margaret get dressed all looked furious. Abigail seemed to be enjoying the attention, raising her chin and staring everyone down.
“Abigail, what the hell are you doing here?”
Jake was at the steps to the church, staring down at the woman with his hands on his hips. Little William was hanging onto his leg with an almost comically confused look on his face and his bear hooked under his arm. Beside him, Captain Sharpe stood with his arms crossed as though ready to render assistance at a moment’s notice. Margaret wondered briefly how they had become so chummy so quickly before she remembered that Jake had met the captain months ago when Elizabeth was in town prospecting for grooms for her mail-order bride agency.
“Language, Jake – you’re in a church.”
“Answer the question, Abigail.”
Abigail drew herself up to her full height. “I’ve come to save you from making a horrible mistake, Jake.”
Margaret felt ill. This was so awful that she hadn’t even imagined it as being one of the things that could go wrong. She’d been worried that she’d rip her dress, or it would rain, or that Jake would change his mind. She’d never, for one moment, thought his former sweetheart would show up in a white dress and offer him an alternative bride.
MARGARET: Suffragettes Mail-Order Bride (Choice Brides Agency #3) Page 11