“I never expected her to faint,” Clover muttered.

Ballard choked back a laugh as he helped Clover lift her prostrate mother onto the settee. “Ye were a mite blunt, lassie.”

“I know, but I could not think of a subtle approach. I am sorry, Mr. MacGregor. It is not you, I am certain of it.”

“Lass, since we are soon to be wed, ‘twould be best if ye call me Ballard. And, dinnae fret, I dinnae take this personal-like.”

Clover suddenly caught the glint of laughter in his eyes and frowned at him. “‘Tis not funny either.”

“Er, nay. Nay, of course it isnae.” Ballard slanted a quelling glance at his brother and cousin, who were doing a poor job of concealing their hearty amusement, then looked down at Clover’s mother. “Do ye think she will come ‘round soon?”

“Yes.” Clover stopped lightly patting her mother’s cheeks. “She appears to be stirring already.” She turned to one of the twins, who was standing at the end of the settee. “Damien, fetch me some brandy and a glass, please.” Clover frowned when her brother handed her the crystal decanter, for the level of the amber liquid had gone down a great deal since she had last looked. “What has happened to this?”

Damien shrugged. “Mama says that Alice is turning her into a lush.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Clover was sure she saw her mother peek at her. She glanced back at the depleted decanter in her hand and frowned. Undoubtedly her mother had seen her disapproval and decided to pretend she was still deep in the throes of a swoon. Lately there were too many times when her role and her mother’s were reversed, when she could hear herself speaking to her mother as if the woman were an errant little girl. Clover suspected her mother noticed as well and was trying to avoid a confrontation on the matter. When her mother chanced a second peek and swiftly grimaced, Clover knew the swoon was about to end. She idly wondered what ploy her mother would use to try to keep her diverted from the matter of the disappearing brandy.

Agnes moaned softly and asked in a weak, unsteady voice, “Kentucky?”

“Yes, Mama,” Clover replied. “Kentucky is what I said. Have a sip of brandy. It will restore you—as you know.” Clover stressed the last three words and gave her mother a stern look intended to let Agnes know that her little ploy was not working.

As she sat up and took a sip of brandy, Agnes doggedly said, “That is the frontier.”

“It has been a state for near to two years now, ma’am,” Ballard said.

“There are wild, savage Indians out there,” Agnes murmured.

“Weel now, we did have a wee spot of trouble with the Indians, who seemed to object to white folk taking all their land,” Ballard drawled. “That business is mostly done with now. ‘Tis a fair settled place where I come from.”

“This is all so very confusing.” Agnes looked at Clover. “You were engaged to Thomas this morning, dear.”

“I was jilted by Thomas this morning, Mama,” Clover corrected.

“Well, you certainly cannot have known this man, this Mr. MacGregor, for very long.”

Ballard took his watch from his vest pocket and studied it. “I make it about two.” He glanced at Clover, who nodded.

“Two weeks?” Agnes asked.

“No, Mama,” Clover replied. “Two hours. Now, I should be very careful with that drink if you plan to swoon again, for that is the only one I intend to give you.” She almost smiled when her mother immediately recovered.

“You cannot intend to wed a man you have known for only two hours.” Agnes shook her head. “Why, you cannot possibly know anything about him.”

“Now, Mama, did you forget that in two short weeks we shall be put out on the street? I have tried and tried to find employment, but I cannot find anything that will pay enough to house and feed all of us adequately. Mr. MacGregor can do both. He came here looking for a wife, and a husband is just what I need.”

“But Kentucky is so far away.”

“What is there for us here, Mama?” Clover asked in a gentle voice. “Think on this too—Kentucky is far away from all that has happened to us, from all those shadowed memories and hurts that have you reaching for that brandy decanter so often.”

Agnes said nothing as she considered Clover’s words, then she nodded. “You are quite right, dear. When will you wed?”

Both Clover and her mother looked expectantly at Ballard, who replied, “As soon as we can. I will go speak to the preacher now.” He grasped Clover’s arm and gently towed her along as he started to leave the room. “Shelton, ye and Lambert can have a wee chat with your new kin. I want a private word with my bride before we set out to find that preacher.”

