Or rather, he did not want her to fail him. To hurt him even more.
He remembered the look on her face on their wedding day. The shock, the disillusionment. Had she fancied herself in love with him? Quiet, reserved Bitt? Not so reserved when he thought of it, though. For she had smacked him with a reticule, yelled at him and returned his kiss with an intensity that had shaken him to his very core.
And now she was his bride. Married to him.
Squaring his jaw, he followed her. He had been given another chance to love, and he would not waste it.
* * *
How very exhausting to be the heroine in one’s own story.
Elizabeth found the library behind the next door over and took refuge there. It had been rather tiring, stomping into Miles’s office that way. He had looked up, all surprised maleness, his hair a wild riot on his head from where his fingers had been digging through it as he worked. So handsome that it had taken her several seconds to gather her faculties. How very shocked he’d looked to see her.
The memory brought a smile to her lips. She did so enjoy shocking him. He deserved it, too, after all his years of teasing her.
“Ah, a smile upon lips the color of a rose.”
She gasped, as Miles strode into the library, a crooked smile lighting up his face. This was the Miles she remembered, crinkles and sparkles and a laissez-faire attitude.
He dwarfed the small room, shrinking the space further as he advanced. She waited, her heart fluttering like a tiny butterfly dancing upon a flower petal. Why did he look at her so?
Without meaning to, she touched her birthmark, covering it with her palm.
“Nay, Bitt.” He took her hand and removed it from her cheek. “You are lovely in every way. Do not cover yourself.”
“But,” she stammered, deeply conscious of how neatly her hand fit within his. “Our wedding day. You couldn’t kiss me...” Ashamed, hot flushes of self-consciousness washing through her, she averted her eyes.
“Bitt—” His voice broke. He tipped her chin with his forefinger, bringing her gaze back to his. A green intensity worked in his irises. “I have been wandering this house, doing infernal paperwork for over a month, feeling miserable. Trying to ignore how much I want you as my wife in every way.”
“You were afraid.”
“Yes, to fail another woman. To not be the husband you need.”
“About Anastasia,” she blurted out. “I’m so very sorry, Miles, but you must understand.” She curled her fingers more tightly around his, willing him to see the earnestness in her eyes, the utter conviction. “It wasn’t your fault.”
His throat worked. “Perhaps not, but I will always feel that I could have done more.” He drew closer. “And that is why, when you burst into my office, reality knocked me on the head. I refuse to live my life afraid that I shall make the same mistakes, nor can I live expecting the same behavior from a different person.”
“I am me, Miles.”
“Yes.” His lips curved upward. “You are beautifully you, and I adore every facet, from your dreamy escapes to your haughty disdain.”
“I am far from haughty.”
“Not that far, sweetums.” His grin widened. “It has taken your courage to make me realize what I should have known long ago. You’re intelligent and compassionate, and this entire time it’s been right beneath my nose. How did I not see it?”
“You hadn’t your spectacles handy,” she said lightly, but her knees were quivering and her pulse rioting because Miles looked at her so deeply, as he had at Vauxhall. He looked as though he would kiss her again, just as she so desperately wanted him to.
He traced the ragged edges of her birthmark. And then he leaned forward, cupping her cheeks. Her eyes fluttered closed as she felt the warmth of his breath upon her cheek, his lips settling upon the awful blemish that for so long had marred her confidence.
“Have you ever noticed,” he whispered, his voice a husky caress, “how the shape of your birthmark looks like a heart? Indeed, when I look at you, I am reminded of that tender organ, of how it pumps within you, sweet and caring. When I look at you, Elizabeth, I see love.”
She had not opened her eyes. She was afraid. Her heart drummed within, uneven, cacophonous, drowning out her thoughts. Making her forget the reality in which she loved him and he did not love her.
“Open your eyes, Bitt.”
Reluctantly, she did so.
“Do you understand what I am telling you?” His closeness rattled her senses.
She shook her head, unable to will her vocal cords into movement.
He chuckled then, a throaty sound that chimed through her in silvery, happy notes. “I thought not. What I am telling you, Elizabeth Hawthorne, is that I love you deeply and dearly, as a man who cannot imagine his world without you in it. Always, I have wanted to see you. Always, I have looked forward to finding you in the library so that I might tease you and make you laugh. Or even irritate you, for you are quite beautiful when you frown at me.”
Elizabeth blinked, but her eyes did not cooperate, choosing instead to sting and to burn and to be traitorous in every way.
“You have always been beautiful to me, and I have been a fool. A scared fool, but no longer.” He grasped her hands, his thumbs moving in long strokes across the skin. “Will you marry me for more than convenience’s sake? Will you join your heart to mine?”
“I love you, Miles.” The admission was a welcome relief.
