Unclaimed Bride Page 6

  Angel stuck her nose in. “Lunch is ready.”

  “Enough for everyone?”

  She grinned, entering the room. “Yes. Constance could out-cook Beans.”

  “Oh?” He slapped shut the notation book he hadn’t made a mark in. “She could, could she?”

  The door closed behind her. “Yup,” Angel said confidently. “You already tasted her breakfast. She knows how to make fancy holiday candies and cookies, too, beside lots of other stuff.”

  “How do you know that?” He rose and pushed his chair in, but didn’t move to the door.

  “She told me.” Angel skipped across the room and jumped up to sit on the edge of his desk. “We were planning the holiday party when Mr. Homer arrived.” She rolled her dark eyes to the ceiling. “Followed by the rest.”

  “You like Miss Jennings, don’t you?” He held in his other thought, that of asking his daughter if she was looking for a mother. The thought clung to the back of his mind like a pesky cobweb.

  “Yes. And you will, too, once you get to know her. She’s lived in England and has lots of recipes from there. And she promised to teach me all about the kings and queens over there.”

  “Kings and queens?” He ruffled her hair. “You’re interested in that kind of stuff?”

  “I suspect.” She gave a nonchalant shrug. “I promised to teach her all about Wyoming, and in exchange she said she’d teach me about England. It would have been rude to not accept her offer.”

  “I suspect it would have been.” He’d already spent too much time mulling thoughts, so took a hold of Angel’s hand. “Come on, scamp, let’s go get some lunch before our guests eat it all.”

  “Why do you think she goes by Miss Jennings instead of Mrs. Jennings?” Angel asked as they walked to the door.

  The question brought Ellis to a skidding halt. He planted a hand on the wood, keeping Angel from pulling the door open. “Because she’s not married?” It was a question, but he hoped it sounded like a statement.

  “Not now, but she was.”

  “No, Ashton died before she arrived,” he argued.

  “Not Mr. Kramer.”

  “Who then?”

  “I don’t know. But when I helped her unpack there was a ring in one of her trunks. She said it was a wedding ring.” Angel stared up at him with open, honest eyes.

  “Maybe it was her mother’s or grandmother’s. Women often pass their wedding rings down in the family.” The bubbling in his stomach said no matter how plausible that sounded, he didn’t believe it.

  Angel shook her head. “Nope. She said it was hers, but that her husband died.”

  His hand slipped from the door.

  “I don’t think she meant to tell me though, since she clammed up right afterward.” Angel had pulled the door open and was crossing the threshold when she spun about to whisper, “Oh, and if any of the men ask, I cooked lunch. Constance doesn’t want to encourage them. Something about the way to a man’s heart being through his stomach.”

  Ellis rubbed at the invisible hammers pounding against his temples, drumming up a headache like he’d never known. Constance Jennings was becoming more than he’d bargained for. Much more. What kind of woman keeps a dead husband a secret?

  Chapter Four

  Feeding the men without letting them know she was the cook was not an easy thing when a blizzard held everyone indoors. It wasn’t as if Constance thought herself an excellent cook, but years of preparing meals for Aunt Julia and Aunt Theresa had provided her with the ability to create very palatable dishes. She didn’t want the men to think she would make an acceptable wife just because she knew how to cook. Actually, the more she encountered the men roaming the house, the more she questioned her ability to marry anyone ever again.

  She snuck a peek to the group sitting at the table. There was no doubt Ellis had said something. The guests were practically tripping over themselves attempting to help with any and all household chores. Two of them had washed the lunch dishes, and had managed to not break a single plate, which was a relief considering how awkwardly they’d gone about the duty.

  Constance put aside the dust rag and walked across the room. “Angel,” she whispered near the girl’s ear. “It’s time to check the ham.”

  The girl scooted her chair away from the table. “It’s time you boys cleared out. I gotta check the ham and show Miss Jennings how to peel potatoes.” There were times, especially in how Angel framed her words, that made it crystal clear she’d been raised in a man’s world.