Clover was prepared to ask Ballard what he wanted the minute they reached the front hall, but when she opened her mouth to speak, Ballard pulled her into his arms and lifted her up until their faces were level. She flung her arms around his neck in an unthinking response as her feet left the floor. The closeness of the embrace made her breathless, and it annoyed her a little that Ballard did not appear to be equally affected. He leaned casually against the wall and smiled at her. Clover sent up a swift, silent prayer of thanks that he did not seem to realize the power of his smile. She took a deep breath and fruitlessly tried to stifle the wealth of feeling he was stirring within her.

“Would this discussion not go better if my feet were on the ground?” she asked in a sweet voice.

“I can see that ye are a wee bit pert, loving, but I like a touch of spice in a lass.”

“Just what did you wish to speak to me about?” She struggled not to stare at his mouth and wondered why, when he had kissed her only once, she should have developed such a craving for it.

“Weel, now, I am headed out to find us a preacher, wee Clover.” As he talked he brushed light, warm kisses over her upturned face. “I intend to have us wedded right as soon as I can. It might even be tomorrow.”

“There seems to be no reason to hesitate.” Clover barely recognized her own voice, which was oddly soft and throaty.

“None that I can see. However, I can see that ye are a mite innocent and maybe I ought to be giving ye some time to get to ken me as a mon afore we set down to the business of being mon and wife. Truth is, I am not of a mind to do that.”

A little of the fog he was creating in her mind cleared away, and she blushed as she realized he was referring to the intimacies married people shared. “Oh. I see.” She wondered why the thought of sharing those intimacies with this tall man did not frighten her. “We are to be wed, Ballard. ‘Tis probably best to jump right in. We can sort it out as we go along.” She hoped she sounded as brave and unconcerned as she was trying to be.

“Maybe ye ought to have a talk with your ma afore ye agree with me.”

Although she was unable to subdue her blushes, she spoke calmly. “Mother has already spoken with me. She sat me down for a talk when I became engaged to Thomas.”

“I thought that talk usually didnae come until after ye were wed or verra close to it.”

“Mother felt I ought to know about such things. Although Thomas and I were never left alone, she wanted me to know if Thomas attempted to take any liberties with me.” She tried to look stern, to let him know that she was well-aware that he was taking liberties and that she did not approve.

Ballard grinned and lightly kissed her downturned mouth. “There is no harm in a wee bit of canoodling between a mon and his betrothed.” He grew serious as he recalled what little he knew about what a mother told her daughter. “I am not talking about duty, bonnie Clover. That isnae what will keep me warm when winter’s chill is in the air.”

“My mother told me that duty is what puts a married couple into the same bed, but after that, ‘tis up to them what they make of it.” She inwardly cursed the color that kept heating her cheeks, for it clearly amused Ballard.

“Your mother sounds like a verra sensible woman.”

“She can be, Ballard.” Clover recalled the poor impression her mother had made so far and felt compelled to add, “‘Tis just that she has had so very much go wrong these last few weeks. She does not—”

He stopped her words with another brief kiss. “There is no need to make excuses for the woman, punkin. She has had a hard row to hoe just lately. She isnae doing so badly. I reckon the blows have been coming too hard and fast for her to regain her feet. Now, there is just one more thing I must do afore I go and find us a preacher.”

“And what is that?”

“This,” he murmured, and covered her mouth with his.

Clover felt herself sink into that oddly invigorating fog Ballard so easily pulled her into. When he finally ended the kiss and set her back on her feet, she stared up at him in a daze. He said nothing, just took her by the hand and pulled her along behind him as he strode back into the parlor, where the others were waiting for them. Clover struggled to clear her head.

“Come on, lads,” Ballard said to Shelton and Lambert. “We need to be setting out after that preacher, and we have to meet that man about selling our horses,”

“Who are you to meet?” asked Agnes.

“A Mr. Grendall.”

