The Countess' Lucky Charm by A. M. Westerling Page B

She blushed. His wife. It never failed to astound her how much she liked the sound of that. If only it were true. She looked away to hide her discomfort.
      “Is this all there is,” she blurted out, waving an arm toward the few buildings she could see.
    “There’s an Indian village a short distance away, where the river joins the lake. But yes,” the other man said ruefully, “this is all there is.”
    “I see.” Simone drooped at his words then glanced over to Temple. A barely concealed air of excitement emanated from him and there was no doubt he embraced the challenge of this wilderness. He seemed happy to be here and she didn’t want to spoil it for him. Hiding her lingering disappointment, she pulled herself upright.
    “Lisette, my woman, will be pleased to meet you. It can be a little lonely here. Come, there’s a cabin ready for you.” Daniel grabbed the reins of his horse and without looking back, started toward the fort on foot. “Follow me.”
    “Come, my dear.” Temple waited while she collected her boots and slipped them on then held out an arm to her as if they were strolling through London’s Hyde Park and not clambering up a slight bluff toward their new home.
    Simone clung to Temple’s elbow. One question had been answered—it appeared as if they would have a place to call home.
    She kept her gaze focused on the horse’s rump. At least it was a familiar sight—there were horses in London too. The homesickness receded. And, she reminded herself, she remained here with Temple.
      “Here ye be.” Daniel showed them a tiny bark-roofed log cabin within the palisade. “I’ll leave you to freshen up then come find me in the warehouse.” He pointed to the largest building.
    “I thank you, Mr Harmon, I’m certain we’ll be comfortable here,” Temple said.
    Daniel waved then climbed on his horse and rode off.
    Temple stood back to let Simone enter first. She took a few steps inside then stopped, dismayed.
    So newly built, patches of grass dotted the dirt floor within and gaps of light shone between the poorly chinked log walls. The cabin contained not a stick of furniture and sported only one window. Rather, she supposed it to be a window for it was covered in parchment rather than glass.
    A stone fireplace dominated one wall but for the rest, the tiny cabin scarcely had room for them and their belongings, thrown haphazardly on the ground.
    “Where are we going to sit? And sleep?” She clapped her hands to her face, covering her mouth to hide the trembling lips. True, their accommodations on the journey here had not always been the best, in fact, a lot of nights had been spent curled up on the ground under a tipped over canoe. However, she had kept in mind their destination which had made the discomforts bearable.
    Ale house, bah. What a fanciful fool she had been. She should have realized Stuart Lake Outpost would be just as the other fur trading forts they had passed through, should have realized that Temple’s aspirations were so much different than hers.
    She gave way to the disappointment that had hovered over her shoulders since their arrival. She couldn’t deny she had expected much, much more. A few tears slipped out of her eyes and rolled cool and wet down her cheeks.
    “It will be fun, Simone, just give it a chance.” Temple made his voice hearty to bolster Simone’s obviously sagging spirits. Prudently, he kept his thoughts to himself.
    He, too, had expected a flourishing settlement. During the journey, he had attributed the warning comments about the outpost as tiresome meddling from those jealous of his plans and had disregarded them. Who had known finding one’s fortune in the wilderness would be such a crude endeavour? Nevertheless, he was here and determined to make it a go of it.
    However, there was the matter of Simone. Spending each and every day in her company, although delightful, was driving him to distraction. Ever since leaving Montreal, he had avoided being