The Vow (4 page)
And getting the land he wanted.
But still he hesitated. He thought of Cecelia Layton, the young sea captain’s widow who had been his mistress for the past year. She was the woman he loved and had intended to marry as soon as he established his silk mill. How could he give her up?
With supreme male arrogance, he was confident that he wouldn’t have to.
Cecelia loved him and knew how important his silk mill was to him. She would understand why he had to betray her.
Reiver grinned, rose, and extended his hand. “You’ve got a deal, Bickford.
The Racebrook land for seventeen dollars an acre, and your niece’s hand in marriage.”
Bickford rose and shook Reiver’s hand, a pained expression on his face.
“Hate to lose that land, but I’ve got to do right by my niece.”
“I’ll treat her well.”
But he’d never love her. That wasn’t part of the deal.
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Chapter Two
The following morning after breakfast, when the boys left to pick tobacco and Aunt Naomi went to the cobbler to buy new shoes, Uncle Ezra interrupted Hannah’s dusting and called her into the parlor, where he told her that she was going to marry Reiver Shaw.
Hannah stood there as if rooted to the spot. “You want me to what?”
“You heard me.”
The dustrag slipped from her nerveless fingers and her knees buckled, forcing her to sink down onto the parlor’s hard settee. Her whirling brain tried to reconcile an image of the stocky, forceful man who had rescued her from heat prostration with that of the man who would be her husband, with all the intimacies that state entailed, and failed.
“I can’t marry him. I won’t!”
Ezra’s thin lips hardened into an implacable line. “You will. It’s all arranged.”
Hannah pressed her hands against her cold cheeks. “But—but I only met Mr.
Shaw several days ago. I know nothing about him. I can’t possibly marry a—a stranger.”
“Happens all the time to girls your age. Don’t need to know him. Marriage’ll take care of that.”
“There must be dozens of women in Coldwater who want to marry him.
Why would he want to marry me?” She didn’t delude herself for an instant that Shaw was smitten with her beauty. “I’m a poor orphan. I have no dowry.”
Lindsay Chase
“You do now.”
Bewildered, Hannah stared at him.
“Shaw wants some land I own. That land’s your dowry. Drove a hard bargain for it, he did.”
Hannah breathed deeply to quell her growing panic and desperation as the room shrank, the walls closing in on her. She rose and crossed the parlor to where her uncle stood before the cold fireplace. Placing a supplicating hand on his scrawny arm, she said. “Please don’t force me to do this. I promise I’ll work harder. I won’t annoy Aunt Naomi. I—”
“No use begging. My mind’s made up.”
“You promised my mother you’d take care of me. Is this how you honor your promises?”
Her uncle glowered at her and brushed her hand away as if she were some troublesome horsefly. “Didn’t promise to take care of you forever.”
Hannah knew it was pointless to argue or try to appeal to her uncle’s finer sensibilities, for he had none. She turned before he could see her eyes fill with helpless tears. She brushed them away and turned to face him again, her head held high. “When am I to wed?” she asked.
He shrugged. “Whenever Shaw wants. Didn’t set a date. He’ll be here this afternoon to talk to you.”
Hannah stood there woodenly, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her. She would have to live with Reiver Shaw for the rest of her life, share his bed, and bear his children. She shuddered.
Ezra’s small dark eyes softened with rare compassion. “It’s time you married. You’re not happy here. You tempt Naomi’s boys. Shaw’s father was a no-account, but Reiver’s decent. He’ll treat you good.” Then he walked to the 30
The Vow
parlor door, stopped, and turned. “You look peaked. Take some time to get used to the idea. Leave the cleaning for Naomi.”
He hesitated for a moment as if waiting for Hannah to thank him for generously excusing her from her chores, but when she remained rigid and unforgiving, Ezra shrugged his thin shoulders and left her to ponder her fate.
Hannah couldn’t wait until that afternoon to speak to her future husband.
She put on her bonnet, tied the wide ribbons beneath her chin, and left the house at a brisk walk.