“He is said to be a good man, fair and honest. Are you staying at the inn, Mr. MacGregor?” Agnes asked Ballard as he and the boys prepared to leave.

“Aye,” Ballard replied.

“Then you must move yourselves out of there and come stay here—all of you. We are allowed to stay in this house for another two weeks. We might as well use the place to its fullest. There is no need for you to throw your money away.”

“Thank you, ma’am. We will do just that.”

“And Clover and I shall have a nice meal prepared for you when you return.”

As soon as the men were gone, Agnes turned to Clover and with a brief, sad smile said, “I think it best if we get busy trying to find some food for that meal.”

Ballard and his companions were several yards down the street, striding toward a tiny church near the docks, when Shelton asked, “Are ye still sure about this, Ballard?”

“Aye, and so is the lassie. She needs me, needs someone to help her provide for and protect her family. The lass would do her best on her own, but she cannae care for four. Trust me, Shelton, that need can only do me good. Now, there is one stop we must make afore I find me that preacher.”

“What is that?” asked Lambert as he kept pace between Shelton and Ballard.

“Food, cousin,” answered Ballard. “Good manners made Mrs. Sherwood offer us a meal, but I would wager my fine courting clothes that they have nae got much to offer us.”

Clover stared at the meager collection of vegetables and tiny scraps of ham that lay scattered on the workworn kitchen table and sighed. There was not enough to fill the bellies of three grown men. Even a soup would end up being more water than substance.

Fifteen minutes later, she was still struggling to think of some way to feed seven with what was barely enough for four when there was a sharp rap at the kitchen door. Clover was both curious and wary as she opened the door, for no one had come to the house since her father’s death. She stared in surprise at the plump young woman who was standing on the back stoop, and the two youths behind her with their arms full of parcels.

“Miss Clover Sherwood?” the woman asked in a brisk Irish brogue.

“Yes. May I help you?”

“Mr. MacGregor sent us to you.” She turned to the two young men. “Put that food on the table there, lads.”

Clover watched in confusion as the youths set their parcels down on her table and left. “Ma’am?” she asked as the woman entered the kitchen, hung her cloak and hat on the pegs near the door, and began to unpack the parcels, revealing a mouth-watering assortment of food.

“I am Mrs. O’Toole, a widow, but you can call me Molly. Your fine Mr. MacGregor hired me.”

“Hired you?”

“Aye. He said you would be needing time to prepare to be wed and that I should be seeing to the meal.” She faced Clover and clasped her hands in front of her crisp white apron. “He also said you might be wanting a few lessons in cooking. If you are of a mind to accept my help, he will even be taking me along with you when you leave for Kentucky.” Molly tucked a stray strand of chestnut hair under her starched white mobcap. “Now, miss, afore you answer, I would like to be saying a word or two about that.”

Clover was stunned by this gesture of Ballard’s, but she fought to keep her full attention on Molly. “Of course. Go right ahead and speak your mind.”

“Well, miss, I am of a strong inclination to go to this Kentucky. I have been working long, hard hours at the inn, with blessed little to show for it and no hope of finding meself a new man, even though I be but eight and twenty. I will be fair pleased to be teaching you all I can about kitchen and housekeeping arts, but you got no need to fear that I will be setting firm in your new home, for I will be keeping a keen eye out for a new husband.”

“Fair enough, Molly.” Clover smiled. “Do we start now, then?”

“That we do.”

Until the meal was well under way, Clover stayed with Molly, watching and learning. Then she decided it was time to have her bath. As she and Molly dragged the heavy metal tub into the small pantry just off the kitchen, Agnes and the twins arrived, drawn by the rich aroma of food. Clover introduced everyone as she filled the tub with hot water and sprinkled a little dried lavender on top. She shut the door, shed her clothes, and was just climbing into the tub when her mother slipped into the room. Clover inwardly groaned. Her mother’s expression told her that Agnes intended to have a serious talk with her. She was not confident that she was prepared to answer the questions her mother was sure to ask.

