A Reluctant Bride

by Jody Hedlund

  Perhaps Bates had already seen the potential for that passion in him when Joseph had yet been blind to it. Whatever the case, he resolved to stop running, face whatever came his way, and do whatever God asked of him.

  And that included his relationship with Mercy. He had to stop making excuses, had to stop being afraid. He needed to speak with her again and soon.

  Joseph sat rigidly against the hard pew of Christ Church Cathedral. The tall stained-glass windows, the high ceiling with its arched dome, and the imposing columns were all architecturally impressive for a church built so far from civilization. The enormous organ with its wall of pipes was equally extraordinary for a colonial mission.

  However, he’d been unable to truly enjoy Victoria or Vancouver Island, especially not this morning with Mercy sitting only a few rows ahead of him with the other bride-ship women. Although every nerve in his body tensed with the need to go to her, he held himself in place by sheer willpower.

  From the pulpit, Mr. Scott’s monotone rang out over the silent audience. The bishop of Victoria had asked Mr. Scott, as a visiting reverend, to give the sermon today. The zealous man was taking the opportunity to admonish the brides to remember their religious duties, as well as their duties to their husbands and employers, so that they might prove to be a credit to their country and to God.

  “And I beseech you, kind people of Victoria,” Mr. Scott said, “to look well to the precious charges who have been placed in your keeping to the praise of His glorious name. I pray and hope that all the women here will soon be comfortable as English wives and mothers.”

  Joseph wanted to shake his head in protest. He didn’t want Mercy to soon be comfortable as a wife and mother. It was selfish of him, he knew. She wasn’t his. And yet the idea of another man pulling her close and kissing her about drove him mad every time he pictured it. His nerves tightened again so that when Mr. Scott asked the congregation to stand for the benediction, he shot up from the pew. With the final amen, everyone began filing out into the center and side aisles.

  As Mercy turned to follow the other women, her sights snagged upon him. Like yesterday, he was struck by her loveliness. He’d never thought her anything but beautiful, even when they were both grimy from months at sea. Now, with her hair and skin glowing from a recent scrubbing, she had a fresh innocence about her like that of a spring blossom.

  As if sensing his admiration, she glanced away shyly, her cheeks turning a pretty shade of pink before darting another look his way, a look that sent a sharp, almost painful need for her through his heart.

  Joseph nodded toward the outer aisle, which was slightly more shadowed. It might not be private, yet it was a better place to speak with her than in the open.

  He hurried from his pew without waiting to see if she was following and moved past the arches and pillars. At the sight of a darkened doorway of a side room, Joseph didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside.

  A moment later, Mercy entered. “Lord Colville,” she whispered.

  He reached for her and tugged her deeper into the shadows of what he guessed to be a prayer room or small chapel.

  She offered no resistance, readily coming to him, smelling of sunshine and sea. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms as the memory of their shared kiss burned within him.

  “Mercy,” he said, embarrassed that his voice came out so raspy, revealing his need of her.

  Loosening his hold on her arms, he dropped his hands to his sides. He couldn’t give in to his desires. He had to remain strong—if not for himself, then for her. She’d had so little in her life, and now that she was here in Victoria, she deserved to finally have the future she wanted. That was his purpose in this meeting, to discover what it was she wanted for herself. Wasn’t it?

  The dimness of the room hid her face. He could make out only her outline. “Lord Colville—”

  “Joseph.”

  She didn’t respond.

  “Always Joseph and never anything else.” He wasn’t sure why it should matter how she addressed him since he was leaving in three days, except that he wanted her to know he didn’t care one whit about their differences, that he’d been wrong to bring it up at all at their last parting. “Please,” he whispered, wanting to reach out and caress her cheek until his name became a plea upon her lips.

  “Joseph,” she finally breathed.

  He clutched his hands into fists to keep from touching her. He longed for her to say his name again, but he suspected she’d always hesitate in doing away with formalities until he convinced her their differences didn’t matter. He had to believe it first and with his whole heart. Did he?

  “I shouldn’t be here with you,” she said. “If Mr. Scott discovers I’m talking to you, he’ll be cross, that he will.”

  Joseph appreciated the reverend for taking his duty as chaperone seriously and for doing his best to protect the women during the voyage. He could even respect the fact that Mr. Scott was still trying to protect them. After all, the eligible men of Victoria were hasty, overeager, and much too forward. But surely Mr. Scott had learned by now that he had nothing to fear from Joseph.

  “Mr. Scott cannot protest my speaking with you for a moment.”

  She glanced over her shoulder so that the faint light coming from the doorway fell upon her, showing the strain in her muscles and her pinched brow. “He’ll mind right well.”

  “Mercy . . .” He hesitated, unsure how to bring up the topic of her appointments with the men.

  She swung her attention back to him, the shadows of the room once again concealing her features so he couldn’t read her face.

  “Tell me I’ve heard wrong. Tell me you’re not choosing a husband for yourself by this eve.”

  Her silence sent a shiver of dread down his spine.

  “Please tell me it isn’t so,” he insisted softly.

  “You haven’t heard wrong,” she admitted just as softly.