  “We can help,” Jeb offered. The man had hobbled into the kitchen earlier, and knowing how badly his feet must hurt, Constance hadn’t had the heart to shoo him out. His attendance had encouraged others to gain entrance, and before she knew it, all the men sat around the kitchen table. Angel had taken control of the situation by pairing them up and dealing out a game of whist. Constance had feigned interest in removing dust from the far corners of the room, while wondering where Ellis had gone.

  “Nope.” Angel handed the deck of cards to Constance. The girl also knew when to play a trump card. “Pa wouldn’t want you in here underfoot. Skedaddle now.”

  The men listened, pushing in their chairs before they left. When the door clattered shut behind the last one, Constance turned to Angel. “You know, sometimes a lady makes a subtle suggestion rather than giving orders.”

  Angel cocked her head, as if deeply contemplating the suggestion. “Does it work?”

  “Most of the time.” Constance picked up the potholders and opened the oven door. “For instance, you could have said, ‘Excuse us, gentlemen, but Miss Jennings and I have things we need to complete. Perhaps you’d be more comfortable in the parlor.’”

  Angel laughed. Not just a little giggle, but an outright hee-haw.

  Constance lifted a brow, attempting to chide Angel with a stern look.

  “Do you honestly think those fellers would have listened to that? They’d still be sitting here telling us how comfortable they are,” Angel said, shaking her head and huffing out extra giggles.

  Hiding her smile, Constance basted the ham before pushing the large roasting pan back into the oven. “You may be right. It’s just food for thought.”

  “I’ll chew on it for a while,” Angel responded.

  This time Constance couldn’t help but giggle. She playfully tossed a pot holder across the room. “You are going to be a challenge, aren’t you?”

  Angel plucked the knitted pad out of the air with one hand. “Yup.” Eyes sparkling, she tossed the potholder back. “Life’s full of challenges. They make us stronger.”

  Constance tossed the pot holder onto the counter and leaped forward. “You are full of it,” she teased, tickling the girl’s sides.

  Twisting and giggling, Angel spun about and dug her fingers into Constance’s side. It had been years since she’d joked around. Her brothers had been masters at tickling. Joyful prickles shot up and down her sides and in and out of her heart as she and Angel playfully attacked one another.

  The tickling match continued as they twirled from one end of the kitchen to the other. While both of them were whooping with glee the back door opened.

  Ellis shed his coat and stomped the snow off his boots by the door. “Every time I find you two together, you’re giggling up a storm.”

  His entrance had stalled their fingers, but while smoothing the wrinkles from the flour sack tied around her waist, Constance bit her lips at the fading bits of laughter now mingling with the flutter flipping her insides.

  Angel, still openly giggling, wrapped an arm around Constance’s waist and laid her head on her shoulder. “I know. I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

  Touched deeply, Constance hugged the girl back. It was quite profound, this tenderness she felt for Angel.

  When Constance glanced up, the scowl on Ellis’s face shattered her joy like someone throwing a rock through a window. She pulled her eyes off him as the not-so-old scar on her abdomen stung with renewed pain, telling
her she’d never know the love of a child. Swallowing against the thick glob forming in her throat, she patted Angel’s arm, and moved to the pantry. The ache in her heart wasn’t new, yet it had never been quite this strong.

  Months ago she’d dealt with the scar, how it had come about, and how it had changed her life forever. There was no sense in reliving it. Her focus was best used on the present and the situation at hand.

  Her mind shift wasn’t any better. She barely knew Ellis Clayton, yet the man had an overwhelming effect on her. Probably because he held her ability to survive in his hands. One word and she was out in the world—alone. She’d been there before, but this time around, she knew what to expect and didn’t want it back again. The path she walked was a rickety one, and she’d best tread carefully. If she had any hope of staying long enough to figure out her next steps, she’d best remember that.

  “Can’t you find something?”

  Constance spun about, grabbing a shelf to keep from falling.