Agnes stood next to the tub, folding her hands in front of her, and began, “Dearest, I know you are marrying him to help us, but—”

“Wait, Mama. Yes, I am marrying Ballard MacGregor for you and the boys, but I am also doing it for myself.” She frowned at the sliver of lavenderscented soap, all that remained of her favorite, and then began to wash.

“For yourself? I fear I do not understand. You have known this Mr. MacGregor for only a few hours. How can you care for him so quickly?”

“Oh, I do not mean that. I am marrying him for my own good as well as for the good of the rest of you. When Papa died and Thomas did not come around, then continued to stay away, I began to doubt the wisdom of relying on him. I went and looked for work, Mama, any work at all. I searched for a new home for us. The more I looked, the more I realized it would be a struggle to provide you and the boys with even one shabby room and one meager meal a day. Even with the fine lace you can make and sell, and with the boys picking up some coin here and there, our prospects were frighteningly dismal.”

“It was truly that bad?”

“Yes, it was truly that bad. To be blunt, Mama, the best offer I got was from the owner of the Sly Dog.” She nodded when her mother gasped in shock. “It all became too much for me, Mama, as much as I hate to admit that. I felt crippled with the weight of responsibility. Then I met Ballard.” She started to wash her hair.

“Just how did you meet him?”

“On my way home from Thomas’s offices I was set upon by a brutish frontiersman. Ballard came to my rescue. As he escorted me home I discovered that he was looking for a wife, and courting Sarah Marsten.”

“Yet another man courting Sarah? What is it about that woman that they all want?”

“Well, she is very pretty, fair and fulsome, and rich. Ballard believed that the interest she showed in him was more sincere than it was. I knew Thomas was there today so I waited for Ballard to leave Sarah’s. Then I offered to be his wife. He will get a wife with all the learning and etiquette he thinks he wants, and we will get a home and a provider. It seems a fair deal to me.” Clover reached for the bucket of rinse water for her hair.

Agnes stepped forward and picked up the bucket. “I will do that for you. Close your eyes and lean your head back.”

Once Clover’s hair was rinsed, she watched her thoughtful mother a little warily. Matters would go a great deal more smoothly if her mother accepted the marriage.

“He does appear to be a good man,” Agnes murmured.

“He does,” agreed Clover as she stepped out of the tub, picked up the large cloth draped over a stool, and began to dry herself. “The bathwater is still hot.”

Agnes hesitated only a moment before undressing and stepping into the tub. “He is very good-looking too.”

“Yes, and do you know, Mama, I have the strongest feeling he does not know just how handsome he is.”

“That can only be for the best. His manner is definitely rough, but he has a lot of gentlemanly qualities.”

Clover donned her robe and moved to help her mother wash her hair. “I know it is hard to say for certain, as I have known him for so short a time, but I have already formed a few opinions of his character. I believe he was being quite himself when he was with me, no airs at all. In truth, I do not think he knows how to be otherwise.”

“Another good thing. So, what is your judgment of his character?”

“Well, he can fight, yet is willing to avoid it. He has a sense of honor and likes to tease. I know he was furious when he left Sarah’s house, but he was able to set his anger aside quickly. He says what he thinks, and for all it makes me blush, I believe I like that. I often had the feeling with Thomas that he was not being fully honest with me. Ballard also made it very clear what he seeks in a wife.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone to keep his house, work beside him if need be, not whine if he cannot afford certain fineries, have his babies, and keep his bed warm.”

“Blunt, indeed,” Agnes murmured as she stepped out of the tub and began to dry off. “No wonder you blush.” She sighed. “Well, I suppose he will give you some time to know him before you are truly man and wife.”

“No, Mama, he will not.” Clover shrugged. “He admits that he ought to, but he is not of a mind to do so.”

“Oh dear, oh dear. All those things I told you when you became betrothed to Thomas—well—I mean, I thought you were to be married for love.” Agnes continued to frown and shake her head as she took her robe from a hook on the door and put it on. “I simply have no idea what to tell you now.”