Fifteen minutes later she arrived at Mulberry Hill, which separated Shaw land from Uncle Ezra’s. Hannah took a deep breath, lifted her long calico skirts, and started up the gentle slope along the horizontal rows of mulberry trees.
When she was halfway up, she noticed several women in plain black dresses and white aprons standing between the rows and picking leaves as easily as they might pick apples in the fall.
One of them noticed Hannah staring at her and smiled. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Hannah replied, not returning the smile. “Can you tell me where I might find Reiver Shaw?”
The woman laughed. “Mr. Shaw is where he always is, in the rearing shed with his worms.”
Hannah frowned in puzzlement. “His worms?”
“Silkworms. Millions of ’em, eating these leaves we’re picking.” The woman shuddered. “Give me the shivers, those worms do.”
“Where is this rearing shed?” Hannah asked.
“Just over the hill, near the mill.”
Hannah thanked her and kept on walking.
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When she reached the crest of the hill, she stopped for a moment to catch her breath and survey what would soon be her home unless she could convince Reiver Shaw to withdraw his offer of marriage.
At the far end of the sweeping green lawn stood a small white farmhouse half-concealed by several tall oak and maple trees shivering in the gentle morning breeze. To Hannah’s right stood the mill on the banks of a swiftly running stream and a long, low building that must have been the rearing shed sat nearby.
Hannah swallowed hard, squared her shoulders, and started for the shed.
She was halfway there when the door suddenly opened and a lanky young man came out, closing the door gently after him.
He appeared more intent on some strange object he held than on where he was going, and almost walked right into Hannah. He caught himself in time and sprang back, startled.
“Excuse me, miss,” he blurted, his cheeks coloring. “I never watch where I’m going.”
Hannah knew this young man had to be one of the Shaw brothers, for he resembled Reiver faintly, like a blurred image viewed through a cloudy glass. He was handsomer than his older brother, with a less prominent nose and narrower jaw, and an endearing preoccupied air. Straight brown hair fell in a slant across his brow, and his demeanor was somewhat shy.
“I’m Hannah Whitby,” she said, “and I’m looking for Reiver Shaw.”
The young man recognized her name at once, for he colored again. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Whitby.” He extended his hand, noticed it was dirty, and pulled it back with an apologetic smile. “Sorry. I never can seem to keep my hands clean.”
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Hannah smiled to put him at ease. “Then you must be James Shaw, the inventor.”
His brows rose and he blushed again. “Inventor is too grand. Tinkerer is a more apt description of what I do.” He glanced back at the rearing shed. “Would you like me to fetch my brother? That is, if I can pull him away from his worms.”
“Please. It’s very important that I speak with him.”
James nodded and went back into the shed. A minute later he emerged, followed by his brother.
The moment Reiver Shaw’s blue eyes held hers, Hannah became acutely aware of the man. When she had first met him in the tobacco field, he was like any other man she had happened to pass on the streets of Coldwater, a presence, but one kept at a distance. Now that he was to be her husband, that distance shrank alarmingly. Hannah wanted it back.
“Good morning, Miss Whitby,” he said. “I didn’t expect to see you until this afternoon.”
So he knew why she had come.
Hannah tried to smile, but her face felt stiff and frozen. She managed to force out, “I’d like to speak with you, if I may.”
James said to his brother, “Go ahead. I’ll tend the worms.” He smiled shyly at Hannah and went back into the shed.
Reiver glanced at her. “Let’s walk down by the brook, shall we?”
She fell into step beside him, and they walked in awkward silence like the strangers they were.
Finally Hannah stopped and turned to face him. “My Uncle Ezra told me that you’ve asked for my hand in marriage. May I ask why? You don’t even know me, nor I you.”
“I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage,” he said. “Your uncle offered it.”
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Stunned, Hannah rocked back on her heels. “Uncle Ezra approached you?”
Reiver Shaw nodded. “He told me that it was time you married, that he couldn’t trust Naomi’s boys to keep their hands off you. He thought I’d make you a suitable husband.”
“And you accepted his offer?”
“I did.”
Hannah gave him a sharp, assessing stare. “You must forgive my bluntness, Mr. Shaw, but you don’t strike me as the kind of man who would enter into an arranged marriage without something to gain.”
