The Great Baby Caper (14 page)

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Half an hour later Courtney sat
next to her bridegroom in the open-top carriage as the coachman drove them away
from their cottage. To their left down the slope of the bluff stretched a
fabulous view of the town and harbor; to their right rose more quaint, late
nineteenth century houses. In the distance ahead of them she could see the
bastions and flag of the fort.

The driver began what seemed a
stock lecture on the island. “To tell you a little about Mackinac, it was first
settled by French fur trappers and missionaries. The French government
established a fort here in the late 1740s to protect the fur trade. In 1861 the
British took charge after defeating Canada in the Seven Years’ War. The fort as
we know it was begun by the British in the early 1780s and completed when the
Americans took charge after the Revolution. The Yanks battled the Redcoats
again during the War of 1812, after which the Americans permanently took
charge. During the nineteenth century the economy was built on fur-trading,
including the American Fur Company owned by Mr. John Jacob Astor himself. Later
in the century the fur trade faded away and fishing and tourism became more
important.”

As they began to descend into a
wooded area, they passed a large tour carriage coming up the hill, crammed with
tourists wearing shorts and hats and wielding binoculars. They wound through a
lovely forested ravine and emerged onto Fort Street. To their left stretched
the grounds of the fort, with barracks-like structures peeking out at them from
the bluff above.

The driver gestured toward the
green area with its lovely blooming lilacs. “That’s Marquette Park, the entrance to Fort Mackinac State Park. You should see the fort while you’re here. Lots
of history.”

They turned onto Market Street, a long expanse of historical shops and hotels, with sidewalks crammed with
tourists. The driver gestured toward an old story-and-a-half house on their
right. “That’s the Beaumont Memorial, named in honor of William Beaumont, an
Army doctor at the fort in the 1820’s. There’s a famous story regarding him. In
1822, he cared for a young man who was accidentally shot in the stomach. The
doctor never could get the hole in the man’s belly to heal, and therefore he
did experiments on him to study the human digestive system. As a result, Dr.
Beaumont is considered a pioneer in the field.” As they passed another tour
carriage, he pointed ahead. “There’s all kinds of historic sites to see on Market Street, including the Astor warehouse, the Stuart House, and an old blacksmith’s
shop.”

They turned around a corner and
emerged onto Main Street with its shops, restaurants, and hotels. Courtney
sniffed at a tantalizing aroma. “What’s that I smell?”

The coachman chuckled. “Mackinac Island’s famous fudge. You must sample some while you’re here.”

As they passed one of the shops,
she spotted employees working the fudge on marble-topped tables. Already her
mouth was watering. “I can’t wait.”

“Nor can I,” added Mark. He
addressed the coachman. “Hey, hold up, will you?”

The man pulled the horses to a
halt. “Aye, sir.”

Courtney eyed Mark with
puzzlement. “You’re buying fudge already?”

“Your wish is my command,” came
the gallant response. “Chocolate or vanilla?”

Courtney felt charmed that he was
spoiling her so. “Well . . . how ’bout pecan?”

Mark grinned at the coachman. “A
feisty one, isn’t she?”

“Well, sir, she knows her own mind
and frankly, I think our pecan fudge is the best.”

“Then nothing but the best for my
bride. Wait right here, love.”

He hopped out of the carriage and
dashed into the shop, emerging in a couple of minutes with a white box. He
climbed in beside Courtney, opened the box, and handed it to her.

Courtney took an ecstatic breath.
The aroma drifting out of the interior was irresistible, and the texture of the
cream-colored fudge appeared out of this world. “My heavens, it’s still warm.
But you can’t expect me to eat the whole thing.”

“Indeed not,” he retorted
indignantly, then called to the driver, “Fudge, my good man?”

“Thank you, sir, but not while I’m
driving,” Terrence drolly replied. “I might lose my head and plunge us
straightaway into a ravine.”

“Then carry on, my good man.”

“Aye, sir.”

As they clopped off, Mark
retrieved a small chunk of fudge from the box and raised it to Courtney lips.
“You first.”

Courtney took a bite of the warm
fudge, felt it melting in her mouth, tasted pecans and an incredible sweetness,
and thought she had died and gone to heaven. “That’s the most delicious candy
I’ve ever tasted in my life! It should be outlawed.”

Mark chuckled, leaning over and
whispering at her ear. “Perhaps we can invent a few more guilty pleasures that
should be outlawed before we leave this island.”

