“Mrs. Fredericks?” He used the name he intended for her to temper his tongue to the taste of it, as well as allow her to get used to the sound. Saying her first name would take time.
She didn’t look but went to the cabinet beside the fire, opening doors and drawers, inspecting the contents.
He tried again. “Mrs. Fredericks?”
Still, she didn’t hear him.
He ground his teeth then spoke the name he loathed. “Anna.”
She jolted and slammed the cupboard shut as if she’d done something she shouldn’t. “Aye?” Her eyes were wide and her cheeks painted red.
He set the basket on the floor beside the table. “Allow me to show you the property and then you may have all the time you need to discover what tools are available for your needs.”
A quick, tight smile darted across her face before a solemn expression darkened the hue of her eyes. “Of course.”
She hurried to him and he debated the wisdom of questioning the sudden change in countenance, but thought better of it. They were both nervous, scared, and walking on a bed of eggshells that would surely crack any moment, exposing the truth they’d concealed in a mess of foul reality. Neither of them were ready for that.
He followed the short hall to the back door and led her toward the garden. The scent of dirt, manure, and vegetables drifted on the air.
William peered over his shoulder. All the color that had moments ago dusted her cheeks was gone. She stared, mouth tight, at the garden. Her hands clutched her skirts. Worry niggled a hole through his gut. Perhaps all this, though more than provided for him, was insufficient in her eyes. He knew nothing of the home she’d had before. And although she’d been poor, perhaps she’d had more at her disposal.
A thought struck him across the face, pushing a question to view in his mind. Perhaps it was not the house or the garden…perhaps it is me. She had married someone she didn’t love and therein lay the reason for the sudden changes in her color, the hard line of her mouth.
Her mouth.
In a single thought the anxieties dissolved. He allowed his vision to trace her as she walked around the garden. He’d never thought her lips could be so incomparably soft. The tiny breath she’d taken as he’d pressed his mouth against hers had sparked a sudden need to hold her tighter. Thankfully, he’d heeded greater wisdom and pulled away before the impression of her lips was forever branded on his memory.
“Is that water I hear?” she asked.
Grateful for her question, which distracted him from the precarious cliff he had perched himself on, he motioned sideways. “Aye, there’s a creek to the right of us. I’ll show you.”
Her sculpted eyebrows rose, and she lifted her skirts as she stepped out of the beans and cabbages. “Is that where we shall fetch our water?”
The question stalled him. Had she not seen the well? He motioned behind them. “Nay, there’s no need for that. The well will serve fine enough. Though of course the creek will be helpful for washing and laundering in the summer months.”
Instantly, the color returned to her cheeks. “Oh, of course.” She turned away, once again gripping her skirt.
The small trail at the back of the garden led down a path no more than thirty feet to the creek.
He stopped at the rocky edge and she beside him. The breeze toyed with the black strands of her hair that freed themselves from their pins. A fragrance he’d noticed since their wedding teased the air around him. He couldn’t name the scent, but could detect the slightest lavender, fresh and inviting.
Bending down, he gave his hands something to do other than wish for the feeling of that black curl against his skin. He plucked a rock from the ground and stood, rubbing it in his fingers.
He followed her gaze to the water. “It doesn’t race much now, but come spring it will be quite full.”
A faint breath eased from her mouth, and her shoulders dropped. “’Tis a lovely place. So calming.”
The sentiment took him aback, and he permitted his eyes to roam the scenery. Trees banked the river on the side where they stood, tall grasses on the other. No more than ten feet
wide, the water belied a depth of three feet or more.
“On days when the water flows heavy, you should keep far from the center.”
She faced him. “To where does it flow?”
“The ocean.”
Nodding, she turned to the trail and started back. “How far away is the ocean?”