Chapter Three
“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. “‘Tisnotfunny 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 brandyand 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 wasjiltedby 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 faraway 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.
