Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) Read Online Free PDF

unchanged.”
    “Until you change it.”
    “Which I have no intention of doing.”
    “Let me remind you of what occurred just this morning. You married this woman.”
    Mr. Witherspoon grinned. “I did. It was delightful.”
    That statement seemed to exasperate Nathanial, his brows furrowing. “You plan to have a family with her.” He muttered, “If you’re able. Where exactly will those children fit into an old will?”
    “Ah, now I see what you’re getting at. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. I haven’t even had a honeymoon yet.”
    A prickle of unease slid down my spine. I listened to them speaking, too timid to interrupt, and staring at Nathanial, who failed to smile. I did not want to think about what might happen later … after we had eaten. I chewed on a nail, pondering the predicament, reluctant to look at my husband.

Chapter Five
     
     
    We dined on roast turkey with dressing and potatoes, the meal arriving in nearly twelve courses, with two vegetable side dishes, citrus ice, dinner rolls, fancy cakes, and coffee. I had never experienced anything like this before, my belly far too full, the corset pinching me. The tenseness of the pre-dinner conversation drifted away, as servants often refilled our wineglasses.
    Mr. Witherspoon appeared ruddy-cheeked and in high spirits. Knowing what might occur later, I became incrementally more apprehensive, yearning to hide in my bedroom. An escape presented itself after the dessert dishes were taken away, and I excused myself then, hurrying for the stairs.
    It wasn’t long before a knock sounded on the door. I jumped at the noise, eyeing myself in a mirror, seeing a woman in a nightgown and robe, my feet encased in slippers.
    “Yes?”
    “It’s your husband, my dear. Might I come in?”
    I had hoped and prayed he wouldn’t expect this of me so soon. “Um … of course.” I remained rooted to the spot, watching as the heavily carved door swung inward, one of the hinges squeaking. Mr. Witherspoon wore a robe and slippers as well, his expression far too eager.
    “Well then, I suppose this might seem a tad sudden to you.”
    “Sudden?”
    “I plan on taking you away on a proper honeymoon soon enough, but until then, I can find no reason why we should delay things. What do you think?”
    Oh, please go away. This is the last thing I wish to do. “Well, it is your right to … to be with your wife, sir. I … I hardly know what to say about the matter.” The prospect of having to be intimate with him left me ill, my belly twisting into knots.
    He approached, his expression keen. “I do wish to put you at ease. I realize you’ve little experience with such things.”
    “True.”
    “Would turning off the lights be beneficial?”
    “Yes.” Why must this happen tonight? I hardly knew the man. Oh, do go away!
    With surprising agility, he flicked the switch, the room plunging into darkness. A moment later, I detected the feel of his hands on me, the coldness producing goose bumps on my arms. He led me to the bed, where he kissed me then, smelling of brandy and something foul, an odor I could not quantify, with hints of perspiration and vinegar—of all things.
    I closed my eyes and wished myself somewhere else, as the robe came away and then the nightgown. Thankfully, the darkness gave me a small measure of comfort. The coldness of my husband’s touch did warm a little, but his kisses left me cringing, the stench of his breath repulsive. He seemed to relish feeling my form, his hands exploring, touching places that had never seen the light of day.
    When I was little, I imagined growing up and marrying, being deeply in love with my chosen mate. Sometimes, in the privacy of my mind, I had dreamed of what this person might be like—how I would feel in his arms. As I gave myself to my husband, none of those imaginings compared to this experience. I turned my head to avoid kissing him, submitting to him in every way, wishing it would end as soon as