“Yes, I’ll sleep here.” Shannon felt she was rewarded for her answer by the smile that reached Brandon’s dark, searching eyes.
By Brandon’scalculation it would be six days at the very least before he had a response from Aurora, and that supposed she was actually at Belletraine with Parker. Shannon selfishly wished that Brandon had never told her what he had done because it made the time she had remaining with the Marchands nearly unbearable. She could no longer defend her actions to herself and would not have attempted to defend them to Paul and Michaeline.
Neither was Brandon comfortable with the arrangement. He had already decided that when he had obtained his divorce, he would go to Philadelphia and explain the whole of his deception to the Marchands. It was his wish to spare Shannon the recriminations that would be leveled at her head that kept him silent now.
The Marchands had informed Brandon on their intention to leave at the end of a week. If they knew of the charade, he reasoned, if they knew he planned to divorce their daughter, they would not leave until they had spoken to Aurora. Given Michaeline’s clear dislike of Parker, it was unlikely that she and Paul would go to Belletraine. Instead they would plead with their daughter to return to the folly, and Aurora, expecting the unconditional support that had always been hers, would come running. The last thing Brandon wanted was Aurora at the folly. It was his desire to accomplish the divorce without having to see her again.
Brandon never ceased to feel the burden of responsibility for what he had begun by deceiving Aurora’s parents. At night, when Shannon lay in his arms, he felt a desperate need to hold her, fearing the deception that had ultimately brought them together would also pull them apart. Sometimes she would cry softly in her sleep and, upon waking, have no memory of what prompted her tears. Brandon would lie awake for hours after she went to sleep, haunted by the way she turned to him for comfort and tortured by his inability to lay her fears to rest.
Shannon found it easier to continue the charade if she did not have to think about it. She addressed most of her waking hours to the running of the folly and used her duties to escape spending time alone with either of the Marchands. Brandon and Cody were busy with the harvest, and Paul often joined them in the fields. Michaeline and Clara were in each other’s pockets most every day. Shannon’s attention to managing the household went largely unnoticed by anyone but the servants.
“You’re wearin’ yourself to a shadow,” Martha warned her when she found Shannon taking inventory of the larder.
Shannon found herself being gently but firmly guided out of the summer kitchen to the garden, her protests completely disregarded. “Really, Martha, I’m fine. Am I doing something wrong? Is that it? Shouldn’t I be concerned about the folly’s supplies?”
“You should be concerned about your health. That’s what you should be concerned about. Ain’t none of us can help but see that you is ready to drop at the first strong breeze. Now, Mis Rory, she enjoyed makin’ her folks believe she run this place, but she didn’t go makin’ herself sick over it. Tain’t no reason you should.”
“I’m in your way.”
Martha put her hands on her hips and shook her head in disbelief. “Lord, chile! Ain’t you got ears? When I’m trippin’ over your body as I’m goin’ to tell Master Bran you’ve passed on—that’swhen you’ll be in my way!” Martha hooked Shannon’s arm in hers. “Ain’t no one gonna pay us the slightest notice if we take a walk.” She chuckled. “You can always tell ’em I came to you for advice. Now, suppose you and me, we just stroll for a while, and you tell Martha what’s troublin’ you.”
Shannon allowed herself to be led away. Martha’s concern touched her deeply, but explanations simply stuck in her throat. She breathed deeply of the sweet fragrances coming from the smokehouse and the curing sheds. She didn’t speak for a long time, and Martha seemed content with the silence. “There’s nothing troubling me, Martha,” Shannon said finally, when she thought she could trust her voice not to tremble. She knew she had only been partially successful.
“I saw that one comin’,” Martha laughed, rolling her eyes. “I surely did. Not much gets past me that I don’t let pass on. I’m gonna pretend you’re tellin’ the truth because I like you, Miz Shannon. I didn’t know what to make of you at first, you lookin’ so much like Miz Rory and all, but I’ve come to like you fine. Real fine. And the others like you, too. Ain’t no one here that wants to see you come to grief over this flummery with Miz Rory and her folks.”
“I appreciate that,” Shannon said softly.
“I didn’t say it for you to appreciate it,” Martha scoffed. “Said it ’cause it’s true. To my way of thinkin’, the sooner Miz Rory’s folks is gone, the better. This place been turned on its head too long.” She stopped walking as they approached the verandah and waited for Shannon to face her. “But there’s somethin’ that ain’t gonna change once they’ve left,” she said firmly. “And that’s what you and Master Bran feel for each other. What I see when you two look at each other ain’t no part of this other foolishness.”
“Martha—”
“You don’t have to tell me. I know I’m a busybody, but I practically whelped that boy, and I pretend it gives me the right to interfere. And like I said, I likes you, too.” She pointed Shannon in the direction of the house. “Now you go to your room and rest yourself for a while. I’m serious about you workin’ so hard. It ain’t no cure for what ails you.” Martha gave Shannon a nudge. “Go on. Or I’ll tell Master Bran what you’ve been doin’.”
Shannon studied the clock on the mantel as she unfastened her dress. In less than forty-eight hours Paul and Michaeline would be gone. Like Martha, she believed it couldn’t happen soon enough. Emily came in the room to change the linens and stayed long enough to help Shannon undress and brush out her hair. Shannon told her not to bother with turning back the bed or drawing the drapes because Emily’s chatter was wearing on her. When the girl was gone Shannon did these things for herself and crawled tiredly into bed. She slept almost immediately.
It was dark outside when she woke. The drapes had been pulled back and a small fire had been laid in the grate. Brandon was sitting in a chair at her bedside holding a book in his lap. His long legs were stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. His head rested against the back of the chair, and his beautifully molded profile was outlined by the fire’s orange light. He was staring at some point across the room, and Shannon realized he was not really looking at anything, only using it as a focus for his thoughts.
“Brandon?”
His face relaxed; the lines at the corner of his mouth disappeared as he turned to Shannon and smiled. “Awake, sleepyhead?”
“I think so.” She rested her face on her arm as she spoke. Her lids were still puffy with sleep, but her violet eyes shone clearly. “What time is it?”
“Gone ten,” he said. “I brought tea for you. Oplas baked jumbles this afternoon and put a few on your tray. Shall I pour?”
Shannon sat up quickly, pressing her fingers to her temples when the swift movement made her dizzy. “Gone ten! How can that be? I only meant to sleep a few minutes.”
Brandon poured her a cup of tea. “Steady, don’t spill it on yourself. It’s still rather hot.”
Shannon sipped it gingerly. “Thank you. I don’t know how this happened. Whatever possessed you to let me sleep this long?”
“A rather lengthy discussion with Martha,” he answered truthfully. He hesitated. “Shannon, are you pregnant?”
Shannon’s cup clattered against the saucer. Her expression became one of alarm. “I thought we talked about this before,” she said unevenly.
“No. I pointed out that youcouldbe pregnant. Now I am asking if you are.”
She set her tea on the nightstand. “I don’t know. How would I know?”
