She watched carefully to gauge his reaction. “Oh my. This is absolute bliss.”
Her heart beat quickened. Did that mean her cooking met his approval? “Really?” she said softly, hardly believing her ears.
“Really,” he said before taking another bite.
She leaned back in her chair. The first hurdle was over. He approved of her meal and seemed to be happy with her efforts.
“I’m not sure what you’ll get tomorrow,” she said apologetically, as he reached for another biscuit.
“Left over biscuits for breakfast will do just fine.” He wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “If there’s any of that soup left, I’ll have some of that too.”
He reached across the table to grab her hand. “Maybe next time you’ll sit a little closer? We don’t need to be opposite ends of the table.”
She averted her eyes, focusing instead on their entwined hands. His were soft and warm, and very large.
He was a big man, every bit of six foot, maybe taller, while she was petit. Perfect for a dancer.
She nodded gently, and he removed his hand. It was crazy she knew, but she suddenly felt bereft. She could see herself feeling affection for this man, given time.
She mentally shook herself.
They’d been married less than a day, and already she was fantasizing about him. What was she thinking?
More likely than not, he had no such thoughts. She was behaving like a silly woman.
“I’ll clear the table,” she said when they finished, swiftly removing the dirty dishes from the table.
He was suddenly behind her – again without her realizing. The man moved so swiftly, and without noise. “Let me help,” he said quietly.
She turned on him. “You’ll do no such thing! You have worked hard all day.” She felt offended that he would even suggest such a thing.
He put his hands out in front of him. “I didn’t mean to offend or upset you,” he said, hurt written all over his face. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.
It was going to take time for them to get used to each other, that much was clear. She hadn’t meant to hurt him, just as he hadn’t meant to offend her.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “This is all new to me, and I’m trying to work my way through it.”
He stepped forward and hugged her gently. “I understand. I’ll leave you to it.” He left her alone and headed toward the bedroom.
She finished cleaning the kitchen and followed him. The sleeping arrangements had been at the back of her mind for most of the day.
With only one bed, she was forced to sleep with him. Unless as she’d decided earlier, she slept on the couch.
Yes, that was a good idea – she would sleep on the couch tonight. She would have to be sneaky about it, because he probably wouldn’t agree.
He was in the process of hanging up his jacket when she entered the bedroom. He had closed the curtains and turned back the bed.
The rather large bed. At both the Burlesque and the orphanage, two people slept in one small bed. The only other option was the floor. She tried that once, and it wasn’t good.
She leaned in and touched the mattress. She pushed it gently – it felt soft. She hadn’t slept in a soft bed for… When she thought about it, since she’d arrived at the orphanage, she’d never slept in a soft bed. Or a bed she could call her own.
She was six when her parents had died, and she vaguely remembered her mother dancing around the house. Sometimes her father would dance with her in his arms, while he danced with her mother.
It made her sad. Phoebe often thought about them, and regularly pulled out the battered photograph taken before she was born. It was the only thing she had left of them.
If only they hadn’t died; she wouldn’t be in this predicament if they were still around.
She shook herself. Now was not the time to become sentimental.
Edward had passed down the battered carpetbag on top of the wardrobe before he left the room.
She pulled out the battered crumpled nightgown and blanched. After seeing the new nightgown she now possessed, thanks to Edward, she couldn’t imagine ever having that threadbare and yellow-stained one against her body.
The once-white nightgown was stained yellow and brown with age. It had been a hand-me-down when she first got it, and even then, it was past its prime.
She should have been disposed of it years ago, but it was the only one she had. She’d had no means to replace it despite its dilapidated state.
If she had a dollar for very time she’d ran her fingers across the almost transparent material, she would be rich. Where there was once hand embroidered flowers, there was only an outline now – the embroidery floss long gone.
She closed her eyes and recalled the joy she’d felt when she was given that worn-out nightgown. It was far better than the too tight and too old one she already had.
At least this one fit and was relatively comfortable. It might not be much, but it had been everything to her.
She was startled when he stuck his head around the door. “Don’t forget your new nightgown,” he said softly, staring in horror at the monstrosity she had in her hand. “We’ll burn that one tomorrow.”
In an instant, he was gone again. She shoved the old nightgown back into the carpetbag and placed it on a chair in the corner of the room.
She heard Edward rummaging around in the store and knew he’d return soon. She quickly changed, folding her clothes and placing them on the same chair. She heard movement close by and quickly climbed into bed.
She decided to slip out of bed once Edward was asleep and spend the night on the couch. Yes, they were married, but it didn’t seem decent to sleep with a stranger, even if he was her legal husband.
She heard the bathroom door open and heart pounding, waited for Edward to return. She closed her eyes momentarily, and before long, was sound asleep.
* * *
Phoebe’s eyes fluttered open and she looked around.
Panic struck her – where the heck was she?
As she slowly sat up, she noticed Edward in the bed. Now she was really panicking. She’d slept the entire night in his bed.
That hadn’t been her plan, but here she was.
