Her uneasiness, carried since Linda had stormed out of their house, swelled into a band of tightness around her chest. She’d seen Linda’s prospective husband only a few minutes when Linda had come home to get her jewelry and withdraw her share of their inheritance, but something in his eyes had made her uncomfortable. She’d taken an immediate dislike to him. That wasn’t like her. Of course, that could be because he was the reason Linda had broken her promise to marry Blake—if she had ever intended to do so.
She closed her eyes and rubbed at the ache in her temples. Maybe things would have turned out differently if their father were still alive. Or if she hadn’t challenged Linda to do the right thing and marry Blake that day. Perhaps if she’d been less ardent in defense of Blake’s expectation, she could have talked Linda into at least coming West to see Blake again before she married another.
Oh, what did it matter? It was done. Thinking about it would change nothing. She would simply have to live with her guilt. And Linda—She gasped, lowered her hands to press against her chest. Linda did not know she’d come to Whisper Creek! And she was the one Linda relied on since their parents had passed. How would Linda find her if she needed help? Oh, everything was such a mess! And she couldn’t even confess to Blake about the letters. It would only deepen his hurt, and make their situation untenable.
“Dear Lord, please watch over Linda and keep her well and safe. And please help me to be all that Blake needs me to be until he finds a solution to save his store. Help me to play the part of a newlywed well in front of others—to atone for writing those letters. And help Blake’s heart heal. Oh, Lord, please don’t let Blake suffer because of Linda’s selfish ways and my imprudence. Let him heal and find love with another, I pray.”
Tension thrummed along her nerves. Some planner she was. She hadn’t thought beyond the point of marrying Blake to save his inheritance. Now she was caught unprepared. Play the part... What did that mean? How did a loving bride act? Thanks to John’s betrayal, she’d not had a chance to learn about being a bride. An image of Linda’s friend Carolyn Rogers clinging to her new husband’s arm and cooing love words at him flashed into her head. Surely Blake would not expect such behavior from her. He could barely stand the sight of her. And she didn’t blame him.
Tears surged, but she swallowed them back, refusing to cry any more. What was done was done. She couldn’t change it. All she could do now was to help Blake save his store.
She thrust aside her troubling thoughts and hurried to her satchel inside the large wardrobe Blake had made to hold Linda’s many gowns. She couldn’t bring herself to place her grooming aids on the lovely dressing table he had bought for Linda, or to use the products he had provided for her sister. Thoughts of the White Rose paste for teeth, the Pears’ soap and the lovely milk glass Crème Simon jar alongside the tin of Gillette safety razor blades and the jar of Swiss Violet shaving cream on the shelf above the washbowl in the dressing room sent a tremble through her. The sight of those items had brought Blake’s longing to wed Linda home to her as nothing else had. They were so...intimate, sitting there side by side.
Her stomach churned, threatened to empty. Blake resented her for coming to Whisper Creek to marry him, even if it was for his benefit. And he regretted yielding to her arguments and going through with the marriage. That had been clear in that angry ceremonial kiss. And in the obligatory polite way he had treated her last night. There had been no evidence of the casual friendship that had existed between them when he was courting Linda. She sighed and opened the satchel. As uncomfortable as her position was for her, it had to be unbearable for Blake. He loved Linda. And her mere presence, here in the home he had built for the two of them, had to remind him of her sister. All she could do was try to be as unobtrusive as possible when they were alone.
She coiled her long wavy hair into a thick figure eight at the nape of her neck and secured it with hairpins and the pearl hair comb that was a bequest from her grandmother. A quick glance in the long mirror affixed to the inside of the wardrobe door revealed wispy curls lying against her forehead. She smoothed them back and closed the door. Linda’s blond curls looked lovely resting on her forehead. Her own red curls just looked messy. But the room was neat.
She released another sigh and looked around. There was no sign of her being there. She could not sleep in that bed with its pristine blue-and-white coverlet, so she’d sat in the rocker and dozed when she wasn’t pacing and worrying last night away. And she’d made certain there was no sign of disturbance to the dressing room when she’d washed and prepared for the day.
The room was getting lighter. She glanced at the brightness filtering through the shutters. Dawn came quickly in the mountains. Should she go to the kitchen now? She tiptoed to the bedroom door and pressed her ear against the wood. There was no sound, only silence. A frown tugged at her eyebrows. Had Blake finally fallen asleep? He’d been stirring in the next bedroom all through her long sleepless night. Perhaps he’d risen when she dozed off after coming back from the dressing room.
She stepped back, nibbled at her lower lip. What should she do? When did he breakfast? Were there provisions in the kitchen? Surely there were provisions! He’d said there was no restaurant in Whisper Creek, so he had to cook—didn’t he? The questions streaked through her mind, adding to her indecision. The only thing she was sure of was that she did not want to presume for her own use the things that Blake had provided for Linda, or in any way add to his hurt from Linda’s betrayal.
She listened at the door again, heard nothing and turned back into the room. It would be ill-mannered of her to rise first; she would wait until she heard Blake leave his bedroom. She moved to the window, opened the shutters and watched the sun climbing above the mountains. How foolish Linda was to throw away the love of a man as thoughtful and caring and faithful and...and passionate in his feelings as Blake.
* * *
Blake stood with his hand on the doorknob, torn between his desire to leave the confinement of the bedroom and his reluctance to face the agony of the day ahead. He’d been looking forward to Linda’s excitement over all of the things he’d bought for her comfort. How could he face Audrey in his beloved’s place? How could he watch her in the kitchen, using the utensils and pots and pans and stove he had bought for Linda, while she prepared and then shared what should have been his first breakfast with his wife?
Wife. The word stabbed deep. He sucked in a breath and glanced at the light slipping through the window shutters. Morning was breaking. He had no choice but to live through this day. And neither did Audrey. He released the doorknob and massaged the tense muscles in his neck and shoulders, then drew his knuckles along his freshly shaved jaw. Audrey had tried her best to act undaunted last night. But she hadn’t been prepared for the reality of a marriage—even a pretend one. It was obvious when they came back to the store last night that she hadn’t thought beyond the ceremony. There was an unworldliness...an innocence about Audrey. He’d sensed it during their short conversations when he’d courted Linda, and it was strongly in evidence last night. And now he was responsible for her.
His face tightened. He never should have married her—wouldn’t have if he’d had time to think beyond his shock at Linda’s betrayal and the urgency of the moment. But then he would have lost the store. He owed Audrey his gratitude and respect for saving it for him, but—Linda. The ache swelled, burst over him like a wave. He bit back a moan, set his jaw and reached for the doorknob. The sooner he faced this day, the sooner it would be over. He gripped the cold metal, fighting the anguish that had become a part of him. “God in Heaven, help Audrey, I pray. And please help me to hide my feelings. She doesn’t deserve any of this.”
A quick twist of his wrist opened the bedroom door, and he walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Light from the windows gleamed on the new furnishings. The sight of them fueled his determination. He strode beyond the worktable to the stove, opened the firebox, struck a match and lit the kindling he’d readied the day before. He’d