A Bride For Carter (The Proxy Brides Book 6) Page 8

  “We could go to the village mercantile tomorrow and see if they have anything you would find suitable. If they don’t, we could wire your friend and ask her to send some along.”

  Now she finally reacted, clasping her hands together in front of her as though to restrain herself. A grin split her face, and Carter had to catch his breath over her beauty. He wished she wasn’t so very beautiful.

  “I would love to visit the mercantile, thank you.”

  “Since my house obviously needed the curtains you mentioned, that doesn’t count as one thing that would make you feel more at home, so what else could you think of?”

  He was surprised to see her frown.

  “I don’t know why you’re asking me this.” Her voice was soft and her confusion was obvious.

  “This is going to be your home now. I don’t want you to hate it.” He really meant his words, even though his feelings toward her were so convoluted.

  She sighed deeply and blurted out, “Books.”

  Carter felt his eyebrows rise toward his hairline. She obviously interpreted his surprise.

  “Books would make me feel at home,” she explained. “The house I grew up in was full of books.”

  “Did you bring any of them with you?”

  She shook her head. “I only brought what I could carry. Books are too heavy. Besides they’re all gone anyway.”

  “Your books are gone? What do you mean?”

  She was back to not meeting his eyes. “It was decided that none of the books were my personal property, so I wasn’t allowed to keep any of them. It was the worst loss.”

  Carter was confused. “I don’t understand what you just said. Could you please explain it to me? You had books, but someone took them away from you?”

  Ella looked as though she wished she could cut out her tongue. Regret covered her like a thick blanket, as though she didn’t mean to have told him that much. She sighed softly and tried to explain, but her explanation only added to his confusion.

  “When they arrived to take possession of the house, I was only allowed to keep my clothes and a small painting of me with my parents. They said everything else, including the books, belonged to my father and it couldn’t be argued that it was my personal possession. I was only allowed to take my own personal things. And even then, some of my nicer gowns, they claimed could be sold, so they confiscated those as well.”

  Carter felt anger and confusion welling and fighting in his chest. He hated the thought of his wife being put through that. He had enough money, he could probably buy back all her things for her. He was shocked by the impulse since he had just met the woman and didn’t even trust her besides.

  “Why were all your things being repossessed?”

  “As I said, they were deemed to be not mine, that’s why they were taking them.”

  Carter felt his patience slipping. “Are you trying to avoid telling me the truth?”

  Color flooded her cheeks. She had been pasty white while she remembered her experience, but his words brought heat back to her face. “No,” she answered hotly, as though she had a temper that was rearing its head. “Why would you ask me that?”

  “Well, you seem to be trying to avoid telling me what happened.”

  “I thought I was telling you what happened.” Her forehead was furrowed into a frown. She looked as confused as he felt. Carter took a deep breath and tried to hang on to his patience.

  “When all the things, except your personal possessions, were taken by someone, who was taking the things?”

  “The investigators,” she answered, her nose wrinkled in distaste. “And I guess the bank,” she added. “The house probably ended up belonging to the bank in the end.”

  Carter nodded as though he understood, trying to encourage more information to continue to flow. “And who had owned the house before the bank took it?” he prompted.

  “My father.” Tears were welling in her eyes, and Carter had to grit his teeth to resist the urge to stop the line of questioning.

  “Did he make some bad investments before his death?”

  “It would seem so,” she answered as the tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks.

  Carter sighed. He couldn’t handle her tears. He would try again the next day if his next trip to the village didn’t produce any communication from Fred.

  “Never mind about all that for now. You are safe here from anyone coming to claim anything. I own everything here and don’t owe anyone a single cent, so you needn’t worry about a thing.” Carter was slightly disgusted with himself for the need to reassure her. But he needed information before he could progress into any sort of relationship with his wife.

  The smile she tried to give him was weak and watery at best, but she nodded and appeared grateful for the reprieve. “Would you like to have some dinner? I have some ham roasting in the oven.”

  “I thought that might be one of the delicious odors I could smell when I came in the door. Did you also bake cookies or cake or something this afternoon? It smelled delicious when I entered.”

  She nodded and smiled shyly. Her eyes lit up with his words as though she had never received a compliment before. She was a strange little minx, his wife.

  She excused herself from his presence and returned to the kitchen. Within minutes she was calling him to the table for their evening meal. The day was finally over and Carter couldn’t believe how it had alternatively flown and dragged by. There were moments that felt like hours but he couldn’t believe it was suddenly bedtime. He was once again acutely aware of his wife settling in across the hallway from his bedroom. While he questioned the sanity of trying to live with her for three months without making their marriage a real one, he admitted that he couldn’t really feel intimately toward her until he felt that he could trust her, no matter how beautiful she was or how wonderfully she made his house smell.

  As he drifted off to sleep, he reminded himself that he needed to ask her why she looked so anxious whenever he tasted her cooking. It seemed to him as though she was insecure about her cooking skills, which was ridiculous. Everything she had cooked or baked had been delicious so far. He couldn’t wait to see what she prepared for him next.

