“Rolfe?” Lil questioned softly.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Memories held me captive for a moment.”
“Fond memories, I hope,” she said, assuming his thoughts had drifted to his life in England.
“Extremely,” he answered and reached out to slowly trace his finger along her lips, still red and puffy from his many kisses—besides being coated with a sticky film of cinnamon.
Jonathan had discreetly left the room, so Lil proceeded to do as she wished—greedily suck her husband’s finger.
Rolfe’s sharp intake of breath caused her to laugh.
“You’re shameless, Lillian,” he scolded.
She released his finger, but first licked the last of the sugary sweetness from it—slowly. “I’m sorry if my behavior is—”
“As I like it,” Rolfe finished and leaned across the table and kissed her.
Lil smiled. “You don’t think I’m improper?”
“Impropriety is good at times,” Rolfe said. He thought a minute and then added, “Of course there are times propriety is more acceptable.”
“Tell me about your proper upbringing in England,” Lil said, interested in learning more about her husband. Rolfe was a mystery to her. He seemed to be two men in one. Perhaps with some background information she could decide whether her husband was a stuffy English peer or a man strong in spirit and destined to survive in the West.
Rolfe stiffened slightly. He held his head erect and drew his shoulders back. He lifted his brow just enough to appear to be looking down on her as he spoke. He had assumed a distinct air of arrogance, and Lil realized he had slipped into his English lord persona. The stuffy fancy pants one who annoyed her.
“Evan, my brother, is thirty and four, two years my senior. He inherited the title and all of the Sherborn lands upon my father’s death ten years ago. My mother passed on five years after him. Because I was the second son, my inheritance was limited. Evan provided me with a small Sherborn estate and then arranged, with my permission, an excellent marriage contract.”
“Excellent marriage contract?” Lil asked, not understanding.
Speaking patiently, as if to a child, Rolfe explained. “In England some titled families arrange appropriate marriages. Title, land, and wealth are all considered when a marriage contract is discussed.”
Lil remained silent; her mouth set a bit tightly.
“The Morrehavens owned an estate adjacent to the Sherborn property, making the contract lucrative. Joining the two lands and families increased the Sherborn holdings and the Morrehaven power.”
“What about love?” Lil asked, unable to remain silent any longer.
“Beatrice was attractive and delicate, her background unquestionable. She was a fine young lady whom any man would have been proud to have as a wife.”
Lil shook her head. “That wasn’t my question. Did you love her?”
Rolfe thought a moment before answering. He recalled Bea’s tender nature, her obedience to his every word, her gentle smile and quiet tears, shed much too often. “I loved her,” he said softly.
“Because you had to?” Lil asked, wondering if years of marriage to her would make Rolfe love her out of necessity or out of his own desire.
“Why does it matter?” he questioned in return, though he himself thought it did. He had always felt Bea loved him because she had no choice in the matter. And he didn’t want the same forced love from Lillian.
“It matters,” she insisted. “Marriages are stronger and last longer when two people love and care about each other.”
“Marriages of convenience can work out just as well,” he corrected. “I’ve seen many such unions succeed.”
Lil shrugged. “Perhaps in England where wealth and land appear to be requisites for marriage. Here people marry for a far different reason. It’s called love, and it has to be mighty strong to survive and thrive out here.”
“What you’re implying is that you feel our marriage won’t survive because it was a forced union,” he said, piqued by her innuendo.
“I’m not implying anything. I’m simply stating the obvious. I have nothing to offer you. No land. No wealth. We don’t even love each other.” Her words stung them both, but neither reacted.
“You brought yourself to this marriage,” Rolfe said, his tone stern. “That’s enough.”
Lil almost blurted out “Not willingly,” but held her tongue. It would do no good to further antagonize their already strained situation.
“We have a lifetime together ahead of us, Lillian. I suggest we make the most of what we have.”
She thought to ask him what it was that they had and didn’t he wish to experience love as well. Was there no hope they could grow to love each other? Not one to admit defeat easily, she nodded in agreement to his suggestion while wondering how to change a forced marriage to a loving one.
