hotly down her cheeks. Surely women weren’t supposed to betray each other? Surely, a mother was supposed to offer guidance and counsel on such matters? Even a hint or two might have helped. But no: when it came to the most important matter in her life so far, she had merely talked in riddles. Well, she could be fairly certain that woman Annie hadn’t spent her wedding night in such terror – nor probably even Ellen for that matter. But now, on account of her ignorance, her marriage had got off to a terrible start. After all, to fall asleep without saying anything at all he must have been truly disappointed. So how, now, was she going to face him in the morning? And how on earth was she going to recover his opinion of her when she didn’t even know where she had gone wrong?
Turning back onto her side, she recalled watching one of the girls in the barn making eyes at a fair-haired lad who had struck her as quite nice-looking. She remembered sensing the attraction between them and being struck by the confident way the girl had looked at him and the nature of the look he had given her in return. Knowing ; that’s what it had been and she would wager her wedding dress that those two had fared far more satisfactorily in the hayloft tonight than she and her husband had in this fine new bed. And that, she was certain, was down to her ignorance, for which in turn, it seemed only fair to blame her mother.
Chapter 2
The Treacherous Honey’d Moon
‘Where do you want your henhouse, then?’
It was the following morning and Mary was sitting on the doorstep, half her mind taken with watching George splash the upper half of his body with water from the pump, the other half trying to bring order to her thoughts.
‘Um…’ It still seemed odd to think of him as her husband; even more so to think of herself as a married woman. She didn’t feel married – even after last night – but more than anything, her greatest regret this morning was that she had been too terrified yesterday to enjoy her own wedding. She recalled seeing him standing at the altar and how, with the benefit of hindsight, she had actually felt quite proud to be led back down the aisle on his arm. She glanced at him now. In the stark morning light his hair was more chestnut than black, and just now she had noticed that in the brown of his eyes were rust-coloured flecks that made her think of fallen beech leaves. He was tall, too; tall enough that she had to look up to his face, but although broad-shouldered and muscular, was slimly built; the skin on his back and his arms, cob-nut brown. Beyond that, though, he was a stranger; a stranger who, it now seemed, she had agreed to wed with little real thought as to what was involved.
She frowned. What had he just asked her? Oh, yes: the henhouse. She got to her feet and stood looking about. It was a simple enough question but even a quick glance about revealed there to be any number of possibilities.
‘I think it should be here; close enough for you to keep an eye on,’ he was saying, standing in the centre of a patch of grass just beyond the tiny cobbled yard. ‘What do you say to it?’
She made herself look at the site he was indicating. Stranger or not, she was his wife now and it would serve her well to pay attention to him.
‘There’s sense in that,’ she agreed.
‘Then I’ll set to it. But first, let me show you the rest of the place.’ He was beckoning beyond the outbuildings, where the grass sloped down to a single row of fruit trees and when he set off, she picked her way after him, surprised by how cold the dewy grass felt to her feet. If only she had thought to put on her boots.
Ahead of her, she saw him duck beneath a cherry tree.
‘This ain’t been cut back for a good many years,’ she remarked, snapping a twig from its spindly growth. ‘See how brittle and dry the wood is?’ She raised her eyes to look at him. Had she really just criticised the state of his fruit
Turning back onto her side, she recalled watching one of the girls in the barn making eyes at a fair-haired lad who had struck her as quite nice-looking. She remembered sensing the attraction between them and being struck by the confident way the girl had looked at him and the nature of the look he had given her in return. Knowing ; that’s what it had been and she would wager her wedding dress that those two had fared far more satisfactorily in the hayloft tonight than she and her husband had in this fine new bed. And that, she was certain, was down to her ignorance, for which in turn, it seemed only fair to blame her mother.
Chapter 2
The Treacherous Honey’d Moon
‘Where do you want your henhouse, then?’
It was the following morning and Mary was sitting on the doorstep, half her mind taken with watching George splash the upper half of his body with water from the pump, the other half trying to bring order to her thoughts.
‘Um…’ It still seemed odd to think of him as her husband; even more so to think of herself as a married woman. She didn’t feel married – even after last night – but more than anything, her greatest regret this morning was that she had been too terrified yesterday to enjoy her own wedding. She recalled seeing him standing at the altar and how, with the benefit of hindsight, she had actually felt quite proud to be led back down the aisle on his arm. She glanced at him now. In the stark morning light his hair was more chestnut than black, and just now she had noticed that in the brown of his eyes were rust-coloured flecks that made her think of fallen beech leaves. He was tall, too; tall enough that she had to look up to his face, but although broad-shouldered and muscular, was slimly built; the skin on his back and his arms, cob-nut brown. Beyond that, though, he was a stranger; a stranger who, it now seemed, she had agreed to wed with little real thought as to what was involved.
She frowned. What had he just asked her? Oh, yes: the henhouse. She got to her feet and stood looking about. It was a simple enough question but even a quick glance about revealed there to be any number of possibilities.
‘I think it should be here; close enough for you to keep an eye on,’ he was saying, standing in the centre of a patch of grass just beyond the tiny cobbled yard. ‘What do you say to it?’
She made herself look at the site he was indicating. Stranger or not, she was his wife now and it would serve her well to pay attention to him.
‘There’s sense in that,’ she agreed.
‘Then I’ll set to it. But first, let me show you the rest of the place.’ He was beckoning beyond the outbuildings, where the grass sloped down to a single row of fruit trees and when he set off, she picked her way after him, surprised by how cold the dewy grass felt to her feet. If only she had thought to put on her boots.
Ahead of her, she saw him duck beneath a cherry tree.
‘This ain’t been cut back for a good many years,’ she remarked, snapping a twig from its spindly growth. ‘See how brittle and dry the wood is?’ She raised her eyes to look at him. Had she really just criticised the state of his fruit
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