Lucas shook his head. He thought Victoria's reaction was damned odd. Then he turned his attention back to his wife. She looked a sight tonight with her hair spilling down her back and her face rosy from cooking. He thought he could be content to look at her the rest of the night.
She wasn't paying any attention to him. Georgie had deliberately pushed a biscuit up against a piece of salted pork on Allie's plate, which caused an immediate uproar, and Taylor was trying to soothe one twin and lecture the other one at the same time.
Lucas slipped in the other bit of news when Allie paused to take a deep breath so she could scream again. "We're going to stay here until Victoria's had her baby. Then we're leaving."
She gave him a radiant smile. He immediately reminded her their living arrangement was temporary. "Don't think this means I've changed my mind. We aren't raising the children here."
"No, of course not," she replied.
He acted as though he hadn't heard her agreement. "It's too dangerous here for them and for you. You're too fragile for such primitive conditions. Come fall, we're moving to the city."
"But you hate the city."
"I'll get used to it."
With an effort, she was able to hold onto her temper. "Do you have a particular city in mind?"
"We're going back east."
She waited for him to elaborate. After a minute or two, she realized he wasn't going to say another word about his future plans for the family.
"I'm not fragile, Lucas."
He wouldn't listen to her. "Come fall, we're leaving. Don't even think about settling in."
She assured him she wouldn't.
The following morning, she put up yellow and white checkered curtains. She told Lucas it was just for privacy's sake, which was a ridiculous reason given the fact that they lived in the wilderness. Yes, she knew they were leaving. Of course she did. He'd told her so at least a hundred times. But that didn't mean they couldn't be comfortable in the meantime.
He noticed the tablecloth on the table that evening. And the dishes stacked in neat rows on the shelves. There was a new bedspread on their bed, and a glass vase stuffed with wildflowers on top of the mantel. The place was looking more and more like a home to him.
Roily let them purchase the rocker from Frank with the condition that he be allowed to borrow it on Sunday afternoons for the reading of the newspaper. Taylor readily agreed. Frank didn't think Roily had any business giving Taylor stipulations. Just because he'd made the thing didn't mean he could borrow it whenever he wanted. He had, after all, sold it to Frank if he would recall.
The giant didn't like being told what he could or couldn't do. He grabbed Frank by the collar and was about to give him a good shake when Taylor stepped between the two men.
"You made this beautiful rocker, Roily?"
The awe in her voice gained the giant's full attention. She thought it was beautiful. He'd heard that compliment plain and clear. He forgot he was holding onto Frank. He gave her a nod, then muttered, "What of it?" so she wouldn't think he was pleased or proud of his work.
Taylor sat down in the rocker and trailed her fingertips along the polished wood. Roily turned to watch her. He was still holding onto Frank and dragged him with him like Allie dragged her rag doll around.
"It's sound," he told her. His voice didn't sound surly now.
"It's magnificent," she declared. "I don't believe I've ever seen anything this well crafted in all of England," she exaggerated. "You're a true craftsman, Roily."
The giant dropped Frank and hurried over to Taylor. "No nails," he announced. "I didn't cheat and use nails."
He made Taylor stand up so he could lift the rocker and turn it upside down. He wanted her to get a better look at the construction.
Frank quickly recovered from Rolly's burst of temper. Over the years he'd gotten used to being tossed or shaken or shoved by the giant. He wasn't afraid of him any longer. He knew Roily would never kill him, for he thought of him as a friend. And friends in these parts were hard to come by. Frank knew the limits of Rolly's patience, however, and for that reason he didn't dare smile while he watched Taylor's compliments turn the fierce giant into a blushing boy.
Roily told Taylor he had always been good with his hands, and he decided he might as well use them to turn a profit. He worked in his home and pointed to the last building down the road to show her where it was.
"I got enough wood stored up in the shed behind to make twenty rockers," he said. "And it takes me exactly two weeks, start to finish, to make one as sound as can be."
Taylor asked him if he would consider making a cradle for Victoria's baby. She was willing to pay a fair price, she assured him, and he would have all summer to work on it.
Roily rubbed his whiskered jaw and then told her he'd have to think about it.
Late that evening, after everyone had gone to sleep, Lucas woke her up making love to her. She was so tired, she didn't think she had the strength or the inclination, but his warm caresses and hot kisses soon changed her mind. She became as demanding and desperate as he was, and when she found fulfillment, he silenced her scream of ecstasy with his mouth.
He collapsed on top of her and when she let out a groan, he rolled to his side and pulled her into his arms. She tried to keep the loving words locked inside. She didn't want to burden Lucas or make him think she was desperate for his pledge of love. She was desperate though, and no matter how hard she tried to be reasonable about it, she still couldn't talk herself out of her own longing.
She waited until he'd fallen asleep. "I love you, Lucas," she whispered then.
As exhausted as she was, sleep still eluded her. She told herself she should be thankful her husband didn't hate her. She had forced him to radically change his life. He hadn't been given a choice. The poor man detested marriage and was now saddled with a wife and three children.
Taylor spent a good long while feeling sorry for Lucas. Then she started feeling sorry for herself. It was a wonder her husband could even stand to look at her. She knew she wasn't very pretty like Victoria was, and she was certain she wasn't at all lovable. She had too many faults. She was bossy and opinionated and rigid. She used to think those were assets. She'd learned everything she knew about life from her grandmother. Madam taught her to be disciplined and controlled. One never complained or made demands. One took what one was given and made the best of it. No one liked a whiner, and if the need to cry couldn't be suppressed, then one should seek out privacy so no one else would see or hear. A lady was a lady from the moment she opened her eyes in the morning until she closed them again that night.
Taylor was sick and tired of being proper all the time. It was a terrible strain. The urge to scream when something bothered her was getting stronger and stronger, and the need to kick some sense into Lucas was becoming more and more appealing.
He was making her give up her dream, too. She knew that if she pointed out that fact to him, he'd only tell her what he'd been telling her almost from the moment he married her. She wasn't strong enough. Lord, he'd called her fragile. She thought that was probably the most insulting thing he could have said to her.
She would prove him wrong. Yes, that was it, she decided. Arguing that she was every bit as fit as he was wouldn't mean anything. Words were just words. She would have to show him. Taylor stopped feeling sorry for herself and turned her thoughts to the summer ahead. She had three months to prove to Lucas she wasn't fragile.
Once Lucas started thinking of her as his equal, she was certain he would begin to treat her like a real wife and share his hopes and his worries and his past with her. He'd been in the war. That was the only substantial fact she knew about him. What had he done before and after? What was his life like growing up? She'd certainly asked questions. She never got any answers. Lucas would close right up on her. She didn't even know if he'd caught the man he'd gone after in Chicago. What was his name? She couldn't remember.