“And I love you, my sweet bibliophile. I have loved you in many ways, and now I shall love you as a husband loves his dearest wife.”
He leaned forward, captured her mouth with his own and, in that moment, Elizabeth’s story truly began.
* * * * *
If you enjoyed A HASTY BETROTHAL,
look for THE MATCHMAKER’S MATCH
by Jessica Nelson from Love Inspired Historical.
Keep reading for an excerpt from A FAMILY FOR THE RANCHER by Louise M. Gouge.
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Dear Reader,
Little did I know when I started A Hasty Betrothal how tragedy would affect my family.
Lady Elizabeth came to me fully formed, a flawed heroine in need of a new perspective. I empathized with her self-consciousness because of my own personal struggles with skin issues. I could only imagine how she felt in the Regency upper class, where vanity and superficiality were rampant.
But then her childhood nemesis, Mr. Miles Hawthorne, appeared in my imagination, and I liked him immediately. Strong and confident, with a touch of charm, I knew he was the perfect man to woo her from her self-induced isolation.
I didn’t know much about him, only that he had a great trauma in his past that had forever poisoned him against marriage. His first wife was a shadowy, selfish figure to me. But then, halfway through the book, a tragic loss occurred in my family’s life. Suddenly Miles’s hurt and that of his first wife’s were magnified. I had not fully comprehended the pain both of them had felt until suffering through it myself.
I didn’t anticipate that what I alluded to in fiction would become a reality in my own life. But it happened, and now my world, my perspective, is different.
If you know someone struggling with depression, take note! There are many places to find help. I am learning that it is better to be uncomfortable with interfering than to be grief stricken that I didn’t.
I pray peace and blessings for you. Thank you for reading this story! I love to hear from readers, so feel free to contact me via Facebook, Twitter or email, [email protected].
Sincerely,
Jessica Nelson
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A Family for the Rancher
by Louise M. Gouge
Chapter One
High Bar Ranch
Little Horn, Texas
June 24, 1895
“The very idea, Mr. McKay. You think I don’t know my fence needs repairs?”
Widow Barlow stood in her kitchen, fists posted at her waist, shoulders hunched high as she glared at Edmund McKay, looking a whole heap like an angry, ruffled-feathered brood hen protecting her nest. Looking a whole heap like Edmund’s ornery widowed cousin, Judith, who’d raised him. Which made his unexpected visit all the more difficult for him. Behind Mrs. Barlow in the dim kitchen light of a kerosene lamp, Edmund could see her two teenaged stepsons and her own three smaller children watch him with wary expressions, like he was a grizzly bear about to attack their mama.
“You don’t need to worry that my horses will wander over into your pasture, because we always keep an eye on them.” Mrs. Barlow waved a hand toward the kitchen window that faced out that way. The sun was just appearing over the horizon, chasing away night shadows as it rose. “I’ve ordered the barbed wire, and it will be in at the general store any day now.”
“Well, ma’am—” Edmund swallowed hard, partly to get past the mouthwatering aromas of fresh baked bread, bacon and coffee filling this room—this family had just finished eating breakfast, and the remains littered the kitchen table—and partly to hide his vexation. He didn’t know much about women, but Mrs. Barlow’s defensive, self-sufficient attitude puzzled him, just as his cousin’s meanness always had. And Mrs. Barlow sure wasn’t anything like his sweet, compliant sister-in-law, who always acted real pleased when his brother Josiah offered to help her. Not only did Mrs. Barlow not want any help, she didn’t even dress like other women. Instead of a dress, she wore some sort of mixed skirt and trouser getup, probably to make it easier for her to do a man’s work on her horse ranch, seeing she no longer had a husband to do it. If this woman was always so disagreeable, Edmund couldn’t imagine why Frank Barlow had married her in the first place.
Great hornets, if Edmund had known Mrs. Barlow would get all in a huff, he never would have mentioned the weakened fence. So much for the guilt he felt for not looking in on this little widow woman right after Frank died last winter. He blamed his neglect on his preference for being a loner, a man who loved his freedom and solitude. On the other hand, the Good Book said folks should take care of widows and orphans. Loner or not, he’d failed in his Christian duty, and now look what he got for it.
“I just thought—”
“Never you mind.” The lady spoke in a snippy way, just like Judith used to do. “Calvin’s been riding fence lines since he was eleven, and he let me know about the problem over a week ago. As you can see, we manage just fine.”
As if to emphasize her assertion, sixteen-year-old Calvin gave Edmund a decisive nod as fierce protectiveness smoldered in his eyes.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sure you do.” Not given to a temper, Edmund felt more foolish than angry. Did the older boy really think Edmund would harm his stepma? Didn’t this family know about the hard-won respect and trust most other local folks gave him? If he’d suspected they didn’t trust him, he never would have come. Edmund never went where he wasn’t wanted.