It was sometime around sunrise, and she gently climbed out of bed. She snatched up her clothes, and quietly went to the bathroom, being careful not to wake her husband.
More than ever, she was really beginning to appreciate that bathroom with it’s extravagant privy. The likes of which she’d never seen before.
She fixed her hair using the bathroom mirror and crept out to the kitchen. There she heated the left-over soup for Edward’s breakfast, and filled the kettle.
She stoked the fire the way he’d shown her and sat down at the table for a moment.
“Phoebe! Phoebe!” He called urgently.
“Edward? I’m in the kitchen.”
He practically ran into the room and sat down, breathing heavily.
She stared at him. “Are you alright?” she asked, wondering what was wrong. She moved toward him and put her hand to his shoulder.
He reached up and covered her hand with his own. “I thought you’d gone,” he said quietly.
She frowned. Why would he think such a thing? “I wouldn’t leave you,” she said softly. “You have been so kind to me.”
He looked at her with relief.
The kettle began to boil, so she stepped away. He pulled her back.
“It’s so nice having you here, Phoebe,” he said, then gently kissed the back of her hand. The tingle that ensued frightened her momentarily.
“I, I need to attend to your breakfast.” She grinned at him sitting there in his nightshirt and stepped away. She had never been treated so kindly as Edward had treated her.
He nodded and let go of her hand.
She made a mug of coffee and put it in front of him. Then she placed the biscuits in the middle of the table, along with a knob of butter.
He tuc
ked in, obviously hungry, and she smiled. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was starving.
Last of all, she served up a big bowl of left-over soup. He lapped that up too.
She could see feeding him was going to be a big job.
“This is amazing,” he said between mouthfuls.
She put her hands to her hips. “It’s leftovers,” she said. “Nothing special.”
She made tea for herself and sat down next to him. She stared, closely watching him eat.
He watched her. “Why aren’t you eating,” he asked, realizing what she was doing.
She shook her head. “You first.”
He dropped his food to the plate and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “You don’t get to starve for my sake,” he said quietly. Then his eyes opened wide. “Is that what you’ve done in the past?”
He was way too perceptive, and she wished he would stop.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she whispered.
He reached over and broke open a biscuit, then began to butter it. He then placed it in front of her. “Please eat.”
Emotion bubbled up, and she had to fight to keep her tears at bay. Was this how it would always be? With Edward looking out for her?
She was his wife, and it was her job to look after him, not the other way around. She stared into his eyes then glanced at the biscuit he was holding out to her.
“Please eat,” he said again, a little more forcefully this time, but still gently.
He put the biscuit to her mouth, and she opened it slightly, taking a tiny bite. When she swallowed, he pushed the biscuit to her mouth again. This time she took a bigger bite.
He watched her every movement. Every bite she took, and every swallow that resulted. He wasn’t moving until she finished, he’d told her.
When she had, he pushed her tea toward her.
Her heart pounded. Was this what marriage was like? She had no idea since she had no one to judge by.
When breakfast was finally over, Edward, who was still in his night attire, got up from the table. “I have to get ready for work now,” he said. “Just know I won’t have you starving yourself.”
He leaned in and kissed her gently on the cheek. It still smarted even after he was gone.
Chapter Six
Edward stood behind the counter waiting for the first customers to arrive. He relished the quiet times as it meant he could check the stocks and make an order if required.
Phoebe strolled in as the first customer of the day arrived.
“You look beautiful, Phoebe,” he said, but then frowned. “Isn’t that the same dress you wore yesterday?” he asked quietly, out of earshot of the customer.
He watched her blush. “It is,” she said equally quietly. “I can wear it for more than one day.”
“Where are the others?”
She looked confused. “Others? What others?”
“Good morning Mrs Fletcher,” he said jovially, turning away from his wife. Not that he felt even one bit jovial right now. He was annoyed with her. He specifically told her to take several dresses, and she obviously didn’t.
“Oh, good morning, Mr Horvard,” she said happily, holding a list in her hand. “Do you have time to help me out? I have quite a large list to fulfil.”
He really wanted to deal with his wife’s blatant defiance, but his customer had to come first. After all, without a livelihood, he wouldn’t have the means to supply her with beautiful things.
“I’ll just grab a box, Mrs Fletcher.” He turned back to the counter but saw Phoebe out of the corner of his eye. She seemed oblivious to his annoyance.
Had he made a huge mistake marrying her? Perhaps he should have put her up at the boarding house for a few days before making the decision to wed her?
He stiffened.
It was too late now. They were married by the preacher and were legally man and wife.
Or perhaps it wasn’t. Was it too late to have their marriage annulled?
Edward’s grip on the box became so tight, a piece broke off. Trying to take his mind off Phoebe, he followed Mrs Fletcher, helping her to fill the large box he was holding.
She spotted Phoebe and near ran to reach her. “Hello, my dear,” Mrs Fletcher said. “You’re new in town.”
Phoebe’s eyes sparkled. “I’m Edward’s new wife,” she said cheerfully. “I’m Phoebe.”
