And if nothing else, duty would have been drummed into her at the convent. Particularly the wifely duties: to love, honor, and obey.
They were stuck with each other and would have to make the best of it. He needed to reconcile her to their situation, and quickly. He had no intention of putting up with tantrums from a reluctant bride.
His own attraction to her was lukewarm at best—not thatshe’d shown herself to advantage, with that ghastly old-fashioned dress with the frills and flounces, and that hairstyle, and the paint. But that didn’t matter. He’d give her no cause to regret their marriage. He’d treat her well and be a faithful husband to her. And by the time children came along, they might even have found love of a sort. Many people did.
He thought of her odd golden brown eyes staring out from behind the powder and paint like an angry little hawk hidden in a posy. She might have changed out of all recognition, but those eyes of hers were exactly as he remembered, especially when they flashed with temper or were drowning with hurt.
The one part of her that was without artifice, reminding him of the brave little girl he’d married. Change was inevitable, he supposed, after eight years. He would have to get to know the young woman she’d become. And she would have to accustom herself to the man he’d become.
A new start for them both, to begin at dinner.
They rounded a rocky bluff, and a small village came into view: a handful of ragged-looking cottages huddled on the edge of the mountain. Not a prosperous place.
Miguel pointed to the smallest and meanest-looking house of all. “I will tell my mother you are coming,” he said and ran ahead.
Luke resigned himself to a night spent in the company of bedbugs and fleas. He’d had worse during the war.
By the time Luke reached the cottage, the mother was waiting in the doorway. She was fairly young, not yet thirty. Two small children peered out shyly from behind her skirts. Miguel, with a freshly washed face, introduced them, then took Luke around the side of the house so he could see what good care he’d taken of Luke’s horses.
They were tethered in a kind of open lean-to shed and had been given clean straw and water. The tack was hanging from nails driven into the wall, and the horses had been rubbed down. Luke nodded his approval, and Miguel led him back to the front door of the cottage, stepping aside with a flourish to allow Luke to enter.
The cottage was gloomy inside, but once Luke’s eyes adjusted, he saw that though poor, it was clean and neat. The only smell he could detect was of something cooking, some kind of stew pungent with garlic and herbs. He’d slept in much worse conditions during the war.
“You can sleep here,” Miguel announced, pulling back a curtain and pointing to a pallet on a kind of raised shelf in the corner of the room. It was large enough for two and covered in a handwoven cloth. Luke’s leather portmanteau sat beside it.
He’d been offered the only bed in the house, the mother’s bed. And possibly the children’s, too.
“No, no, I couldn’t—” he began.
“The bedding is clean,señor, just washed today, and dried in the sun, the mattress straw fresh and sweet,” the woman told him. “And the children will not bother you—they will be quiet as mice. Or if you want, we will all sleep outside.” She bit her lip and twisted her hands in her apron.
“There is no better place in the village,” Miguel assured him. Four pairs of big brown eyes watched Luke anxiously.
They needed his money. Desperately.
“Very well,” Luke agreed. “And I wouldn’t dream of putting any of you outside.” He nodded at the two little curly heads peeping out from behind their mother’s skirts, and they immediately disappeared.
Luke pulled out his watch and checked the time. “Would there be any hot water?”
“He will want the hot water to make tea,” Miguel, knowledgeable in the ways of Englishmen, explained to his mother and siblings.
“No tea,” Luke said, running his hand over his chin. “I need a shave.”
An hour later, Luke set out again for the convent, changed out of his riding clothes, freshly shaved and as neat as he could make himself in the limited conditions of the cottage. His every move had been made under the solemn gaze of two dark-eyed little girls who had no regard for the sanctity of an Englishman’s curtain.
He’d sent the diminutive man of the family off to buy wine, bread, meat, and whatever else he could think of, just to get rid of him and his incessant chatter. The family could do with the food.
But now, as he made his way back up the path to the convent, Miguel joined him. “You look very handsome,señor. And you smell beautiful, too. You are courting one of the young ladies, yes?”
“No,” Luke lied.
Miguel regarded him with astonishment. “But why else would you shave?”
“She is my wife already,” Luke explained.
Miguel squinted up at him. “She is a bad wife?”
“No.”Luke lied.
