A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  “Oh, yes, I grew apples and pears, too. I was only just telling my young friend, the parson here, that I haven’t seen a fruit nor a vegetable in London yet that beats anything I grew myself.”

  The two women turned to notice Damien, who’d been standing slightly behind Jonah.

  “Of course, he’s city bred, so he doesn’t know what it means to pick your own apple and feel the juice on your tongue at that first, crisp bite.”

  Damien thought that was a bit much, considering the orchard in his backyard, but he kept silent, allowing Jonah to have his fun.

  “Would you ladies like me to hail you a cab? You’ve an awful lot of parcels to carry,” Jonah asked.

  “Oh, that would be most helpful,” the older said. “We live in Cheapside. It’s always hard to get a cab around here.”

  “Come along then, here, let me help you with those. The preacher can take yours,” he said, turning to the younger lady.

  As they began to move apart, the young girl suddenly looked down at Damien’s legs and her eyes grew round. Without a word, she handed Damien her basket, but when they began walking, she took her place beside her companion, on the farthest side away from Damien and Jonah.

  Damien slowed his steps until he was walking just behind the group. Jonah continued chatting amiably with the older woman as if nothing had happened. Damien hoped he hadn’t noticed anything.

  They reached the curb and in a few moments Jonah had procured them a hack from those waiting at a stand.

  As the lumbering vehicle inched away down the crowded street, Jonah muttered under his breath, “Couple o’ low-class wenches. Weren’t worth your time, my boy.” He nudged Damien on the elbow and they crossed the street. “That girl was as sallow as whey. Plenty more where she came from!”

  A block farther, Jonah hailed them a cab. The two climbed in and rode silently back toward the parsonage. Damien kept his eyes fixed out the window. Perhaps now his well-meaning friend would drop the subject of a wife for him.

  Chapter Five

  “Lindsay, now that you have had some weeks’ acquaintance with Jerome Stokes, I want you to accept his proposal of marriage.”

  Lindsay stared at her father. She’d just come in from an outing with Beatrice when her father had summoned her to his library. “Papa, it’s so sudden.” Her voice sounded faint and her heartbeat began to thud in dread. Although she’d expected the words, hearing them spoken made her fate seem all the more dire.

  “Will you deny your father the joy of knowing you are in good hands, regardless of what happens to me?”

  Instinctively, Lindsay reached out and clasped her father’s hands, unable to bear the thought of losing her father, too. “Oh, Papa, don’t talk as if something awful is going to happen to you.” His color was a bit pale, but Lindsay knew it was the lack of sunlight from all the hours he spent in his library.

  “I have passed the age of five-and-forty. Many men never reach it. Few go many years beyond it.”

  As she listened to him in dismay, he released her hands and rose slowly from the settee. “Thankfully, I am a healthy man. I’ve suffered few illnesses in my life, so there is no reason to suppose you will not have me for many years yet.”

  He fixed his eye on her, his eyebrows drawn together. “That is not to say my time is guaranteed, my dear. Your mother would wish me to ensure that you are well provided with a good husband—”

  “But, Papa,” she began with a nervous laugh, “I need more time.” Too long she’d avoided this conversation with her father, although he’d hinted at it since introducing her to Mr. Stokes. Was this going to be her test of faith? Obedience to her father, even if it cost her her very self-respect? Would refusing him threaten her father’s health?

  “And if I can live to see a few grandchildren, I shall count myself truly a blessed man.”

  “I’m only eighteen, Papa. It’s my first season.”

  “Most young ladies with your beauty and fortune are married by the end of their first season.”

  “May I not enjoy two seasons before having to settle down?”

  “Who is to say you cannot enjoy countless seasons after you are officially betrothed? You will be a young leader of fashion then with no worries of having to escape the fortune hunters or dodge the otherwise unsuitable, or of remaining on the shelf.” He held her gaze coldly for a moment. “Of course, with your beauty, that fate would never befall you. But other young ladies, who wait too long, preferring to play coy, find themselves suddenly high and dry, the best picks of the season taken by their rivals—inferior in both looks and fortune—simply because they wanted to ‘enjoy’ their season with no thought to the future.”

  He patted her on the cheek. “I would not have that happen to you, my dear. Nor would your mother ever forgive me. If she were here—” he sighed “—she would guide you and give you the same counsel I am giving you, of that I am certain. Your cousin Beatrice is but a poor substitute.”

  “Beatrice has been very accommodating, I assure you, Papa.”

  “Oh, to be sure. But she is not someone who can counsel you as your own mother and father can. She has lived outside of London society too long, her means small, her vision limited.”

  Her father rubbed his hands together. “Yes, I believe it is now the time to announce your betrothal. In a few more weeks the season will be over. You can leave at the apex. We shall go to the country and make preparations for a sumptuous wedding in the autumn, after the hunting season, of course.”

  “W-would I have to be married so soon?” She waited to hear her father’s next words, her breath held.

  His lips thinned in the humorless smile he displayed when he was displeased with someone’s argument. “You wouldn’t have to, no, but I would know the reason you would wish to delay.”

  He had that way of waiting for her to answer. Ever since she was a little girl, and he’d tutored her in some subject from Latin to mathematics to botany, he’d explain things meticulously and then quiz her, expecting her to come to the correct conclusions as he stood over her. When she didn’t know the answer, she would feel worse and worse, her mind going blank the longer he fixed his intent stare on her.

  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? W
hy 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 ind
eed.” 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.