Mail Order Bride: Fall (Bride For All Seasons 3)

“No wonder you looked like the cat that swallowed the canary,” grinned Paul, once things had settled a bit and everyone had resumed their seats.

“Coulda knocked me over with a feather when she first told me,” Ben said seriously. “And she insisted that the reason she’d been carpin’ at me so much was only because of the condition she’s in. And then she put all the blame on me!”

“Well, it does take two...” murmured the doctor, with a gleam in his eyes.

“But I just figured, hey, I can put up with it.” Ben, feeling generous in his teasing, slid one arm around the back of his wife’s chair. “Unless...” he paused, pursing his lips judiciously as he looked her up and down, “that’s her normal state of mind. In that case, I may have some problems.”

Laughter followed, interrupted by a flood of exuberant questions from the girls. When was she due? April. “The nicest month of the year for a baby!” trilled Molly, who hoped to be in a similar condition herself at some point. Any names chosen? Not yet, although the couple had talked about a few. How had Camellia been feeling, with all these changes going on? Peckish. Rather like a seasick voyager, in between landings. Not terribly pleasant, it was true, but bearable.

And Gabriel would be attending her confinement?

“I would be honored to do so,” said Gabriel gravely, but with a smile. “This man here has been my good friend for more’n five years. There ain’t nothin’ I’d like better than to bring his child into the world. And yours, too, Camellia, my dear.”

“We’ll be aunts!” Hannah suddenly realized, in hushed tones, connecting with the other two prospective aunts in wide-eyed delight.

When the group had finally exhausted the happy subject of what spring would usher in to the Forrester household, Camellia asked whether Paul and Molly had finally set themselves a wedding date, so the family could make their plans.

“Absolutely.” To give a full answer, it was apparently necessary that Molly once again leave her seat to clamber onto the ready lap of her betrothed, to entwine herself around his neck for even more closeness. “The first Saturday in November. The fifth. That should give all of us plenty of time for every sort of arrangement. And for my gown to be finished.”

“November fifth,” Camellia repeated, pleased. “Well. I think that will require a few meetings for just us sisters—no males allowed—to talk about all the details.”

Giggling, Molly touched the tip of her finger to the tip of his nose. “And plenty of those. We must certainly work on the inside of Paul’s house, for one thing.”

“What’s wrong with the inside of my house?”

“Paul Winslow, please.” Molly sounded like an impatient mother chiding her child for some mischief. “Do you even live in that place? Do you spend any time there?”

“Not much,” he admitted cheerfully. “Mostly I’m at the jail. Or, lately, with you.”

“Oh, my goodness, then where shall I start with what needs to be done? Have the walls ever been painted? Have curtains ever been hung? Have you ever once thought to add all the little feminine pieces so dear to a woman’s heart?”

“Frou-frou stuff,” said Paul, with a hint of scorn.

“My dearest darling, I don’t call decent seating frou-frou. Or carpet for the floors. Or plenty of lamps to see what we’re doing.”

“Now, wait just a minute, Molly. You know I can’t afford—”

“Oh, Paul, silly man.” With another giggle, she slowly traced the lobe of his ear until he was beginning to squirm beneath her with self-consciousness—and possibly something else. “Of course you can afford it. We’ll get so many of those things at a discount from Ben’s store, won’t we, Ben?” She turned an enraptured face toward her favorite brother-in-law.

Ben ignored the connection to clear his throat meaningfully. “More to the point, just when did you see the inside of Paul’s house?”

Molly had been so bubbling over with happiness since she and Paul had become a couple that it would be difficult for anyone to scold her, especially someone taking on the paternal role of heavy-handed father. Ben was doing his best. Molly simply sidestepped any criticism.

“Oh, he took me there a few weeks ago, didn’t you, sweetheart?” she said airily. “He wanted me to make a list of everything we’d like to have done to the place.”

“Chowderhead,” muttered Gabriel, reaching for the muffin plate. “Big mistake, my friend.”

“Well, I don’t know that it’s fitten for you to be visitin’ a single man’s domicile, plighted or not,” Ben kept on doggedly. “There’s still the neighbors to consider. And somea them waggin’ tongues—”

“—can be vicious,” Hannah finished for him. “Just for once, Molly, be a little circumspect.”

“Of course I shall, all you nervous Nellies,” the girl pouted and flashed Paul a piquant glance. “But I did need to measure spaces. We simply must have room for my piano, you know.”

Paul groaned. “Her dadblamed monster piano. That thing will be the death of me.”

Complacent, yet sympathetic, Ben nodded. “You better get used to it, son. Every last onea these Burton ladies will lead all of us sorry males a merry dance b’fore they’re through.”

The main meal was finally finished, although Gabriel was still picking for pieces here and there, like some vulture at a carcass. Hannah and Molly helped clear away the worst of the debris while Camellia brought out the chocolate cake and began slicing to be served.