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Authors: Velda Brotherton
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Smith.
“Who’s this Lord?” he asked when they were on their way out of town.
“A Lord Blair Prescott. He’s built an honest to goodness stone castle a few miles out of town. Calls it Fairhaven. You ain’t seen the like in all your born days, I’ll wager. Limeys.” Smith shook his head, spat the last word like an epitaph, and snapped the lines across the horse’s flanks.
Despite his reason for being in Victoria, Calder looked forward to seeing a real English castle. He felt blamed good too, after working all the previous afternoon with Smith. A bit sore, but good all the same. His Pa had always said hard work was good for a man, but Calder had never much agreed till now.
Funny, how he remembered Pa all of a sudden. It wasn't like he wanted to, though. Then he'd have to recall that awful day he'd come on him sprawled in a bramble patch, killed by bushwhackers. And him only fifteen at the time. He shook away the vision of Pa dead like that, and watched the road ahead for first sight of the Englishman’s castle. Maybe he’d remember where he’d heard of this place by the time they got there.
Chapter Five
The clatter of hooves and rattle of a wagon distracted Wilda from this distasteful second meeting with Lord Blair. Beyond the window, a vehicle drew up outside the barn and two men leaped down. One, a giant with no hair whatsoever on his head, the other long and lean, with dark hair and a rakish walk—one she wouldn’t soon forget.
Her outlaw. What was he doing here? In the light of events taking place in the castle, the train robbery had temporarily slipped her mind. And now, outside the window, was one of the men who had pointed a pistol at her. Though she had not seen his face, she recognized the graceful way he moved. Her heart knocked against her ribs.
“Madame,” Prescott insisted. “I am here, not beyond that window.”
Regretfully, she dragged her attention back to the pronouncement of her doom. “I’m sorry, Sir. What is it you wish of me?”
“We must discuss the wedding arrangements, which were made prior to your arrival. All that remains is the fitting of the gown. It has been made for you. Simmons will take you to town this afternoon for that, and you may also shop for your, ahem…unmentionables.”
It was a wonder he hadn’t purchased those as well. How kind of him to allow her to choose her own drawers and corset. How badly she wanted to tell him so, but again she trapped her tongue between her teeth. His reference to unmentionables brought unwelcome visions. His hands removing her clothes, fingers brushing over her flesh, his mouth committing unthinkable tasks such as she'd only heard whispered about. She shuddered, slid her glance toward the barn once more. Both men had disappeared inside.
Prescott dropped the paper knife with a clatter, and she jerked, pinned her gaze once more on him. He rose, leaned forward, stiff arms braced on the desktop. “The marriage will be performed here Saturday, fortnight, in the formal dining room, with a reception to follow. Everyone from the village will attend, save the laborers. It will be a celebration and a feast. The first wedding to take place in Victoria City, and it will also be the finest anyone has ever seen. That is, if my wife-to-be can bring herself to concentrate on the ceremonies.”
Fifteen days. The preening lout. With fists clenched, she listened to what was surely the sound of her heart breaking. Or perhaps the closing of a door to any happiness she might have expected with this man. He was abominable. In all her imaginings, she had not expected to hate him so. Had actually hoped she could learn to love him. Sadly, it was already clear that would never happen.
“Well, what have you to say?”
She stared past him through the windows and across the barren plain. As barren as her life would be here at Fairhaven. “It sounds…lovely.” She swallowed the sob that crept into her throat. Couldn't help gazing toward the window
“Who’s this Lord?” he asked when they were on their way out of town.
“A Lord Blair Prescott. He’s built an honest to goodness stone castle a few miles out of town. Calls it Fairhaven. You ain’t seen the like in all your born days, I’ll wager. Limeys.” Smith shook his head, spat the last word like an epitaph, and snapped the lines across the horse’s flanks.
Despite his reason for being in Victoria, Calder looked forward to seeing a real English castle. He felt blamed good too, after working all the previous afternoon with Smith. A bit sore, but good all the same. His Pa had always said hard work was good for a man, but Calder had never much agreed till now.
Funny, how he remembered Pa all of a sudden. It wasn't like he wanted to, though. Then he'd have to recall that awful day he'd come on him sprawled in a bramble patch, killed by bushwhackers. And him only fifteen at the time. He shook away the vision of Pa dead like that, and watched the road ahead for first sight of the Englishman’s castle. Maybe he’d remember where he’d heard of this place by the time they got there.
Chapter Five
The clatter of hooves and rattle of a wagon distracted Wilda from this distasteful second meeting with Lord Blair. Beyond the window, a vehicle drew up outside the barn and two men leaped down. One, a giant with no hair whatsoever on his head, the other long and lean, with dark hair and a rakish walk—one she wouldn’t soon forget.
Her outlaw. What was he doing here? In the light of events taking place in the castle, the train robbery had temporarily slipped her mind. And now, outside the window, was one of the men who had pointed a pistol at her. Though she had not seen his face, she recognized the graceful way he moved. Her heart knocked against her ribs.
“Madame,” Prescott insisted. “I am here, not beyond that window.”
Regretfully, she dragged her attention back to the pronouncement of her doom. “I’m sorry, Sir. What is it you wish of me?”
“We must discuss the wedding arrangements, which were made prior to your arrival. All that remains is the fitting of the gown. It has been made for you. Simmons will take you to town this afternoon for that, and you may also shop for your, ahem…unmentionables.”
It was a wonder he hadn’t purchased those as well. How kind of him to allow her to choose her own drawers and corset. How badly she wanted to tell him so, but again she trapped her tongue between her teeth. His reference to unmentionables brought unwelcome visions. His hands removing her clothes, fingers brushing over her flesh, his mouth committing unthinkable tasks such as she'd only heard whispered about. She shuddered, slid her glance toward the barn once more. Both men had disappeared inside.
Prescott dropped the paper knife with a clatter, and she jerked, pinned her gaze once more on him. He rose, leaned forward, stiff arms braced on the desktop. “The marriage will be performed here Saturday, fortnight, in the formal dining room, with a reception to follow. Everyone from the village will attend, save the laborers. It will be a celebration and a feast. The first wedding to take place in Victoria City, and it will also be the finest anyone has ever seen. That is, if my wife-to-be can bring herself to concentrate on the ceremonies.”
Fifteen days. The preening lout. With fists clenched, she listened to what was surely the sound of her heart breaking. Or perhaps the closing of a door to any happiness she might have expected with this man. He was abominable. In all her imaginings, she had not expected to hate him so. Had actually hoped she could learn to love him. Sadly, it was already clear that would never happen.
“Well, what have you to say?”
She stared past him through the windows and across the barren plain. As barren as her life would be here at Fairhaven. “It sounds…lovely.” She swallowed the sob that crept into her throat. Couldn't help gazing toward the window
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