CHAPTER ONE
Wedding Gifts
“Miss Abigail, you look down right pretty,” Miss Hattie exclaimed after tying a sash
about Abigail’s waist. The rosy pink matched the blush on her fair cheeks, and the young
woman's blonde curls were combed so they fell softly to her shoulders. Rarely did
they look anything but wild, and Hattie was taking the moment to admire the way she'd
tamed the savage locks into place. The only thing that was savage about her now were her
eyes, and they would never be tamed. Looking like some fierce bird's, a darker light
always beamed out from under the blue color to make them whisper things no child of her
age should know about. Hattie always thought her young charge's eyes were too wise
for her, but then maybe in time she'd catch up.
“It should be a fine party tonight,” Hattie added for good measure, her hands toying
with the gray blue skirt, that had the look of the sky on a stormy day. Abigail looked a
bit like a storm cloud floating by in her long full skirt. It was good the lace softened
her appearance. Miss Hattie thought she was much too severe when she first saw the
dress.
“Oh, I don't care about the party, Hattie,” Abigail answered saucily.
“For heavens sakes, why not? It's your wedding banquet, there'll be a hundred
people there. What finer occasion could there be to celebrate? You'll be the center
of attention, you always like that.” Hattie continued to fuss with her hair.
“If getting married appealed to me, then perhaps I'd be happy.” She gently slapped
the woman's hand away.
“What! That strapping young gentleman, Miss Abigail, I'm surprised.”
“He's fine enough, but a little too stiff, I think. I'm having a terrible
time imagining myself any man's wife, let alone his. I'd much rather be off
with Darcy.”
“Darcy's a hellion you'd best stay away from,” Hattie scolded.
“I'm meeting her tonight, after the party,” Abigail informed her with a devilish
grin.
“You're what!” The maid looked at her wide-eyed in horror.
“Shush. Father wouldn't hear of inviting her to my party, so we're having our
own later, just the two of us.”
The old woman shook her head. It certainly wasn't the first wild escapade
she'd been privy to, though it might be her last, with the young mistress leaving her
family home the following day as Aaron Barrow's bride. That was good, Hattie thought
to herself, Abigail was getting much to old for Darcy's spirited shenanigans, and the
rude aftermath that often follows.
“You've tried my patience for the last time,” Hattie said shaking her head. “Just
don't dare get caught, Little Miss.” Hattie always called her “Little Miss” when she
was lecturing. “You don't want to go down the aisle with a bruised bottom from your
daddy's cane, now, do you?”
“Believe me, the satisfaction would be worth the trouble. But even father wouldn't
be that cruel. Not on the day before my wedding.” Her perky smile tried to convince a
wiser Hattie. So sure of herself, the old maid noted. How like the breezes of summer and
spring thunderstorms this one is. For all her relief she would miss her.
The banquet was a terrific success, so everyone thought. Never had Neville
McPhearson's house gleamed so brightly. All the oil lamps had been polished until
they sparkled. The silver shone and the finest china and linens graced the tables and
sideboard. And of course, the bride-to-be looked ravishing in her shimmering dress, like
some angelic vision, coming down the stairs to take the hand of her intended and accompany
him to the festivities. She didn't look at all like herself, but some civilized
lady; though no one who looked on was deceived into believing that Abigail had been duly
tamed by the prospects of marriage. It was generally accepted that Miss McPhearson was
marrying the right man for her. The no nonsense Aaron wouldn't put up with her
antics any more than her father did. And just maybe, the love of a good husband, along
with his strong hand, might at last subdue the wild girl. At least that's what
everyone hoped, especially Margaret and Neville McPhearson.
On that night, Abigail danced in Aaron's arms, and watched him looking longingly
into her eyes. She was well aware of the odd fascination that her body had with this
activity. It was what had always brought women and men together, so said her mother. It
was something that bonded them in ways that only a married woman would understand.