  Chapter Ten

  E lla stared out the window at the bright stars, chewing her lip, deep in concentration. She had been pleasantly surprised by how well the bread and cookies had turned out. Except for the very first batch of cookies, which had burnt. Thankfully with all those windows she had been able to air the house out and Carter didn’t even notice. In her heart she blessed Sybil’s cook once more. Her lessons had been a lifesaver. While she felt useless and restless out here in all new surroundings, it could have been much worse. At least she could feel like she was bringing some sort of value to her new husband. He certainly seemed to enjoy the food she was providing. Perhaps his own cooking had been so bad that anything was an improvement. She personally thought what she had produced wasn’t half bad but she was, of course, slightly biased in her own favor. Though nothing she could do would match the accomplishments of what her own cook had been able to produce in the kitchen. Ella wished wholeheartedly for at least the hundredth time that she had descended to the kitchens a few times while she was growing up. With her new life here out West, it was obvious she had wasted her entire upbringing on skills that would serve her nothing now.

  Well, except for maybe needlework. She was excited about the prospect of going to the mercantile and getting fabric for some curtains. Ella wasn’t highly confident that there would be much selection so far from civilization, but anything would be better than the bareness they currently had, surely.

  Ella’s mind strayed back to the conversation she’d had with Carter. He had been asking her what would make her feel at home. She was surprised at the sensitive question. She hadn’t thought he gave much thought to her feelings. In her experience, men expected you to be happy with whatever they gave you. She had adored her father, but even he hadn’t given much thought to her or
her mother’s feelings. Even more than ever she realized how true that was. If he had given even the barest thought to her feelings, surely he wouldn’t have left her in the situation she found herself with his death.

  And now her new husband wanted to know all about it.

  Ella sighed. It was foolish of her to think that she could escape her history even way out here in the back of beyond. Surely newspapers get delivered out here eventually. And letters certainly do. She had hoped that changing her name, even through marriage, would afford her a new life. But she probably owed her husband all the information she could offer him. If her trouble did follow her, he ought to know what it was.

  Sighing again, Ella flopped over on the bed. She would far rather remain anonymous for a little longer. Surely he didn’t need to really know anything about her past. Maybe by spring. He had said there would be little movement once winter arrived. She would tell him all about her sordid past before the end of winter.

