British Brides Collection

by Hake, Kelly Eileen

  “You have acted with honor,” she whispered into the linen of his shirt. As if providence decreed, a slow waltz drifted across the grass, and she swayed to the music.

  John joined her, gliding and swaying together with only the stars as their witness. She spun away, and he brought her back into the fold of his arms. Together they spun in three-quarter time, their darker silhouettes melting into the night’s shadows.

  Washed with wisdom, John slowed and eased her deeper into the darkness, his eyes drinking in her ethereal loveliness. “You are the lovely dreams that fill my nights, the sun that warms my days, the stars that light the heavens. I do not deserve to even speak your name, dearest Sarah, but I cannot stop myself from the delight.”

  Her voice muffled against his chest. “I aspire for no other man to come courting, John. I desire only you.” She lifted her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “Your hair as black as the night sky, your eyes as deep and mysterious as the ocean, your heart and soul as tender as a babe’s.”

  Cautioned by reality, John faltered. “I fear God does not approve of my feelings. You know the Lord so much better than I, Sarah. I remember you said with God all things are possible. I yearn to believe it is true.”

  “It is true, John. God has guided me to you, and I believe the Almighty Father approves. Now we must convince my earthly parents … and that is the more difficult task.”

  Her words struck a chord of truth in John’s heart. When he had attended church, he’d heard the vicar proclaim God as good and merciful, and if that were so, God would truly perceive the purity of his heart and his intentions. John cherished Sarah, and if God approved, he would swim oceans to take Sarah as his own. “I long to say the words that lay on my tongue, dearest.”

  She looked into his eyes. “Say the words, John, for I long to hear them.”

  “I love you,” he whispered. “My life is incomplete without your gentle spirit in my care.”

  “I must speak what my heart has known forever. I love you, John, and God willing, one day we will proclaim it to the world.”

  In his peripheral vision, John saw movement near the conservatory door. He stepped deeper into the shadow. “Go, Sarah, before we are discovered.”

  She reached toward him as he slid through the privet.

  “What inappropriate behavior has urged you to leave your guests, Sarah?” Her mother’s voice pierced the night.

  Sarah swung around and approached her mother. “I am enjoying the fresh air, Mama.”

  Her mother looked beyond her toward the privets.

  Sarah’s heart sank to her feet.

  Chapter 6

  Riddled with guilt, Sarah stood before her mother. “Isn’t the night beautiful, Mama? I am mesmerized by the full moon and the scent of roses drifting from the garden. The ballroom is stuffy. Could we bring the music outside?”

  “Don’t be foolish. No one has a ball on the terrace. Now come inside with your guests. You’ll catch a chill and catch your death.”

  Relief washed over her as she took her mother’s arm and entered the glass door into the conservatory. With a sigh, she slipped from her mother’s grasp and paused to speak to a friend and her beau. The distraction gave her a reprieve, and Sarah’s mother wandered back to the ballroom, away from Sarah’s fear-filled eyes.

  If her mother knew the truth, she would send her away … to India or worse. Turning back to the glass walls, Sarah could not see into the garden. The reflection of light from the oil lamps painted images of ferns and palms mingled with a wash of color from the young ladies’ gowns.

  Still, she knew beyond the hedge John stood in the shadows, loving her.

  John waited for three days, praying Sarah would find him to relate whether or not they had been discovered. The longer he waited for her to appear, the more he feared she had been locked in her room or sent away. His gaze lingered on the empty garden bench, and he forced himself to turn and tend to the plants. His mind, however, tangled around a dainty woman who had declared her love for him.

  With his back to the gate, John heard footsteps and spun around to face Edward Hampton. His stomach knotted, fearing why his employer had come to find him.

  “Good day,” Hampton said, approaching him.

  “Good day, sir.” He averted his eyes, imagining he could read his guilt in the man’s gaze. But the man’s friendly face did not fit John’s speculation.

  “We are on our way to London, my lad. I pray when I see you again the news will be good.” He extended his hand toward John.

