The Scoundrel. Lisa Plumley
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with persistent effort and creativity. This situation with Daniel would prove no different. After all, he was only a man. How much of a challenge could he possibly be?
He was agreeable, for the most part. He was handsome, strong and reliable. Despite being male, Daniel was both considerate and even-tempered. Sarah had never known him to raise his voice to her—not even when she’d confided some of her most outlandish daydreams. He might not love her—yet—but he did understand her. She knew he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised by any of the changes she intended to make once she’d settled in his and Eli’s household.
Just as encouragingly, she hadn’t had to charm him, cajole him or engage in silly flirtatious maneuvers to coax him into matrimony. It was just as well. Such feminine fripperies had never been her strong suit. With Daniel, they weren’t needed. He already knew and appreciated her. Wasn’t that why he’d issued her the proposal in the first place?
Indeed, if Grace was the independent, practical Crabtree sister and Molly the coddled, pampered Crabtree sister, Sarah had long considered herself the clever, creative—if overlooked—Crabtree sister. Daniel probably valued her qualities of imagination and verve—two she’d forgotten, in her surprise over his quest for a suitable wife, to enumerate.
She’d simply have to do her best, Sarah vowed, to show them to Daniel at every opportunity. A man would never want a wife who bored him, she reasoned. She would make sure, above all, that their life together was filled with stimulating changes.
Soon she and Daniel would be sharing that life together, along with their days, their laughter…their marriage bed. At the thought, Sarah felt a frisson of excitement rush through her. Despite its unconventional start, soon enough their marriage would be real. From there, anything could happen.
In the foyer, the big grandfather clock chimed three. Instantly, everyone quit moving to stare in its direction.
“Heavens, we’re late!” Fiona Crabtree cried. “Get up, Sarah, get up! There’s no time now to indulge in those daydreams of yours. Daniel will be waiting for you.”
Tying her hat ribbons beneath her chin, Fiona bustled into the parlor. She grabbed her reticule, then Sarah’s elbow. An instant later, Grace was at the other side.
“Yes. You mustn’t be late. Your life of domestic servitude awaits.”
“Grace!”
Sarah didn’t know how her mother could continue to be scandalized by Grace’s unconventional views. She would have to have been blind—or to be sporting a much larger hat—not to have spied the women’s suffrage posters, picket signs, political texts and other rebellious accoutrements in her elder daughter’s attic room.
“Someday you’ll be nicked by Cupid’s arrow yourself,” Adam Crabtree warned Grace as he entered the parlor. Absentmindedly, he fiddled with his necktie. “Love makes strange bedfellows, you know. Just look at your mother and me—”
“Adam! I resent that,” Fiona protested, goggle-eyed.
“Or Molly and Marcus.”
Molly gave a yelp of protest. Marcus Copeland, her husband of only a few weeks, gave his wife an indulgent smile.
“We need to talk. About that ‘domestic servitude’ idea.” His grin widened. “I may be missing a prime benefit of marriage.”
“Keep up talk like that,” Molly returned archly, “and you’ll be missing my next batch of cinnamon buns. Don’t forget, Grace taught me how to properly stage a protest.”
She whirled on her heel, first out the front door. Marcus followed. Soon, Sarah heard much laughter coming from the front porch—along with the unmistakably intimate murmur of a couple in love. She wanted to sigh with yearning. How long would it be before Daniel used those same romantic tactics on her?
Not long, she vowed, and swept toward the door.
It wouldn’t do to keep her future love waiting.
Sarah looked beautiful.
Daniel blinked, but nothing changed. She still looked the same—unusually pretty as she moved toward him on Adam Crabtree’s arm. They walked beneath the paper garlands someone had decorated the small church with, their passage setting the carefully cut flowery shapes aflutter. Piano music played, courtesy of old lady Harrison. Bright territorial sunlight streamed in through the church windows.
Sarah’s dress was not white, as he’d imagined, but a pale blue the color of a summer sky, with lacy cuffs and a big lace collar. He’d probably seen it a million times before. But today it looked different—as different as Sarah herself did, all at once.
She held her head high, meeting his gaze directly. That wasn’t different. She smiled at him, as though they shared a private jest. That wasn’t different, either. But the blush in her cheeks was new, the sparkle in her eyes was new, and the intriguing curve of her lips…that he’d never noticed before, either. Confused, Daniel tilted his head.
Then her father released her. Sarah stumbled slightly.
“Horsefeathers,” she muttered, righting herself.
All at once, she became herself again. Daniel relaxed. Things were going to be fine.
A loud clunk echoed through the church. As one, the friends and family gathered in the frontward pews turned toward the sound. Without a shred of guilt, little Eli bashed his foot on the pew in front of him. Another thump was heard.
Daniel shot the boy his sternest look. ’Twas possible he should have given a better explanation than he had for the day’s events. Especially if he expected Eli to behave himself. But it was too late now. Eli would just have to settle down on his own. The sooner he did, the sooner this would be finished.
Standing beside him before the minister, Sarah drew in a nervous-sounding breath. The bodice of her gown swelled accordingly. Again Daniel experienced that strange sensation. Never in his life did he recall having noticed Sarah’s bosoms. Yet there they were—drawing his attention in a way he wholly disagreed with.
Clunk. Eli again. With relief, Daniel speared the boy another quelling look. Then, feeling more like himself again, he returned to the task at hand. He was about to marry Sarah. When the ceremony was done, she would doubtless know how to tame the little ruffian. Daniel wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.
A blessing and their vows followed. Feeling uncomfortable—no doubt due to his scratchy suit—Daniel answered in all the right moments. He even produced a pair of wedding rings. Gruffly, he held out his Irish grandmother’s plain gold band, prepared to slip it on Sarah’s waiting finger.
At the surprise in her face, he felt a curious warmth spread all through his chest. She liked it. He was pleased. She gave a small “Oooh!” and raised her gaze to his…but there were tears in her eyes, too.
Panicked, Daniel hesitated. Tears? He didn’t know what was wrong. Would Sarah prove as blubbery as all women? Was she, despite all her schoolmarmish practicality, secretly sentimental? Misgivings assaulted him. If she expected their marriage to become more than it was…
Fortunately, Eli chose that moment to cough loudly. And repeatedly. Truly, he sounded as though he’d swallowed a pound of chalk dust and was determined to dislodge it. Despite the sympathetic pats the boy received, Daniel knew nothing of the kind was true. Not when Eli kept sneaking glances ’round him to make sure he was fully disrupting the proceedings.
By the time Fiona Crabtree had calmed the boy with a hanky and—Daniel would swear—the whispered promise of one of Molly’s special snickerdoodle cookies, Sarah’s weepy moment had passed. She straightened her spine and regarded Daniel expectantly. Again he felt reassured. At Eli’s shenanigans, another woman would likely have gone all fussy. But Sarah was different. That was why this marriage arrangement was going to succeed between them.
Confidently, Daniel relaxed the taut muscles of his shoulders and neck. He slipped the ring on Sarah’s finger. She admired it, briefly tilting her hand