Her bluntness did surprise him, and he regarded her with respect in his eyes.
“I won’t insult your intelligence by claiming that I fell in love with you from the moment we met, Miss Whitby”—his gaze raked her up and down—“though you are a comely young woman. No, I accepted your uncle’s offer because he agreed to give me something I’ve wanted very badly for a long time.” He turned and gazed out beyond the brook. “Some land I’ve coveted.”
The land that Uncle Ezra said was to be her dowry.
Hannah took a. deep, tremulous breath. “Mr. Shaw, I don’t want to marry you.”
He turned back to face her, a smile of amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “May I ask why? I’ve been told I’m quite a catch.”
She ignored his teasing tone. “I’m sure you are. But we are strangers who only met several days ago. You have no idea what I’m really like.”
“Then why don’t you tell me?”
Hannah took a deep breath. “Why, I’m headstrong, rebellious, argumentative—”
“A virtual virago,” he added, suppressing a smile.
“Yes! And I could be a drunkard, for all you know.”
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He froze, his expression hardening. “I know you’re not a drunkard, Miss Whitby.”
“But that is my point; you don’t know.”
“And as for you being rebellious, you seem to obey your Uncle Ezra well enough.”
Hannah didn’t know what to say to that observation.
He grew solemn. “Are you trying to discourage me because there is someone else? One of Naomi’s boys, perhaps?”
Hannah thought of Nate and her lip curled in revulsion. “There is no one else.”
“Ah, now I understand. You were hoping for a love match.”
“Yes, Mr. Shaw, I was. As you know, my own parents’ marriage was not arranged. They loved each other, and were very happy.”
Shaw’s face softened with sympathy, but his words were harsh and unyielding. “I’m afraid you won’t be as fortunate. Your uncle offered me your hand in marriage, and I’ve accepted, whether or not you are a drunkard.”
“How can you marry a woman you don’t love, who doesn’t love you in return?” Hannah cried in frustration.
“I want to manufacture silk, Miss Whitby,” he said, looking back at his mill with obvious pride. “It’s been my dream for years. I’ll do anything to make that dream a reality.”
Hannah felt her eyes fill with tears.
Shaw said gently, “You are still very young and may not realize that there are advantages to being married to me.” When Hannah looked at him quizzically, he added, “I plan to be a wealthy man someday. As my wife, you would want for nothing.”
“Except my husband’s love.”
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His gaze fell. “I can’t promise that, though perhaps in time…”
Even as she appreciated his honesty, a small part of her wished he would lie.
Shaw grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to face him. “I know you don’t want to marry me, Hannah, and I’d much rather have a willing wife than an unwilling one. But I promise that if you make the best of it, you will have a good life with me.”
She looked deeply into his eyes, took the man’s measure, and knew he spoke the truth. Reiver Shaw wasn’t cold like her uncle or crude like Naomi’s boys. He was a fair man, honorable and good. She could do worse.
Hannah sighed in surrender, not feeling much like a virago at all. “I will do my best to be a good wife to you.”
His grin was like the sun breaking through a heavy morning fog. Before Hannah could stop him, he grabbed her hand and pressed his lips into her palm with an ardor that surprised her. She pulled away, disconcerted by his touch.
“I—I should be getting back. I have chores to do.”
Shaw nodded. “I’ll call on your uncle this afternoon to discuss our wedding.”
“And when shall that be?”
“As soon as possible.”
Whenever Reiver went to Hartford, he always paused to watch the flatboats float down the Connecticut River with their cargoes of lumber and brine-soaked beef and pork from the northern New England states. Once the railroads were established, the flatboats with their square sails would bow to the superiority of steam and a way of life would be lost forever.
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The Vow
Cecelia’s home on Main Street was only a short ride from the bridge spanning the Connecticut River, and when Reiver arrived, he dismounted and tied his horse to the hitching post out front. He hesitated on the second step of the house that Cecelia had lived in ever since her sea captain husband had been lost in the Pacific three years ago. In the summer’s slowly dwindling twilight, the sprawling house looked dark and empty.