Lynna Banning - The Wedding Cake War

Not only that, she thought in alarm, the tips of her— Heavens, she shouldn’t be having such thoughts!

Her nipples swelled into hardened peaks anyway. “Stop that!” she ordered under her breath.

She focused her attention on the yellow swirl of silk taffeta in the colonel’s arms and then on the colonel himself. How graceful his motions were as he swooped his partner around the room. And how tall and straight he was. She’d seen tall, handsome men before, but she had never seen one like this.

His tousled dark hair and mustache gave him a slightly rakish air, even though he was correctly dressed right up to his chin. His mouth moved, saying something to Fleurette, and his teeth flashed in a grin. Then his lips closed, leaving just a hint of a smile.

Fleurette gazed up into his face, her laughter trilling over the sound of the fiddle. Over the cornet, as well. The colonel’s chiseled features remained impassive, but his eyes—those unsettling eyes— like liquid jade—flicked over the line of dancers as if looking for something and then returned to his partner.

Fleurette’s lashes beat like gold butterfly wings against her pinkened cheeks. The colonel tightened his lips and looked up at the chandelier.

Lolly sat upright. At the chandelier? Was he bored? With the most ladified lady in the entire room? Why, they looked simply wonderful dancing together. The perfect couple.

So why was he staring at the ceiling?

Lolly’s toes curled under. A man as heart-stoppingly handsome as he was would always want a pretty partner on his arm. A pretty wife.

A pretty, slim wife.

Her breath gusted out in a rush. Oh, bother. She was not going to cry. Not one drop. She most certainly was not.

She would avert her eyes and…and have another sip of cider. She drew the cup to her lips.

Empty? Over the rim she saw Colonel Macready bow over Fleurette’s daintily extended hand, gently disengage himself from her fingers and head in Lolly’s direction.

Her heart flip-flopped. Her belly felt cold, and then hot, and then cold again. And farther down, between her thighs, a secret part of her throbbed to life.

“Oh, not you, too,” she breathed.

Before the colonel had completed three of his long-legged strides, a spoon tinked against a glass and everything—noise, motion and Kellen Macready—came to a halt.

“Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?” Lolly tensed at Dora Mae Landsfelter’s commanding voice. Something momentous was going to happen. She could feel it.

“The Ladies Helpful Society of Maple Falls has a wonderful surprise for you this evening. A most unusual surprise, but I am assured by the committee members, Minnie Sullivan and Ruth Underwood, that it is perfectly proper. Colonel Macready? Will you step forward?”

“A Question Bee!” Carrie stared at Dora Mae Landsfelter’s beaming face, then tipped her head toward Lolly. “Does she mean like a Spelling Bee?” she intoned.

“I suppose so,” Lolly whispered back. “Why should our knowledge of those things matter to him? He wants a wife, not an encyclopedia.”

“Well,” Carrie ventured, “his wife will also be the mother of his children. Wouldn’t he want her to be educated?”

Fleurette swept toward them, a swirl of bobbing yellow ruffles. “What are y’all whisperin’ about? Are y’all talkin’ about me?”

“Not you at all,” Carrie assured her. “About the Question Bee.”

“Oh, that.” Fleurette tossed her curls. “Ah ’spect the colonel…” Her green eyes swept the room. “My, he is handsome, isn’t he? Ah think he desires knowledge of our background and upbringing.”

“He knows everything about me,” Carrie wailed. “What will I say?”

“Just tell him the borin’ ol’ truth, honey.” Fleurette bent toward the two women. “Could Ah join y’all on that settee? Mah poor feet ache somethin’ awful after all that dancin’.”

Carrie and Lolly shifted apart to make room, and Fleurette wedged her derriere between them. Two large puffs of yellow silk ballooned out on each side, spilling over Carrie’s green dress and Lolly’s black skirt.

“Oh, my, that does feel so much better. Now, what were we—”

“Ladies and gentlemen?” A spoon tinked for attention and the three gray-haired Helpful Ladies gathered in front of the refreshment table. Minnie Sullivan’s hands darted and swooped before her bosom. “Let me tell, Dora Mae. I was the one who thought of it.”

“It was my idea, Min. Don’t you remember? You had just finished your second serving of Ruth’s applesauce cake and—”

“Why, Dora Mae Landsfelter, don’t tell me you counted my desserts?”

“Goddammit to hell,” a deep voice rolled over the assembly. “I cannot abide squabbling females.”

“Oh, of course not, Colonel,” the two women sang in unison.

Colonel Macready strode through the tittering crowd. “It was my idea, if I remember correctly. I proposed it to Mrs. Underwood an hour ago.”

Minnie’s hands fluttered. “Oh, yes. Yes, you are quite right.”

“And since it is the only suggestion the Helpful Ladies have allowed me to contribute—” he made his way to the front of the room “—let’s get on with it.”

“Well put, Kelly,” a voice said.

“Ask yer questions, Colonel,” another man added. “We’re sure ’nuf curious about what these here ladies think about…things.”

Beside her, Lolly felt Fleurette’s silk-swathed body stiffen. Could the woman be nervous? She had sufficient fancy background and aristocratic upbringing to answer a hundred of the colonel’s questions. Lolly could only pray none of them would touch on Abolitionist newspapers in Kansas.

“Question One,” Dora Mae Landsfelter announced. “Colonel? You may do the honors.”

Kellen stood perfectly still, surveying the three samples of femininity squashed together, their fluffed-out feathers settling over their nests. The peacock’s showy plumage nearly buried both Careen and Miss Mayfield.

He chuckled under his breath. Life was too short not to enjoy this. He sank into an upholstered wing-backed chair, loosened his neckpiece and picked up his cue from Dora Mae.

“Question One,” he reiterated. “What about Maple Falls interests you the most? Miss Gundersen?”

Careen jerked as if an elbow had been jabbed into her ribs. “My students,” she said without hesitation. “They ask so many questions. Naturally, I try to answer every one.”

A murmur of approval ran around the room. It sounded curiously like industrious bees humming in a hive. Kellen leaned back against the brocade and smiled at Careen. She was very practical-minded, the epitome of a dedicated schoolteacher.

“Miss LeClair?”

Fleurette tilted her head coquettishly. Two bright eyes fixed on him and then disappeared under a fluttery fringe of descending amber eyelashes. The perfect rosebud mouth opened.

“Why, Colonel, what interests me most here in Maple Falls is your home.”

Someone—it sounded like Sol Stanton—guffawed, but Miss LeClair proceeded undaunted. “After all, a bride wants to know wheah she will be livin’.”

Kellen kept his expression as impassive as he could. A shot of applejack would help, but Matt Underwood was whispering in his wife’s ear and Kellen couldn’t catch his eye. He turned his attention to the black swan.

“Miss Mayfield?”

She did look lovely in that lacy black getup, her cheeks rosy, her blue eyes slightly unfocused and her nose…

Good God, her nose was bright red! She was snockered! An English heritage, he would guess; their cheeks and noses reddened under the influence of spirits.

He wanted to laugh. Correction, he wanted to throttle her. Something inside him couldn’t bear to watch her make a fool of herself. In the next second he wanted to protect her. Oh, hell, he wanted to…