I love you, Jonah. How her breathy, honest words haunted his memory, rang in the empty chambers of his heart.
Love was an emotion, if genuine, that came from within. His heart had been numbed from years of battle so that, like ground frozen too long, nothing could grow from it. No matter how bright the sun or how temperate the spring.
The village of Baybrooke stretched out before her, the commons a dull winter-grass green beneath a sky as gray as regret.
Jonah set his strong hands on her waist and lifted her down from the wagon. She rather liked the feeling of being in his arms, even just for a moment, the bunch of his muscled shoulders hard beneath her fingertips.
A door swung open and a narrow-faced woman managed a genuine smile.
"Mistress Tessa, I mean, Mistress Hunter." Rachel Briers grabbed hold of both Tessa's hands. "Please, come in. Major Hunter, I have tea hot and ready for you."
"That would be fine. Did you receive the fabric I had sent over from the ship?" How competent and commanding he appeared in an ebony shirt and breeches. A shock of dark hair tumbled over his brow, as black as his gaze that riveted on her. "Tessa has sworn to cooperate."
"I'm perfectly capable of making my own dresses." She blushed, not at all comfortable with such treatment. Goodness, she had been sewing for herself since she was six years of age. But Jonah had explained he wanted to do this for her, because Father's recovery would take time and attention, and she would not have the chance to sew anytime soon.
"Tessa, cooperate?" Rachel hid a smile, though the corners of her mouth upturned with good humor. If there was one person Tessa could call friend in this village, it was Rachel. "I've known her ever since dame school, and not once have I spied a single moment of her cooperative nature. But you, Major Hunter, seem to bring out the best in her."
"Only in public," Tessa piped up, and their laughter rang in the cozy room.
How good it felt here, in Rachel's parlor, safe from the curious gazes of many of the villagers. There was no chance of running into Charity or Violet here either, since Grandfather was not rich enough to hire out the sewing.
"Let me fetch the teapot and we can begin." Rachel spun away, gesturing toward the simple but tidy benches. "Please sit and make yourselves comfortable."
"Let me get the tea." Jonah, so big he shrank the small parlor, gave an awkward but endearing shrug. "You women go ahead and do whatever it is you do."
He tossed her a wink, the devil's own light shining in his eyes. He left her sight, yet the brightness in her heart remained.
"I want you to know I didn't believe one word of those rumors," Rachel whispered, leaning close to grab her sewing box. "I think he truly loves you. Look at these wonderful fabrics he bought you. Sensible cottons, but very finely dyed and woven."
"Aye." Choosing such beautiful cloth while Charity and Violet watched across the table had been a pleasure. 'Twas her pride again, but just this once it felt fine to have more expensive things. "No matter what Jonah says, I want a simple design. Not much different than what I've been wearing."
"He's a man of means, Tessa." Rachel unfolded a length of green linen. "He'll want his wife to dress appropriately."
"Something simple, Rachel. Trust me." Tessa could not imagine wearing a gown too impractical to do her chores in. "I still plan on living as I always have, Jonah's bride or not."
Rachel's lips pursed, but she said nothing more as she lifted the moss green fabric to Tessa's chin. " 'Tis a becoming color on you. I was thinking a bodice and an underskirt of this green, with the floral over it."
" 'Twould be very nice." Tessa tried to imagine how wonderful it would feel to wear such a dress, so different from the drab homespun she'd always worn.
"Tea?" Jonah stood in the threshold, one broad shoulder braced on the doorframe, holding two steaming cups.
His gaze speared hers, so intimate and knowing. She thought of their lovemaking, of her confession, of the silence when he didn't answer.
He had to love her. See how he treated her, all the wondrous cherished words he'd said, standing up for her against Charity, and now buying her such beautiful things when she already had perfectly serviceable dresses.
These were not acts of an unloving man. Unlike her mother, she had not traded security for a cold marriage, a roof over her head in exchange for her usefulness. Jonah could hire nurses or servants. He did not need to marry in order to have someone clear his table or tend his father.
He leaned close, and heat sizzled the back of her neck. "You look beautiful in green."
At his words, the love in her heart doubled once, and then again.
After too much tea and women's talk, Jonah excused himself to the stable, although he was well pleased at Tessa's happiness. She'd not argued overly much at the new clothes, and once she'd stepped foot inside Mistress Briers' parlor, her eyes glimmered with a rare happiness.
Aye, without the mantle of hardship heavy about her slender shoulders, she was a beautiful woman. He wagered others could see it now, too, and he was glad. There were other reasons to have married Tessa, not just for his father's sake. He wanted to protect her, wanted naught but good things for her. After the way she treated him as her husband and how she aided Father, she deserved all he could give her.
Even now, through the open stable door and across the yard, he could see her in the lighted kitchen window. She sat at Rachel's trestle table, sipping another cup of tea over more talk of ribbons and buttons and bows, no doubt, or whatever it was women discussed.
Even from here, he could see how happiness lit her face, all paleness gone, replaced by rosy cheeks and a quiet smile and eyes that sparkled a vibrant blue. How relaxed she looked, at ease. Her dark hair tumbled out from its braid in places to twist around her heart-shaped face, to brush at her dark collar.
Aye, she deserved all that he could give her. He could not deny a warmth, a feeling that made his chest hurt every time he looked at her.
"Major Hunter." A breathy, childish voice spun him around in the stable. He blinked, the image of Tessa replaced by Violet Bradford. She fluffed styled curls with one hand, plumping them near her face.
A shot of alarm pierced his gut. "Where's your chaperone?"
"My mother, you mean?" Violet tilted her head to one side, working her eyelashes as if a bug had flown into both eyes. "She's currently across the street at Mistress Hollingsworth's."
"Then go there directly."
"But Mama is inquiring about hiring the oldest girl to come work for us. She told me I was in the way." Violet arched her back, seductively, as if to show off her bosom.
"I don't care if she is conferring with the king himself. I want you out of my sight." He dared not be caught alone with a girl like this, and started off on a brisk walk toward the house. He'd seen too much of dark hearts not to recognize one now.
"Everyone knows you were going to propose to me." Violet trotted after him and reached out. "Don't deny it."
He twisted away from her bold touch, anger rising. "I expect you to obey me, little girl. Go find your mother." Violet only smiled. "I know that awful Tessa tricked you into marriage, but that doesn't mean we can't be together."
"Enough!" he roared, hearing his voice echo against the bare-limbed trees.
Violet slapped her hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes. "But you c-came by at m-meeting day-"
"To see Tessa, not you."
Tears sluiced down the girl's ruddy face. She turned, wailing, kicking up flecks of earth and mud as she darted across the road and disappeared into the house. A door slammed with a show of temper.
He headed inside the stable, considering Violet Bradford's mistake. Or maybe manipulation. Aye, he was sorely glad he did not give in and choose a woman that young, self-absorbed, and conceited.