Spring Blossom Page 11

  God how he hated that word! But to Jennifer he said only, “Yes. Because of that day.”

  “Because that man hit her?”

  “Yes. And there are more complicated reasons that I can’t explain.”

  His young companion merely looked disgusted. “You think I’m too young,” she accused.

  “Perhaps a little,” he said, smiling in the fact of her disappointment. “Let it suffice to say that some men do not behave respectfully toward women.”

  “And that has made Margaret nervous?”

  “Yes.”

  Jennifer thought about that for a moment, as well. “That man must have been very nasty,” she concluded. “Margaret has been nervous for a long time.”

  He waited silently, refilling his coffee cup as she continued to struggle with her thoughts and confusion.

  After a moment she raised worried eyes to him. “Hunter?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You will behave respectfully toward her, won’t you?”

  “I promise, monkey,” he said fondly.

  *

  Margaret was harried by everyone but Jennifer from the time she opened her eyes that morning. Denise and Florence had learned of the forthcoming wedding the previous evening, but their father he told them not to mention it until Margaret had a chance to get over the excitement.

  Denise sincerely doubted that ‘excitement’ would described Margaret’s feelings on the matter and she was first to reach her sister’s room with tea and biscuits.

  “I’m happy for you, Margaret,” Denise said, setting the tray on the small table near the window. “I think Hunter Maguire is a fine man.”

  “Or a fool,” Margaret returned heatedly.

  Turning from the table, tea cup in hand, Denise raised her eyebrows, but not in surprise. “He is not the man who left his mark on you, Maggie,” she said softly but firmly.

  Margaret looked startled for a moment, wondering if her sister was referring to more than the scar she bore. Shrugging into a pink robe trimmed with matching eyelet lace, she crossed the room and sat in one of the small chairs Denise had pulled up to the table.

  “I’m happy that you have someone to love, also,” Denise said. “I think life would be painful without a special someone to love.”

  Margaret snorted at the concept and stared at her sister suspiciously. “Do you now?”

  The younger woman nodded, suddenly intent on staring at the bottom of her cup. “We’ve never had anyone to talk with us about the kind of…loving that I think you’re worried about, Mag. But you mustn’t think that being with Hunter in…physical love will be…unpleasant.”

  Margaret laughed caustically. “And you're an authority?”

  Denise blushed shyly, having previously never had conversations of this nature with any of her sisters. “Sometimes Tim becomes very bold,” she said. “But, frankly, Maggie, when he touches me, I like it.”

  “Denise,” Maggie gasped, utterly astounded that the girl was so brazen.

  “We don’t do anything wrong," Denise replied defensively.

  “You will not to be married for two months.”

  “I’m still a virgin, silly. I did want to see if I like him touching me, though. That only makes sense.” She leaned toward Margaret then, to whisper, “It’s so wonderful when he touches me, Maggie.”

  “You are not supposed to like it,” Margaret snapped.

  “Now, who told you that?”

  There was no response to that question.

  “Tim says women enjoy it, too.”

  “He’s lying to you,” Margaret returned with equal heat. “He’s telling you these things so he can get what he wants.”

  Denise got to her feet. “I will not listen to you.”

  But Margaret followed her to the door. “There is so much for us here at Treemont, Denise. Life could be good…quiet and organized and peaceful. If my plans bear fruit, I shall…”

  Denise whirled to face her sister. “Is that really what you want, Maggie? A life in which you never have to take a chance on being hurt? A life without children? Is that really what you want?” she demanded again. “Think very carefully about growing old and very alone here.”

  Turning once again toward the door, Denise almost collided with Florence in her haste to leave the room. Reaching out a steadying hand, she stared at her younger sister and offered some sage advice. “Do not listen to her, Flo,” she said harshly. “Margaret has warped views. You do not want to think as she does.” Without further comment Denise angrily fled the room, leaving thirteen-year-old Florence totally confounded.

  “What is she talking about, Margaret?”

  Maggie waved a dismissive hand. “Forget about her,” she said quietly, turning back to fetch her tea. “Denise fancies herself in love.”

  “And you, too!” Florence said, suddenly animated. “I’m so excited for you. I think Hunter is wonderful.”

  “You and every other female I know,” she muttered.

  Florence’s gay smile turned into a brief frown. But Florence was never unhappy for long. “I’ve come to help you decide on a dress,” she announced as she skipped toward the wardrobe. “And I’ll help you pack for your trip. Oh, Maggie,” she said with the wistfulness only a young girl verging on womanhood could manage. “I can’t believe you’ll be leaving us in just two short days and you’ll be a married woman!”

  Only two short, days…and a married woman. Those days would be far too short for Maggie, also; particularly the current one.

  *

  That day and the following morning sped by as Margaret and her sisters packed trunks and cases with all of the items she would need for her new life as Hunter’s wife. There were the linens she had painstakingly embroidered as a young, wistful girl, and the silver tea set that had belonged to their mother. Denise contributed a few household goods that she had collected for her own home but insisted that Maggie take with her; Denise’s fiancé had a house of his own, that was also his place of business, and she would be moving into a well-established home.

