Deeply Devoted by Maggie Brendan

and was gooey, sticking to her fingers like syrup. The more she handled the crust, the more frustrated she became. She was getting nowhere with the wad of dough, and it seemed to laugh at her attempts.
    After the third try, she jammed the dough into a wad, then threw the entire thing on the floor and stomped on it. There! Now you’re flat and of no use to me , she thought, clamping her jaw. Heaving a big sigh, she bent down and began to clean up the mess she’d made, then lifted her shoe to wipe the goo off the bottom.
    Her nose twitched as the smell of the roast beef filled the kitchen. Good, it was cooking nicely. She added more wood to keep the fire hot, and suddenly the foam from the potatoes rose up and boiled over, making a complete mess all over the stove. Quickly she grabbed a dishcloth, and as she moved the pot of potatoes off to the side, she saw that the cloth was scorched from the flame. There was smoke coming from the oven, so she bent down and yanked the oven door open to discover a thoroughly burned roast stuck to the pan. She let out a cry of anguish and covered her face with her hands, sinking to the floor with tears of defeat. Her dinner was ruined!
    It was at that very moment that Peter strode in through the back door to find his discouraged bride in a heap on the floor, sobbing in front of the stove. Her hair had come loose from its pins and now fell across her face, and splats of flour covered her chin and one cheek where she swiped her hair back with her hands. It was quite a different look for her in her homespun dress, apron, and brogans. One quick look around revealed a burnt pan of meat teetering on the edge of the oven door and something resembling vegetables still bubbling in a nearby pot. A somewhat strange-looking concoction sat in a bowl next to a pie pan.
    Peter’s laughter reverberated through the farmhouse, and he clapped his thigh in amazement. Catharine shot him a glance, and he immediately clamped his mouth shut and dropped to the floor next to her. Lifting her sticky hands in his, he whispered, “Don’t cry, Catharine. I’ll help you clean this up and we’ll have something simple.” Touching her chin, he lifted her head until she met his gaze through tear-filled eyes, but she quickly glanced away.
    “Oh, Peter, I’ve made a mess of everything and I still haven’t even baked the bread. I’m sorry.”
    “Hush, it’ll be all right.” Peter pulled her to his chest until she was in his lap, and she nuzzled her face in his neck. The sweet scent of her made him groan. With her body snuggled close to his, he was of a mind to sweep her off the floor and take her to their bedroom. But instead he said, “I had forgotten that you were used to having servants wait on you. Perhaps Angelina could spend an afternoon teaching you to cook and clean.”
    She drew back, pushing her palms against his chest. She struggled to her feet, but the flour on the floor made her slip, and she fell hard against the table. He tried to grab her from his seated position but missed, and she winced in pain, then turned to glare at him. “I’m all right. Just leave me alone while I clean this up. Servants or not, I will learn to make do!” she snapped, then muttered something unintelligible under her breath.
    What had he done now? “I’ll help you. I didn’t mean that to sound the way it did.”
    “Really?” She swung around, her green eyes ablaze. “You expect me to take care of the house, cook, and tend the garden, all in the first day of our marriage?” Her voice was starting to screech, and her freckles stood out pink and bright on her white skin. “How can that be?” She wiped her hands on her apron, picked up the roasting pan, and stuck it in the sink.
    Peter wasn’t sure what to say. After a long moment of silence, he walked over to her where she stood with her back to him, shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry if this isn’t what you thought married life would be.” She turned around to face