Once Upon A Wedding Night by Sophie Jordan Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sophie Jordan
she was cheating out of his birthright.
Outside, the lawn glimmered a verdant green from yesterday's rain. Sunshine sparkled on the morning air. Meredith decided she had hidden indoors long enough. Sending word ahead for her mount to be readied, she quickly donned a riding habit of fawn-colored velvet. She supposed the color was not entirely appropriate for mourning, but as she did not own a black riding habit, it would simply have to do. Eyeing herself critically in a cheval mirror, she smoothed a hand over her torso and hips, wincing at the evidence of too many honeyed scones. Well, a woman with child—even in the early stage—might be a little thick about the middle. She and her aunt would soon have to come up with a way to fashion a bulging tummy for her. Maree would prove helpful in that endeavor.
Her mare, a spirited creature name Petunia, was saddled and waiting for her when she emerged outside. Petunia appeared to have missed her exercise as much as Meredith. Soon they were streaking across the countryside. She gave the mare her lead, delighting at the wind on her face as they raced over hills. After a while she reined Petunia toward the Finney farm, a large tract of land on Oak Run's southern border. With a dozen children, the couple had no trouble managing so large a farm. Sally Finney was expecting yet another child and had recently taken to bed, no longer able to move about with ease. Meredith guessed the woman would not be averse to a little company.
The Finneys' yard was oddly empty when she rode up. Dismounting, she tethered her mare to a post in front of the cottage's well-tended garden. At the sound of a distant cry, she looked in the direction of the fields, where Tom Finney and his children hailed her.
Meredith's heart skipped a beat when she saw another in their midst.
What was he doing here
?
The Finney children surrounded Nicholas Caulfield, chattering and vying for his attention. Little Meg Finney clung to his hand, hero worship glowing bright in her eyes. Meredith felt little better than the child as she devoured the sight of him. His bare chest glistened with perspiration, and his hair gleamed blue-black in the sun.
"Good day, Lady Brookshire," Tom Finney greeted.
"Good morning, Mr. Finney. Children." She nodded before turning to greet the man to whom her every nerve was achingly sensitized. "Good morning, Mr. Caulfield." Even sweaty and dirt-spattered, he was beautiful to behold.
"Lady Brookshire," he returned, his gaze raking her wind-chapped face and wild hair, reminding her of her mussed appearance. Heat stole into her face and she fumbled for her bonnet.
"Have you come to call on Sally?" Mr. Finney asked. "She'll be pleased, sore for company as she is."
"I suspected as much." Meredith addressed the farmer and forced her gaze off Caulfield's lean, sinewy body. Tying the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, she noticed that Mr. Finney's eldest daughter appeared equally captivated by Caulfield's physique.
"Right lucky that his lordship happened along. He helped me free the plow from the field. The children and I have been trying at it half the morning."
"Lucky indeed." Once again Meredith felt the stirrings of resentment. For all that she had done for her tenants, she never helped pull a plow free. And by the glow in Mr. Finney's eyes, this gesture from the new lord of the manor meant a great deal.
"Come inside. Sally will not like my keeping you from her, my lady."
Mr. Finney led her inside. Caulfield, Meredith noted, didn't follow. Undoubtedly, he had further things to do in order to undermine her—surely somewhere there was a baby to birth or a roof to thatch. The sour thought stayed with her as she settled herself in a chair and attempted to focus her attention on Sally Finney's extensive complaints.
"The swelling's got so bad I can't even walk. It weren't this bad the other times," Sally complained, submerged in the bed beneath the huge mound of her stomach, several pillows
Outside, the lawn glimmered a verdant green from yesterday's rain. Sunshine sparkled on the morning air. Meredith decided she had hidden indoors long enough. Sending word ahead for her mount to be readied, she quickly donned a riding habit of fawn-colored velvet. She supposed the color was not entirely appropriate for mourning, but as she did not own a black riding habit, it would simply have to do. Eyeing herself critically in a cheval mirror, she smoothed a hand over her torso and hips, wincing at the evidence of too many honeyed scones. Well, a woman with child—even in the early stage—might be a little thick about the middle. She and her aunt would soon have to come up with a way to fashion a bulging tummy for her. Maree would prove helpful in that endeavor.
Her mare, a spirited creature name Petunia, was saddled and waiting for her when she emerged outside. Petunia appeared to have missed her exercise as much as Meredith. Soon they were streaking across the countryside. She gave the mare her lead, delighting at the wind on her face as they raced over hills. After a while she reined Petunia toward the Finney farm, a large tract of land on Oak Run's southern border. With a dozen children, the couple had no trouble managing so large a farm. Sally Finney was expecting yet another child and had recently taken to bed, no longer able to move about with ease. Meredith guessed the woman would not be averse to a little company.
The Finneys' yard was oddly empty when she rode up. Dismounting, she tethered her mare to a post in front of the cottage's well-tended garden. At the sound of a distant cry, she looked in the direction of the fields, where Tom Finney and his children hailed her.
Meredith's heart skipped a beat when she saw another in their midst.
What was he doing here
?
The Finney children surrounded Nicholas Caulfield, chattering and vying for his attention. Little Meg Finney clung to his hand, hero worship glowing bright in her eyes. Meredith felt little better than the child as she devoured the sight of him. His bare chest glistened with perspiration, and his hair gleamed blue-black in the sun.
"Good day, Lady Brookshire," Tom Finney greeted.
"Good morning, Mr. Finney. Children." She nodded before turning to greet the man to whom her every nerve was achingly sensitized. "Good morning, Mr. Caulfield." Even sweaty and dirt-spattered, he was beautiful to behold.
"Lady Brookshire," he returned, his gaze raking her wind-chapped face and wild hair, reminding her of her mussed appearance. Heat stole into her face and she fumbled for her bonnet.
"Have you come to call on Sally?" Mr. Finney asked. "She'll be pleased, sore for company as she is."
"I suspected as much." Meredith addressed the farmer and forced her gaze off Caulfield's lean, sinewy body. Tying the ribbons of her bonnet beneath her chin, she noticed that Mr. Finney's eldest daughter appeared equally captivated by Caulfield's physique.
"Right lucky that his lordship happened along. He helped me free the plow from the field. The children and I have been trying at it half the morning."
"Lucky indeed." Once again Meredith felt the stirrings of resentment. For all that she had done for her tenants, she never helped pull a plow free. And by the glow in Mr. Finney's eyes, this gesture from the new lord of the manor meant a great deal.
"Come inside. Sally will not like my keeping you from her, my lady."
Mr. Finney led her inside. Caulfield, Meredith noted, didn't follow. Undoubtedly, he had further things to do in order to undermine her—surely somewhere there was a baby to birth or a roof to thatch. The sour thought stayed with her as she settled herself in a chair and attempted to focus her attention on Sally Finney's extensive complaints.
"The swelling's got so bad I can't even walk. It weren't this bad the other times," Sally complained, submerged in the bed beneath the huge mound of her stomach, several pillows