“I should not worry about it, Mama.”

“But, dear, without love—” Agnes faltered, at a loss for words.

“Mama,” Clover began, blushing as she confessed, “he has already kissed me.”

“Such a bold man.”

“Well, he said a man ought to be able to kiss the woman who has proposed to him.” Clover could not repress a smile as she recalled his teasing remark.

“Oh, my saints, do you think he means to remember that?”

“I suspect it is not a thing a man easily forgets.”

Agnes smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “I do not speak of mere kisses, Clover.”

“I know, Mama. I will be honest, for I wish to ease your mind.” Clover started to fuss about, tidying up the room, so that she did not have to look her mother in the eye and embarrass them both. “I like his kisses, Mama. Very much. Truth to tell, I find it hard to think when he puts his arms around me and smiles at me. I want to keep on kissing him. I know it is not love. How can it be after so short an acquaintance? Yet I feel no fear of becoming his wife in all ways. In fact, I have the strongest feeling that I shall enjoy it.” She shook her head. “I am explaining myself badly.” She gave a start of surprise when she felt her mother’s hand on her arm.

“I know exactly what you mean, Clover. Of course, I felt it for your father.” A brief spasm of grief darkened Agnes’s face. “That was love. But I am speaking of another man.” Agnes blushed and gave a nervous giggle. “When your papa was courting me, I met this other man—Colin—and, oh, such a man he was. His voice, his smile, each and every aspect of his character and form sent me into a veritable swoon.”

“What happened?”

“Well, your mother is not as flighty as she often appears to be. I knew it was his beauty and the often careless desires of youth that had my feckless heart pounding. Fortunately, Colin was a good man and not one to force a girl to change her mind.” Agnes blushed again. “I knew then, and still do, that it would have been a glorious experience to have him as my lover, but I truly loved your father. I could not risk the future I knew I could have with him for something that might not last, that might be a fleeting if heady thing.”

“Do you think that is all I suffer from now? A fleeting infatuation? Simply youth and hot blood?”

“At this moment—quite probably. But, unlike myself and Colin, you and Mr. MacGregor are planning a future. You will soon be married and are prepared to make a home and a family. This feeling he stirs inside you can only be good.”

“I am glad you think so.”

“You do not?”

“It is just that I begin to wonder if I am not merely selling myself, if I am little better than a whore.”

“No, child. You are marrying the man for the same reasons that many a woman takes a husband. Your needs are simply more pressing. I am sorry that I cannot be of more help to you. I was one of a very fortunate few because there was love between your father and me, but I would have been married sooner or later in any case, with or without love. No, marrying Ballard MacGregor does not make you a whore.”

“I should have liked to have found what you and Papa shared. I thought I had it with Thomas.”

“You may yet find love, dear.”

“Do you truly think so?”

“Of course. You and Mr. MacGregor will be man and wife, and if he speaks true, he is most serious about marriage. He seems to want all that marriage and family can give a man. Since you will both be working hard toward the same goal, there is good reason to hope for something good. If not a deep, true love, then comfort, security, and compatibility. Do not frown, child. Those things are very valuable, as valuable as love. I was fortunate to get most of them as well as love from your father.”

“Yes, I see how fortunate you were.”

“And you may yet find that you have the same good luck. I too feel that Mr. MacGregor is an honorable man. Now, let us go and have some tea.”

Agnes made no further comment about Ballard and the upcoming marriage until she and Clover were comfortably seated in the sitting room of the master suite and Molly had served them tea. Molly also brought word that Ballard had sent a message—he had found a preacher, and their marriage was arranged to take place at four the next afternoon. As she sipped the strong, fragrant tea and savored a freshly baked scone smothered in butter, Clover sensed that her mother had more to say. She realized that she did not mind discussing the matter. It was helping her clear up a few of her own doubts and concerns.

“There is one small thing that still troubles me,” Agnes finally said, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

“And what is that, Mama?” Clover wiped her fingers on a fine linen napkin and wondered if it too would have to be sold.

