Hannah Howell (6 page)

Clover was so filled with dread that she had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Mama, Mr. MacGregor and I have been talking outside all this time.”

Agnes frowned a little. “Does this have to do with the plan the boys said you had devised?”

“Yes, Mama.” Clover decided it would be best to speak bluntly. “Mr. MacGregor came to Langleyville looking for a wife, and my plan was to get him to choose me. He has. We are to be married as soon as possible, and all of us will travel with him to his home in Kentucky.”

“I never expected her to faint,” Clover muttered.

Ballard choked back a laugh as he helped Clover lift her prostrate mother onto the settee. “Ye were a mite blunt, lassie.”

“I know, but I could not think of a subtle approach. I am sorry, Mr. MacGregor. It is not you, I am certain of it.”

“Lass, since we are soon to be wed, ‘twould be best if ye call me Ballard. And, dinnae fret, I dinnae take this personal-like.”

Clover suddenly caught the glint of laughter in his eyes and frowned at him. “‘Tis
not
funny either.”

“Er, nay. Nay, of course it isnae.” Ballard slanted a quelling glance at his brother and cousin, who were doing a poor job of concealing their hearty amusement, then looked down at Clover’s mother. “Do ye think she will come ‘round soon?”

“Yes.” Clover stopped lightly patting her mother’s cheeks. “She appears to be stirring already.” She turned to one of the twins, who was standing at the end of the settee. “Damien, fetch me some brandy
and a glass, please.” Clover frowned when her brother handed her the crystal decanter, for the level of the amber liquid had gone down a great deal since she had last looked. “What has happened to this?”

Damien shrugged. “Mama says that Alice is turning her into a lush.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clover was sure she saw her mother peek at her. She glanced back at the depleted decanter in her hand and frowned. Undoubtedly her mother had seen her disapproval and decided to pretend she was still deep in the throes of a swoon. Lately there were too many times when her role and her mother’s were reversed, when she could hear herself speaking to her mother as if the woman were an errant little girl. Clover suspected her mother noticed as well and was trying to avoid a confrontation on the matter. When her mother chanced a second peek and swiftly grimaced, Clover knew the swoon was about to end. She idly wondered what ploy her mother would use to try to keep her diverted from the matter of the disappearing brandy.

Agnes moaned softly and asked in a weak, unsteady voice, “Kentucky?”

“Yes, Mama,” Clover replied. “Kentucky is what I said. Have a sip of brandy. It will restore you—as you know.” Clover stressed the last three words and gave her mother a stern look intended to let Agnes know that her little ploy was not working.

As she sat up and took a sip of brandy, Agnes doggedly said, “That is the frontier.”

“It has been a state for near to two years now, ma’am,” Ballard said.

“There are wild, savage Indians out there,” Agnes murmured.

“Weel now, we did have a wee spot of trouble with the Indians, who seemed to object to white folk taking all their land,” Ballard drawled. “That business is mostly done with now. ‘Tis a fair settled place where I come from.”

“This is all so very confusing.” Agnes looked at Clover. “You were engaged to Thomas this morning, dear.”

“I was
jilted
by Thomas this morning, Mama,” Clover corrected.

“Well, you certainly cannot have known this man, this Mr. MacGregor, for very long.”

Ballard took his watch from his vest pocket and studied it. “I make it about two.” He glanced at Clover, who nodded.

“Two weeks?” Agnes asked.

“No, Mama,” Clover replied. “Two hours. Now, I should be very careful with that drink if you plan to swoon again, for that is the only one I intend to give you.” She almost smiled when her mother immediately recovered.

“You cannot intend to wed a man you have known for only two hours.” Agnes shook her head. “Why, you cannot possibly know anything about him.”

“Now, Mama, did you forget that in two short weeks we shall be put out on the street? I have tried and tried to find employment, but I cannot find anything that will pay enough to house and feed all of us adequately. Mr. MacGregor can do both. He came here looking for a wife, and a husband is just what I need.”

“But Kentucky is so far away.”

“What is there for us here, Mama?” Clover asked in a gentle voice. “Think on this too—Kentucky is far
away from all that has happened to us, from all those shadowed memories and hurts that have you reaching for that brandy decanter so often.”