  Looking at his soiled fingers, John drew them across his trousers and grasped Hampton’s hand in a firm shake. “I pray your trip is successful, sir.” But his mind whirred. His employer had said we are leaving, and John’s heart twitched. Would Sarah accompany them to London?

  “My wife is waiting for me, so I must be off.” he said. As he stepped away, Hampton called over his shoulder. “We’ll return on Monday, John. I’ll speak with you then.”

  My wife. Had he meant only Mrs. Hampton would travel with him? John observed the man until he vanished beyond the gate. His curiosity piqued, John edged forward and neared the garden wall, hoping to see who would pass in the carriage, but only a blur flashed past through the carriage windows.

  He wiped his brow with the back of his hand. Five days he would wait for the news of Hampton’s success … and perhaps to see Sarah again. He returned to the beds beyond the garden shed, his mind twisted in thought. While he bent over the plants, a shadow fell across his hand. Startled, he bolted upright.

  Sarah stood before him, a look of shyness on her face.

  His mind propelled forward, but he demanded his feet to remain still. “You didn’t journey to London?”

  She shook her head. “I remained behind. We have five days, John. Five days that we may become friends. Tomorrow I will inform the cook I desire a picnic in the meadow.” She drew nearer. “Will you meet me there?”

  Five days. Confusion rattled his brain. Good judgment restrained him, but opportunity nudged him forward. Casting wisdom aside, he answered. “I will, Sarah.”

  “May we walk a moment?” she asked.

  He rose, and they followed the lane to the meadow. John held her securely, lest she stumble in the long grasses. When they reached the edge of the woods in the speckled shade, he bade her rest on a fallen tree trunk.

  Facing her, John’s gaze lingered on her dainty hand, her long tapered fingers resting against the folds of her skirt, as delicate and white as angel wings.

  “May I touch your hand, Sarah?” Anxiety sparked with his question.

  She extended her right arm toward him. “I have dreamed of your touch.”

  With caution, he wrapped her hand in his, reveling in the softness of her silken skin. She raised a finger of her left hand and laid it against his cheek, and he captured it beneath his free palm.

  A shudder ran through him, but caution rose in his consciousness and he withdrew his hand. “Sarah, I must guard against my emotions. You are a lady. A Christian woman, and I respect you.”

  “No man has held my hand or been so near … except my father.” She sent him a shy smile. “I have only imagined such joy.”

  John grappled with good sense. “I cannot be in your presence without longing to kiss your lips, but propriety and station restrain me.”

  “You may kiss my hand if you will. I would delight in it.”

  Overcome by her tenderness, he lifted her satiny hand and pressed it to his lips, feeling as if his heart would burst.

  “Your lips are soft, John. One day I pray they shall touch mine.”

  “If God blesses us.” He rose and walked away to calm his rising pulse. But a new request rose in his thoughts—one more pleasing to God. Sarah’s love for the Lord had grown in John’s thoughts and fired his heart. Eagerness rose to understand her faith.

  “Tell me about God, Sarah. I believe, but I’m afraid my faith is not as strong or unfailing as yours. You’re like a mountain. Your vo
ice is filled with trust when you speak of the Lord.”

  He studied her profile as she looked across the meadow.

  Her voice rang like the bells on Sunday as she spoke about her relationship with God. “He is my friend. Jesus walks with me daily and guides my feet. Though I feel secure and safe with you, I am more than sheltered in God’s presence. The Lord promises His children eternal life if we believe. You stated you believe, John.”

  “Yes, I believe, but now I want to know the personal relationship you do, Sarah. I yearn to have a confident faith and to trust that God cares about someone as unimportant as an orchard keeper.”

  She shifted to face him. “John, don’t say such things. Remember where Jesus was born?” Her gaze penetrated his.

  “In Bethlehem.”

  “But where in Bethlehem?”

  “A stable.”

  “Yes,” she said, a smile lighting her face. “And to whom did the angels first announce Jesus’ birth?”

  “Shepherds.” His heart tripped at his answer. “Shepherds,” John repeated, the meaning of her questions becoming clear. “Christ was born in a humble stable and welcomed first by lowly shepherds.”

