A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Lindsay didn’t move, though fear filled her once more. Her father opened the front door and called his groom and coachman with a sharp command. When the two men entered the house, her father indicated her with a jut of his chin. “Please escort Miss Phillips to the coach.”

  The two men approached her, their glances shifting away, as if ashamed of what they were to do. But their footsteps were resolute.

  Panic filled her. She could not go back with her father! She drew against the reverend’s strong frame. But what could he do against her father and his servants?

  As they reached her, she blurted out, “I have lost my virtue to Reverend Hathaway.”

  The phrase rang in the room, words she’d read in a gothic novel. At the moment she felt as trapped as the heroine in the dark tower at the mercy of the wicked villain. Her only hope was for the hero to rescue her.

  The next moment, pandemonium broke out.

  In two strides her father reached her. His enraged eyes looked into hers and a vein throbbed in his temple. The next second he raised his arm. She flinched, cowering against the reverend.

  Before her father could strike her, Reverend Hathaway stepped between them. “You will lay no hand on your daughter.”

  “Out of my way, you blackguard.”

  The curate didn’t move. Afraid of what her father would do to him, Lindsay tried to come around him, but he held out his arm, rigid as steel, blocking her from her father’s wrath.

  “Who are you to speak to me in that tone of voice?”

  “You heard your daughter. Miss Phillips has given herself to me and I intend to marry her.” His normally gentle voice resonated with strength and purpose.

  She clung to his forearm. She realized the enormity of what she’d accused him of, yet he had not betrayed her! The realization resonated within her, making her body limp with relief.

  “Damien!” Mrs. Quinn’s shocked tone echoed behind them.

  “I will call the constable and have this man who wears the collar arrested for violating my daughter.”

  Her father wouldn’t—no, no! But the set of his jaw was rigid. She had to do something.

  She stepped away from the reverend’s sheltering body and faced her father. “I will tell Mr. Stokes what I have told you,” she said. “He will not want me if he knows I am ruined.”

  Her father looked down the length of his aristocratic nose at her. “Am I to understand my daughter, my only offspring—a Phillips—has given herself to a third-rate cleric?”

  She quaked under the scorn of her father’s eyes. Knowing there was no return from the step she was taking, she nodded her head. “Yes, Papa. We are as man and wife.”

  He took a step away as if the very air around her were befouled. “Then you are no longer a daughter of mine.”

  Inwardly, she recoiled as if he had struck her, but she stood still as if the words had not moved her.

  “Damien, is this charge true?” Reverend Doyle’s harsh tone broke the stillness.

  Before he could respond, Mrs. Quinn stepped forward. “Of course it’s not true. My brother would never—”

  “I will honor Miss Phillips by marrying her.”

  His sister stared at her brother, her mouth agape.

  “Then you may have the strumpet.” Without another word, her father turned on his heel and left the house.

  “You will hear from me.” The rector’s censorious words echoed in the stillness as he, too, let himself out of the house.

  In the quiet that followed, Lindsay dared raise her eyes to the curate. Her lip trembled. “I’m sorry! I n-never meant to r-ruin you!” The tears overflowed her eyes and she could hardly get the words out. “I—I didn’t k-know wh-what else to d-do!”

  “That’s all right, my dear.” His arms came around her and she began to sob in earnest against his broad chest, the tension of the entire day draining out of her. Oh, that she never had to leave his warm embrace. “Don’t cry. You are safe here,” he murmured against her hair.

  She was hardly aware of the retreating footsteps of the others. When she was able to raise her head, she found herself alone with Reverend Hathaway. He offered her his handkerchief, his eyes showing concern.

  She turned away from him, her shoulders bowed with shame. What had she done? The words had burst from her out of fear and desperation. But now she had dragged an innocent man into her calamity. A moan of despair escaped her.

  Reverend Hathaway touched her arm. “Come, my dear, why don’t we go into the study?” he said gently. “It’s quiet there and you can sit down. My sister is getting you some tea. You must be quite done in.”