  Ellis reached out a hand, but pulled it back shy of touching her. His eyes latched on to hers though, and his gaze was penetrating, as if he searched for something. Constance was on the brink of suffocation by the time he finally said, “Angel’s been without a mother for a long time.”

  Fearful no matter what she said would be taken wrong, she nodded. “I-I assure you, I’m not trying to replace her mother.”

  “No one could ever replace her.”

  “I know that.”

  “You do?”

  Believing honesty was her only friend in this instance, she explained, “I lost my mother as a child. No one could ever have replaced her, either.”

  He nodded, slowly, silently, and then his hand touched her shoulder. The way he gently squeezed it sent a tidal wave of emotions rippling her system. “You haven’t had an easy time of it, have you?”

  There was so much compassion in his words a part of her wanted to blurt out her entire life story, beg him for help.

  “What I said last night was true,” he said. “If I believe Angel’s in danger, I’ll step in.”

  His hand was still on her shoulder, and she feared he felt the way she trembled.

  “But,” he continued, “I’ll also step in if I believe I can help. I have a lot of resources, Miss Jennings, and I’m not opposed to sharing them when needed.”

  She had to respond, knew that’s what he expected. “Thank you, Mr. Clayton,” she said as evenly as possible. “Your generosity, what you’ve already provided, is more than I could have hoped for.”

  His penetrating gaze was back, and it lingered until her heart pounded against her rib cage.

  After another soft squeeze, he lifted his hand off her shoulder. “My daughter, Miss Jennings, is the most important thing in the world. I’ll do anything to see she’s happy.”

  “I believe you will,” she whispered.

  He didn’t move, yet the air in the pantry that moments ago had felt charged and heavy, grew light. Her heart still hammered, yet dread no longer shrouded her. Confused, Constance glanced around. The only thing that had changed was his expression, a soft smile now pulled on the corners of his mouth.

  As he took a step back, out of the pantry, he pointed to a barrel of apples. “Angel loves applesauce.”

  Something inside her flipped and stirred up a soft, gentle sensation that cascaded all the way to her toes. No one had believed her in a very long time, yet he did. He believed she only wanted what was best for Angel. “Then we’ll have applesauce for supper.”

  * * *

  Cooking, Angel’s never-ending chatter and the house full of men kept Constance busy the rest of the evening. The meal passed without an event, other than the men showering Angel with compliments on her cooking and applauding Ellis for having such an amazing child. Constance gave Angel a secretive wink, happy the girl was gaining acknowledgment outside of how well she could ride, shoot or rope.

  After the meal, Constance insisted she’d do the dishes—alone, wanting the time to determine exactly how much she’d tell Ellis, and when. Of course, sooner would be better, but with a house full of men, she couldn’t very well insist they closet themselves in his office; yet it was her duty to tell him the truth—as much as possible, as soon as possible.

  When the dishes were done, after a few interruptions from men offering to help, she made her way to the parlor, still not prepared with her next action step.

  Faint music had made its way into the kitchen. She’d assumed it came from one of the men, but for some reason, seeing Ellis strumming on the guitar surprised her. Pausing in the doorway, she rested the side of her face against the arched framework and let the gentle tune fill her soul. She cherished guitar music, and hadn’t heard it in years. Her older brother, Edwin, had played guitar and often serenaded her to sleep.

  The gentle, soothing music continued. It was as if the war and all the awful things that had happened disappeared and she was once again in Virginia, snuggled in her bed with Edwin sitting on the foot of it. Eyes closed, she welcomed a sense of security she hadn’t known in a very, very long time.

  The music left her soft and mellow. Exhaling a relaxed breath from her lungs Constance lifted her eyelids, half wondering why the strumming had ended. Every eye in the room was on her, she felt them, but the only ones she saw were Ellis’s. They were a rich brown, and extremely expressive. Another sigh left her chest. They were remarkable eyes.

