She nodded slowly.
The answer was reasonable.
But something about his expression suggested there was more to the story.
She didn't press him.
Inside, the cabin surprised her.
The floor had been scrubbed.
Fresh wildflowers stood in a glass jar on the table.
A neatly folded quilt rested on the bed in the small adjoining room.
The window curtains were simple but clean.
And a fire burned gently in the stone hearth.
Elizabeth stepped inside.
For several seconds, she looked around.
Then she whispered, “You prepared this?”
Daniel placed her bag beside the door.
“Yes.”
She looked toward the wildflowers.
“Why?”
He seemed confused.
“Because you were coming.”
Elizabeth stared.
She had spent years living among people who prepared rooms for distinguished visitors.
Fresh flowers were normal at Hawthorne Hall.
But they were arranged by servants according to instructions.
Daniel had gathered them himself.
He had cleaned the cabin himself.
And he'd done it for a woman he barely knew.
She walked toward the bedroom.
A narrow bed stood beneath the window.
Beside it was a small wooden table with a candle, a pitcher, and a bowl.
A folded cotton nightdress lay on the quilt.
Elizabeth stared.
Daniel stood near the doorway.
“I wasn't certain what you'd need, so I asked the seamstress in town to make something simple.”
She touched the fabric.
It was soft.
Carefully stitched.
And entirely unlike the elaborate clothing she'd worn at the Hawthorne estate.
But someone had thought about her comfort.
She looked toward Daniel.
“Where will you sleep?”
He pointed toward the ladder leading to the loft.
“Up there.”
Elizabeth frowned.
“But we're married.”
Daniel's expression became gentle.
“Your father forced you into this marriage. I won't force you into anything else.”
The words settled between them.
Elizabeth looked toward the bed.
Then toward him.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Finally, she whispered, “Thank you.”
Daniel nodded.
“I'll make supper.”
He turned.