Wilda's Outlaw by Velda Brotherton Read Free Book Online Page A

dress for countless days on a train that spat smoke and grit and filth, that hammered at my body until it aches, through country filled with dust and stinking horses and endless wind. And that is only a part of what I…what we endured to get here. Were you not informed that we were held at gunpoint and robbed, sir? I should think you would be concerned, yet you make no mention of it. In addition, you have the nerve to be absent when we arrive, and then summon us to eat before we can change and bathe. I want to know, sir, just what you expected of my attire. If I might ask.”
    His face blanched white; the ebony eyes glowed like embers of coal. Fists clenched at his sides, he said nothing, for should he open his mouth, he would most surely spit fire.
    Behind Wilda a great gasp circled the table. Shaking so hard she could scarcely continue, prepared to do so nevertheless. She had more to say, even though fear quivered like a palpable being in her chest, threatened to squeeze her heart to a standstill.
    Before she could speak further, he raised a finger, pointed at her and took one long stride forward. “That will be enough, Madame.” The tone could have stopped the charge of a brigade.
    Both she and Marguerite took a step back. She straightened her shoulders and continued to face him, though all she wanted was to run as far and as fast as she could. It was too late for any of that. She could only attribute her foolishness to being exhausted, but nevertheless she would not apologize. She would simply take her medicine as he saw fit to dole it out.
    “You are to be my wife, and you will kindly hold your tongue when you are tempted to harangue like a fishwife. Do I have to hire someone to teach you manners, Madame?”
    “I…no, sir. You do not. But perhaps your own could use polishing.”
    “That is enough,” he roared.
    She bit her tongue, not from fear but to keep it still. She had gone much too far, for certain. Time to stop. Now. She was to be his wife. He had said so. All the same, she could not apologize, though he waited as if expecting it. She would do so when he did.
    Marguerite tried to do it for her, but he shushed her before she could say more than, “Please forgive the child, she is worn from the trip.”
    “Tomorrow, right after breakfast,” he told her, not so much as glancing at Wilda again. “And see she is attired in a more proper manner.”
    Wilda stiffened, opened her mouth. To prevent another breach of etiquette, Marguerite turned her forcibly and marched her back to the table as if she were Tyra. Furious, Wilda stood behind her chair glaring at the door the horrible man had slammed when he left the room.
    ****
    Rowena’s Diary
    Tuesday, June 1, 1875
    Fairhaven
    Saints preserve us, as our dear mother used to say. This evening Lord Blair Prescott treated my sister in such an abominable way I nearly burst into tears. How can he have been so unfeeling toward the woman he soon will marry? Perhaps I have misjudged the man, for I believed that beneath that dreadful countenance beat a wounded heart that only needed love and understanding. And he scarcely spoke to the rest of us. As if we did not exist. I fear that Wilda will not wish to allow this wedding to take place.
    What a dreadful happenstance to contemplate, that of being cast out in a country we do not know. Three women alone, with no thought as to where we might go, or how to survive. Surely my sister will not allow that to happen.
    Yet, I am so sad, realizing she agreed to marry Lord Prescott for our sakes. So we could be free of St. Ann’s and have a better life here in America. If only he had asked me, I know I could have become a good wife, even to a man as angry as he. Wilda is much too impatient and speaks without thinking. It may well be her downfall.
    I will counsel her to be tolerant of him, else she will remain miserable the whole of her life. At all cost, she must learn to hold that tongue of hers. She has always possessed the