Bride Blunder Read Online Free Page B
Author: Kelly Eileen Hake
Tags: Family & Relationships/Marriage
coffin. Marge ... named for her grandmother, just like Daisy.
I got the wrong Marguerite!
CHAPTER 4
Marge perched atop the wagon seat, right hand curled around the rough board to help keep her balance as they rolled toward Gavinâs mill. After days on end in the stagecoach, jouncing along rutted dirt prairie roads was nothing new. Her backside could attest to that. No matter. The journey paled in comparison to what she found at its end.
Gavin.... She snuck a sideways peek at his profile, gaze traveling from the sweep of his sable hair to the firm set of his jaw. Back home, the family encouraged friends and close acquaintances to call her Marge, and Daisy by her favored nickname. Having two âMiss Chandlersâ created far too much confusion. So Gavin had been using her given name for quite some time, but today marked her first use of his. Heâd seemed surprised, though not displeasedâa reaction that reassured her of her new place in his life.
He hadnât said much, but Marge found that reassuring as well. What words Gavin did give were enough. âSo good to see you!â Simple, warm, and welcomingâgenuine. Her fiancé remained the man of her memories, which meant theyâd have a good marriage. Solid. Comfortable.
Marge peeped through her lashes at him once more, drinking in the way hard work beneath the sun had bronzed his skin since last she saw him. His lips formed an almost-straight line, swallowing the slight fullness she remembered. It looked as though he was thinking....
As though sensing her perusal, he turned his head. His dark brown gaze searched her face as if seeking answers to some unspoken question.
The sudden intensity of it warmed her cheeks in what she knew to be a blush ... although Marge wasnât in the habit of blushing. Blushing, sheâd always maintained, was for two types of girls: silly wigeons who didnât realize that it was whomever spouted the drivel who should be embarrassed, or those naturally charming women like Daisy whose blushes meant she was enjoying herself. Marge didnât fit either category.
Which meant Gavinâs scrutiny had turned her into a temporary wigeon.
She silently blamed Daisy even as she offered him a smile and he returned his attention to the road. This behavior is all Daisyâs fault! Nattering on and on about how romantic it was that Gavin nursed an affection for me but never spoke up until the time was right, then brings me across the country to be by his side ...
All right. Perhaps it wasnât entirely Daisyâs fault. Marge thought the same things, let the knowledge fill her with delight until it seemed nothing and no one could make her frown. What she couldâand wouldâlay at Daisyâs door were the ridiculous fantasies sheâd indulged in throughout the long journey. If her cousin hadnât filled her head with ludicrous scenarios of her grand reunion with Gavin, she wouldnât feel self-conscious now.
But truly, sheâd known full well thereâd be no overblown display of passion. She hadnât expected him to sweep her into his strong arms the moment she stepped off the stage and declare how very much heâd longed for her arrival. Such behavior wouldnât be in keeping with the reliable, steady nature she so valued in her groom-to-be.
Marge Chandler wasnât a woman who expected or even sought a grand passion. Such theatrics wore thin over time and flaked away to reveal the tawdry substance beneath. Like gilding atop plasterâit wouldnât last. No, she looked for something simpler and sturdier, and Gavin Miller provided exactly what sheâd always dreamed of.
He chose me .
A gentle breeze pushed away the last lingering bit of warmth from her blush as the mill came into view. It didnât seem to be running, but she hadnât expected it to be, with Gavin not there to attend it. The slightest shift or stress in the workings could set off a
I got the wrong Marguerite!
CHAPTER 4
Marge perched atop the wagon seat, right hand curled around the rough board to help keep her balance as they rolled toward Gavinâs mill. After days on end in the stagecoach, jouncing along rutted dirt prairie roads was nothing new. Her backside could attest to that. No matter. The journey paled in comparison to what she found at its end.
Gavin.... She snuck a sideways peek at his profile, gaze traveling from the sweep of his sable hair to the firm set of his jaw. Back home, the family encouraged friends and close acquaintances to call her Marge, and Daisy by her favored nickname. Having two âMiss Chandlersâ created far too much confusion. So Gavin had been using her given name for quite some time, but today marked her first use of his. Heâd seemed surprised, though not displeasedâa reaction that reassured her of her new place in his life.
He hadnât said much, but Marge found that reassuring as well. What words Gavin did give were enough. âSo good to see you!â Simple, warm, and welcomingâgenuine. Her fiancé remained the man of her memories, which meant theyâd have a good marriage. Solid. Comfortable.
Marge peeped through her lashes at him once more, drinking in the way hard work beneath the sun had bronzed his skin since last she saw him. His lips formed an almost-straight line, swallowing the slight fullness she remembered. It looked as though he was thinking....
As though sensing her perusal, he turned his head. His dark brown gaze searched her face as if seeking answers to some unspoken question.
The sudden intensity of it warmed her cheeks in what she knew to be a blush ... although Marge wasnât in the habit of blushing. Blushing, sheâd always maintained, was for two types of girls: silly wigeons who didnât realize that it was whomever spouted the drivel who should be embarrassed, or those naturally charming women like Daisy whose blushes meant she was enjoying herself. Marge didnât fit either category.
Which meant Gavinâs scrutiny had turned her into a temporary wigeon.
She silently blamed Daisy even as she offered him a smile and he returned his attention to the road. This behavior is all Daisyâs fault! Nattering on and on about how romantic it was that Gavin nursed an affection for me but never spoke up until the time was right, then brings me across the country to be by his side ...
All right. Perhaps it wasnât entirely Daisyâs fault. Marge thought the same things, let the knowledge fill her with delight until it seemed nothing and no one could make her frown. What she couldâand wouldâlay at Daisyâs door were the ridiculous fantasies sheâd indulged in throughout the long journey. If her cousin hadnât filled her head with ludicrous scenarios of her grand reunion with Gavin, she wouldnât feel self-conscious now.
But truly, sheâd known full well thereâd be no overblown display of passion. She hadnât expected him to sweep her into his strong arms the moment she stepped off the stage and declare how very much heâd longed for her arrival. Such behavior wouldnât be in keeping with the reliable, steady nature she so valued in her groom-to-be.
Marge Chandler wasnât a woman who expected or even sought a grand passion. Such theatrics wore thin over time and flaked away to reveal the tawdry substance beneath. Like gilding atop plasterâit wouldnât last. No, she looked for something simpler and sturdier, and Gavin Miller provided exactly what sheâd always dreamed of.
He chose me .
A gentle breeze pushed away the last lingering bit of warmth from her blush as the mill came into view. It didnât seem to be running, but she hadnât expected it to be, with Gavin not there to attend it. The slightest shift or stress in the workings could set off a
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