A Bride Of Honor

He lifted a brow. “Well?”

She bit her lip and looked down at her rigidly clasped hands. Why was she required to make a decision that seemed to be ending her life just on the brink of its beginning?

“Mr. Stokes has everything to offer a young lady of your advantages.”

“Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

“He has expressed his single-minded affection for you. He has pledged to me that he will do his utmost to make you happy. His fortune, coupled with yours, will ensure your comfort and protection from the fortune hunters hedging you.”

“Yes, Papa.” Her throat closed, and she could hardly get the two words out.

He lifted her chin with a long finger. “What say you, dearest daughter, are you ready to obey your wise father and accept his offer of matrimony? Jerome only awaits your word.”

She moistened her lips and looked downward. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She tried to remember the Bible verses she had heard from Reverend Hathaway. My grace is sufficient for thee. My strength is made perfect in weakness. But she felt no solace. How to explain the dread that filled her heart at the thought of being betrothed to Mr. Stokes? All she could do was nod her head.

Her father’s hands came up to clasp her briefly on the shoulders before he let her go. “That’s my girl. I knew I could be proud of you. Your mother is smiling down at you now.”

He turned away from her, his voice already businesslike with plans. “I shall inform him of your consent, and he shall ask you formally tomorrow evening at the Clarksons’ dinner. I will see to it that you have a private moment with him. Wear your prettiest gown. Beatrice can help you in your selection. She has a good eye.”

Lindsay stood mute, but inwardly her natural spirit began to rebel. Why couldn’t she simply explain her misgivings to her father? Why was she always so intimidated around him, struggling so to please him?

She heard no more of her father’s plan as she turned and headed for the door, her slippers feeling as if they contained lead in their soles, her life apparently over.

Damien looked up at the sound of a knock on his workshop door. He set down the clock he held in his hands. “Yes?”

Florence popped her head in. “Am I interrupting?”

He swung around in his chair. “Not at all. Come in. I’m mainly thinking of Sunday’s sermon as I sit here tinkering.”

His sister entered and pulled up a hard-back chair to the end of the worktable.

He smiled, sensing she had something on her mind. She was usually too busy to seek him out during the day.

She folded her hands in her lap. He was happy to see that since she’d become engaged to Jonah, she had begun wearing more attractive gowns. Today, she was dressed in a pretty yellow-and-cream striped dress with long sleeves. “We’ve set a date.”

“Indeed?” At her hesitant nod, he broke into a grin. “Wonderful! I was wondering what was keeping you from going ahead.”

She smoothed down her dress. “Well, we wanted to let all the gossip and rumors die down a bit…and of course, make sure there was no adverse effect to your ministry.”

He waved away the consideration. “You shouldn’t have let that stop you.”

She immediately frowned. “Of course we should have. We weren’t going to leave you to face things alone. After all, it was my doing you had Jonah here all those months.”

“Well, now he’s boarding with Elizabeth and Jacob, and I’m sure there’s no need for him to be crowded in their cottage any longer when the two of you are planning to be wed.”

“Yes, well, that is what I came to talk to you about.”

He lifted an eyebrow when she paused.

“We were thinking the end of the month, on a Saturday.”

He sat back. “The end of this month? That gives you a little over three weeks. It isn’t much time…I mean, I always thought a wedding entailed mounds of preparations,” he added with a forced chuckle. In truth, the time suddenly seemed upon them, even though he’d known it was coming. What would he do without his sister? Except for his few years at Oxford, they’d never been apart. They not only lived under the same roof but shared the ministry.

“We don’t want to do anything elaborate. It gives us just enough time to post the banns. I—we would like you to perform the ceremony. Would you do that?” Her gray eyes looked earnestly into his.

He reached across and took her hands. “Of course. I’d be hurt if you asked anyone else.”

“Of course I wouldn’t do that! Besides, whom else would I ask? Reverend Doyle?” She gave a bitter laugh. “He has not spoken to me since I refused the offer of his hand, and after the trouble with Jonah, we still aren’t sure how deep his displeasure with you goes.”

