Coulson's Wife (The Coulson Series) Read Free Page B

that?”
    “If you allow yourself
to grow fond of your Mr. Coulson, you might actually find pleasure in the act.”
    “Really? That certainly
isn’t how my mother explained it.”
    “Yes dear, but your
poor mother is married to my brother.” Aunt Rachel patted her niece’s knee
again, leaned back in the seat, and closed her eyes to take a short nap,
satisfied she’d given the young bride all the tools necessary to successfully
start her new life with a man she barely knew.

Chapter Three
     
    P ulling the gold pocket
watch from his vest’s pocket, William Hunter flipped open the timepiece. The
train had already arrived and passengers were unloading. Glancing down at the
face of the watch, he calculated when he might make it back to Coulson’s
estate.   Randall should be the one meeting his bride , he told himself.
Yet somehow, Randall had convinced William to pick up the women and bring them
back to the estate for the brief ceremony.
    Shaking his head in
disgust, William closed the watch and tucked it back into his vest pocket while
watching the passengers unload. Either the bride wasn’t on the train or she
wasn’t anxious to get off the car. Passenger after passenger walked down the
steps, each clutching onto the iron handrail to avoid a misstep.
    After watching
countless passengers disembark, an elderly man slowly made his exit from the
car and William expected to see Mary Ellen and her aunt behind him. Yet there
was no one. It appeared that all passengers had gotten off the train. William
wondered if Mary Ellen had convinced her aunt to get off at another stop, for
he knew she had boarded the train that morning.
    About to turn away and
return to Coulson’s estate to inform Randall the bride had fled, he paused when
he spied two more passengers emerging from the train. It was Mary Ellen and her
aunt. Instead of rushing to meet them, he took a moment to observe the pair as
they made their way down the car’s steps, each carrying a hat and handbag in
one hand while using the other to hold onto the handrail.
    Randall was correct, William
begrudgingly admitted to himself. Mary Ellen Browning no longer looked like a
child. The blue-gray ankle length skirt accentuated her tiny waist. He imagined
he could easily wrap his large hands around her middle, with his opposing
thumbs touching on her belly side and the tips of his fingers meeting at the
base of her back. The thought intrigued him and he felt something stir under
his britches, causing him to shift his weight in an attempt to dispel such
unwanted bodily responses.
    She wore a pale blue,
long sleeved blouse tucked neatly into the waistband of the skirt. Dark blue
lace trimmed the cuffs and neckline of the fitted blouse. Her figure was trim,
yet did not lack curves and he found her generous bust line a surprise. She had
definitely changed since the last time he had seen her.
    Her long dark hair was
not cut to accommodate bangs. Instead, that portion, with strands along the
side of her face, was pulled back and secured with a bow. The length of her
hair fell at least six inches past her shoulders. The hairstyle was almost
girlish. He wondered briefly if she would take to wearing her hair up in a bun
once she was married. He hoped not.
    The moment they stepped
completely from the train, both women placed their hats atop their heads,
adjusted the fit slightly by wiggling the headgear to and fro, and then looked
around for whoever was there to greet them.
    It was the first time
he’d seen her aunt, and he again agreed with Randall; she was a handsome woman.
He estimated she stood about five-feet-five-inches tall, several inches shorter
than her niece did. The two looked nothing alike. Rachel Browning Spencer was a
voluptuous widow in her mid-forties, with blonde hair worn stylishly in a bun
atop her head. Although her ankle length dress was a conservative cut, it could
not conceal her shapely figure.
    Taking a deep breath,
he decided it was time to approach the