Tomorrow's Dreams by Heather Cullman

Author:Heather Cullman
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781504010016
Publisher: Open Road Media Young Readers

Surrender, My Heart

Ah, yes, there is no defying,

A love beyond denying—

For love must have its way!

—Don Giovanni

Chapter 16

Penelope was full. Corset-busting, I-couldn’t-swallow-another-crumb-if-my-life-depended-on-it full. The kind of full she hadn’t been since she was six and had eaten an entire pan of gingerbread she’d found cooling on the kitchen windowsill.

Groaning, she erased the heartburning incident from her mind. Recalling it now only deepened her overstuffed misery.

Unfortunately clearing her mind left it free to dwell on other matters, namely her corset. She gave the binding undergarment a surreptitious tug through her bodice. The blasted stays were poking into her distended belly with a vengeance that made her feel like a harpooned whale.

Certain she’d belch if she didn’t relieve the pressure at once, she cautiously eased back until she leaned half reclining against a cottonwood tree. Mercifully her new position did much to ease the potentially disastrous constriction. Too relieved to care that she was crushing her bustle, she lay in glutted languor marveling anew that she had been allowed to come on this picnic.

Earlier that day, Seth had complained to Adele that Penelope was looking peaked and had demanded that she be allowed some leisure, namely a picnic. After a rather heated discussion during which Seth slyly pointed out that the company would be ruined and thus useless in repaying Miles’s debt if Penelope should fall ill, the woman had grudgingly agreed.

Sighing her contentment, Penelope drowsily admired her surroundings. The site Seth had selected for their hard-won picnic was unrivaled in beauty by any place she’d ever dined. It was like a little piece of heaven on earth.

As far as the eye could see, the arms of the Platte River sparkled between islands and banks edged with copses of autumn-flamed foliage. The small grove of cottonwoods where they dined was carpeted with leaves in vivid shades of orange, gold, and scarlet, hues that were echoed in the canopy of branches overheard. Enhancing nature’s ambiance were the gurgling serenade of the river and the smoky aroma of fall.

Seth, who sat beside her on the faded crazy quilt, his long legs crossed Indian style before him, seemed less enamored with his surroundings than with the food. Right now he was practically inhaling the last of the Saratoga potatoes. When he noticed her watching him, he picked up a cranberry tart and waved it temptingly beneath her nose. “Last one. Want it?”

Just the sight of the buttery pastry oozing with syrupy red fruit almost made her gag. Motioning it away with the same aversion she’d have shown a plate of the infamous lamb fries, she groaned, “I can’t eat another bite. I’m stuffed.” She was about to add that she doubted if she’d be able to eat for the next year when an obstreperous belch slipped out.

Mortified, she slapped her hand over her mouth, her face burning with shame. She’d wanted so badly to impress Seth, to advance in her stratagem to recapture his heart, and here she was making noises reminiscent of a barnyard scuffle.

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