  She looked into his eyes, wondering how he could be so calm. His gentle tones bespoke assurance and confidence, as if she had not just ripped apart his world.

  Without a word, he led her through the nearest doorway. She hardly registered where she was although a sense of well-being enveloped her at once. The reverend guided her to an armchair. “Let me take your cloak.”

  She fumbled with the clasp, her fingers stiff. Seeing her clumsiness, he assisted her. “Your hands are like ice.” He began to chafe them. As she looked up into his eyes, he let her hands go suddenly and stepped back a pace. He quickly undid the clasp and removed her cloak.

  “Please be seated. I shall return in a thrice.”

  Left alone, the weight of shame descended once again upon her.

  Moments later, she started at the sound of the door opening. “I didn’t know what else to do. Please forgive me for involving you in my falsehood,” she said, as soon as the reverend reappeared.

  In a few strides he was at her side and took her hands in his again, his thumbs rubbing the tops of them. “Hush now, there’s nothing to forgive.” His voice was tender and the massaging motion of his warm fingers soothed her skin.

  “But what are you going to do? I’ve ruined you.” Tears filled her eyes and her voice shook.

  He pressed her hands in his. “Don’t distress yourself. We shall find a way out. There now,” he murmured. “Tell me what happened tonight.”

  Staring at him, unable to understand how he could take it so calmly, she finally nodded. He rose and took the seat opposite her.

  She clasped her hands in her lap, still feeling the touch of his fingers. “I don’t know if you remember but tonight was the ball my father had planned for me to announce my betrothal to Mr. Stokes.”

  “Yes, I know.” His glance shifted from hers. “I’ve been praying for you all these days.”

  Surprise and gratitude filled her that he should have thought of her. “Thank you.”

  “Please, go on.”

  She clutched his handkerchief, which she still held. “I had fully intended to comply with my father’s wishes…to go through with everything. My cousin helped me dress. My father had ordered a new gown for me.”

  He glanced down at her. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  She had taken no pleasure in donning the white satin gown with its yards of lace adorning the bodice, hem and tiny puffed sleeves. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. Did he think she was beautiful? Or had she lost his respect and admiration forever with her scandalous behavior?

  “I had been trying—” she took a deep breath, bracing herself to go on “—all these days to speak to my father about my reluctance to go through with this betrothal. But it is so very difficult…to speak to my father once his mind is made up. His intentions are good. I know he loves me—” Her voice caught, remembering her father’s repudiation of her this evening.

  She had lost his love forever.

  “I’m sure your father will come to understand your fears.”

  She dared look across at Reverend Hathaway, and once again was undone by the tender look in his eyes. “I wish you were right, but I know my father. He values rationality above all. He rarely loses his temper, but when he loses his respect for someone—” she twisted her hands together, remembering again the full brunt of her father’s
scorn “—he will cut them off as if they are worthless.”

  Reverend Hathaway shook his head and seemed about to say more but remained silent.

  At that moment, the door opened and Mrs. Quinn entered the study. “Here you go, Miss Phillips, a cup of tea. That should help settle your nerves.”

  She hardly dared face Mrs. Quinn. What must she think of her? “Th-thank you.”

  Mrs. Quinn set the cup and saucer on a small table beside the chair.

  “I—I’m sorr—”

  Before she could finish, Mrs. Quinn put her hand over Lindsay’s. “There now, none of that. We’ll sort everything out in the morning.” She glanced toward her brother. “Damien will know what to do.”

  Lindsay pressed her lips together, uncertainty filling her. How was he going to survive the dishonor?

  “What you need now is to drink your tea and come up to bed. A good night’s rest will help you see things more clearly in the morning.”

  She hadn’t even thought that far ahead, to where she would spend the night. “I—I didn’t think when I ran away tonight. I’ve brought nothing with me.”

  “I’ve laid out one of my nightgowns and a dressing gown for you.” She straightened and turned to her brother again. “I shall put her in Jonah’s old room, if that is all right with you.”

  “Of course,” the reverend said. “Thank you, Florence.”