Again, he waved a hand, dismissing the topic. “Oh, don’t worry about him. His pride was a bit bruised where you were concerned, and any disagreement he had with me, I’m sure it will all smooth over in a while. He just needs some time. When he sees what an up-standing citizen Jonah is, he’ll come around.”

She made a dismissive sound. “In any case, I wouldn’t want him officiating at my wedding.” She peered at him. “But is it all right with you? It isn’t too soon?”

“It’s perfectly all right. I will announce the banns this Sunday. And I’ll make sure I have nothing else scheduled. Christenings and funerals and all other weddings shall have to wait!” He banged his fist on the table, rattling the various cogs and wheels, to punctuate the pronouncement. They both laughed.

“There’s something else.”

His laughter died at her abrupt change of tone. “What is it? Nothing wrong, is there?”

She looked at him a moment, and he was reminded of the way his mother used to look at him. Florence often tried to fill her place—another reason he was happy that she had finally found a husband of her own, a man to cherish and take care of her the way she had done for him and so many others. “We’ve found a place.”

He frowned, not understanding. “A place?”

“Of our own.” She looked down at her folded hands, a shy smile softening her features. “A farm.”

Comprehension dawned. “Th-that’s wonderful. It’s what Jonah has wanted to do, isn’t it?” Even as joy filled him, he realized the gap her news left in him. Somehow he never thought his sister would move out and have a home of her own.

Her gray eyes met his immediately, relief flooding them. “Yes. You know he used to farm. To own his own farm, why, it’s something he never dreamed was possible for a mere laborer.”

“Where is the farm?”

“Oh, not so far from here. A few miles down on the Uxbridge Road. You know this place will be developed over the next few years, so we wanted something farther west where it’s still country. Jonah was talking with Mr. Merriton the other week. He told him of a farm available.” His sister hurried on, as if she were nervous.

“It sounds just the thing.”

Her eyes remained on him.

“What is it, Flo?”

“It’s for…sale.”

He quirked an eyebrow upward. “And?”

“We had thought of leasing something.” She swallowed. “But this one is for…sale.” Again, she said the word as if it were difficult to articulate. “We went out to see it yesterday. Oh, Damien, it’s perfect. Just the right size to farm without too much extra help. It’s near enough to London to supply the markets. Jonah looked at the fields. He says the soil is fertile and well drained. There’s a barn on the land and a good well….”

“So, what is the hitch?”

“It would require some capital.”

He ran his fingers over the teeth on a cog lying on the worktable. “I see no problem with that. We have Father’s money. Is it more than that?”

“Oh, no! But that money is for both of us. I couldn’t take it.”

“Is that your only concern?” He sat back, feeling a surge of relief. “That money is for us to use, however we choose to use it. It was from the sale of Father’s business, and he and Mother would have wished for you and your future husband to have a home of your own.”

“It must be divided equally between you and me.”

“Florence, I don’t need capital. I have this living. I’m provided with a house that’s bigger than anything I need. Why shouldn’t you have that money? If we didn’t have it, I’d insist you share my house.”

She swallowed, visibly moved. “I know you would. And I hope we can continue living a little longer under your roof, until the farmhouse is ready for us…that is, if we—” She stopped in confusion.

Once again, he squeezed her hands. “Of course you may stay with me as long as you wish. And you needn’t say anything more about the purchase of this farm. I would love to have a look at it, of course. But otherwise, let’s talk to Mr. Samuels at the bank, shall we?”

She seemed ready to argue some more, but he shook his head. Finally, she said, “I don’t want to deprive you of what is rightfully yours.”

“You won’t be depriving me of anything. You see how this parish is destined to grow. Soon, I’ll be a wealthy old vicar with more income than I know what to do with—except, of course, I know very well what to do with it.”

“Yes, if I know you, it will all go to charity.” She smiled indulgently at him.

“As anything extra you have does,” he retorted.

They both laughed. As they quieted, he strove to reassure her once more. “I don’t lack anything here, and since I’ll never marry, my needs are few. You, on the other hand, might still have children.” He smiled fondly, liking the thought of nieces and nephews. For so long, it seemed the two of them would remain single and childless.