“You and Mr. MacGregor are from two very different worlds.”

“Do you really think that matters?”

“It can, Clover. Differences in taste, in learning, even in manners can prove to be a trial in marriage.”

“Ballard claims that that is the very difference he seeks.”

“Does he?”

“Yes. He told me that his circumstances are improving and he believes they will continue to do so. He spoke of how Kentucky is becoming more settled and civilized every day, that it is no longer the haven of trappers and rough backwoodsmen. Since he intends to continue to prosper, he wants what I can bring to him and to our family. He wants the learning and etiquette that we are taught from the cradle. Ballard sees it all as part of the advancement he is seeking.”

“It is a wise man who recognizes such a thing and seeks it out. Well, there is another worry laid to rest.”

“Did you have a lot, Mama?” Clover asked helping herself to another scone.

“What mother would not when her daughter announces that she is to marry a man she has known for only a few hours?” Agnes buttered another scone, hesitated, then spread a thin layer of apple preserves on it.

Clover smiled crookedly. “I have a few qualms myself.”

“As you should at such a time. Marriage is forever, or it should be. That thought, even when love burns strongly, can be frightening. To commit oneself to a situation, to another person, for a lifetime is not easy.”

The mere thought of it had Clover taking a bracing sip of tea. Forever and lifetime were two words that had been echoing intermittently in her head since she had first proposed to Ballard. As she left her mother’s room and went to her own to dress, she wondered if Ballard was also wrestling with those weighty words.

Ballard grimaced as he hurried out of the small riverside church, his brother and cousin right behind him. The aging Reverend Denning had been inclined to pontificate on the dangers of a hasty marriage, which Ballard had found increasingly irritating. The way Shelton and Lambert had nodded their agreement to a lot of what the reverend said had only further soured Ballard’s mood.

“Ballard,” Shelton began.

“Not now, brother. That reverend droned on so long I am late for my meeting with Mr. Grendall.”

“We ought to talk.”

“Right now I have been talked near to death.” Ballard pointed at a neat, white inn that stood just beyond the less reputable dock area. “I am going in there to try and convince Mr. Grendall he wants to pay good money for our horses. I will pay our room bill while I am there. Ye can come with me or find something else to do.”

Shelton grimaced. “I think we will go have us an ale at a less proper tavern. Do ye want us to take our belongings over to the Sherwoods?”

“Nay. I will have the innkeeper’s lads do that.”

“Fine. We will meet ye back at the Sherwoods come mealtime,” Shelton called as he and Lambert turned and headed toward the waterfront.

As Ballard entered the inn, he met the plump, graying Grendall preparing to leave. He heartily apologized to the man, explained his tardiness, and soon had the man seated at a table sharing some ale. Across the way, Ballard noticed Thomas Dillingsworth deep in conversation with a man at a small table near the massive fireplace, but when the man paid him no heed, Ballard turned his full attention back to Grendall. They discussed prices as they drank, Ballard praising the quality of the stallion and two mares he had to offer, and Mr. Grendall playing the part of a man of severely limited funds.

Once they had finished their drinks, Ballard escorted Mr. Grendall out to the inn’s stables where he had quartered his horses. He left Grendall standing there and went to get his stallion. As he led the horse out, Ballard saw the look on Mr. Grendall’s round face and knew he would get his full asking price after the appropriate amount of haggling.

Just as he and Mr. Grendall neared an agreement, Ballard saw Thomas approaching. He tensed. Thomas stared at the black stallion for a long moment before coming closer. He greeted Mr. Grendall with cool politeness but just nodded at Ballard. The gesture was so short as to be rude, and Ballard felt his insides knot with anger over the insult.

Thomas ran his hand over the stallion’s taut, strong flank. “Grendall, my man, I had no idea you had such fine horseflesh in your stables.”

“He is not in my stables yet. Mr. MacGregor and I are just now discussing my purchasing the beast.”

Ballard gave Thomas a cold smile when the man finally looked at him. He realized he neither liked nor trusted Thomas Dillingsworth, and not simply because of the way the man had treated Clover. Something about Thomas made him uneasy, put him immediately on his guard.