  “Yes. Yes.” She leaned forward and pressed her cheek to his. “God does not create one person more important or precious than another. We are equal in God’s sight … and in my sight, John.”

  His heart lifted at her words. “I don’t know why the Lord has so wonderfully blessed me, Sarah.” Turning his eyes heavenward, he noted the sun dropping to the west. “The time grows late. You must return before the servants come looking.”

  He slid from the wooden perch and helped her rise. With a watchful eye, John guided her across the meadow. When they reached the path to the garden, he halted. Benefited by his height, in the distance he witnessed a man walking their way. He hurried Sarah to the side of the barrel shed, his body trembling. “Someone is coming, Sarah.”

  Concern filled her face. “What shall we do?”

  Their solution stood beside him. He dug into his pocket, extracted the key, and yanked the lock from the shed latch. “Inside, quickly.”

  Sarah scurried through the doorway as John followed and slid the door closed. “Withdraw behind the kegs, Sarah, and I pray whoever comes will not notice the unlocked shed.”

  In silence, he inched his large frame backward. When he reached Sarah cowering in the corner, he filled with shame. What man would endanger the reputation of an innocent woman as he had done? Only a fool.

  He retreated into the darkness and waited.

  The door swung open and a long dark shadow haloed by sunlight extended along the floor. “Now what fool left this shed unlocked?” a voice mumbled. Instead of leaving to find a key, the man lumbered into the shed, while Sarah’s body trembled behind John.

  Responding with haste, John stepped into the light. “What are you doing, Devon?”

  The man stumbled backward, as if a ghost had risen from the shadows. “Big John, is it you?”

  “You can see, it is.” John strode forward, deterring the man from entering farther.

  “But what are you doing in the barrel shed?”

  John lifted a large cask and shook it, a faint slosh of water moved inside the barrel. “What does it look like, Devon? Soon we’ll harvest the apples and press them into cyder. Where do you think we will store the cyder?” He frowned down at the smaller man.

  Devon edged backward. “I’m not challenging you, Big John. I only feared—”

  “Where do we store the cyder, Devon?” He repeated the question, mustering his confidence.

  Devon clutched the doorjamb. “In the barrels. You know that, Big John.”

  “And what if our barrels dried out and cracked? What then?” He moved forward as Devon stepped outside into the sunlight.

  “I only asked,” Devon said, turning on his heel and continuing his march down the lane.

  Ashamed of his bullying, John remained in the doorway until the man vanished from sight. With haste, he beckoned to Sarah.

  She hurried forward and clasped John’s arm. “Thank you, my dearest.”

  “You are safe now. Return to the manor. I shall linger behind before returning.” He lifted her hand and pressed it to his cheek. “I will await you tomorrow at the edge of the woods.”

  “For our picnic?” she asked, stepping into the light.

  “Yes. It is safer than the meadow.”

  “Until tomorrow, dear John.” She hurried away down the path.

  John braced his back against the wall, staring into the shadows. Tomorrow he would tell her he could no longer endanger her reputation. He cherished Sarah and would do nothing to lessen her purity in the eyes of man or God.

  Chapter 7

  Sarah lifted her basket higher above the long grass, her eyes directed on the woods. She didn’t see John and wondered if he had been delayed or feared discovery. The servants, she sensed, kept a close eye on her.

  Reaching the woods, Sarah paused. To her joy, John appeared from behind a broad tree trunk and hurried to meet her. He grasped the basket and guided her along the root-filled pathway.

  “I’ve found a secluded spot,” he said, leading her deeper into the shelter of the trees.

  Before her, sunlight broke through the trees, and in moments, they stepped into a private glade speckled with wildflowers. The beauty prompted her to break from John’s arm and bound into their private sanctuary. Her legs tangled in the cross-leaf heather, and her skirt brushed against the fading purple thistle and goldenrod. Breathless, she stopped and beckoned him to follow.

  Joining her, John rested the basket on the ground wherein Sarah opened the lid and pulled out a cloth. Tossing it on the shorter grass, she sank to the earth, spreading her skirts over her ankles. John joined her.