Abigail always smirked at such private conversations. Mrs. McPhearson's daughter
knew a lot more about the facts of marriage than she believed she did. Abigail had
learned most of her information from Darcy, who seemed to know everything about life.
Though how Darcy got her knowledge was something of a mystery to her friend. Even so,
when Margaret McPhearson thought it was the proper time, Abigail listened to her
mother's gentle lecture to the very end, giving her a thank-you and a smile when it
was over.
And still, with all her knowledge of life's secrets, dancing in Aaron's arms
on the night before that fateful wedding night, it was difficult for Abigail to connect
the reality of marriage with what she was feeling from her broad shouldered, broadly
smiling fiancé. A fluttering in her stomach perhaps, but that could be that she
was tipsy from the glass of wine at dinner. She did like his powerful arms around her.
And she did enjoy the curious sensations that were coming from his loins to hers. Like
Miss Hattie pointed out to her over and over again, Aaron was devastatingly handsome, by
most woman's standards. He was tall and muscular, with an unblemished face that made
a strong statement with his high cheek bones, well-defined nose, and angular jaw line.
His dark hair was always slightly mussed, but not in an unattractive way, it attested to a
certain earthiness. He was a powerful man, having worked by his father's side in
their milling business. And Abigail was told he was as apt a businessman as hewas a
lumberman, having had ample experience as both.
He was the perfect man, all right, but though he was pleasant enough, and obviously very
fond of her, there was a reserve that didn't suit Abigail's exuberant spirit.
She liked running wild in her childhood dreams, and the prospects of having to remain a
housebound matron with a host of boring responsibilities didn't suit her. Still, at
seventeen, she was destined to marry, and marry she would unless she staged some outright
rebellion. As often as she dreamed of such a flagrant revolt however, it was just a pipe
dream. She knew that her youthful days of naughty escapades with Darcy were to end, and
another chapter in her life was about to be written. It was strange to be so sad on such
a festive occasion, Abigail had thought all through the evening. Though there was a
moment while they were dancing, when Aaron leaned down and kissed her on the lips … she
forgot about the sadness, the unwanted changes, and even the impending rendezvous with
Darcy. She lost herself in the fragrant moment as Aaron's scen lingered with hers,
and the sweep of his potent masculinity took her breath away. Her heart had never beat so
rapidly, and the fluttering in Her stomach became rude jolts that seemed to dive right to
the center of herself, just as she would dive headfirst into the swimming-hole, China
Cove, when she and Darcy swam in the cool waters on a summer afternoon.
“I'm looking forward to tomorrow,” Abigail whispered to him, as their lips parted.
“And so am I,” he said. “We'll have a long life together my fine little brat”—for
some reason Aaron had adopted that name for her. She swore it was because he'd heard
too many stories of her naughty antics.
“Yes, perhaps,” she replied. “I'm beginning to think this is going to be more of
an adventure than I thought.”
She gazed into his eyes, something she often found difficult to do, and saw them
twinkling with a light Abigail would swear was sheer cunning, as if he had something
really devious up his sleeve. Maybe, just maybe, she was finally ready to move away from
her childhood and become the woman that was expected of her. It was a thought that made
her much less apprehensive about the wedding the next day.
Moments later, with Aaron on horseback riding away, Abigail excused herself from the
remaining guests and made her way to the bedroom.
The hour was already late and she was terribly tired, but there was no way she'd
neglect her friend on this night. Darcy would be waiting for her in China Cove—so named
for the exotic country that they'd only read about in books. It was a magical,
mysterious place that they would daydream about in their private habitat under the
enormous oak tree. Its stoic silent limbs kept all the secrets they whispered about under
its graceful nurturing.
Not bothering to change her clothes, Abigail was on her way. Just another last hour of
conversation with Darcy was all she wanted. She slipped quietly out of the house, down the
back steps, and into the warm night, while there were still glasses clinking in the parlor
and the sounds of grown-up laughter.
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