  Thus resolved, Ella punched her pillow into shape and started counting. She was drifting off to sleep before she was much past fifty, relieved to be able to put her disquieting thoughts to rest.

  ~~~

  When the sun streaming through her uncovered window announced the arrival of morning, Ella nearly groaned aloud. Her worries had kept her up far too long the previous night. With a soft sigh she pushed the covers back and climbed down from the bed. It was remarkably comfortable. The ropes must have been recently tightened or else it hadn’t been slept in since they had been done as there wasn’t a single saggy area to be detected. The bedding even smelled fresh. She had a hard time imagining her husband doing the laundry, but someone must have done it. Nothing about the house had seemed unduly neglected upon her arrival. Maybe he had hired someone to come in to clean before she arrived. The thought warmed her heart and reinforced her determination to provide him a comfortable home. And she was thrilled she wouldn’t have to tackle laundry any time too soon, since it appeared all had been done before her arrival. She wouldn’t be able to put it off for too long, but she dreaded the task.

  She was reaching the end of her limited knowledge about cooking, unfortunately, and she had only been there a couple days. Hopefully when the rest of her things arrived from Sybil, the promised recipes and instructions would be included. Ella hoped to never have to tell her husband just how useless she really was. She had every intention of faking it until she succeeded. She would be a good wife even if the effort nearly killed her. And really, why would it kill her? Yes, it was a trifle boring. But she would just have to adjust her thinking on the matter. Her father had always said there was no excuse for boredom. That’s what your mind was for. Since there were no books, maybe she could write one. Write the book she wished she could read. What an idea. Of course, there didn’t seem to be anything to write it on, but perhaps she could get a notebook included in the purchase at the mercantile.

  Ella felt her feet lift a little more lightly as she stepped into the kitchen. She had a plan in place for making her circumstances better. She always felt more confident with a plan. And she was going to try making oatmeal for breakfast. She had always loved oatmeal. Ella tried to keep her expectations low so as to not experience defeat, but she couldn’t help her anticipation as the warm, familiar odor began to waft up from the pot.

  Concentrating so as to remember all that Cook had told her, Ella didn’t notice when Carter approached and so nearly jumped out of her skin when he spoke.

  “You’re a little jumpy in the morning, aren’t you?”

  Ella was fairly sure his tone was expressing amusement rather than criticism, but she felt the need to defend herself anyway.

  “I was concentrating and didn’t hear you.”

  “What were you thinking about so hard that you didn’t notice me clomping around?” As he gestured toward his large size, Ella couldn’t help sharing his amusement. The man surely couldn’t sneak very easily.

  Shrugging away her embarrassment, Ella tried to explain herself. “I’m really hungry and trying to make sure this turns out right.”

  “Isn’t it oatmeal?” His frown indicated his confusion.

  “Yes.”

  “Are you adding something to it that complicates it?”

  “No, should I be? Do you have a particular way you prefer your oatmeal?”

  Carter laughed. “No, I just don’t understand how oatmeal could require concentration. Isn’t it the easiest thing on earth to cook?”

  Ella stood stock still and blinked at him. Anger and embarrassment warred in her chest. She reminded herself that he didn’t realize he had insulted her. He had no idea that she had just learned how to cook, and that if this turned out to be edible it would be such an accomplishment. She forced her lips into a semblance of a smile.

  “I also haven’t had any coffee yet,” she said, hoping he would just chalk it up to morning fogginess. It must have worked. Carter laughed and moved past her to where the cups sat on a shelf. Grabbing two he brushed past her again on his way to the pot. He busied himself making it once more. Ella was grateful. She still wasn’t confident in her ability to brew a decent pot.

  “You have it with milk, right?”

  Ella was pleased he had noticed. And was surprised he was pouring for her.

  “I can do that, you should sit. I can serve you.”

  “You’re busy concentrating on the oatmeal,” he replied, teasing. “And we both need some coffee. I’ll be bored if I sit at the table and just wait.”

  Ella could see the sense of his words. Besides his boredom, she would’ve been mortified to have him watching her while she watched the oatmeal. With any luck, while they bustled about, the breakfast would finish itself and they could sit down to eat without him becoming any the wiser about her lack of experience.

  Then she chastised herself. It probably made her the worst sort of person that she wanted to keep her secrets to herself. Maybe she ought to tell him she hadn’t cooked before last week. But then she’d have to tell him all of it, and what if he wanted to be rid of her once he knew? Ella bit her lip and hoped he couldn’t discern her thoughts written all over her face. She forced another bright smile to her face.

  “The sun sure is bright this morning.”

  Carter laughed. “It’s the sun. Isn’t it always bright?”

  Feeling like her face was burning, Ella tried to explain herself. “There isn’t a single cloud in the sky and no one is burning any coal around here, so there’s no dirt in the air. So I would say it’s much brighter out here than it is in Boston.”

  His face changed then. “Well, everything’s better here than it is in Boston.”

  Ella blinked and felt her eyebrows inch toward her hairline. “I take it you don’t care much for Boston, from the tone of your voice.”

  “Hate the place.”

  Ella laughed. “Then why did you seek a wife from there?”

  Carter shrugged and his smile was sheepish. “I don’t hate all the people.” Ella’s head filled with questions as she heard the emphasis he placed on the all in his sentence, but he continued before she could voice any of them. “I figured it would help if we had a similar background.”

  “Help what?”

  “Us adjust.”

  Ella laughed. “Do you think it worked?”

  Carter shrugged again. “I don’t think it was a terrible idea. And besides, there aren’t any single women in these parts anyway.”

  Ella nodded, she could imagine that must be true. She had seen very few women on the train the further west they’d gone, and there were almost none about from what she could see of the town where the train stopped. She was distracted away from thinking on it any further by the fact that the oatmeal was finished. Or at least, she was fairly certain it was. It didn’t look the same as the oatmeal her own Cook had made, but it was similar enough. She offered up a silent hope that her husband wasn’t much of an oatmeal connoisseur. Thus far, he hadn’t seemed to be too particular about anything she had cooked
so it didn’t seem that he was the fussy sort.

  He scraped a little bit of sugar into his bowl and then tucked into the oatmeal with gusto. Ella tried not to be too apparent as she watched him take his first couple of bites before she even tasted it herself. She must not have been as discreet as she had hoped because suddenly he was grinning at her.

  “This is the best oatmeal I’ve ever had.”

  Ella was torn between jumping with glee over his words and wondering if he was just saying that to placate her. She smiled and nodded while she scraped her own small portion of sugar into her bowl and tried it for herself.

  It was far from the best she had ever had, but it wasn’t going to kill anyone. And it wasn’t terrible, if she did say so herself. But not the best. So he was either from a much less privileged background than she was or he was being kind to her sensitive feelings. Ella thought on the subject for a moment and realized she didn’t really care which it was. If he were from a different background than she was, he might never find out about her past. And if he was being kind, that was a good thing. Surely a kind husband is the type you want.

  “What are you needing to do in the village today?”

  Ella was surprised to see an uncomfortable expression cross her husband’s face when she asked her question. Perhaps he had forgotten he had promised to take her.

  “If it’s not convenient to go to the mercantile today, please don’t trouble yourself. It can wait.”

  “Not at all,” he quickly answered. “If you think the windows need coverings, we’ll get some coverings. And it would be good to check on your things. We ought to send a wire to your friend to find out when we should be expecting them, so I’d like to visit the telegraph office.”

  Ella’s heart sank. She didn’t want to pester Sybil about it. It was likely Horace was giving her trouble about the expense of shipping a trunk. Ella had packed accordingly when she had decided on what to bring with her on the train, considering there was a chance nothing else would be following. She hoped her smile wasn’t dimming too much. She would have to consider how to word the message so as to not cause trouble for Sybil.