colourful quilts. Yellow and purple wildflowers overflowed from a vase under the window. She pushed open the white shutters and looked out on a garden, wild with rosebushes and hydrangeas, and overshadowed by eucalyptus trees. The eucalypts seemed a little different from those near the factory; she must ask about them. Beyond the gardens, the river meandered lazily as far as the eye could see.
And William Radcliffe was her husband. What madness was this? It seemed that only yesterday she was betrothed to Edward. Although, she had to admit, in the two years she knew Edward she did not experience a fraction of the spark that ignited each time William Radcliffe touched her. When his strong arms encircled her as they rode home, she was sure her heartbeat doubled. There had been a moment of anxiety at the unmistakable arousal of his body pressed against her. But that was quickly overtaken by strange tingles of excitement, as if every nerve had been jolted awake. With a shake of her head, she pushed the thoughts away. Now she was being ridiculous, the hardships of prison had affected her mind and blown his presence out of proportion. Besides, as handsome as he might be, his background was a complete mystery to her. Many of the free settlers came to outlying colonies to escape scandal at home. She sat heavily on the small footstool. Who was she to point a finger at someone escaping scandal?
She trailed her fingers across the dresser and frowned at her reflection in the oval wall mirror. Had she really married this man because he dropped a scarf in front of her? No, she had married him because he was her ticket out of prison. And she hoped he would help her to prove her innocence. No other reason.
Why then did she wish her words had been kinder? And more confusing, why had she flinched at his heartless response?
Electra, lost in her thoughts, jumped from the stool at a sharp rap on her door. She crossed the room and opened the door to William holding out a dress.
“I have borrowed this from my overseer’s wife. I am not sure of the fit, but it’s clean and it’s a change,” he said offering her the dress.
Her initial reaction was to refuse the dress but she could see in his eyes a genuine intention to assist.
She attempted a smile. “Yes, it will be a change. Thank you, Mr. Radcliffe.” She took the dress from him and turned to close the door. Their eyes met as his boot blocked the doorway and stopped her.
“My name is William and I would prefer my wife to address me by my first name.”
She stilled at his annoyed tone. “Very well. Thank you, William.” He waited, but she stubbornly refused to accord him the same privilege. William raised one eyebrow at the slight, turned on his heel, and left.
His overseer’s wife was obviously larger than Electra. The sleeves were too long and the waist too low. She rolled up the sleeves, shrugged at the rest and prepared to go downstairs.
She stood at the bottom of the stairs, unsure as to which room to enter when William walked up behind her in mid-conversation with a large bear of a man.
“Ah, Elec — er, Mrs. Radcliffe, I’d like you to meet my overseer, Callum MacDonald. Callum, this is my wife.”
“Wonderful to meet ye, Mrs. Radcliffe. And what a bonnie wee lassie ye are,” boomed the Scotsman. He grasped her hand in his and beamed effusively. She laughed, instantly at ease with the man, and retrieved her hand before he crushed it.
William nodded, obviously pleased with the overseer’s approval. His eyes travelled over the dress, noted the ill fit, but made no comment. Callum, however had no such compunction.
“Is this how ye intend to dress your wife, Will? Poor wee thing looks lost in there. Ye didna’ borrow it from my Shelagh, aye?” William’s startled look and the accompanying flush that stole up his neck, indicated he had indeed borrowed it from Callum’s wife.
“I’m sure it was the best he could do and I’m grateful for it. In fact, it’s
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