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.