She turned a deeper shade of pink. “I never thought I would. If the good Lord would grant us offspring, I’d count myself a blessed woman indeed.” She sobered. “It would help make up for Jonah’s loss.”

He nodded, thinking of his future brother-in-law’s loss of wife and two young offspring before they had met him. Homeless and hungry they’d perished in the harsh winter after Jonah had been locked up in Newgate, victims of the enclosure laws, which were displacing farm laborers and bringing them to the cities with few skills. The Lord had, indeed, given Jonah a new chance.

His sister rose. “Well, we shan’t decide anything until we’ve spoken to the banker. You never know. Don’t say you’ll never marry. I know the Lord has someone out there for you, too—a good, worthy girl who would make a fine wife, someone who would be your right hand in your ministerial duties and have the same heart for God.”

He gave a wan smile, looking away from Florence, trying to appear as if the sentiment meant little to him…even as a picture of Miss Phillips flashed through his mind. His fingers tightened on the clock part. He must erase such foolishness from his very thoughts.

Lord Eldridge leaned toward her. “They tell me you are the toast of the season, my dear.”

Lindsay smiled faintly at the heavyset gentleman on her right. He lifted his crystal goblet to her. “I can well believe it, from the look of you. Let me pay homage to your beauty before you are snapped up by one of these dandies who won’t appreciate your charms like this old connoisseur.” He took a long swallow of the burgundy.

When decently appropriate, Lindsay turned away from him and looked back down at her plate. Thankfully, Mr. Stokes, on her left, was momentarily engaged with the lady on his other side. All evening she’d felt hemmed in by his presence.

Her lips felt stiff from keeping a smile in place. She broke the crab-stuffed sole into pieces with the edge of her fork, but her stomach balked with each mouthful she forced herself to take.

She pressed her hands to her stomach now, hoping she wouldn’t be sick before the night was through.

As the waiters removed the covers in preparation for the pâtés to follow, she glanced down the table at her father. By his jabbing forefinger and heightened color, she could tell he was in a heated debate with another member of the Royal Society. She sometimes wondered if she were a disappointment to him, not being a son who could follow his interests in mathematics and science. Perhaps if she’d been born with a more forceful character, she could debate with him as he so enjoyed…and refuse to marry the man he’d chosen for her.

Her father’s glance strayed to her. He gave her a reassuring smile, which she forced herself to return. With a subtle nudge of his chin, he communicated his wish to her.

With a sinking heart, she turned in the direction he’d indicated.

Jerome Stokes swallowed a healthy draft of his ruby-colored wine and eyed her. His full lips were still stained crimson, and Lindsay couldn’t tear her gaze away, even as a wave of repugnance filled her.

“The sole was excellent, was it not? Although I found the mullet a trifle dry.” His tongue roamed over his teeth as if savoring the last remnants of fish.

She forced herself to look away from his mouth. As his wife, she would have to…kiss that mouth. “I didn’t have any.”

His hooded gaze wandered over her features. “You’re looking a bit haggard. Haven’t the megrim, have you?”

“I’m quite all right.”

He eyed her plate as it was being removed. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

“I…wasn’t too hungry.”

“As soon as dinner is over, I shall take you for a turn outside. That will put you to rights.” He covered her gloved hand with his large one and pressed it.

She could only nod and turn away from him, knowing the real reason he would be taking her outside.

Although there were a dozen courses to be got through, and she ate little, she found the meal going by too quickly. It was with dread that she watched the final dishes being cleared. The glacé cherries had helped refresh her but it signaled the end of the meal.

As soon as the other ladies rose to go to the drawing room, she knew her time was short.

“Are you quite all right, dear?” Beatrice asked as they seated themselves. “You seemed quiet at dinner.” She frowned, looking at her more closely. “You look awfully pale.”

Lindsay smoothed down her silk gown. “Just a bit of headache.”

The hostess came by and asked her to play a piece, and Lindsay almost jumped up at the chance to be doing something—anything—to forget for a few moments what the evening was for. She sat down at the pianoforte and looked over the sheet music. With shaking fingers, she finally settled on an ode of Handel’s. As she began to play and sing, her breathing steadied, and for a little while she managed to put aside thoughts of what awaited her.

