Gillian: Bride of Maine (American Mail-Order Bride 23) (10 page)

Nulton jabbed a finger at Rhys. “I’ll see him arrested for attacking me before I go.”

“No you won’t. I witnessed it all. You called his wife a whore; no man in this village would let that stand.”

“Thank you, Father McDonald.” Gillian wrapped her arms around one of Rhys’ and practically dragged him down the street. Wee Jacques stood with Father McDonald as if both would make sure they weren’t followed.

“I am not him.”

Deep wrinkles formed in Rhys’ forehead. “I know that.”

“Then stop looking at me as if you think you’ll see a part of him in me.”

He stopped and cupped her face, his warm blue gaze locked with hers. “I’m sorry, Gillian, I didn’t know I was. That was something about the legal papers. Is it true?”

She peeled his hands from her face. “Of course it’s true. I don’t lie, Rhys Chermont, I am not Edgar Nulton, and I am not Miriam Nulton.”

He didn’t say anything to that, but headed toward the first shop they’d stopped at that morning. “We should start gathering our packages and cast off. Looks as though clouds are rolling in.”

“Don’t you want to eat?”

“I don’t think I could. Do you?”

Gillian was starving, but didn’t want to eat with him on high alert watching for the Nultons. “You’re right; we’d best be on our way.”

Gillian walked into
the house and almost cried at the sight of food spread out on the dining room table. She dropped the packages she carried and followed the smell of fish and potatoes with green beans. Alice smiled and then frowned. “Why Gillian you act as if you’re starving.”

“I am. Please, tell me there’s enough.”

“Of course, I thought you and Rhys could have leftovers tomorrow if you didn’t need supper tonight.”

Disregarding any etiquette lessons from the past, Gillian started loading her plate. “Thank you a million times over.”

Rhys joined them and scowled at her from across the table. “I asked if you needed something. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you were in such a foul mood, and I couldn’t stomach sitting across from you trying to eat while you looked at me as if I’d turn into the devil at any minute. And if you’re going to continue to scowl at me, Rhys Chermont, please leave the table. I want to eat.”

His forehead smoothed, and he started filling his plate. Alice glanced between the two. “I’ll just go check on Deacon.”

Gillian remembered her manners. “Aren’t you eating?”

“No dear, we finished just before you walked through the door. Rhys take your time, Deacon has everything set, and all is well.”

“Thank you both.” He spoke to Alice, but Gillian felt his gaze on her.

She shoveled in food, refusing to look at Rhys. She wanted to eat and enjoy her meal.

“So, you’re not going to talk to me?”

She lifted her face and met his gaze. “I’ll talk to you about anything, Rhys. About the weather, the sloop, about the lighthouse, about the people of Bass Harbor, and our shopping. I will not speak of him or her. I will not let them in this house. If you chose to do so, I can’t help it, but I will not let them back in after I thought we’d exorcised them for good.”

His head bobbed in a slow nod. “I don’t want that either,
ma petite
, but I do have to apologize for what I said to you about the paperwork and telling the truth. Your words sunk in about halfway home, that you’d used your real name to protect me not for your own sake. I should have thanked you instead of accusing you.”

“You’re forgiven. I know it was said out of anger and frustration more than you meaning it.”

“That’s no excuse to hurt you, Gillian. There is never any excuse for that.”

“I know it didn’t end like we wanted, but I enjoyed spending the day with you, love. Just being with you made it a wonderful day.”

“You spend every day with me.”

“And every day is a wonderful day.”

He nodded to her plate. “Eat your supper before it gets cold.”

She smiled and started eating again. His shoulders visibly relaxed, and his face wasn’t drawn taught in anger. When he exhaled a deep breath, Gillian let the last of the day’s troubles leave her.

‡

… I need to say goodbye, my dear friend. I’m making a cake for Rhys, and after the disaster of the first, I don’t want it to burn. It reminded me of your letter talking about your first experience cooking (please know I am not mocking you, only teasing a bit). I have no excuse, however, as Mrs. Ferris, our family cook, taught me well.

I hope tonight we can enjoy the celebration and put behind us the horrible meeting of a few days ago.

Love and friendship,

Gillian

Gillian tucked the letter to Willow in an envelope and placed it in the outgoing mail slot in the secretary desk she shared with Rhys in the sitting room. Sunlight streamed through the window giving light to the dark corner and matching her blithe mood. She went into the kitchen and checked the vanilla cake. With a sigh of relief, she removed the round pans, each containing half of the batter. Setting the pans on the wood carving board, Gillian gathered the items needed for the frosting.

She scanned the kitchen and held back tears at the overwhelming sense of belonging. The days since meeting the Nultons had been a step back, but hope still burned as bright as Rhys’ light guiding seafarers, only this light steered her and Rhys closer together.

Gillian placed the lobsters in the pot to boil. She wished she had a beef steak or something less common than lobster for Rhys’ birthday, but this would have to do, even if he had caught his own dinner in lobster traps he kept by the coast. She whipped up a simple vanilla icing and set it in the icebox to keep until the cakes cooled enough to layer and frost.

Her heartbeat picked up its pace as the lunch hour grew near. She would have kept such a celebration for the evening meal, but Rhys would have to shovel in his food and return to the light. She took two of the plain, white plates into the dining room. A blue anchor was painted in the middle of each. A far cry from the expensive china and crystal that decorated the table at the house in Bath, but here there was no pretense, just plain and sturdy. She adored plain and sturdy.

She kept her ear trained to the stairs in case she needed to intercept Rhys as he made his way down. He hadn’t come to bed until well into the morning as snow and fog kept him busy through the night. She smiled; neither got much rest for a time after he joined her.

