Spring Blossom Page 17

  He thought that was fairly clear.

  Hunter returned his gaze to the backs of the bays for a moment, sorting through his thoughts and struggling for a means to diffuse her unease. Of course she was afraid. Everything would be new to her, and she would not even have the luxury of turning to a husband she loved when she needed comfort. Most brides had that much, at least.

  “I’m not a cruel man, Maggie. You must know that. It was not, nor will it ever be my intention to hurt you in any way. I know that you must be anxious about your new home. But the people you will be meeting are good people. They’re looking forward to your arrival.”

  Startled by that bit of information, she glared at him. “You told them about me?”

  “Of course. I returned to your father’s house for you. Why would I not tell my closest friends about the woman I was going to marry?”

  “But you knew a girl,” she raged.

  “That’s correct,” he said quietly. “I knew a girl who had great potential and who has now blossomed into a beautiful young woman.”

  “Don’t try to flatter me.”

  “A woman who happens to have a bad temper,” he muttered. And then he turned to face her more fully. “Do you think I would tell you that just to hear myself talk?”

  “I think you have other motives,” she threw back.

  Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And what might those be?”

  “I think all you want is…” Unable to complete the sentence, she turned away from the heated look in his eyes.

  “You do me an injustice,” he said angrily, fully understanding the implication behind her unfinished statement. “And I can find ‘that’ anywhere.” On that note he slapped the reins against the horses’ rumps and the wagon lurched forward.

  She recoiled from his anger, knowing she had gone too far. Knowing, too, this was a very different kind of anger than she had ever experienced from him before. And now she wondered about the repercussions of this blunder on her part. She couldn’t hope that he was angry enough to send her back to her father. She knew instinctively that that was not going to happen. She also felt that, as she was alone in the middle of nowhere with him, she should try and bring about a truce, at least temporarily. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to anger you.”

  He laughed caustically. “Really?”

  “Hunter, I’m trying to…” What? She didn’t know anymore.

  He sighed. Hunter was beginning to think he’d been wrong in giving her time to adjust to her new home and to him. Obviously, instead of becoming more comfortable with him, she was building additional mental barriers against him. Perhaps it was time to discuss their relationship, and their future, in more blunt terms than he had used in the past. “You are my wife, and I will make love with you, Maggie, but it will not be rape,” he added quietly but firmly as he studied the road ahead. In his peripheral vision he noted that she was now looking at him, and he spoke again before she could interrupt and further complicate the discussion. “What I said is true. I could satisfy my lust anywhere and with any woman, if that were my desire and my ‘motive’ as you so kindly put it.”

  “Hunter, I…”

  “Please allow me to finish,” he put in, and Margaret fell silent, studying her hands in her lap. “Therefore, we might deduce that my interest in you is not driven solely by passion. Would that be fair to say?” He turned his head long enough to see her reluctantly agree by a single nod of her head. “Don’t take that to mean I don’t want you that way,” he added bluntly. “I desperately want to make love you, and there other things I want, Maggie. I want us to build a relationship that will grow stronger with the years, I want us to raise a family and grow old watching the sunsets together.” He looked at her boldly as she rubbed the palms of her hands up and down the legs of her britches. “Would you consider those reasonable hopes for the future?”

  Her eyes darted to his and away again. “Yes, reasonable.”

  "And could you desire such things for yourself, and with me?”

  Margaret hesitated but eventually nodded her head, feeling very small for what she had been thinking about him.

  “Then how do we go about attaining our dreams, my dear?”

  When she did not speak, he prompted, “Would a little mutual trust be a good jumping-off point?”

  After a moment, she agreed with a softly spoken, “Yes.”

  Hunter sighed. “If you only learn two things about me, little one,” he breathed, “know this; I will always protect you and I will never willingly hurt you.”

  But she knew that last statement was a lie; eventually he would hurt her.

  *

  Hunter stopped the team a short distance from his farm, allowing Margaret time to change into the traveling suit she had worn the first day of their trip. When she returned to the wagon, she looked fresh and dignified, and she hid her nervousness well, he thought. It was obvious that she was nervous about meeting his friends, for she had brushed her hair and left it down so that it fell forward over her shoulders and acted as a shield for the scar on her face. This surprised him, since she had flaunted the scar at their first reunion. Then he remembered that her intent at that time had been to drive him away. It seemed she did not have the same desire toward his friends. How was he ever going to convince her that the scar did not detract from her beauty or her desirability?

  Margaret’s interest was piqued when they turned off the main road and entered a long narrow lane. The weathered two-storey house was set on an incline somewhat higher than the road, and a huge oak tree seemed to bow over the place. To the left, and set still farther back, she saw a barn, a few smaller outbuildings, and what looked like an apple orchard beyond. While the place could not be termed pretty, it did have a certain serenity and charm about it.

  “We’re not far from Danville,” Hunter explained as Margaret looked around at fields of tobacco and corn and, to her right, another orchard of fruit-laden trees. “We take our tobacco to auction there and sell most of our fruit and produce; some to local merchants but the majority is shipped from Danville north by rail. Some fruits and vegetables, of course, we preserve for ourselves. It won’t be long before I’ll have to round up picking crews,” he added. “You can come with me if you like and see what the town is all about.”