“So this stallion is for sale, is he?” Thomas abruptly offered a price twice what Mr. Grendall had offered. “I can have the coin for you within the hour.”

It was easy to see from the look on Grendall’s face that he could not meet such a price. Although the money was tempting, Ballard had no intention of accepting, partly out of perversity and partly because his instincts told him it would be an ill-advised move. The stallion kept shifting away from Thomas’s touch, and Ballard knew he should not ignore the animal’s instincts any more than he should ignore his own.

“I cannae accept, Dillingsworth,” Ballard said, carefully noting the fury that hardened Thomas’s features. “Me and Mr. Grendall have as good as shaken on the deal.”

“He cannot match my offer.”

“True. And I willnae ask him to. I posted my intention to sell these beasts when I came to town three days ago. Ye should have approached me sooner.”

“I see.” Thomas stepped away from the stallion, which immediately ceased its restless movements. “This is not to my liking. I must advise you that it is not good business to refuse my generous offer.”

“‘Tisnae good business to back out of a deal just because another mon waves a wee bit more coin in my face.”

“You may soon change your mind.”

Thomas turned and disappeared into the stables. Before Ballard could remark on the brief but tense confrontation, Thomas emerged driving his carriage. Ballard and Grendall had to scramble out of the way or be run down as Thomas slapped his team into a gallop and sped toward them.

“Are ye all right, sir?” Ballard asked Grendall as the older man brushed off the dust kicked up by Thomas’s carriage. “The mon is mad,” he grumbled as he soothed the agitated stallion.

“There is a chance that he is,” murmured Grendall.

Ballard frowned. “I thought he was one of the leading citizens of the town.”

Mr. Grendall smiled faintly. “He is. His father helped build this town and Thomas inherited a goodly part of the waterfront. Such power makes most people overlook his, er, quirks. When Thomas says he is displeased, one should take note. It has been that way since he was a small boy.”

“Yet ye do nothing?”

“As I said, he still has power, although his wealth is somewhat in doubt now. Bad investments, you see. ‘Tis why he is ready to wed Sarah Marsten, despite the fact that everyone save her doting if neglectful parents knows she is little better than a whore. The man has a vicious streak in him, Mr. MacGregor. Perhaps you should rethink his offer.”

“Nay. I was ready to accept yours and I willnae change my mind. I dinnae intend to linger in this town long. I doubt Dillingsworth can do me much harm.”

The look on Grendall’s face told Ballard he was being naive, but the older man said no more. Ballard accepted Grendall’s offer for the stallion and the two mares. They arranged for Ballard to bring the horses to Grendall’s home on the west side of town in the morning, when he would collect his money. As Ballard returned his animals to the stables, he wondered just how much he should worry about Thomas’s veiled threats.

Clover started toward the kitchen, intending to tell Molly that she should serve the meal now and not wait any longer for the men. She was only a few steps from the kitchen door when the front door slammed open. Shelton and Lambert stumbled in and, as she neared them, she caught the strong scent of ale. Right behind them came Ballard, who appeared to be sober but was covered in dust and mud, his fine courting clothes badly disarranged.

“Sorry we are a wee bit late, lass,” Ballard said as he tossed his hat on a hall table, “but I had to go and collect these two fools. Ye can serve up the food now.”

He started to usher his unsteady companions toward the dining room, but Clover quickly blocked him. “Oh no, you cannot.” She almost smiled at the startled looks on their faces. “You will go and clean up first. Your things arrived from the inn a short while ago.”

“Weel, I reckon we can wash our hands.”

“You need to wash a great deal more than your hands, Mr. MacGregor, if you intend to sit at my table.”

“But the food will be cold,” protested Shelton as he ineptly tried to straighten his disordered clothes.

“If Molly has managed to keep it edible this long, she can do so for a little while longer.” Clover saw her brothers peeking out between the parlor doors. “Boys, you can show the gentlemen their rooms and where they can wash.” She shook her head as the boys led the men away, then she hurried to the kitchen to speak to Molly.