  He squinted then, and it was as if his gaze had the ability to enter her mind and read her thoughts as someone reads a periodical. She bowed her head, breaking the connection, and gasped for air to refill her empty lungs at the thought of him learning her darkest secrets.

  “Play another one, Pa,” Angel pleaded.

  “No, our guests are tired,” he said. “It’s time for all of us to turn in.”

  Constance stepped into the hallway, out of the way as men mingled toward the stairway. Upstairs, there were seven bedrooms, three of them occupied by the family and her, and the additional four would house the men, leaving Jeb on the couch in the back parlor. Ellis had arranged the sleeping arrangements this afternoon. Angel had popped in the kitchen more than once to update Constance on the guests’ activities.

  Following some of the men out of the parlor, Angel hooked her elbow with Constance’s. Together they walked across the foyer. “I love listening to Pa play. It was nice, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes,” Constance admitted, glancing over her shoulder to where Ellis extinguished the parlor lamps. “It was very nice.” Tonight wouldn’t do to talk with him, not with all the men here, but tomorrow she’d make sure it happened.

  At the girl’s bedroom door, Constance gave Angel a hard squeeze. “Good night, Angel. Thanks for your help today.”

  “Good night, Constance. Sleep tight.” Angel disappeared into her room, and Constance slipped into hers directly across the hall.

  She walked to the bed and sat, but didn’t attempt to remove her clothing. Not yet, she had to go back downstairs once she was sure the household was asleep. Second guessing herself, she reached down to unhook her boots. Stocking feet would be quieter on the stairs. Wiggling her freed toes, another realization came to mind. No one else would be up, so she pulled the pins from her hair. After giving it a thorough brushing, she climbed onto the bed and propped the pillows behind her head and shoulders.

  Reading from a book she’d brought with her on her voyage across the ocean, Constance waited for the house to grow still with slumber. After rereading the same paragraph four times, she set the book aside. No wonder she hadn’t read the story on the long trip. The tale about two families torn apart by a war was compelling, but extremely boring. Or maybe it was the fact she didn’t want to know what happened. She’d already lived through such an event, why indeed would she care to read about it?

  Once again she reminded herself some things were best forgotten and climbed off the bed to lay a log on the dying flames. Someone, most likely one of the guests, must have stoked all of
the fireplaces earlier in the evening. She’d been responsible for the fires back in England, but that had only been one fireplace, a parlor stove and the kitchen range. It seemed like eons ago, whereas it hadn’t even been a year since her aunts’ deaths and her marriage to Byron.

  She spent another hour or so fidgeting and contemplating circumstances before she guessed the guests would be sleeping and moved to her door. The back stairs that led directly to the kitchen would cause her to pass too many doors, namely Ellis’s room, so she chose the front set.

  * * *

  Ellis, two rooms down and across the hall, heard a door open. The click was loud enough to have been his own door. He trusted the men, his houseguests as they were, yet when he’d entered his room a while ago, a sixth sense had told him not to get undressed, that he’d soon be leaving again.

  He bolted to his feet and eased open his door. Constance glided out of her room, and with her skirt hitched well above her ankles, tiptoed down the hall to the stairway. After counting to ten, he followed, frowning to the point his forehead ached. At the bottom of the stairs, she made a beeline for the kitchen, but when he entered

  the room a moment later, the space appeared empty. Willing his eyes to focus in the darkness, a soft thud drew him toward the pantry.

  Ellis grabbed a match from the holder near the stove as he made his way across the room. The pantry door was open, and he propped a foot against the wood as he struck the match against his pant leg.

  The flare had her spinning around. Round-eyed, not unlike a fox that had just swallowed an egg, she clutched a package to her chest.

  “Looking for something, Miss Jennings?” The match fizzled out.

  She let out an enormous sigh, and then sharply whispered, “Mr. Clayton, you startled me.”

  This woman had him twisted inside out. Her secrets were driving him crazy. “I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t been sneaking around my house in the middle of the night.” He wished he had another match so he could see her face.