“That was charming. You have a lovely voice, Lindsay.”

“Thank you,” she murmured to the hostess as she resumed her place beside Beatrice. Another guest took up the instrument and Lindsay pretended to be listening to the music.

All too soon, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. Her father wasted no time, strolling over to her with a purposeful step, bringing Mr. Stokes with him.

“My dear, Jerry tells me you were feeling a bit peaked at dinner. He suggests a stroll in the garden. It will be just the thing.”

She rose slowly, trying to steady her breathing. “Yes, Papa.”

Mr. Stokes took her by the elbow and led her to one of the doors to the garden.

She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her once they were in the chill night air.

“It is not too cold for you?”

“No, but perhaps we can soon return to the drawing room.” All she wanted now was for the evening to be over. She’d been fretting about it and dreading it for so long that she’d decided it was best to simply comply with her father’s wishes and make everyone happy.

“Yes, of course.” They walked along the gravel pathway until they were a distance from the house. The lights spilled out of the upper level windows onto the dark garden.

“Your father has given me to understand I have found favor with you.”

She moistened her lips. How could she pretend this was what she wanted? She tried to think of the pleasure she’d take in pleasing her father but her mind was numb. “Ye…yes…”

He took her hand in his. “In that case, I should like to ask for the honor of your hand in marriage.”

She was silent for what seemed a long time. It was as if she stood poised at the edge of a cliff. Behind her was all that she was familiar with—her happy childhood spent in her mother’s company, her girlhood friendships at her boarding school, even the amiable times recently with Beatrice. A brief flash of Reverend Hathaway—but no, she blocked out all that his image evoked. She would break down if she thought about him.

Finally, the word came out, a mere breath on the night air. “Yes.”

“You have made me a most happy man.” He took her chin in his hand and guided her face upward. Her first impulse was to pull back, but his face came down too quickly, his fingers locking onto her chin. His sweet cologne filled her nostrils, bringing a wave of nausea over her.

The next second, his wine-stained lips touched hers, and she recoiled. But he pressed against hers, hard, until she felt she would suffocate.

“Please,” she gasped when he released her lips a fraction.

“You are so lovely,” he breathed against her skin before assaulting her lips once more. His whiskers burned her cheeks. She tasted the residue of tobacco and port on his lips. She beat her hands against his chest, but he was immovable. Waves of dizziness swept over her.

Finally, it was over. She gulped in the night air.

“You will make me the happiest man,” he murmured, his hooded eyes staring at her heaving chest. She turned away from him, shielding herself from his view.

But he reached out and took her elbow, forcing her gently but firmly around. “You will grow to like it, dearest Lindsay. I may call you that, may I not, now that we are to be wed? You’ll grow to like it,” he repeated, his voice a velvety threat.

“Is everything all right?”

Lindsay turned with a sharp intake of breath to face Reverend Hathaway.

His look and tone were so solicitous she had to fight the urge to throw herself upon his broad chest and ask for his protection. She had come to his Bible study feeling it her only place of refuge in the nightmare her life had become in a few short weeks.

She pressed her lips together, trying to maintain her composure. “Yes, of course,” she finally managed, the words coming out a choked laugh.

His blue eyes continued to regard her with concern. “I’m sorry if I seem to be overly inquisitive. I only wondered because of our talk the other day. I take it the Lord has answered your prayers to your satisfaction?”

She gripped her teacup more firmly, finding it harder to maintain her composure. Oh, how she wanted to confide her fears to him! “I—want so much to obey and yet—”

“And yet?”

At that moment, Jonah tapped his teaspoon against his cup, calling everyone’s attention. “Miss Hathaway has finally settled on a date for the wedding. It’s to be the last Saturday of this month and you are all invited to attend the ceremony, which our good parson here will perform.”

At once, everyone began clapping and talking at once. Well-wishers crowded between her and Reverend Hathaway.

Turning away, she swallowed her anguish and told herself it was for the best. What could he do after all? He had enough worries of his own taking care of his parish. She wouldn’t add to his burden.