Setting the table she admitted her relief that Deacon and Alice were gone. While wonderful people, she’d enjoyed having her house back when they left the morning after she and Rhys visited the village. Further, she enjoyed having her husband to herself. The silly man believed she’d be lonely at the lighthouse with only him for company. After a life of dull parties and then a crowded factory, life at her lighthouse with Rhys was heaven. He was a well read and informed man, and they never lacked for conversation.

The ceiling creaked above her as footsteps echoed. A curse escaped her lips before she could stop it.
He could’ve slept in just this once
.

In her haste to make it to the kitchen, Gillian almost tripped over the loose edge of the rug. She mumbled another curse and dashed to get the cake finished before her surprise failed.

It wasn’t as pretty as she’d imagined, but when she heard boots on the stairs, she sighed in relief that it was done. She met Rhys in the dining room. His eyebrow hitched in question, but he didn’t ask. He pulled her into his embrace.

“Something smells wonderful, and I don’t mean my dinner.”

Gillian wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tight to her. “You keep flattering me all the time, and I’m going get a big head.”

He huffed a laugh, straightened to his full height, and Gillian’s feet dangled in the air. “I don’t think that’s possible,
ma petite
.”

“Put me down, Rhys! You delight in teasing me about my height.”

He set her on her feet and measured her head to toe with his gaze. “How tall are you?”

Gillian gave his chest a small push. “You cad. I’m a full five feet four inches. It’s a respectable height by any measure even if you insist on towering over everyone.

Her false indignation ended when he caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “You please me, Gillian.”

Wrapping her hand around his wrist, she turned and brushed a kiss on the big, calloused palm. “You please me, too, Rhys.”

“You look beautiful today.”

She’d chosen to wear the forest green dress they’d purchased in the village. The first time she wore it, he’d mentioned he preferred it even to the red. Lost in Rhys’ touch, she’d forgotten why she wore his favorite dress. She stepped back. “Happy Birthday, love.”

His forehead wrinkled. “How did you know?”

“You told me, January eleventh…” She shook her head. “Father McDonald told me in the letters.”

His smile grew as he gave a knowing nod. “Ah, my letters. Sounds as though I offered all sorts of information. I should read what I wrote sometime.”

She laughed. “You did. And anytime you’d like to, I’ve kept them. I just couldn’t part with the letters even if they weren’t directly from you.”

He traced her cheek with one finger and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “I think those involved put enough of me on the pages. They could have come from my pen and not been much different.”

She nodded, but wanted to get back to the celebration. “Sit. I prepared the big meal for dinner so you could enjoy the food.”

“Thank you, Gillian.”

Such simple words, but from him, they meant the world. “My pleasure. Now, sit.”

Rhys made sure
to take his time with the meal Gillian had prepared. He wanted to savor his dinner and his time with his wife. Beaming, she brought out a vanilla cake, and Rhys mourned the loss of the first. Gillian knew her way around the kitchen…and the lighthouse…and the
Femme Rouge
. He should have had Father McDonald pick out his wife years ago.

“With everything that happened, I forgot to tell you I received a letter from my mother.”

Gillian’s smile faded, and she chewed as though the cake was rock. “Your mother?”

He held on to a laugh. “Yes, Anna Chermont, my mother. Why so nervous?”

Her attempt at a smile was scarier than the face she’d made before. “I don’t know. They don’t even know about me yet…do they?”

“I’m sure they do by now, or will soon, I posted a letter when I picked up our mail. Anyway, she wrote that they plan to visit this summer.”

She shot to her feet. “Your parents…here…?”

He waved her back down. “Gillian,
mon coeur
, my parents are not your father. And yes, they come to Maine and visit their son. Now, they will visit their son and their new daughter.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “I’m sorry, Rhys. It’s just the fear they’ll find me lacking.”

“Well, they won’t. They’ll see how much we love each other and be pleased for our happiness.”

Gillian’s color returned, and she started eating again. “Your father, what does he do for a living?”

“I didn’t tell you in my letters?” He winked.

Her smile returned full force. “No, you didn’t, you tease.”

“He’s a school teacher.”

“How lovely.”

Rhys chuckled. “I suppose that depends on the children each year.”

“How did your father meet your mother?”

He wrapped his hands around his mug full of coffee. The memory of his mother telling their story a million times warmed him more than the hot liquid. “She was a teacher, as well. Anna Dunn was to take over a schoolhouse in Quebec for Alexis Chermont. He never moved on, and Anna left teaching other children to guide and raise her own.”

Her smile turned dreamy. “That’s a beautiful story.”

Rhys sat back and pushed his plate from in front of him. “I don’t know. I prefer ours.”

Her cheeks turned a pretty pink. “So do I.”

He cleared his throat. “How did your parents meet?”

She shoved her plate away. “Nothing quite so nice. It was arranged. My mother’s father was a ship captain. Edgar Nulton was a wealthy shipbuilder, so Hannah Darrow became the link between the two.”

“I’m sorry, Gillian, but she must have been quite a woman, she raised you to be one.”

Tears pooled in her eyes, but didn’t fall. “She was beautiful and kind and…miserable. I never knew her to smile much, but she made sure I learned from the other women around me. I…”—she attempted a smile—“I don’t want to talk about that today. Today, we are celebrating my husband becoming an old man.”

Rhys returned her smile and let her have her way. “Yes, at twenty-seven I will need a cane and ear trumpet in no time. But you, my pretty wife, won’t be far behind when you turn twenty-three on the eighteenth of March.”

The gloomy subject of her parents disappeared with her laugh. “We will both be shuffling around yelling, ‘Eh…Eh…’ ”

Rhys reached across the table and took her hand. “But I will still carry you up the stairs to our bed and show you how much I love and desire you.”

“Do you find it strange how fast we’ve come to love each other?”