“Why didnae ye stand your ground, Ballard?” grumbled Shelton as he made his unsteady way up the stairs.

“Why? Ye stink like a dockside tavern and I smell like horses. I wouldnae want to sit to table with us either. A little water willnae kill us. This is one of them lessons in manners we need to learn.”

“I think I prefer ignorance and a full belly.”

Ballard laughed. “Hurry up, lads. From what I can smell, there is a fine meal awaiting us.”

Clover was just helping Molly set the last dishes on the table when Ballard, Shelton, and Lambert entered the dining room. She hid a smile as she noted their clean homespun shirts and breeches, and their still damp hair. For a brief moment after she had ordered them to wash and change, she had worried that she had overstepped herself, but it had been a fleeting concern. Ballard said he wanted to learn good manners and the way of the gentry. There was no need to wait until they were married to start those lessons.

As they ate Clover took careful note of their table manners. They were not as unschooled as she had feared, but there was certainly a lot of room for improvement. Ballard, Shelton, and Lambert clearly had only one concern at mealtime, and that was to get as much food as possible into their mouths as fast as they could. When Ballard glanced up at her, she just smiled, however. Their first meal together was not the time to start their lessons in genteel dining.

A little hesitantly Ballard returned Clover’s smile. It took only one glance around at Clover and her family to make him uncomfortably aware that his table manners were all wrong. He watched Clover more carefully, imitating her actions, but knew he looked awkward. It pinched at his vanity and he fought his wounded pride. All he needed was a little education, which Clover would provide.

After the meal was over, as they gathered in the parlor for an after-dinner drink, Ballard felt his wavering confidence return. Their sobriety restored, it was not long before Shelton and Lambert slipped away to tour the waterfront for drinks and excitement. Soon afterward, Agnes ushered the twins off to bed, her intention of giving him some time alone with Clover so clear that Ballard had to smile. He finished off his brandy and moved to sit next to Clover on the settee, grinning at the nervous glance she gave him as he draped his arm around her shoulders.

“Weel, lass, ye still have time to change your mind.” He nuzzled her thick, sweet-smelling hair and felt a light tremor pass through her slim frame.

“I do not want to change my mind.” She turned to look at him. “I cannot.”

He lightly traced the shape of her face with his fingertips. “I willnae argue with ye, lass, for I am getting what I want. Now, your mother left us alone to learn to ken each other a wee bit better.”

“I do not believe she intended you to try and ken me this well, sir.” Clover made what even she recognized as a weak attempt to wriggle out of his hold.

“A kiss between betrothed folk isnae such a bad thing.”

“It is not very proper either.”

“Ah, wee Clover, there are times when ye are too proper. I shall have to break ye of that.”

Before Clover could respond, Ballard kissed her. Clover gave only one fleeting thought to pushing him away before she wrapped her arms around his neck. She savored the taste of him as he stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue. For awhile she immersed herself in the pleasure his kiss inspired. Then she felt his hands slide up the sides of her breasts. The way he moved his thumbs against the swells made her shiver with desire, but it also shocked her back to sensibility. She abruptly moved out of his hold and stumbled to her feet.

“I believe we have been alone long enough, Mr. MacGregor,” she said, inwardly cursing her breathlessness.

Ballard reached for her, laughing when she jumped back. “I was thinking we had just begun.”

“You can think again. Now, although it has been a very pleasant evening,” she said as she backed toward the door, “I believe I must retire for the night. ‘Twill be a very busy day tomorrow. Good night, Mr. MacGregor.”

“Sleep weel, lassie,” he called after her as she hurried out the door. “Ye willnae be able to run away on the morrow.”

She shut the door on his soft chuckles and muttered what few curses she knew as she went up the stairs. The man had a disturbing ability to turn her mind to mush. Clover sighed as she entered her room. Marriage to Mr. Ballard MacGregor might prove to be an even mix of delight and aggravation.