“I have work to see to,” Rolfe announced abruptly and stood. “Your plans for the remainder of the day?”
Lil sighed, not wanting to face the burden before her. “I must pay my respects at Dora’s wake.”
Rolfe hesitated a moment, nodded, then asked, “When do you leave?”
“The women will arrive at Dora’s house in about two hours to prepare for the wake. I should join them.”
He looked at her strangely.
She explained, realizing he wasn’t familiar with their customs. “The women bring food for the mourners and for the family of the deceased.”
“Are you certain you are up to this?” His concern was obvious in his gentle tone.
Lil shrugged, really not sure if she was. “I have no choice. As you said there are some things that are proper and must be done.”
Rolfe nodded his understanding and quickly left the room.
Lil collapsed back in her chair. She felt deflated, suddenly robbed of her strength. Was it concern about facing Dora and her baby one last time? Or had she wished from her husband something he wasn’t ready to give.
~~~
Rolfe penned a letter to Evan, informing him of his marriage, though he failed to describe the exact circumstances surrounding the wedding.
Funny, when Lillian had asked him about his life in England, he had spoken only of his marriage. Of memories that held more sadness than happiness. Why hadn’t he discussed his mother and father’s marriage? Though arranged, it was a happy one. And of his brother, Evan? They had had their squabbles, but their childhood had provided many lasting memories.
He had made his life with Bea sound cold and empty and their union purely a business venture. Even the love he had once felt so certain of had hesitated on his lips when Lillian questioned him about it.
Bea had been so different from Lillian. Reserved and quiet by nature, she often appeared invisible. Bea had never argued or objected to anything he said, and she never voiced her opinion on any subject. She had suffered through their lovemaking, often crying afterward. All attempts to comfort her had failed miserably, and she would retreat to her room to finish her mournful tirade, only to beg his forgiveness the following morning.
Her actions had often puzzled him. Cedric, Bea’s step-brother, had warned him before the wedding that his father had raised her with a strict hand and that patience would prove wise.
Now there was Lillian. He grinned widely. Lillian defied description. Bold. Independent. Strong-willed. She was everything Bea hadn’t been. And when it came to making love there wasn’t a reserved bone in her beautiful body. He loved her direct manner. He...
love!
There was that word again, so strong an emotion that it could hurt or heal.
It had hurt when Lillian said they felt no love for each other. He had hoped there would be a chance for love to grow, that their life together would be so much more gratifying. That she would want only his arms to comfort her, his body to satiate her, his love to make her feel complete.
He had not hoped for a marriage of love when they spoke their vows. Now he couldn’t imagine their marriage without it. He couldn’t comprehend why it was so important to him, but the thought had nagged at him since last night and wouldn’t let go.
His glance caught the face of the small clock on his desk. Seeing it was time, he folded the letter in the addressed envelope and set it aside.
A soft tap at the study door sounded before Jonathan entered. “It is time, sir.”
“Yes, I remembered. Is everything prepared?”
“As you ordered.”
“Is Lillian ready?”
“Yes. She has already requested that the buggy be brought around front. I asked for the larger of the two, allowing for adequate room.”
“As always, Jonathan, you have thought of everything.”
A short nod was Jonathan’s only response as he held the door open for Lord Sherborn to pass.
Rolfe waited at the bottom of the staircase for Lillian while Jonathan went out to the buggy.
Lillian appeared only minutes later, hurrying down the staircase while busily fussing with her shawl. Her inattentiveness would have caused her to collide with her husband if he hadn’t reached out and grasped her.
“Rolfe!” she said, startled by his presence and his firm grip on her arms.
“In a hurry again?” he asked and released her, then brushed her hands away from the fumbled knot to adjust the knitted shawl more adequately across her chest.
She sighed, pleased at being tended to by her husband. “I forever seem to be running forward and backward at the same time.”
“A feat not easily accomplished,” he teased and held his arm out to her.
Lil seemed surprised and hesitated in accepting it. “I’m off to the wake.”