Courtney didn’t dare comment there,
for her face was already smarting. She didn’t doubt for a moment that Mark
would do his best to invent those “guilty pleasures,” and to seduce her into
succumbing.

They headed away from the town,
into another wooded area. “Mackinac is ringed with parks,” the driver
explained. “While you’re here, be sure to take a few hikes and smell the
balsam.”

Courtney inhaled deeply. “I do
already, but I still like the fudge better.”

“Amen,” added Mark, and they both
laughed.

They wound down a shady trail with
a large golf course on their right, eventually climbing up a ridge where
Courtney spotted a magnificent pillared white hotel which stretched seemingly
forever on a high ridge to their left. The building’s huge colonnade was lined
with American flags, and a jaunty cupola provided the crowning touch for the
fabulous edifice.

“Yonder is the Grand Hotel, where
the movie
Somewhere in Time
was filmed,” the driver announced. “The
daily buffet luncheon is fabulous.”

“The hotel itself looks good
enough to eat,” Courtney burst out in enthusiasm. “Why, it looks like a grand
steamboat, or a huge tiered wedding cake.”

The driver laughed, and Mark
patted her hand. “Ah, so you’re craving wedding cake now? Stick with the fudge,
darling. There are limits.”

She stuck out her tongue at him,
suddenly enjoying herself more than she ever would have dreamed, and didn’t
object at all when he wrapped an arm around her waist. They wound through the
interior of the island, past stately cottages and shady old cemeteries.
Eventually they emerged near a high arched rock formation on the eastern side
of the island fronting the lakeshore.

Gazing at the massive ring-shaped
limestone formation, with a large open arc at its center giving a view of the
lake, Courtney called to the driver, “Is that a breccia formation over there?”

Even as Mark glanced askance at
her, the driver called back, “Yes, ma’am, you’re exactly right. That’s Arch
Rock, the island’s most famous natural wonder. It rises up over a hundred and
forty feet. Scientists say the hole in the rock was formed by water and wind
erosion over time, but the Indians have handed down a more interesting tale.
Evidently long, long ago an Indian maiden fell in love with a spirit brave, and
her heartless father tied her to the bluff to keep her from her true love. It’s
said her tears, washing down the limestone, created the circle in the rock.
Later her lover came back to claim her and took her with him to heaven.”

“What a sweet story,” Courtney
remarked.

“If you folks want to see the
stone closer up, there are steps yonder.”

“Believe we will,” Mark answered.

They left the carriage and
ascended Arch Rock, standing together at the railing near the top of the huge
formation. Courtney stared down at the woods behind them, the beautiful blue
lake stretching for miles ahead of them, where tankers and a cruise ship glided
past in the distance. The sea breeze felt wonderful on her face.

“This is quite a marvelous
formation,” Courtney remarked. “I know a little about rocks.”

“So I’ve surmised. How did you
learn about them?”

She succumbed to a
self-deprecating smile. “Oh, it’s a long story better reserved for another
occasion.”

Mark wrapped an arm about
Courtney’s shoulders. “If your father tied you to that rock and kept you from me,
would you cry until your tears created a beautiful breccia sculpture?”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t like
being tied to a rock.”

He frowned, watching a sea gull
sail past over their heads. “No, you’re one of those birds who likes to be
free, eh?”

She met his sober gaze. “In charge
of my own life, yes.”

“And where does that leave me?” he
asked quietly.

She sighed. “Mark, give me some
time.”

“I’m pressuring you again, eh?”

She nodded. “You know, this island
has to be one of the most beautiful spots I’ve ever been to. I think you’re so
thoughtful to do all of this. But—”

“But?”

She flashed him an apologetic
smile. “Guess I am feeling a bit overwhelmed.”

“I don’t mean to overpower you,
love,” he replied sincerely. “Spoiling you rotten is more like it.”

“You’re definitely doing that, as
well.”

“Good.” She was pleased to watch a
smile spring to his lips. “You’ll get used to it in time.”

“I’ll hope so, Mark. Forgive me if
I’m a little numb. I mean, we’re still strangers, and I’ve spent very little
time with you. Now all of a sudden we’re plunged into this provocative
situation as husband and wife.”

“Provocative, eh?” he teased.

Casting him a forbearing glance,
she turned more serious. “Guess I’m just confused about a lot of things.”