  “Why?” The desperate question spilled out before he could stop it. Without giving her time to answer, he pushed forward with the words that had been building inside him since he’d heard the news. “If you will marry, then why not wed me?”

  She shook her head adamantly, which stirred his desperation all the more. “Please, Mercy.” He hadn’t proposed to her correctly the first time. And this time he had to do it right and wouldn’t let his fears hold him back. He lowered himself on one knee and reached for her hand. “You have captured my heart, and I would be honored if you consented to be my wife.”

  “My stars, Joseph,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest.

  He hadn’t drawn her into this alcove intending to propose marriage to her again, but now that he had, his entire body yearned for her to accept his offer. He wanted her more than he wanted anyone or anything ever before.

  Did he indeed love her?

  He hadn’t believed it possible, hadn’t known how love would feel. But now, faced with the possibility of losing her to someone else, his chest ached with something he could only describe as love.

  Should he declare the intensity of his ardor? Would that sway her to accept his offer?

  “Mercy, I didn’t propose to you properly the first time.” He took her hand more firmly in his. “I was a proud fool and see that clearly now—”

  “No, Joseph.” She cut him off, pulled her hand free of his grasp, and started to turn away.

  “I love you.” As soon as the words were out, the truth crashed into him with an intensity that left him weak and breathless. He loved everything about this beautiful woman. From the first time he’d met her until now, he’d known she was special, the kind of woman a man meets but once in a lifetime. If he let her go, he was certain he’d never meet anyone like her again, nor would he want to be with anyone else as much as he did with her.

  Mercy couldn’t move. Had Joseph really declared his love or had she only imagined it?

  “I want to marry you because I love you,” he said again, his voice ragged with emotion.
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br />   An ache formed deep inside Mercy, swelling with a storm of emotions—ecstasy, worry, desire, uncertainty, longing, reality. But most of all, fear.

  He might think he loved her, but he’d remember soon enough just how different they were, just how incompatible. Not only were they from opposite worlds, but he was eventually going back to England. She couldn’t leave Vancouver Island, not with Patience hopefully arriving on the next ship. And she couldn’t ask Joseph to stay, not when his estate and life were back in England.

  Besides, she had so little to give him. She had no money, no land, no title. She owned nothing but her clothing, and even that had been a donation. Mr. Scott was right. She’d utterly disgrace Joseph if she married him. She could see it now—all his friends laughing at him, at her. They’d want nothing to do with Joseph, and he’d lose the prestige and respect he deserved.

  She couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t let him bring ruin upon himself because of her.

  “Say something, Mercy,” he pleaded.

  “Joseph, I . . . I can’t.” The ache in her chest had expanded into her throat, making speaking difficult. If she told him the truth about why, he’d probably tell her none of her reasons mattered. But what if eventually he tired of the scandal and the shame that would come with their betrothal? What if later he realized he’d made a mistake?

  “What is this really about, Mercy?” he asked, frustration in his voice. “Why will you consider marrying another man, a stranger, but not me?”

  “I’m not considering anything of the sort!” she cried out, her own frustration getting the best of her. “Mr. Scott is forcing me into it.”

  “What the devil?”

  “Mr. Scott has vowed to see I’m married before he sails away.”

  “I don’t understand. Why is he so insistent upon it?”

  Mercy hesitated. Should she tell Joseph that Mr. Scott had overheard his shipboard proposal and believed her unworthy? She suspected such news would only anger Joseph, leading him to confront Mr. Scott, who of course would deny it.

  “Mr. Scott learned I’m not wanting to get married,” she said at last. “He says that since the Columbia Mission Society paid for me to come here to be a bride, I must follow through with it. If not, I have to return to England or else pay back the cost of my fare.”

  “He has no business saying such a thing.” Joseph’s voice rose loud enough that anyone in the side aisle outside the alcove would be able to hear him and would surely come to investigate.

  “He’s right,” Mercy continued, lowering her voice and hoping Joseph would do the same. “I’m in debt to the Columbia Mission Society. And I can’t be a-going back to England, not when Patience will be expecting me here.”

  “I shall speak to Mr. Scott at once.” He started to leave, but Mercy stopped him with a touch to his arm.

  “No. He’ll only make things worse.” If that were possible.

  Joseph nodded, then gave a sigh. “Tell me, did he orchestrate the appointments with the men?”

  Mercy thought back to the previous evening, the parade of men coming in and out of the parlor. She’d hated every minute of it. Most of the meetings had been painfully awkward as each of the men attempted to prove why he was the better choice over the others. “’Twas Mr. Scott’s idea, to be sure.”

  “And he wants you to choose a husband by tonight?”

  “Aye. And if I don’t pick someone tonight, he’s planning to send me back to England straightaway.” She thought over the blur of faces and names from last evening. She couldn’t remember any of the men. How would she ever be able to choose?

  “Mr. Scott may have zeal for accomplishing the goals of the Columbia Mission Society,” Joseph said with a growl, “but he’s taken his duties too seriously. Much too seriously. And now he must be made to see the error of his ways.”

  “No, Joseph. Please . . .” If Joseph expressed his disapproval to Mr. Scott, there would be no telling what the man might do next. She couldn’t chance it.

