“Don’t wear your hair so tight, Mrs. Bateman.” Mrs. Wooten plucked a few of the strands out of Aubrey’s coiffure. She then went back to the trunk and this time returned with a wreath of silk flowers to sit atop Aubrey’s head.
“It’s too much.” Aubrey stepped back. She wasn’t really a bride, in truth. She was only pretending. The flowers resembled something a bride would wear.
“All the younger ladies wear one.” Mrs. Wooten dismissed Aubrey’s objections and set it atop her head. Without a mirror, Aubrey could only sit and allow Mrs. Wooten to pin it on securely. “Lovely. Ah, indeed. Your young Mr. Bateman will fall in love with you all over again.”
Aubrey blinked away the stinging sensation at the back of her eyes. The memory of her own mother came to mind. Before Mr. Bloomington’s coach had arrived at their house to take them to her own wedding, Aubrey’s mother had fussed at Aubrey’s hair. And she’d collected a few flowers from her own garden so that Aubrey would carry a bouquet.
Her mother had wanted the best for her. And by some odd twist of fate, Aubrey was going to have the opportunity to live a life she never could have imagined. In London, of all places! That morning, the morning of her wedding, had been the last day of her innocence.
She’d carried the small bouquet to Mr. Bloomington’s house and vowed to love, honor and cherish a man who’d had no consideration for her own feelings. It had not been a wedding, in truth. It had been more of a sentencing, and she the criminal. And the crime, well, that she’d never quite understood.
Oh, but this was not a wedding either. It was only a country festival.
She couldn’t very well remove the flowers from her hair now that they were already pinned in and so she merely rose to her feet again and smoothed down the lovely gown. “Thank you, Mrs. Wooten.”
She would enjoy the gown, the festival with all its foods and dancing. She would enjoy pretending to be married to Mr. Bateman, a man who had stolen her heart.
She would enjoy the romance if there was any to be had.
And when she entered the kitchen, wearing the lovely dress and feeling quite pretty, she blushed beneath what appeared to be stark appreciation in Mr. Bateman’s gorgeously brilliant blue eyes.
Aubrey smoothed the skirt nervously as heat flushed up her neck.
“Isn’t she lovely, now, Mr. Bateman? Have you loaded my jams? Oh, lovely. I do hope this weather holds. Don’t forget your shawl, now, Mrs. Bateman.” She handed Aubrey a lovely light blue knitted wrap that she’d fetched that matched the gown. “You won’t want to be catching a chill now. Although I’m sure your handsome husband would be more than happy to keep you warm.” She giggled and, donning a well worn shawl, swept out of the kitchen to where an old farmer’s horse cart had been pulled up to the door.
“You surprise me,” Mr. Bateman leaned down to whisper in her ear before offering his arm.
“Mrs. Wooten insisted. I couldn’t very well…” She felt awkward all of a sudden, and overdressed standing in the small farmhouse kitchen.
“Parfait. You are perfect.” He cut into her misgivings and then he stepped back a moment, his gaze traveling the length of her. “Mon dieu,” he swallowed hard before shaking his head. “What are you trying to do to me?”
Aubrey licked her lips, her own mouth suddenly dry. “Should I change out of it? I don’t wish to stand out, really—”
“Don’t you dare.”
He just stood there, as though waging some sort of inner battle. “You are certain? I can take it off and change into one of my other gowns…”
“If we wait another moment, we’ll end up in bed and miss the fair.”
Aubrey’s eyes flew open. “What?”
“If we don’t leave now, we’ll miss seeing how Mrs. Wooten’s jams fare.”
Aubrey narrowed her eyes and frowned.
With a shake of his head, the twinkle returned to Mr. Bateman’s eyes and he offered his arm once again. “Shall we, Mrs. Bateman?”
Aubrey took a deep breath and nodded. “Why thank you, Mr. Bateman.” She would dismiss the sensual promise she’d seen in his eyes and play right along. She lifted her skirt with her free hand and allowed him to lead her outside and down the three steps to the ground.
The air was cool but the clouds had stayed south of them.
“You ride up front, Mrs. Bateman, and I’ll sit on the back.” Mrs. Wooten suggested matter of factly.
The bed of the wooden cart was flat and hard. “Absolutely not.” Aubrey would not sit on a firm seat and leave the older woman on the back. It would not be proper. “Right Mr. Bateman?”
The smile of approval he sent her would have warmed her even if it had been raining. “Mustn’t go against my wife’s wishes,” he agreed, and then placing his arms at Aubrey’s waist, he swung her onto the back of the cart. She did not think she imagined that he left them there longer than necessary, sliding them away slowly before stepping back.
Only after he assisted Mrs. Wooten onto the front did he climb aboard himself. “Heya.” His voice carried to the back of the cart where Aubrey sat facing backward and remembered how easily he’d managed the horses the first night they’d traveled together.