Mark took her hands and addressed
her earnestly. “Courtney, we’re here to clear up your confusion. We’re here to
get to know each other better, apart from the world and our other
responsibilities.”

“I hope you’re right and it will
work out that way. But we’re up against a lot.”

“Not the least of which is, you
still think I’m only doing my grandfather’s bidding?”

Her expression was troubled as she
met his probing gaze. “I don’t know what to think, Mark, except that I do
believe you’re motivated at least in part by a desire to do the right thing.
Otherwise, I am afraid you could be fooling yourself. No one could fall in love
as quickly as you allege you have.”

He sighed. “Looks like I’ve got a
lot of persuading to do.”

“Not too quickly, please. Let’s just
become better acquainted as you suggested. That should be our first goal.”

“I’m with you there, love.” But as
he leaned over and tenderly touched his lips to her own, she realized that he
had far from given up on doing “a lot of persuading.”

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Courtney had never known she could
have so much fun.

For the remainder of the day, she
and Mark strolled through the business section of the island, shopping at
charming little shops and sampling additional fudge. They toured the historic
fort, watching a re-enactment of a skirmish between the Americans and the
British in the war of 1812, and took a quiet walk through a nearby forest.
Later in the day, Mark rented them a small sailboat and took them out on the
lake.

Sitting next to him on the port
side of the boat, she marveled at his skill in working the tiller and the
sails, maneuvering the craft through the choppy waters of Lake Huron. The
afternoon was mild, the breeze crisp and sweet. In the distance she watched a
barge glide past. Ahead she could see the wooded outline of the mainland and a
lighthouse near the point.

“Where did you learn to sail?” she
asked Mark.

“I’ve enjoyed sailing all my
life,” he replied. “My dad taught me the rudiments when I was a lad. How I
looked forward to those times with him when I was home from boarding school.”

She eyed him with compassion.
“That must have been a pretty lonely childhood.”

He gave a shrug. “I suppose it
could have been worse. I had plenty of chums at school. And I still spent some
time with my parents. Ofttimes in the summers we’d go on holiday up to
Windermere where my folks had an estate, and my dad and I would go out on the
lake. I still keep an eighteen-footer at the yacht club back home, and take it
out on the Serpentine when weather permits.”

Watching him maneuver the bow of
the boat into the wind, she slowly shook her head. “Strange to think of you as
a sailor.”

“Why strange?”

“Guess I thought of you as more of
an urbanite.”

“Sailing is my sanity, the way I
keep my peace of mind.” He sighed. “And going out always brings up lots of fond
memories.”

She nodded. “You must miss your
parents something terrible.”

“Yes,” he admitted, then flashed
her a brave smile. “Which makes it all the more important to me to have a
family of my own now.”

Noting the emotion tensing his
mouth, she wondered about his last statement. She had grown up in a
warm-though-bustling family atmosphere, but this man had not. She knew people
tended to pattern their own homes according to their circumstances. Mark’s
background was of nannies and boarding schools, of formal distance between
himself and his parents. Would he be able to build an intimate family unit with
her and their child, any more than his parents had with him?

Plus, at a very critical age, just
as Mark was just entering the uncharted waters of manhood, he had lost his
folks and was left with only M. Billingham Bootle—who, if Courtney were any
judge of character, was an even poorer example of a parent.

She bit her lip. “After you lost
your parents—was it difficult for you to reestablish a relationship with your
grandfather?”

“You mean given the rift between
him and my father?”

She nodded.

“No, not really. I never really
felt a part of that and, as I mentioned before, our family did keep up
appearances. Of course I didn’t see him nearly as much after he moved to America—until my parents died, that is. When we met at the airport, I recall that I sobbed
rather shamelessly, and the old boy did his best to comfort me.”

She touched his hand. “He was all
you had left.”

Mark’s hand grasped hers with
surprising strength. “Courtney, he was always important to me. I won’t try to
lie to you there.”

She glanced away and they fell silent.
She didn’t voice the unsettling question hanging between them: Was Mark so
devoted to his grandfather that he’d marry a woman just to please him?

“What about you, Courtney?” he
asked after a moment. “Did you have a passion as a child?”

Thinking back, she smiled
whimsically. “If I tell you, you’ll laugh.”

“No, I won’t.”

“Actually, as I little kid, I was
something of a tomboy. Climbing trees, riding skateboards with the boys.”