  Margaret smiled; she would like that. Just knowing civilization of some sort was nearby was a comfort.

  “Well, here we are,” he said, feeling slightly apprehensive; it was more important to him than he realized that she like his home and his friends. He very much wanted her, eventually, to be happy here, and even though his farm was not so large or grand as Treemont, he could provide for her well with what he had.

  He drove the team around the house and followed the lane that ambled off toward the large barn. Near a side door of the house, he pulled the team up, wrapped the reins securely around the brake handle, and jumped to the ground. But before he could walk around to Margaret’s side of the wagon and help her down, the outer door flew open and a feminine voice demanded his attention.

  “About time you got her here!” Marie-Louise called, running down the steps from the porch that circled the house on three sides. She was a plain young woman of eighteen years whose auburn hair had frizzed in the southern Virginia humidity, but her smile could light up anyone’s day. “What took you so long?” she admonished, cuffing Hunter’s shoulder much to Margaret amazement.

  Marie-Louise took one look at the two stallions tied to the sides of the wagon and frowned, keeping her distance as she muttered, “More of those dang creatures.”

  “Watch your mouth,” Hunter said firmly.

  She ignored him, turning a radiant smile up to Maggie. “Hi!” She extended her hand upward. “I’m Marie-Louise Winter, in case his nibs forgot to tell you.” She noticed Margaret’s gloves and pulled her hand back, wiping it on her apron before extending it once again. “I’m glad you’re here,” she said as she shook Margaret’s hand. �
��I’m sick of my own company, and these men don’t talk about nothin’ but crops.” She whirled on Hunter who was leaning against the side of the wagon grinning. “Mr. Maguire, you help her down here now.” Then she flashed another smile at Margaret. “I’ll make you some cool lemonade, if he ever gets you down here.”

  Hunter laughed. “Slow down, for Maggie’s sake,” he teased, having given up trying to tame Marie-Louise months ago. “And come here and give me a property greeting.”

  Marie-Louise flew at him then, her arms going around his neck with no hesitation, while Hunter squeezed her waist. “I missed you,” she said before stepping back, dropping her arms to her sides as he grinned down at her.

  “I won’t tell Jeffrey you said that,” he teased, and she laughed.

  “Jeffrey won’t care,” she returned proudly. “I love him enough so he won’t ever feel threatened.”

  Margaret was stunned and a little bit hurt that this girl could speak and act so casually with Hunter when she, his wife, continuously tripped over her tongue or made him angry. She would have to think about all of this once she was alone. And, there seemed to be something naughty in Marie-Louise’s statement about loving Jeffrey!

  “Besides, you have your own wife,” Marie-Louise continued, turning back to Margaret. “You’ve got to have patience with him, Miss Maggie. He’s like the other men around here…slow.”

  “Get in that house!” Hunter ordered, laughing as he turned her by her shoulders.

  “With any luck,” she called over her shoulder, “he’ll have you down about a week from Tuesday.”

  Margaret chuckled lightly as she watched the girl disappear into the house.

  “She’s full of vim and vigor, that girl,” Hunter said, reaching up and placing both hands around Maggie’s waist.

  “She’s not usually like that?”

  “Not quite as…excited,” he said as she landed on the ground in front of him. “She’s been looking forward to having another woman to talk with.”

  Margaret smiled warily.

  Hunter placed his hand on the back of her waist and guided her toward the house. “Come on, I’ll take you in and then get some help to unload your trunks.”

  The kitchen was large and bright and clean. This appeared to be the room where they ate their meals; a large wooden oval table, surrounded by six chairs, stood at one end. A row of windows ran the length of the outer wall, and a large cabinet and hutch took up most of the wall opposite. The cooking area contained a long L-shaped counter, a cast-iron wood stove, and wooden storage bins set up off the floor on a platform. Cupboards had been suspended from the ceiling along the wall of the counter. In the center of the area stood a large cutting block. The room was sunny and welcoming and smelled pleasantly of lemons.

  Marie-Louise smiled at them as she halved lemons with a long knife. “I was going to make new curtains for these windows,” she said as she began to squeeze the lemons. “But I thought you might like to choose the material yourself. We can make them together.”

  Hunter laughed. “Could you give her time to unpack her knickers?” he teased and ducked out the door before either woman could respond.

  Margaret blushed at his reference to her under-garments and Marie-Louise huffed as she poured ample quantities of the fresh juice into two glasses. “What does he know?” she muttered. And then she was turning away. “Be back,” she called as she exited the room.

  Margaret felt her head would spin of Marie-Louise did not slow down.

  She took another step into the room as she looked around at her new home. Walking toward the large table, she removed her gloves and unpinned her hat. Before she could be seated, however, Marie-Louise had returned, carrying a clear frosted pitcher of water.

  “Sit,” she said as she whisked by. “I keep water in the root cellar so it stays cool.” Having added water and sugar to the two glasses, she returned to the table and sat in the chair to Margaret’s left. “There.” She took a drink from her own glass. “You’ll like this, I hope. I don’t make it so sweet that it’s syrupy.”