Agnes said nothing as she considered Clover’s words, then she nodded. “You are quite right, dear. When will you wed?”

Both Clover and her mother looked expectantly at Ballard, who replied, “As soon as we can. I will go speak to the preacher now.” He grasped Clover’s arm and gently towed her along as he started to leave the room. “Shelton, ye and Lambert can have a wee chat with your new kin. I want a private word with my bride before we set out to find that preacher.”

Clover was prepared to ask Ballard what he wanted the minute they reached the front hall, but when she opened her mouth to speak, Ballard pulled her into his arms and lifted her up until their faces were level. She flung her arms around his neck in an unthinking response as her feet left the floor. The closeness of the embrace made her breathless, and it annoyed her a little that Ballard did not appear to be equally affected. He leaned casually against the wall and smiled at her. Clover sent up a swift, silent prayer of thanks that he did not seem to realize the power of his smile. She took a deep breath and fruitlessly tried to stifle the wealth of feeling he was stirring within her.

“Would this discussion not go better if my feet were on the ground?” she asked in a sweet voice.

“I can see that ye are a wee bit pert, loving, but I like a touch of spice in a lass.”

“Just what did you wish to speak to me about?” She struggled not to stare at his mouth and wondered why, when he had kissed her only once, she should have developed such a craving for it.

“Weel, now, I am headed out to find us a preacher, wee Clover.” As he talked he brushed light, warm kisses over her upturned face. “I intend to have us wedded right as soon as I can. It might even be tomorrow.”

“There seems to be no reason to hesitate.” Clover barely recognized her own voice, which was oddly soft and throaty.

“None that I can see. However, I can see that ye are a mite innocent and maybe I ought to be giving ye some time to get to ken me as a mon afore we set down to the business of being mon and wife. Truth is, I am not of a mind to do that.”

A little of the fog he was creating in her mind cleared away, and she blushed as she realized he was referring to the intimacies married people shared. “Oh. I see.” She wondered why the thought of sharing those intimacies with this tall man did not frighten her. “We are to be wed, Ballard. ‘Tis probably best to jump right in. We can sort it out as we go along.” She hoped she sounded as brave and unconcerned as she was trying to be.

“Maybe ye ought to have a talk with your ma afore ye agree with me.”

Although she was unable to subdue her blushes, she spoke calmly. “Mother has already spoken with me. She sat me down for a talk when I became engaged to Thomas.”

“I thought that talk usually didnae come until after ye were wed or verra close to it.”

“Mother felt I ought to know about such things. Although Thomas and I were never left alone, she wanted me to know if Thomas attempted to take any liberties with me.” She tried to look stern, to let him
know that she was well-aware that he was taking liberties and that she did not approve.

Ballard grinned and lightly kissed her downturned mouth. “There is no harm in a wee bit of canoodling between a mon and his betrothed.” He grew serious as he recalled what little he knew about what a mother told her daughter. “I am not talking about duty, bonnie Clover. That isnae what will keep me warm when winter’s chill is in the air.”

“My mother told me that duty is what puts a married couple into the same bed, but after that, ‘tis up to them what they make of it.” She inwardly cursed the color that kept heating her cheeks, for it clearly amused Ballard.

“Your mother sounds like a verra sensible woman.”

“She can be, Ballard.” Clover recalled the poor impression her mother had made so far and felt compelled to add, “‘Tis just that she has had so very much go wrong these last few weeks. She does not—”

He stopped her words with another brief kiss. “There is no need to make excuses for the woman, punkin. She has had a hard row to hoe just lately. She isnae doing so badly. I reckon the blows have been coming too hard and fast for her to regain her feet. Now, there is just one more thing I must do afore I go and find us a preacher.”

“And what is that?”

“This,” he murmured, and covered her mouth with his.

Clover felt herself sink into that oddly invigorating fog Ballard so easily pulled her into. When he finally ended the kiss and set her back on her feet, she stared up at him in a daze. He said nothing, just took her by the hand and pulled her along behind him as he
strode back into the parlor, where the others were waiting for them. Clover struggled to clear her head.