He regarded her in puzzlement.
“You, a tomboy? Now that’s difficult to imagine, though I suppose it does make
a certain sense. Even then, you were trying to succeed in a male-driven world.”

She shot him a scolding look. “I
was also an amateur rockhound.”

“Ah, yes. The reason for your
commentary at Arch Rock.”

“Do you find my interest strange?”

“Not especially. After all, you
lived in the Rockies.”

She laughed. “That’s right. A
rockhound in the Rockies. I used to have this wooden box, and everywhere we
went I’d fill it with rocks. I had a hammer I’d use to bang them open, and wear
goggles to protect my eyes.”

“You hammered the rocks open?”

She nodded. “Imagine the wonder I
felt the first time I shattered a plain-looking rock, and found inside a
beautiful piece of flint, or even a vein of copper or gold.”

“Ah—rather like finding a woman
with a hard exterior who’s a warm and loving person inside.”

Lifting an eyebrow at him, she
went on, “Then when company came I’d display my collection and give everyone
the appropriate lecture.”

He chuckled. “Tell me, did this
scientific bent of yours continue?”

She shook her head. “Not in high
school. Guess that’s when I began to discover my own femininity—and boys.
Lectures on mineral formation during the Mesozoic Era don’t exactly mix with
football and the homecoming dance.”

“For my own sake, I’m eternally
grateful. Otherwise I’m sure we’d be spending this entire week hammering
limestone about the island, or attempting to scale the Sugar Loaf formation
that we passed today.”

She playfully punched his arm.
“You exaggerate so.”

“My grandfather has accused me of
that.”

“Anyway, in high school I started
getting interested in makeup and clothes, became a cheerleader—”

“And, as I recall, broke the
quarterback’s heart when you went on to college. Then it was on to earn your
MBA via scholarship to Harvard. I’m impressed.”

“You have your MBA as well,” she
put in.

“But I didn’t have to work at it
as I know you must have. There was never any doubt that I would continue on at Cambridge, no financial necessity for a scholarship.”

A trace of bitterness darkened
Courtney’s expression. “Yes, I encountered a lot of well-fixed types at
Harvard. Rich, spoiled, and stuck-up.”

“Is that is how you think of me?”
he asked in mock horror.

Courtney realized she didn’t think
of him that way, but she couldn’t resist teasing him back. “Well, you are
rich—and a bit stuck-up at times.”

He pulled her closer. “Come
hither, woman. It seems I’ve a major amount of proving myself to do.”

She laughed softly. “This sailboat
is a good beginning. A part of your personality that I find unexpected—and
charming.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Charming
enough to win a kiss?”

“Don’t push your luck.” She nodded
toward the west, where the sky had grown gloriously red as the sun began to
sink toward the horizon. “The sunset promises to be spectacular.”

“Indeed.”

He eased closer to her, and they
sailed along quietly for a few more moments, until a gust of wind hit the
sails, hiking the boat leeward. As Courtney held on, Mark valiantly worked the
sails and the tiller and, after a few dizzying seconds, he managed to right the
boat. It wasn’t until after the craft was stable that Courtney was swept by a
wave of nausea.

Mark glanced sharply at her pale
face. “Are you all right?”

“Sure. Just a bit startled.”

“You look ill, love.”

“Well, I am a bit nauseated, but
I’m sure I’ll be all right in a moment.”

He appeared crestfallen. “Damn.
I’m so sorry, Courtney. I should have known better than to take you out on the
lake in your—er—delicate condition.”

She gave a groan. “Get out of
here, Mark! Quite being so stuffy and British. I’m a modern, healthy woman.”

“I disagree. Even a healthy
pregnant woman does not need to be roiled about this way. Time to get you back
home for some pampering.”

“Mark.”

But he proved adamant, turning the
sailboat toward the harbor, where the coachman awaited them. Within twenty
minutes they had arrived back at the cottage.

Inside the front door, Courtney
felt shocked when abruptly Mark swept her up into his arms. “Mark! What are you
doing now?”

He headed purposefully for the
stairs. “I promised you some pampering.”

“You’re being ridiculous! I’m not
Scarlett O’Hara, and you’re not Rhett Butler.”

He wiggled his eyebrows. “Frankly,
my dear, you’re giving me ideas.”

“You rascal.”

“I’m taking care of the mother of
my child.”