  Margaret took a sip, nodded her head, and raised the glass again for a longer drink. “It’s very good. I was thirsty.”

  Marie-Louise beamed with pride. “I’m very glad you’re here,” she said again. “I don’t usually run on like this, but I haven’t had another female to talk with for months.”

  “How long have you lived here?” Margaret asked, thinking of the easy relationship this girl had with Hunter.

  “It’s been six months and three weeks since Jeffrey married me and brought me here,” she explained, smiling happily. “And I love this place.”

  “You do seem happy.” Margaret smiled and lifted her glass to drink again; it was, in fact, the best lemonade she had ever tasted.

  “Oh, I’ve never been happier,” the young woman continued with feeling. “The men are good to me, and I love my husband and this old house and the cottage out back where Jeffrey and I stay.” Her eyes sparkled as she gazed quickly around the kitchen with glowing fondness. “All I need now is a baby.”

  Clearly surprised by the comment, Margaret choked. “So soon?”

  “The sooner the better,” the girl said lightly. “I’m not…yet, you understand. But I keep praying.”

  There was a commotion outside, and Marie-Louise pulled back the curtains. “Here’s Jason and Jeffrey to help,” she said, letting the white lace curtain fall back into place. “Come outside and I’ll introduce you to my Jeff.”

  There were no two ways about it. Marie-Louise moved to the door and she expected Margaret to follow her. “Don’t be shy,” she said, seeing Margaret’s hesitation. “Jeff is just as sweet as he can be and Jason is a grand fellow. You’ll like them. Come on, now.”

  Jason proved to be a mountain of a man who stood a half head taller than Hunter. He was well muscled, without an ounce of fat, and sported flaming red hair and a bushy beard to match. And, he greeted Margaret warmly.

  The three men were standing at the rear of the wagon, having obviously already stabled the horses, when Hunter looked up and smiled as Margaret walked his way. These are my friends, his eyes told her.

  Margaret smiled when she caught the meaning behind that look; she realized it was important to him that she like these people. Was it equally as important to him that these people like her?

  As Hunter introduced her to Jason, Marie-Louise stepped closer to the younger man and folded her small hand in his. This kind of open display was new to Margaret, and she wondered at the intensity of emotions that would permit two people to so casually show their affection in front of others.

  “So you married this lout,” Jason boomed, sandwiching her hand between both of his. “Well, I hope you’ll be happy here, regardless.”

  “Thank you,” Hunter returned ruefully, and Margaret chuckled. She suspected Jason was in the habit of putting Hunter in his place.

  Hunter placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, ignoring the slight automatic flinch on her part, and indicated the young couple awaiting their attention. He smiled at Marie-Louise and asked, “Can you release Jeffrey long enough for him to greet my wife?”

  The young man with sandy hair looked unhappily at his employer as he let go of his wife’s hand. But, with the smile Hunter sent his way, Jeffrey realized the man had been teasing them. “Ma’am,” he said.

  “And that’s all you’ll be getting’ out of him,” Jason exclaimed before he clapped a hand firmly onto Hunter’s shoulder. “Let’s get these trunks up those stairs.”

  Marie-Louise lightly touched Margaret’s forearm to get her attention. “I’ll show you the house while the men are unloading the wagon,” she said. Margaret nodded her head and followed in the young woman’s wake.

  The tour was only beginning when Marie-Louise point to the closed door off the kitchen that was apparently Jason’s room. “I only go in there to collect the linens on wash day,” she explained.

  The front of the house was split into two rooms divided by
a narrow hall and a flight of stairs leading to the second floor. One large room had been divided, she was told, to make Jason’s room. The remainder of that once larger room contained a desk, some bookshelves and two comfortable-looking chairs situated before a small fireplace. This was Hunter’s study. Across the hallway was a deeper room which was simply furnished with a settee under the window and four chairs with accent tables grouped before the fireplace. The floors were clean and highly polished, and hooked rugs were scattered about. The room was bright and inviting, and Margaret could imagine the coziness of a roaring fire on a winter’s night.

  The top floor of the house contained three rooms, one much larger than the others. It was to this room that the men were moving her trunks, she noted with interest.

  “This will be your room,” Marie-Louise told her and the girl had the temerity to wink.

  Margaret merely smiled politely.

  “This is your room,” the girl said again, “and Mr. Maguire’s.”

  Margaret’s complexion turned various shades of red and she quickly retreated down the stairs.

  CHAPTER 16

  Margaret returned to the second floor later in the afternoon after Marie-Louise told her firmly that she would not be helping with the supper on her first night in her new home. Not that she would have been of much assistance in any event.

  Before she started to unpack her belongings, however, she strolled through the upstairs rooms, stopping to examine the one directly across the hall from where her trunks had been taken.

  The room contained a large bed with an iron bedstead, a small table, and a commode. Against one wall a handsome, cherry-wood wardrobe stood and, examining it closely, Margaret determined it would hold most of her gowns. A braided rug lay on either side of the large bed, and beige curtains, matching the material and color of the comforter on the bed, fluttered at the small window. It would do nicely, she decided.