“Come on, lads,” Ballard said to Shelton and Lambert. “We need to be setting out after that preacher, and we have to meet that man about selling our horses,”

“Who are you to meet?” asked Agnes.

“A Mr. Grendall.”

“He is said to be a good man, fair and honest. Are you staying at the inn, Mr. MacGregor?” Agnes asked Ballard as he and the boys prepared to leave.

“Aye,” Ballard replied.

“Then you must move yourselves out of there and come stay here—all of you. We are allowed to stay in this house for another two weeks. We might as well use the place to its fullest. There is no need for you to throw your money away.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We will do just that.”

“And Clover and I shall have a nice meal prepared for you when you return.”

As soon as the men were gone, Agnes turned to Clover and with a brief, sad smile said, “I think it best if we get busy trying to find some food for that meal.”

Ballard and his companions were several yards down the street, striding toward a tiny church near the docks, when Shelton asked, “Are ye still sure about this, Ballard?”

“Aye, and so is the lassie. She needs me, needs someone to help her provide for and protect her family. The lass would do her best on her own, but she cannae care for four. Trust me, Shelton, that
need can only do me good. Now, there is one stop we must make afore I find me that preacher.”

“What is that?” asked Lambert as he kept pace between Shelton and Ballard.

“Food, cousin,” answered Ballard. “Good manners made Mrs. Sherwood offer us a meal, but I would wager my fine courting clothes that they have nae got much to offer us.”

Clover stared at the meager collection of vegetables and tiny scraps of ham that lay scattered on the workworn kitchen table and sighed. There was not enough to fill the bellies of three grown men. Even a soup would end up being more water than substance.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still struggling to think of some way to feed seven with what was barely enough for four when there was a sharp rap at the kitchen door. Clover was both curious and wary as she opened the door, for no one had come to the house since her father’s death. She stared in surprise at the plump young woman who was standing on the back stoop, and the two youths behind her with their arms full of parcels.

“Miss Clover Sherwood?” the woman asked in a brisk Irish brogue.

“Yes. May I help you?”

“Mr. MacGregor sent us to you.” She turned to the two young men. “Put that food on the table there, lads.”

Clover watched in confusion as the youths set their parcels down on her table and left. “Ma’am?” she asked as the woman entered the kitchen, hung her
cloak and hat on the pegs near the door, and began to unpack the parcels, revealing a mouth-watering assortment of food.

“I am Mrs. O’Toole, a widow, but you can call me Molly. Your fine Mr. MacGregor hired me.”

“Hired you?”

“Aye. He said you would be needing time to prepare to be wed and that I should be seeing to the meal.” She faced Clover and clasped her hands in front of her crisp white apron. “He also said you might be wanting a few lessons in cooking. If you are of a mind to accept my help, he will even be taking me along with you when you leave for Kentucky.” Molly tucked a stray strand of chestnut hair under her starched white mobcap. “Now, miss, afore you answer, I would like to be saying a word or two about that.”

Clover was stunned by this gesture of Ballard’s, but she fought to keep her full attention on Molly. “Of course. Go right ahead and speak your mind.”

“Well, miss, I am of a strong inclination to go to this Kentucky. I have been working long, hard hours at the inn, with blessed little to show for it and no hope of finding meself a new man, even though I be but eight and twenty. I will be fair pleased to be teaching you all I can about kitchen and housekeeping arts, but you got no need to fear that I will be setting firm in your new home, for I will be keeping a keen eye out for a new husband.”

“Fair enough, Molly.” Clover smiled. “Do we start now, then?”

“That we do.”

Until the meal was well under way, Clover stayed with Molly, watching and learning. Then she decided
it was time to have her bath. As she and Molly dragged the heavy metal tub into the small pantry just off the kitchen, Agnes and the twins arrived, drawn by the rich aroma of food. Clover introduced everyone as she filled the tub with hot water and sprinkled a little dried lavender on top. She shut the door, shed her clothes, and was just climbing into the tub when her mother slipped into the room. Clover inwardly groaned. Her mother’s expression told her that Agnes intended to have a serious talk with her. She was not confident that she was prepared to answer the questions her mother was sure to ask.