  And finally came the hour that Margaret had dreaded. She was standing at the top of the stairs, knowing her family and a minister awaited her in the parlor. She was too proud not to take pains with her appearance and had dressed a in pale blue dress with a high collar and lace bodice. The same lace graced the long tubular sleeves and the hem of her skirt. Denise had swept her long, heavy hair loosely back off her face and secured the curls in two sections, allowing the longer lengths to fall past her shoulders, adding tiny blue flowers to both sides. Denise had thought her sister would balk at the style, preferring instead to have her long hair partly covering the scar on her face. But Margaret was long past the point of trying to hide.

  As she hesitated on the landing, Margaret looked down to see her father waiting at the bottom of the stairs, a nervous smile on his face and his hand extended upward. ”Come along, my dear,” he said. “We are waiting.”

  She took her time, gripping the banister as she went because her knees felt slightly weak. When Margaret reached the last step, she placed her hand in her father’s.

  "Margaret,” he said, almost sighing. “You are as lovely as your dear mother.” He smiled warmly. “Do you think she will forgive me if I say you are even lovelier?”

  Margaret wanted to be angry with him for his part in this, for not sending Hunter away so that she could live in peace with her family and remain with her horses. But she could not. Not today, her last full day at Treemont. She simply loved him too much. “Thank you, Papa,” she said. “You lie so sweetly."

  Margaret had told herself time and time again over the past two days that her father had done as he felt best and she could not accuse him of meanness or of not caring for her welfare. That thought had served to dim her indignation…with Alastair, at least; Hunter Maguire was another story. The moment she entered the parlor on her father’s arm and saw her future husband standing there looking confident, and devilishly handsome, her resentment returned ful
l force. He, after all, had been the one to coerce her father into agreeing with this arrangement.

  Hunter turned, as did the rest of the family, when he heard the approaching footsteps of his host and his bride. He found himself drawing in a deep breath, which his lungs refused to release. What man could notice a small pink scar when there was such total beauty to behold? In truth, Margaret was breathtakingly lovely. Once he found a way to appease her fears and overcome her stubbornness, Hunter knew that he would be a very fortunate man. He remembered the love of life and living that she had possessed as a girl, and he would see to it that her former happiness returned to her, ten-fold.

  Here was woman in all her glory. Here was the summation of all his hopes and dreams. Here was a woman so delicate and lovely that he could not get enough of staring at her. And here, also, was the vulnerable girl who did not yet understand what being a woman was about. Here was a woman who would need his assurance and understanding and loving in order for them to achieve their full potential as partners. Every single fiber of her being radiated some special kind of sensual warmth into him, deep inside him, as no other woman had ever done, and he would have it all. One day, Maggie, he thought.

  As her father led her forward, Hunter smiled at her, then took the delicate, gloved hand that trembled slightly at his touch. And then they were turning together to face the minister and hear his words.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here…”

  CHAPTER 12

  Anna, with the help of Denise and Florence, had grudgingly outdone herself in preparing the wedding feast.

  Margaret noted that a fresh young turkey had been sacrificed for the occasion, and she felt that was fitting. It fell in line with her own thoughts of being the sacrificial lamb.

  “You look so beautiful, Maggie,” Jennifer said, leaning closer to her sister.

  Margaret smiled down at the grinning girl. “Thank you, darling.”

  “I agree,” her husband said softly as he stepped to her side. “You’re exceptionally beautiful today, Maggie.”

  The new bride raised her head slightly, frowning. “You know how I feel about you saying that,” she said in a controlled voice.

  “I know you have difficulty believing in your own loveliness,” he returned. “But I will have years to convince you.”

  Totally embarrassed now, Maggie crossed her arms beneath her breasts in exasperation. “I used to think of you as a man of few words."

  His grin broadened as he reached for her hand. “That is still true. But you should remember I’m a man who speaks up when I have something important to say.” He shrugged casually then. “I happen to consider your beauty a pleasant topic of conversation.”

  “Well, it annoys me,” she snapped

  “Then we must change the way you feel,” he whispered, leaning close. “I will have you believing what I see when I look at you, my darling.”

  By now Jennifer was smiling broadly at Hunter’s attentiveness toward her sister and was truly annoyed when Denise took her arm and dragged her away.

  Hunter noticed that girl’s departure and appreciated the fact that they were alone for a moment of two. “The ability to believe in your own beauty is only one of the things I will teach you,” he murmured.

  Taken aback by his intimate tone, Margaret could only stare at him as flattering color spread across her ivory skin. His manner was far from threatening. In fact, she thought it belonged somewhere between a caress and a playful barb.

  And it confused her.

  “I believe supper is ready,” she said, ignoring both his grin and the anxious little spasm in her chest.

  Hunter’s eyes followed her as she walked to her father’s side. She was still too nervous to play, he knew. But he would teach her slowly, and she would begin to relax once she realized he posed no threat.

  Jennifer was frowning as she appeared again at Maggie’s side. “I only wish you didn’t have to move away,” she said sadly.

  “I will not be so far from here, Jennifer,” Margaret said. In fact, she felt a terrible sadness in leaving this girl she had all but raised since their mother’s death. “And we shall return for Denise wedding after the harvest.”

