Page 26 of Charlotte

He looked back toward the church.

The question had been too bold. Lottie knew it the moment it left her mouth. Still, he did not leave.

“They should trouble sensible men,” he said.

“Then I am glad Delly was not too sensible today.”

He glanced at her. “Your sister is plenty sensible.”

“Yes. That is why this is all very alarming.”

For once, his almost-smile came easier.

Lottie took courage from it. “I thought weddings would feel more like stories.”

“And?”

“They feel more like promises.”

His face sobered. “They are.”

The quiet answer moved through her.

“Yes,” she said. “I saw that.”

The sounds of celebration carried across the grass behind them. Lottie watched Delly accept a slice of cake from Clara while Jeb stood close enough to steady her if the crowd became too much, but not so close as to crowd her. He was learning her already. After one day.

Was that what vows did? Gave two strangers permission to learn each other, as if the learning itself were holy?

Lottie looked down at the book under her arm. “I don’t expect our wedding to be like this one.”

Peterson’s hand closed around the brim of his hat. Lottie saw the question reach him, and she saw, just as clearly, the part of him that wished it had not. Whatever small ease had been between them a moment before disappeared behind his lowered gaze.

“I mean,” she said quickly, “I do not expect haste. Or the whole town already knowing before I do. Or borrowed lace, though it did suit Delly better than she will ever admit.” She drew a breath. “I only mean you needn’t look as if I have arrived with a preacher in my pocket.”

He said nothing, so Lottie continued.

“Though if I had, Delly would insist on interviewing him first.”

That won her the slightest breath of laughter. Then it vanished.

“Miss Bellamy.”

The careful use of her name warned her, but she held her ground. He looked at the cake in her hand rather than at her face. “You should not set your heart on me because a company put our names on the same paper.”

“I haven’t.”

His gaze lifted. There was that look again. Direct. Searching. Enough to knock the breath clean out of her if she were not careful.

“I have set my attention,” she said. “That is not quite the same thing.”

“No?”

“No. My heart is not foolish, Mr. Peterson. It is only hopeful, and hope should not be insulted merely because fear finds it inconvenient.”

He stared at her.

Lottie heard herself then and felt heat climb into her face. “That sounded better in my mind.”