  “I’m only sorry I did not step in and prevent him from ill-using you sooner.” Once more Joseph started to leave.

  Mercy clutched his arm to stop him. “You cannot talk to Mr. Scott about this. He’ll punish me.”

  “I won’t let him.”

  “He overheard us on the ship. He knows about your proposal to me, and he thinks I’m trying to trick you into marrying me.” The embarrassing truth was out before she could stop it. “He knows that a union betwixt us will cause a scandal, and he’s just wanting to protect you from ruination.”

  Joseph was silent for a long moment. Perhaps now he’d finally realize the foolishness of his proposal and see that he was better off without her.

  “Promise me you won’t talk to Mr. Scott,” she said. “If you press him, he’ll make me leave Vancouver Island.”

  “But if you have no desire to be married, I shall not allow him to coerce you into it.”

  She wished Joseph could find a way to save her from an unwanted marriage, but she feared his interference would have the opposite effect and make things worse. “Please, Joseph. I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing it for Patience.”

  Through the darkness of the room, his hand found hers. His fingers were warm and solid and strong. “Have no fear. I shall find a way to give you your freedom. It’s the least I can do for you.” He squeezed her hand and then slipped out of the alcove and was gone.

  thirty

  Got ten acres of land overlooking the sea. Prettiest place on earth.” The young man sat on the edge of the fancy chair, his hands trembling and his eyes twitching.

  Mercy wished she could put him at ease, but she didn’t know what to say and couldn’t muster any enthusiasm. Her melancholy wasn’t fair to her suitors. Her mood wasn’t their fault, and they deserved better from her. But the truth was, the more she sat through the meetings, the more the life drained from her until she was all but emptied out.

  In the end, what difference would it make whom she chose to marry? She’d never had much control over her life. Even if she’d come to a new place with the hope of having some say, she’d learned right well that wasn’t likely to happen. The struggles of being poor and being a woman had followed her to her new home and seemed all too eager to stick with her. Would she be more satisfied if she simply accepted her lot in life?

  As the man rose to leave, Mercy forced a smile and thanked him politely. Once he exited, Mr. Scott rapidly entered the room.

  “He’s the last one.” The reverend eyed her with a solemn expression. “I shall wait as you take a few minutes to examine all the evidence presented to you and then make your choice of a husband.”

  She heard laughter coming from the room opposite the parlor, where two other poor women were meeting with suitors. If the laughter was any indication, they seemed to be enjoying the attention and flattery of the men.

  “Well?” he asked.

  Mr. Scott had given her but a few seconds to decide. She supposed that even if she had a few days, she still wouldn’t be able to make a decision about which of the men to marry. She didn’t want any of them. She didn’t want any man . . . except Joseph.

  In the hours since meeting with Joseph after the church service, she’d done little else but think about him, especially his declaration of love. But what did he see in her when he could have just about any woman he wanted?

  She turned and found herself staring into a mirror. She’d steadfastly ignored her reflection thus far, not daring to look. Before she could truly focus, she shifted her gaze to the cushioned chair.

  Was she afraid of what she’d see if she took a long look at herself?

  “Don’t get stuck thinking that you don’t matter or that you’re not important enough.”

  Mrs. Moresby’s words had echoed through her mind since the walk home from the cricket game. Had Mercy gotten stuck thinking she wasn’t important enough because she was poor and a woman? Had she too easily bowed her head, letting others dictate how she should live? Was s
he doing that even now with Mr. Scott?

  Timidly, she glanced up and peeked at herself in the mirror. The person peering back at her was hanging her head and shoulders.

  “For people like us who come from lowly backgrounds, we all too often accept our place at the bottom and think that’s where we belong. But that’s just not true.”

  Mrs. Moresby had been right. Mercy had always just accepted her place, had never questioned it. What made Mr. Scott know what was best for her life? Mercy straightened her shoulders and lifted her head, watching as the young woman in the mirror did likewise.

  She’d left her home and everything familiar so she could forge a better life in a better place. But it was all too easy to keep walking the same old path, seeing herself as a nobody, viewing herself as nothing more than a servant, believing she didn’t really matter.

  If she wanted to move forward on her new journey, then she needed to accept what Mrs. Moresby had said, that God didn’t create some people to be better than others, that He created everyone to have equal value.

  Mercy stared at herself in the mirror without blinking. She lifted a hand and touched her cheek, her chin, then her nose and the dusting of freckles there. Her eyes were surrounded by long lashes. Her lips dipped into a heart shape. And the loose strands of her long hair softened her face.

  Patience had told her she was beautiful like Twiggy. But Mercy hadn’t wanted to be like Twiggy in any way, not even in her appearance. By avoiding mirrors, Mercy hoped she could make the similarity go away. And yet the face staring back at her now wasn’t Twiggy’s at all. Yes, there was some resemblance, like the eye and hair colors and maybe the shape of her nose and chin.

  She blinked once. Then twice. Mostly she was different. Unique.

  She’d tried so hard all her life not to be like Twiggy. But maybe she’d already been different all along and just hadn’t realized it.