  That seemed to brighten the girl’s mood. As everyone began to file into the dining room and take their seats, Jennifer decided she, in turn, should help promote Margaret’s happiness. She motioned with a tap on her sister’s arm and a waving of her hand and, when Maggie leaned close, Jennifer whispered, “Hunter will behave respectfully toward you,” she said. “He promised me.”

  Margaret straightened abruptly in her chair, her expression one of disbelief. “What?”

  Jennifer continued to smile and nod happily, although some doubt of the wisdom of speaking up began to seep into her thoughts as she watched her eldest sister’s smile melt with growing anger.

  Margaret frowned across the table at her husband, then reached for her wine while her mind whirled, cursing Hunter for speaking to Jennifer about…whatever horrid things he had spoken of for the child to make such a statement.

  All too soon the meal was over and the men were left alone to enjoy brandy and cigars. Margaret and her sisters adjourned to the parlor, where they partook of tea and a heavy dose of awkwardness. Not one among them knew what to say to Margaret. Denise had heard tales of the wedding night, of course, but she could not offer advice to her sister. And what she had previously offered had not been met with either appreciation or acceptance.

  Florence and Jennifer remained quiet, dwelling only on the fact that they were losing one of their own. To break their boredom, they began to snipe at each other good-naturedly.

  Throughout the otherwise long silence, Maggie stewed in barely suppressed nerves.

  Before too long the daughters were asked to join Alastair in saying thank you and good-bye to the minister at the front door.

  Hunter stepped close to Maggie’s side after the man had left. “Shall we, too, say good night, Mrs. Maguire?”

  “It’s early,” Maggie announced as her previously suppressed nerves jumped into full-blown panic. “I wish to spend more time with my family.”

  Hunter smile with understanding and did something he had never done before; he ran the tips of his fingers lightly along the narrow scar on her jaw. It was a touch so fleeting that Maggie was not certain he had actually come in contact with her skin. But there was a tingling warmth there that remained and left her wondering. “You’ll see your sisters at breakfast, Maggie, and we have a long journey tomorrow. I think it best that we retire for the evening and rest.”

  “I do not think it best,” she said with quiet conviction.

  Hunter’s eyes left her face and he looked up the long staircase. “Shall I carry you?”

  “Is that a threat?”

  He grinned down at her. “No, it is not a threat, my dear, but I would be pleased if you would oblige me.”

  He would do it, she thought. He would embarrass her in front of her family and think nothing of it. “You are one pompous, over-bearing…” But she couldn’t finish the thought in the company of others. Turning away Margaret said her good nights to her sisters and, lastly, hugged her father particularly close.

  “Be easy, my darling,” Alastair whispered against her cheek as he kissed her fondly. “He’s a good man. Give it time. I have little doubt he will make you happy.”

  Margaret pulled back, her arms remaining loosely around his neck as she stood on tiptoe and stared into his trouble eyes. “Father, I…” But Margaret could not bring herself to speak. Anything she had to say, however honest or heartfelt, would only bring him pain. He had done his best for her in his own mind she knew, but it was difficult to accept that he had married her off so abruptly. And so, rather than blurt out her confusion and fear, she kissed his leathery cheek. “I love you, Papa,” she whispered and turned toward the stairs.

  Hunter lightly gripped her elbow as they started up the long, curving stairway. “You could turn and give your father a smile, Mag
gie,” he suggested softly. “You are not going to your death, you know.”

  Margaret turned, smiled sweetly and waved to her family before glaring aside at her husband. “Am I not,” she muttered under the breath.

  Hunter heard, but was determined not to let her words affect him. "I thought the service was nice,” he said conversationally.

  Margaret glanced sideways with a look that indicated she believed he possessed the intelligence of a turnip.

  He laughed. “Well, it was. And the supper was excellent.”

  “Now, on that we can agree.”

  “First time today,” Hunter muttered.

  “Pardon?”

  “I said, have it your way.”

  Maggie seemed to gain some small degree of satisfaction from that, and Hunter laughed again, ruefully.

  With each step Margaret took en route to her bedroom she wondered at the stupidity of what she had done. She completely forgot about any arrangement between her father and Hunter as she mentally re-hashed how logical it all had seemed two days ago. But now…she failed to recall all the wise and brave things she had thought about their forthcoming relationship.

  Then Hunter brought them both to a halt outside her bedroom door.

  He leaned forward, not quite touching her shoulder, and swung the portal wide open.

  Margaret stood staring at him uncertainly when he failed to enter and did not encourage her to precede him into the room. “Will you knock on my door when you are ready to leave in the morning?” she asked.

  He smiled. “If you wish.”

  She laced her fingers together nervously, wondering how a wife bade a husband good night before closing the door in his face. “Jennifer will no doubt wake me up early. She will want to say good-bye.”

  “No doubt.”

  “Well,” she drawled uncomfortably before looking down the hall…for what?...and then into her room. “Good night.”

  “Good night,” he whispered and continued to smile when she entered and turned toward him with one last look before closing the door between them.