“I know,” he said and took her hand, wrapping her arm solidly around his and walking out the front door with her.
Rolfe escorted her to the buggy and assisted her up into the front seat, then walked to the other side and climbed in beside her, reaching for the reins.
Lil looked at him strangely and turned to cast the same odd look at Jonathan, who was seated behind her. “Are you two going somewhere?”
If Rolfe found her questions peculiar, he demonstrated no sign of it. He calmly answered, “With you.”
Lil felt her breath catch quickly and her heart beat a trifle faster.
“I roasted a fowl and braised some carrots and baked two pans of corn bread. I do hope that is adequate for you to present at the wake?” Jonathan offered, stunning her even further.
“You prepared food for the wake?”
“Of course, madam,” Jonathan answered directly.
“Lord Sherborn explained your custom and suggested I decide on what was appropriate to prepare. Have I erred in my judgment?”
“No. No, Jonathan. You were generous in your choice.”
Jonathan nodded. “Thank you, and I shall, of course, take care of the serving for you.”
Lil looked accusingly at Rolfe.
Rolfe met her intent look with a headstrong one of his own. “You’ve been through enough. I’ll not see you put yourself through more. Jonathan will do as you direct, but you, Lady Sherborn, will not tax yourself to exhaustion.”
Lil moved to protest, assuming his motive for attending the wake with her was to make certain that she acted like a lady and followed his dictates.
Rolfe forced her to remain silent by simply brushing back a loose strand of hair from her face and by the strong emotion in his voice when he spoke. “Besides, you’ve suffered enough hurt. I will not see you suffer more.”
Lil’s heart thundered in her chest. His actions were motivated by his concern for her. She could think of no adequate response and allowed her actions to speak for her.
She slid closer to him on the seat, touched his cheek gently with her hand, and kissed him.
The cold weather that swept in with November brought with it, its fair share of sniffles and sore throats. Otherwise the people of Little had suffered few ailments these past weeks to keep Lil busy.
Doc Talbert intended to enjoy “the quiet before the chaos,” as he termed it, insisting that there was always a lull before a rash of illnesses hit. So he had taken himself off to Susie’s saloon to spend the remainder of the afternoon plying his tender throat with whiskey in the guise of medicinal purposes.
Lil fussed around the office. She busied herself by removing the light cotton summer curtains and replacing them with mustard-colored drapes, which she drew back with brown silk cords, each caught in the center by large tassels. The heavy material would keep the cold from the room, as would the potbelly stove that occupied one corner.
She had paid Billy handsomely to chop wood and keep a supply handy in the coming months. Lil was about to clean and restock the medicine cabinet when her father interrupted, entering the room.
“Busy, Lil?”
Glad to hear his voice, she spun around. “I’m never too—” Her words died abruptly when she saw the blood running down his arm and covering his hand. She hurried over to him.
“It’s nothing, so don’t go getting yourself all worked up,” he said, attempting to reassure her.
Lil took hold of his uninjured arm and guided him to the examination table. “Since you walked in here on your own, without a lick of assistance, I’d say the wound isn’t as bad as it looks.”
“That’s my gal, level-headed like her father,” he complimented, adding a proud smile. He sat on the table and held his bloody arm out to her. “All yours.”
Lil gently moved his arm to rest against his chest. “I need to get a few things first,” she explained. Then, without haste, yet in a swift, smooth manner, she gathered the necessary items and placed them on a tray, which she set beside her father.
“After your mother died, you always looked after me, made sure I was taken care of,” he said. His injured arm rested on a tall square table, which Lil had positioned in front of him and had covered with a clean white cloth. To the side she set a bowl of warm water.
Lil cut away his shirt-sleeve several inches above his elbow, away from the wound. She then gently removed the blood-soaked material and proceeded to cleanse her father’s forearm and hand. “I remember how through the years I worried about you. With each injury you suffered, I watched Doc carefully so I would be able to give you the best of care.”
‘‘You carried too heavy a burden for one so young,’’ Sam said. “I’m sorry I didn’t provide better for you.”