  Delving inside the wicker, Sarah eyed the picnic fare. “I hope the meal meets your pleasure, John. We have cold meat and bread. Fruit,” she said lifting the items from the basket. “And cyder.”

  As she gazed at John, a magpie moth settled on his shoulder. She gasped in delight. “Don’t move, John. You’ve been visited by a butterfly.”

  John shifted his head to view his winged friend and chuckled. “It’s only a moth,” he whispered.

  “But it’s a lovely moth.”

  He grinned as the moth fluttered away.

  Relieved by his less strained face, she returned to the cold meat, and John grasped a hunk of bread and wrapped it around a morsel of chicken. The picnic fare vanished, and while Sarah sipped cyder from the drinking glass, John swigged from the jug.

  The sun spilled warmth over their backs, and Sarah looked into the bright sky, admiring the clouds floating overhead. With pleasure, she pointed to shapes of sea creatures and ladies with long tresses.

  “I’m overwhelmed by your vivid imagination,” John said, “but life cannot always abound in fantasy.”

  “Look there. That is not fantasy,” she said, pointing to a thrush feeding on the rowanberries.

  “No, the bird is real, my sweetest.”

  “It’s lovely, John. A glorious day. Would you help me rise?” The wildflowers had captured her attention, and Sarah yearned to gather a bouquet. When her feet touched the grass, she darted away, filling her arms with blossoms—heather, lavender, harebells, and Mayweed. Then to her delight, she came upon a cluster of wild red poppies. Without a word, John waited in the distance, observing her.

  With her arms overflowing with flowers, she ambled back, filling her lungs with the scent of sun-warmed meadow grass and watching the white moths flit across the blooms.

  “I should return before the flowers wilt,” she said, yearning for the day to last forever.

  “Yes,” he said, his face weighted with concern.

  Fear rifled through her. “What troubles you, John?”

  “Before you return home, I must speak with you, Sarah.”

  Her hand trembled as she nestled the flowers against her bodice. “What is it?”

  “Us.�
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  “What do you mean?” Sarah’s chest constricted and she struggled to breathe. “You declared your love for me, and I, for you. What could be wrong?”

  “I do love you, Sarah, but our love is as much a fantasy as the cloud pictures.”

  His words stabbed her heart, and her thoughts flew back to the comment she’d ignored earlier. A comment wrought with nostalgia she’d been afraid to understand. Life cannot always abound in fantasy.

  “I have made a decision,” he said. “Our friendship must cease. If God wills it, then it shall be. My heart breaks with my resolve, but I see no other way.”

  “I believe God wills us to be together,” Sarah whispered. “I have prayed, and the Lord has moved me to love you.”

  “I believe our relationship is insurmountable, Sarah. But God is the ruler of all things, and His will makes the impossible become possible. You said those very words.” John brushed her cheek with his fingers.

  The flowers tumbled to the ground, and Sarah crumpled against his chest, tears streaming from her eyes and dripping to her bodice.

  “Don’t cry, Sarah. You have led me to understand the Lord. Now where is your faith? With God all things are possible. Say it over and over.” He tilted her chin upward with his knuckle. “Say it, my dearest.”

  “With God all things are possible. With God all things are possible.” She murmured the words, while John gathered her bouquet and returned them to her arms. Her eyes blurred with tears, and she gazed at the bright blossoms against her chest, their colors merging shades of a rainbow. Without the man whom she perceived God had given her, life would be like the fading flowers—joy obscured by sadness.

  “But Mama, please,” Sarah begged, “I’ve no desire to entertain these gentlemen. I shall send them my regrets.”

  “Stop sniveling, Sarah. I must insist you accept an occasional gentleman caller. Let us examine their calling cards again. You may choose the ones you favor, dear.”

  Sarah curled on her bed, unwilling to look at even one card but to dishonor her parents hurt more deeply. Without proper escort, she’d held conversation with John and allowed him to kiss her hand. By loving a man beneath her social standing, she had already erred gravely, dishonoring her parents, thus dishonoring God. Her remorse had become unsettling.