The Borrowed Bride by Jaye Peaches

Author:Jaye Peaches [Peaches, Jaye]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Stormy Night Publications
Published: 2019-09-04T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

Matthew threw the harness over Bert’s massive shoulders. “I’m taking the trap to town to get supplies. The lads are busy in the fields.”

“And what should I do?” Dara planted her hands on her hips. The wind whistled past her ears and nearly took her scarf with it. She tightened the knot around her neck. How rustic in appearance she had become. What would Lord Coleman make of his glamorous wife now? Grubby fingers, dirty skirt hems, and sun-blushed cheeks—he would not recognise her.

She had written two more letters to keep up the pretence of visiting her cousins. They weren’t much different from the first. She had also enjoyed another interlude with Maggie and her daughters. Time was passing swiftly. One more visit to Maggie, and then she would have to go home to his lordship. Matthew had remained silent on the subject of her return. The jewels were locked in a strongbox and he refused to let her near them until the day she had to return. He would not countenance her spending money on his lowly farm. She had offered to help with buying fresh livestock and repairing the barn roof, but he had merely glared at her and stomped off. She had offended him, of that she was sure.

If only she could stay. It wasn’t that she fancied being a farmer’s wife—it would be impossible for her endure the hardships for any longer than she had agreed—she simply wanted to sleep every night in Matthew’s arms. What she expected to happen was a heavy-hearted journey to the luxury of Willowby Hall, for her to find the servants had completed the long list of tasks, then with a solemn guise, she would await the return of her wandering husband, curtsy to his bow, spread her legs, and close her eyes. If he finally had it in him to honour their marriage vows, she hoped he would be swift and not expect her to touch his thing. She would rather never touch it. She was married in her heart to Matthew, and only he was worthy of her touch. If only a farmer could marry a lady of noble blood.

“I should come with you,” she declared to Matthew.

He yanked on the reins. “No. You shall not,” he said curtly.

“Why ever? I’m not known in town.” She walked toward the trap, skirting around the cow dung. “I’ve only been in the area for a short time and never went there.”

“Your servants go there.” He settled on the bench. “It’s not wise, Dara. You’ll tempt fate to fall upon you, take my word for it. Stay and be a good lass. I’ll be back before supper.”

She watched him gee the horse into a slow trot. After a few minutes, he disappeared over the brow of the hill.

Dara swept out the cottage half-heartedly. She was bored. Having read three books, she was tired of French poetry, and preferred the study of flowers. With that in mind, she went to pick a few wild ones in the furthest meadow.

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