Chapter Twenty-Seven

“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”

Bella blinked back tears as the newlyweds turned toward each other—Sophie, in her white muslin gown with roses embroidered on the sleeves, and Sam, in a dark brown jacket and matching breeches, his ruddy face filled with joy as he embraced his bride.

They were both so beautiful. And so happy! Bella had never seen such joy.

She placed her hand on her lap, inches from her husband’s, willing him to take it. But he lifted his hand and adjusted his necktie.

Curse him—why did he have to look so handsome? His usual rugged demeanor—unkempt hair, crumpled suit, and the film of dirt that was always under his fingernails after a day’s toil—was alluring enough, for it exuded a masculinity that set her heart fluttering. But decked out in his best jacket, his hair freshly combed, smelling of soap and woody spices, he was breathtaking.

No wonder every woman in the village wanted him.

And no wonder they all thought she wasn’t good enough for him—the wayward wife with the past that nobody, not even her husband, spoke of.

She turned her hand, palm upward, and traced the callouses on her skin from her chores.

Chores… She’d hated them at first, but now she took comfort in them. Chores gave her a purpose—something she could take charge of. And they were something to take pride in. If she swept the floor, it became free of dust, and if she washed the windows, they became clean. They did as she bade.

Except the fire—the angry flames that sprang from the tinder, curling and crackling with a life of their own, eliciting a deep-set fear that threatened to overwhelm her as they pulsed back and forth. Each day, she fought to conquer the flames, telling them she would not be cowed.

Until recently, when her husband had begun to light the fires for her. Why, she couldn’t fathom, seeing as he did little else around the house. But he insisted, wearing her resolve with something akin to guilt in his expression, until she relented.

She glanced up to see him looking directly at her, that same guilt in his eyes. Then he resumed his attention on the happy couple at the front of the church.

Was I once as happy as Sophie is now?

“Bella?”

A large hand enveloped hers.

“What did you say?” he asked.

She let out a sigh. “I was only wondering whether I was as happy on our wedding day as Sophie is now.”

His eyes flared, and the guilt in them thickened. The children shifted in their seats, and three heads turned in their direction, watching their father, as if they feared his response.

“Weddings are happy occasions,” he said. “Mine was no different.”

Mine? Why did he respond in such a manner?

Had he been forced to marry her? Perhaps because…

Sweet Lord —had their wedding been out of necessity, like countless marriages where a woman ruined herself to catch a man, and the man was threatened into matrimony at the muzzle of a pistol?

She glanced about the church. Was that why they thought her a hussy?

The ceremony over, Bella rose and took her husband’s proffered arm as they filed out of the church, the children in tow.

“May we explore the churchyard, Mama?” Roberta asked.

“No, Roberta,” Bella’s husband said. “It’s not done to clamber over gravestones. It’s disrespectful to the dead.”

“The dead won’t care,” Jonathan said. “They’re too busy being eaten by worms.”

“Would a worm eat you if I stuffed it down your shirt?” William asked.

“Children!” Bella cried. “Leave the churchyard be. Why don’t you go and speak to Thomas? He’s all alone with his mother. Perhaps he needs a friend.”

“Don’t like Thomas,” Willian said. “He pushed me at school yesterday.”

“You pushed him back twice as hard, Billy,” Roberta said.

Bella sighed. “Then it’s time to make up and be friends again.”

“ He started it.”

“That doesn’t matter,” she said.

“Why?” Jonathan asked.

“Because it’s lonely not having any friends. Perhaps Thomas pushed your brother because he was unhappy, and it was the only way he could show how unhappy he is.”

“Why didn’t he just tell us?” William asked.

“Sometimes it’s difficult to tell others how we feel,” Bella said. “We can only talk to people we love and trust—and who love and trust us in turn. If Thomas behaves badly, we should try to understand why. Perhaps he’s hurting.”

“Like when I fell out of the tree and hurt my leg?” Roberta asked.

“No, Bobby,” Bella said. She placed her hand over her heart. “Perhaps he’s hurting here . Just because we can’t see where he hurts, it doesn’t mean he’s not in pain.”

A small hand took hers, and she looked down to see Jonathan staring up at her.

“Are you in pain, Mama?”

“No, my love,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze. “But perhaps Thomas is—and you can help him.”

The boy nodded, then ran toward Thomas, his siblings in tow.

The newlyweds emerged, amid cheers from onlookers, then climbed onto a cart decorated with ribbons and flowers. Sophie tossed her posy into the air, and a volley of eager hands thrust upward until a young girl—Rosie Hall—caught it with a squeal of triumph.

“That’ll be Mr. Hall needin’ to save every bit of spare cash if their Rosie’s next down the aisle,” Lawrence said.

