Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) by Carré White

right up.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome.”
    I glanced at sunny-side up eggs and sausage. A slice of bread slathered in butter sat on a plate. A glass of what looked like tomato juice held a stalk of celery. I took a sip, tasting a hint of vodka. After eating, I did feel better, my head not throbbing as badly. Mrs. Dexter left clothing draped over the back of a chair, a skirt and waist shirt; items I had purchased the day before. After dressing, I arranged my hair simply, twisting it to the back of my head.
    Leaving the room, I perceived my husband’s snores across the hallway, Mr. Witherspoon sleeping in my chamber. I heard a commotion in the foyer, heading for the stairs, where I spied Nathanial, who glanced up at me.
    “Good morning,” I said. “It’s so early.” Two pieces of baggage stood at his feet. “Are you leaving?” I came to stand beside him.
    “I am.”
    “So quickly?”
    “I never planned this trip. I arrived as soon as I heard he was marrying. I thought to stop it. We all know I was too late.”
    “But, why don't you stay?” I had enjoyed dancing with him last night. The thought of him leaving left me wanting to cry. The strength of the emotion stunned me. I swallowed repeatedly, trying to quell it.
    “It’s best I don’t stay any longer.”
    “I disagree.”
    “I know you do.” He appeared stern then, his brows furrowing. “I’ve a ten o’clock train to catch. I need to go now.” The coachman came to the door to retrieve the bags.
    “You won’t get to see all the clothes you bought for me.”
    “No.” He seemed to steel himself, his jaw firmly set. “It was good meeting you, Trinity. I know you’ll make my father very happy. I’m sorry I was rude when we first met. It was a shock to learn he married a woman younger than me.”
    “I still can’t believe I’m married.”
    “But you are.”
    Unspoken words lingered .
    I grasped his hand. “Thank you for everything.” We stared at one another, while a tangible energy passed between us. “When will I see you again?”
    “Perhaps Christmas, weather permitting.” He squeezed my hand. “Take care of yourself.”
    “I’ll try.”
    A hint of a smile appeared. “It was good to meet you.”
    “It was good to meet you.”
    He nodded, then, without saying another word, he stepped away, his hand slipping from mine. I stood there, going to the steps to watch him alight the carriage. He waved to me before settling inside, the door closing. The coachman called to the horses, the wheels crunching on the cobbled drive. I waited until he was completely out of sight, craning my neck for one last glance.
    Mrs. Dexter came up behind me. “I need to speak to you about several things, Mrs. Witherspoon.”
    I turned to face her. “Yes?”
    “Are you all right? You look like you’ve been crying.”
    “No.”
    “Do you still feel ill?”
    I gathered my emotions, which felt as if they had been run through by a cheese grater. “What can I help you with?”
    “We need to go over the menu for the week. Mr. Witherspoon wants to host another party, and I'm stumped on the theme. Now that you’ve been introduced, you’ll have morning callers. I doubt anyone would come today, but I need to know what pastries you like, so we have something to feed them.”
    “Gracious be. That’s a lot.”
    “It’s the tip of the iceberg. We need to order wine, which is no small task. I have to speak to the florist about which arrangements we need for upcoming events. The dining room needs new draperies and someone has to speak to the gardener.”
    “All right.” When I decided to marry, I thought I would be the one cooking and cleaning in a small household. The staff looked to me for advice, and I had little experience with this sort of thing. “Let’s begin with the menu.” We started down the hallway, where I heard the sounds of plates clinking, the servants busy washing dishes from the night before. “You can tell me what Mr. Witherspoon