Lindsay walked slowly to Miss Hathaway and Mr. Quinn. Mr. Quinn stood beside Miss Hathaway’s chair and beamed at everyone who shook his hand. “Yes, I’m a blessed man. She’s certainly marrying beneath her, but let’s hope she’ll succeed in bringing me up a smidgen more than she’s managed already.”

As the others laughed and Miss Hathaway looked embarrassed, Lindsay extended her hand. “I wish both of you all happiness.”

Miss Hathaway smiled at her, and Lindsay felt a sudden overwhelming pang of envy. What must it be like to be celebrating one’s betrothal with a man one loved and trusted? For despite their differences in station, the couple clearly cared deeply for each other. She could see it at every Bible study in the way they deferred to one another and seemed to anticipate each other’s needs.

“Thank you, my dear.” Miss Hathaway glanced up at Mr. Quinn, and he looked at her at the same moment. Lindsay could see the silent understanding being communicated between the two, before Miss Hathaway turned back to her. “I hope you will know the same kind of joy.”

Lindsay’s mouth attempted a smile, but her lips felt wobbly as all she wanted to do was cry. Quickly she murmured her thanks and moved away, feeling as if her own world were ending when another’s was beginning.

On the way home with Beatrice, her cousin, said “How happy Mr. Quinn and Miss Hathaway appeared. It was so nice of them to invite us to their wedding.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder what we should get them for a wedding gift. Miss Hathaway told me they will eventually be moving to a nice farm a few miles up the road from the chapel. Mr. Quinn is an experienced farmer, although he has never owned his own farm.”

Lindsay turned to her in surprise. “They won’t be living at the parsonage with Reverend Hathaway?”

“Well, it won’t be for a while yet, she gave me to understand. Still, when they do leave, I wonder what the curate will do by himself? A parson needs a wife to help him with his duties.”

“Does—” She cleared her throat, glad for the darkness in the carriage. “Is there anyone…?” Her voice trailed off.

“In Reverend Hathaway’s life? I couldn’t say. He is a very handsome man. I’m sure there are a dozen young ladies in his congregation who would be honored to be his wife.”

For some reason the information did not cheer her. Of course there must be someone special. Reverend Hathaway was such a dear, kind man. The most noble man she’d ever met.

“It’s a pity about his leg,” Beatrice went on, “but I shouldn’t think that would matter to a good Christian woman.”

“Of course not.”

“You seemed very quiet tonight.” After a few moments, Beatrice added, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention your own good news.”

“What news?”

She could feel her cousin’s stare in the dark. “What news, indeed! Why, your betrothal, of course.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no!”

“Why ever not, my dear? A young lady is usually very proud to announce such an event.”

“I didn’t feel it appropriate. Miss Hathaway seemed so happy. I didn’t want to take away any of the attention from her this evening.” Lindsay looked down at her lap, amazed at how one could feel such utter despair on one hand and sound so matter-of-fact on the other.

“That was thoughtful of you.” Her cousin turned to peer out the window. “You are such a modest young lady. Most would be showing off her ring to all and sundry. Apropos of that, has Mr. Stokes given you a ring yet?”

“No. I told him there was no rush, that…we could pick it out together,” she added hastily before her cousin could show her amazement again.

“Oh, well, that makes sense. You might as well sport something to your liking. I’m sure Mr. Stokes won’t stint with jewelry. And once you are a married lady, your father will begin giving you your mother’s diamonds and all the most valuable jewelry that has been in both families for generations.”

Why did the thought give her no pleasure? She pictured herself, jewels draped about her neck. The imaginary weight suddenly felt like chains.

Her cousin continued talking, unaware of the turmoil in Lindsay. “Of course, someone at the Bible study has probably read about Mr. Stokes’s marked attention to you in the papers. It has certainly captured the attention of the ton this season. You have made a brilliant match.”

When Lindsay said nothing, her cousin asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m just tired, I suppose.”

“Yes, with so many parties you’ve been attending, I’m surprised you have been so diligent in going to the Bible study. I commend you for it. I’m sure the curate does, too.”

“I don’t do it to be thought good.”