“Must you say such things?” Bella retorted. “If you have nothing kind to say, you should keep quiet.”

His eyes widened. “I only meant that daughters are expensive.”

“And sons aren’t?”

“Bella, love, you know what I meant.”

“I know perfectly well what you meant,” she said, pulling herself free. “Women are a burden, to be cast aside when we’re no longer wanted.”

“Bella, what nonsense is this?”

“Do you really wish to know? I—”

“Mrs. Baxter!” a voice cried, and she turned to see Ned Ryman approaching. “Am I interrupting anything?”

“No,” she said bitterly. “Nothing of any importance.”

“Good.” He glanced at Lawrence and frowned. Then he took Bella’s hands. “I want to thank you for all the help you gave my Sophie. Her gown looks right pretty, it does. And I’m glad to see that Lawrence here isn’t so mean with your housekeeping that he refuses you something pretty. That ribbon looks lovely. Sets off the color of your gown just perfect.”

He tipped his hat, then returned to the throng to embrace the bride and shake the groom’s hand.

Lawrence narrowed his eyes and glanced at her gown.

Bella placed a protective hand over the sash. “It was a gift,” she said. “I-it didn’t cost anything. I know we can’t afford it.”

Once again guilt flickered in his eyes. “You think I’m such a poor husband that I’d begrudge my wife something pretty?”

She opened her mouth to reply.

No—because you want another woman.

Then she closed it again. Why ruin such a happy day? And what would the revelation that she knew of his infidelity achieve?

She glanced around the company and caught sight of Mrs. Chantry, eyes on her, nose wrinkled in a sneer. Her breath caught in her throat as she fought to suppress a sob.

“Bella?”

Why must he speak so tenderly? She could better weather his teasing, for at least then she could fight back.

“I know what they say about me,” she said. “That I’m a hussy—a wayward wife who only cares for herself.”

He pulled her into his arms, and she fought the instinct to yield.

“That ain’t true,” he said. “You care a great deal for others—you take care of my home, my children.”

There it was again— my home, my children. As if she had no right to be here.

His lips touched her forehead, his breath a warm caress, and her body tightened with the need to be cherished.

“Come on, Bella, love,” he said. “Let’s go.”

“Aren’t you spending the evening with Ned?”

“No, I want to take you home.”

A flicker of hope swelled in her soul, which his next words extinguished.

“I need to turn in early if I’m to get to the Oak before dawn tomorrow.”

“The inn? What business do you have at the inn?” she asked, wincing at the sharpness in her voice.

“I’m visitin’ a big house about their garden,” he said. “I’m hirin’ a horse to ride over. It could mean a lot of work—a tidy sum of money if they’ll hire me. I thought I told you.”

“No,” she said. “You didn’t.”

“Oh, well, there’s no mindin’ that. It’ll mean I’ll be out from under your feet for a few days.”

“A few days ?”

“Don’t be complaining,” he said. “Chances like this don’t come often. The last time I had a chance like this, I…” His voice trailed away, and his expression hardened for a moment.

Then he smiled and patted her hand.

“Never mind that now,” he said. “Time we returned home. Children, come on!”

*

When they arrived at Ivy Cottage, he pushed open the door, then stood back to let her in.

“Mercy me, it’s getting right cold out there!” he said brightly, shedding his jacket. “Children—go upstairs. I want those clothes folded neatly to save your mother doing it. If anything’s soiled, leave it out to wash. Don’t stuff it in the closet—I’m talking to you , Jonathan.”

“Yes, Papa!” they chorused, clattering up the stairs. Bella entered the parlor and crouched beside the fireplace, which she’d laid that morning, and reached for the tinderbox. Then she struck the flint, the spark igniting the tinder, before holding it at the bottom of the fire, waiting for the kindling to catch.

A flame sparked into life, and her chest constricted, the fear rising. Then a hand caught hers.

“Let me.”

“I can light a fire, Lawrence.”

“I know, but you must be tired. It’s been a long day.”

“No more tired than you,” she said. “Don’t you need to prepare for your trip tomorrow?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help you.”

The flames began to curl around the logs, then, with a crack, a spark flew out. With a scream she jerked back and collided with a solid body.

Strong arms wrapped around her. Then he rose and steered her toward the sofa.

“You rest there, Bella. I’ll see to the fire.”

“But…”

“Must you be so stubborn, woman? I’m doin’ this so you don’t get hurt.”

She sank onto the sofa while he poked and prodded the fire until it burned and crackled merrily.

“There!” he said, standing back. “Now you can have a bit of a rest while I finish work on my designs.”

He exited the room, leaving her alone.

I’m doin’ this so you don’t get hurt.

“You’re too late,” she whispered, placing her palm over her heart.