The woman stumbled backwards. “Oh my,” she said, putting her hands to her chest. “You’re married now, Mr Horvard? I didn’t know.” Then she smiled. “I am very happy for you both.” She reached for Phoebe and hugged her, then just as quickly resumed her shopping.
“Do you need help,” he asked his wife stiffly after Mrs Fletcher had gone. He was still annoyed with her.
But on second thought, there must be a reason for her being the way she is? That thought calmed him down, even if just for a moment or two. Until he realized that couldn’t be good.
His mind went back to the tattered dress she had worn when she arrived.
The little bell over the door tinkled and Mrs Samuel, the barber’s wife, walked in. “Good morning,” he said, a little less cheerfully, his mind still elsewhere. “Mrs Samuel, please meet my wife, Phoebe.”
He was proud to show her off but needed to make her understand she had a position in the community that must be upheld. And that included not wearing the same dress day after day.
The women exchanged pleasantries, then they both continued collecting up their items. Phoebe left, her arms piled with her necessities for tonight’s supper. He wondered what she was making.
Edward’s mind wandered for the rest of the morning, until he recalled he’d never been like this. His concentration was shot to pieces. It was not something he’d encountered before. Is that what having a wife meant? That he couldn’t keep his mind on the job?
Once again, he wondered if he’d done the wrong thing in requesting a mail order bride. Especially when she’d arrived without the necessary correspondence taking place.
It really was all a mess.
His next customer arrived, and he was determined to get back to the job at hand.
And it was working, until he heard his wife singing as she went about her business. Her sweet voice travelling throughout the Mercantile.
* * *
The aromas drifting from the kitchen each day were enticing.
Phoebe may not be the best cook, but she was trying. Her efforts were certainly better than what he’d endured with his own machinations in the past. Apart from the occasional supper invitation, he near lived on beans, bread, sausages and eggs, or fried potatoes.
Edward had no idea having a wife would change his life so completely. From being deemed the most eligible bachelor in town, despite the lack of women, to suddenly having a beautiful wife.
He never thought it possible.
He had to admit though, she did seem quite naïve, and that was proving to be quite a challenge. He was used to making his own way and doing what he wanted, when he wanted. Now he was having to guide her in most things.
Edward sighed.
They’d been married a few days now, but still didn’t know much about each other. Phoebe was clearly not used to hard work – every night when he came to bed, she was sound asleep.
Perhaps one day she would trust him enough to tell him what had happened to her. On second thought, he might be better off not knowing.
After the debacle of a few days ago, over her attire, he’d chosen two more dresses on her behalf and hung them in the wardrobe. She reluctantly accepted his gifts.
Over time, he hoped to understand more about her, and her needs. Her wardrobe was in need of a complete overhaul, that much he knew. Once he understood the full extent, he would search the catalogs for suitable items.
He would not have his wife looking like a waif! Or worst still, have people thinking he was too mean or thoughtless to buy his wife new clothes
“Edward.” He came back to reality when she gently
tugged at his arm.
Just the mere act of looking into her face softened him. The light perfume she wore drifted into his nostrils. It was Le Secret d'une Fleur – Origan, a fragrance he’d come to love. He secretly called it Essence of Phoebe.
He’d found the lone bottle on the shelf when he was checking the stocks. He’d presented it to her that evening. The delight on her face was almost more than he could bear.
I’ve never had perfume before, she’d declared, and it near broke his heart. Tears of joy welled in her eyes, and he’d watched as she’d fought them back.
In that moment he’d vowed to spoil his wife. To give her beautiful things. But he knew she would reject his gifts, and he’d have to fight her. She had a stubborn streak, that wife of his.
Little did she know he was in the process of placing an order for more dresses and women’s necessities. But they would take some time to arrive.
“Edward,” she said again, more loudly this time. “Are you alright? You seem… I don’t know what. In a dream perhaps?”
He finally came out of his trance, snapping shut the order book for fear she would see what he was doing. “Sorry, I was miles away. Just thinking about… things. Work things,” he quickly added.
She frowned. Had she read his mind? “Luncheon is ready. It’s not like you to be late.”
He smiled. “Thank you, Phoebe.” He walked briskly to the door and turned over the sign, indicating the Mercantile was closed.
Together they went to the kitchen, his arm around her waist. This was a first. He’d never had the courage to put his arm around his wife like that before.
He washed his hands in the bathroom, then entered the kitchen.
“Sit.” A mug of welcomed coffee was placed in front of him. He looked over the top of the mug at her. He wished she would wear her fiery red hair loose. She tied it up every day and doing so made her appear harsh.
She was far from that. Letting her hair hang loose softened her face.
As she placed the biscuits near him, he inhaled the enticing aroma. He stared at them. They looked different today.
He snatched one up and buttered it, then took a bite. He closed his eyes and savored the taste. Bliss. “Cheese biscuits,” he said. “These are amazing, Phoebe.”
The Mercantile Owner's Bride Page 4