Once was enough for that. When he, Josiah and their brother, David, were just little mites, their parents died, and they were each sent to a different relative. The cousin who raised Edmund was a strong-willed, bossy widow who hadn’t welcomed another mouth to feed. Forced to take his meals in the kitchen while the family ate in the dining room, Edmund always felt like an outsider, so he hit the trail as soon as he turned sixteen, Calvin’s age. If not for an old cowboy taking him under his wing, Edmund could well have ended up an outlaw. Hunger can do that to a man. These Barlow young’uns might have lost their pa, but they still had each other, and they still had a strong ma to hold them together. He could almost envy them that, if envy weren’t a sin.
Mrs. Barlow kept on looking at him with her light brown eyebrows bent into a frown. He shuffled from one foot to the other and rolled his brown Stetson in his hands. Maybe he should just apologize for living and go back home.
Nope. He needed to tell Widow Barlow why he’d bothered her this early in the morning, so he cleared his throat.
“Um, well, I didn’t come about the fence. I came over to invite Jacob—” he gave the ten-year-old a slight nod and was rewarded when the boy’s eyebrows shot upward with surprise and his lips formed a lopsided grin “—that is, you may know that after John and Helen Carson’s barn burned down, CJ Thorn came up with a plan to teach local boys about ranching. CJ calls them the Young Ranchers’ Club and says they were a big help to Molly’s folks in cleaning up the place after the fire and getting the new barn built.” Maybe invoking his friends’ names would influence Mrs. Barlow. “What with CJ and Molly newly married, I’m gonna have the boys over to my place this week. The Forester boys and the Gillen boys and a few others are the regulars. Jacob would fit right in—” That was a mighty long speech for Edmund, and he was beginning to feel worn out despite it being first thing in the morning.
Mrs. Barlow’s blue eyes narrowed, and her frown turned into a scowl. “Jacob learns everything he needs to know about ranching right here at home, and it’s past time for him to start doing his chores.” She glanced toward the door, a clear invitation for Edmund to leave.
Edmund would be glad to do that, but he couldn’t let his nephew Adam down. “Yes, ma’am, I’m sure you’re teaching him a whole heap. But Adam will be there, too, and he’ll be disappointed if his best friend can’t join the group.” A tiny bit of guilt crept into his mind. Using CJ’s name to add credibility to his invitation was one thing, but he shouldn’t blame Adam for this intrusion into her world. Jacob’s surprised look turned to excitement as he glanced between Edmund and his ma.
“Adam?” She blinked those big blue eyes, and her entire countenance changed from antagonism to something a lot more pleasant, almost a smile. In spite of her grouchiness, she was a nice looking woman any day, but a smile made her right pretty. “Hmm. If Adam will be there—” She glanced at Jacob, who chewed his lip and pleaded with his gaze. She relaxed her stance and gently pulled him forward. “You want to go?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Full-on happiness shone on the boy’s face, giving Edmund a kick of satisfaction in his chest.
Mrs. Barlow heaved out a sigh. Was it relief or defeat? “All right, then.” She ruffled her son
’s hair. “You may go. We’ll shift your chores around with your brothers so everything gets done.”
To their credit, not a hint of grumbling or disapproval came from either Calvin or Samuel. Not even from little Daniel, who was a mite young to join Jacob and the others.
When Mrs. Barlow turned back to Edmund, he caught a hint of worry—or was it fear?—in her eyes that didn’t seem to have anything to do with Jacob. Not knowing much about women, he had no idea how to figure it out. Still, he was pleased she’d let Jacob join the other boys. He’d saved the best part until last.
“You’ll be glad to know Pastor Stillwater will cart the boys back and forth each day.”
“That’s not necessary. Jacob can get there by himself.” She posted her fists at her waist again. “And I have only one condition for him to join.”
Edmund’s chest tightened. Now what? “Yes, ma’am?”
“I want you to bring him home every evening and have supper with us. That’ll repay you for your efforts.”
“You don’t have to repay—”
“If you won’t come, he can’t go.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin.
Now that Edmund had a little bit of her trust, he didn’t want to lose it. But supper with this big family? Not something he’d ever seek, even with the fine breakfast aromas tempting him just now. She was probably a real fine cook. For a brief moment, he let himself admire her pretty face with its upturned little nose sprinkled with freckles and eyes that seemed not to miss anything going on in her domain. He had no place for women in his life, especially not peevish women, but he could admire them from a distance.
“Well?” She tapped one foot on the broad board flooring and raised one eyebrow.
Suddenly, he felt like a schoolboy being scolded by the schoolmarm. Yet he had to admit, if only to himself, that he was tired of his own cooking and the occasional bland fare served up by Mushy, his cowhands’ cook. Maybe he should give it a try.
A Hasty Betrothal Page 24