The mother of my child
. Somehow
those brief, electric words startled Courtney into silence even as a
treacherous heat swept through her belly. Much as she fought it, she did share
much with Mark. A precious life growing within her. A life they’d produced
together
.

He easily carried her up the
stairs. On the second floor, he strode into her room and whipped back the quilt
on her bed while still holding her, then laid her down, removed her Top-Siders
and draped the quilt over her. Courtney had to admit the bed felt wonderful,
but when Mark grinned down at her, she stuck out her tongue.

He quickly crossed the room and
lit a fire. She breathed in the seductive warmth of cedar logs; the crackling
sound was so soothing.

He stood and brushed off his
hands. “Don’t you dare move, or there will be dire consequences.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but
actually felt too cozy to move. Though she did wonder what he was up to.

Her question was answered shortly
as she heard the soft rattle of dishes out in the corridor, followed by the
smells of warm tea and cinnamon buns. A moment later Mark reentered the room
bearing a silver tray with a doily and an exquisite china tea set.

“Oh, Mark.” She sat up.

Proudly he strode to the bed and
set down the tray. “Tea, madam?”

“Yes, thanks. You
are
pampering me.”

He began pouring her a cup. “And
what do you take in yours?”

For a moment Courtney was too
rattled to respond. The setting was treacherously romantic. “Oh. Just a bit of
lemon.”

He squeezed some lemon into her cup,
then placed it on a saucer and handed it to her. “Roll?”

She wrinkled her nose at him.
“You’re going to make me fat.”

“Aren’t you supposed to grow fat,
my dear?” he teased back.

Courtney blushed and accepted the
bread dish he handed her. “These smell so wonderful.”

“The housekeeper brought them this
morning. Just heated up a couple in the microwave.”

“Ah—so you do have a domestic
streak.”

“A slight one. I do live alone, my
dear, and so far have managed not to starve.”

“You mean you had no English beauties
at home waiting on you hand and foot?”

He made a scolding sound.
“Courtney, you know I haven’t had time for a serious relationship—up until
now.”

She laughed. “Most men hardly have
to be serious in order to pursue a woman.”

He leaned close, until she could
feel his breath on her cheek. “I do. Besides, now I’m taken. I have a wife.” He
tenderly kissed her.

“So you do,” she murmured back,
enjoying the kiss more than she wanted to.

For a moment they fell silent,
both nibbling and sipping as the treacherous warmth of the fire heated the
room. Then Mark set down his dishes and turned to Courtney, his dark blue eyes
very serious. “How do you feel about it, Courtney?”

Flustered, she asked, “About
what?”

His hand stole under the covers
until he touched her lower belly. Heat seared her to the core as his gaze
continued to hold hers. “About carrying my child inside you.”

Courtney would long wonder why
such a simple statement could be so sexy. Mark looked so solemn, and so sweet.
His hand was so warm, touching her intimately, yet there was an innocence about
it, too. How could she tell him not to touch her there, when he was connecting
with his own life inside her?

She smiled at him shyly. “I’m
really not sure just how to feel as yet. I never expected this would happen at
this stage in my life.”

“But you didn’t want to have done
with it.”

Those words brought unexpected
tears to her eyes, and tight emotion to her throat. “Oh, no. I never could.”

He nuzzled her cheek. “Me
neither.”

Shivering from his kiss, she
pulled away slightly. “It’s just that I had so many goals I wanted to
accomplish before . . . this.”

He appeared sad. “Are your goals
that important?”

“Are your goals important, Mark?”

He clutched her hand. “You know,
we don’t have to go back to Denver at all. We could go live in England, even buy a cottage like this one and spend summers here in America.”

“That sounds so simple, Mark. But
what about what I want?”

“It’s not as if we’re without
resources. Why not make our marriage, our child, the most important thing?”
Earnestly, he continued. “Courtney, I grew up with nannies and maids, and
emotional distance from my parents. I want my child to have more than that.”

She nodded, carefully considering
his words. “Actually, I can relate to your feelings of being neglected as a
child. As the fourth of five children, I too often felt my needs were given
short shrift. In my case, there were no nannies or maids to pick up the slack.
Instead, my mom was an overburdened housewife with five kids to raise, my dad
an overworked businessman struggling to support a large family.” She drew a
heavy breath. “That’s one reason I’m not sure I’ll have enough to give to a
child, plus a career and a husband. I’m afraid I’ll be spreading myself too
thin.”