Jane Goodger by A Christmas Waltz

that Carson had lied so outrageously. It had been difficult enough to get Edward to agree to allow her to marry a commoner, never mind a man who didn’t appear to have a pence to his name.
    Her brother had just married an American girl, so he’d been more lenient with her than he might have been otherwise. Edward was many things, but he certainly wasn’t a hypocrite. She’d loved him for that, for his willingness to let her follow her heart, even though it meant following it all the way to Texas. She just prayed her brother never found out that the letter she’d claimed had been from Carson sending for her had been nothing but a blank piece of paper.
    “You know how to work the pump?” Boone asked, breaking into her thoughts.
    “The pump?”
    Boone motioned to a water pump on the large kitchen sink. “Yes, of course,” Amelia said. She didn’t point out that they’d had hot and cold running water from faucets in her home, and that the only pump she’d ever used had been in their gardens.
    When she didn’t immediately move, Boone nodded toward her bowl. “I’ve got to return that tonight or George will have a fit.”
    “Oh,” she said, staring down at the bowl. “You want me to clean it.”
    “If you could.”
    “Oh.” Amelia would never admit that she had never washed a dish in her life. She went to the sink and rinsed the bowl, wiping it clean with a cloth that hung from a hook above the sink. She began to giggle and turned to Boone, who stared at her as if she’d gone mad.
    “That was the first time I’ve ever cleaned a bowl,” she said. “And I do believe I’ve done an outstanding job of it.” She held up the clean bowl for his inspection.
    Boone just shook his head. “Lady, you are in a world of trouble.” He took the bowl and left the kitchen, leaving Amelia behind, giggling and thinking she had, indeed, gone quite mad.
    With a full stomach, Amelia made her way down the darkened hallway to her room. Back home, she’d probably just be getting ready to go out for the evening, or snuggled by a fire reading a book. But she was dreadfully tired, and since there was no one to talk to and no fire to snuggle by, she lay down gratefully on her bed, thinking about the next day and Carson. Things would seem better in the morning. Everything would work out just fine, she knew it would. Carson would hold her, tell her not to worry, and they’d talk about the wedding and the family they’d have together. She fell asleep with a smile on her lips, picturing herself standing before a tiny rose-covered cottage with Carson by her side.
    Amelia was in the middle of a wonderful dream. She was at a ball back home dancing to her favorite waltz, with Carson looking down at her the way he used to. He was beautiful, his bright blue eyes sparkling, his hair long and wavy and glossy, his beard trimmed and dashing. Every eye was on them, every woman in the ballroom gazing at them with a combination of envy and appreciation. He wore all white, his silver buttons glinting in the gaslight, his arms strong as he swirled her around the ballroom.
    But for some reason, he was starting to shake her shoulder as they danced, and she scowled at him.
    “Stop that,” she muttered.
    “But darlin’, you have to wake up.”
    Amelia opened her eyes and saw Carson, not the hero of her dreams but the unkempt, wild-looking man she’d been with that afternoon, and she tamped down her disappointment. Carson drew her into his arms and she was enveloped in an almost nauseating smell of smoke, cheap perfume, and liquor.
    “Is something wrong, Carson?”
    He pushed her back, his large hands on her shoulders, and for some reason he seemed like a complete stranger, not her beloved, not the man who used to pull her into the alcoves of her home and kiss her until her knees were weak.
    “I have to go. I didn’t want to leave without saying good-bye.”
    A waft of boozy breath enveloped her.
    “You’re drunk.”
    “Not drunk enough,”