  “You’ll find everything you need up there, Miss Phillips. We usually have spare things, since we are used to receiving unexpected guests.”

  Lindsay colored at the mention of “unexpected.” “I apologize.”

  Mrs. Quinn smiled. “Hush, or you shall truly displease me.” She smoothed the front of her gown. “Now, when you are ready, Damien shall escort you up to your room. If you need any assistance, I can help you. I’ve sent Betsy home already.”

  “Yes, thank you,” she murmured, embarrassed again. She didn’t have her maid with her but would certainly not want to bother Mrs. Quinn. “I shall be fine by myself, I assure you.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, don’t hesitate to tell Damien. He can summon me. I shall bid you both good night then.”

  When they were alone once again, the reverend said, “Pray continue with what you were telling me.”

  “Won’t your sister wonder…shouldn’t I explain to her, as well?”

  “It’s all right. I shall fill her in with whatever I feel she needs to know in the morning. Please, don’t worry. As she said, we are used to receiving all kinds of people here.” He smiled slightly. “Don’t forget, it was my sister who brought home a fugitive from the law.”

  She couldn’t help a smile, but quickly sobered as she considered his comparison of her to a former criminal and fugitive. Whose crime was worse, she wondered?

  As if sensing her distress, he said gently, “Here, drink your tea before it gets cold. It’ll do you good.”

  “Yes.” She turned her attention to the cup, trying to still the trembling in her hands as she lifted it. “I can hardly think.”

  “You were telling me how difficult you found it to express your…aversion to Mr. Stokes.”

  She nodded. “Papa had his heart set on this betrothal. I tried to like Mr. Stokes, truly I did. But the more I was with him, the greater my…” How could she describe what the man made her feel?

  “That’s quite all right. I understand. You needn’t go any further.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered. They sat in silence a few moments. Lindsay ventured to take a small sip of tea. After a moment, she felt herself able to continue. “He frightened me. The way he always looked at me.” The way he took every opportunity to touch me, she thought, too ashamed to say it to the reverend. Instead she shuddered. “It made me feel…dirty.”

  “Yes, quite.” The words were clipped, and his jaw set as if what she’d said displeased him.

  She flushed, realizing how unseemly her conversation was. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be speaking this way.”

  “No, it’s quite all right. You did right to come to me this evening. You shall not be forced into a wedding you are not willing to enter into. I can promise you that.”

  When she’d finished her tea, he stood. “Come, you must be exhausted. I’ll take you up to your room.” He lit a candle for her from the hall table and handed it to her.

  “Thank you.” She followed him up the dim staircase. For a second her heart ached at the sound and sight of his wooden leg as he ascended. If he’d been born in her sphere, how he would have shone at tonight’s ball, dressed in evening clothes. What a dashing figure he would have cut! If he had been her intended, how she would have looked forward to tonight’s announcement and celebration of her upcoming nuptials. She wouldn’t have cared if he had a wooden leg.

  Instead, she’d forced him into a declaration. Oh, what had she brought upon him?

  He stopped outside a door at the far end of the corridor and turned to her with a smile. “Good night, Miss Phillips. Please don’t worry about anything. We’ll talk in the morning. But, please, there is no hurry. Sleep as late as you’d like.”

  “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t—” Her voice broke.

  He lifted a hand as if to comfort her, but then dropped it. “There now, none of that. You did the right thing. Sleep well. May the Lord grant you a peaceful rest tonight.”

  She bit her lip, her heart too full to say anything more. With a nod of her head, she turned and entered her room.

  Damien stood outside Miss Phillips’s door a moment. What an astounding turn of events. He could hardly fathom it.

  One fact kept leaping out at him. The Lord heard my prayer. Not in any way he could have imagined, but that mattered little. The important thing was that Miss Phillips was no longer in danger of marrying the dissolute Stokes. Relief and joy flooded him.

  He hardly dared think of the rest. Even now the thought that he and Miss Phillips would wed was so inconceivable he could not yet grasp it.

  After a largely sleepless night, turning everything over in his mind, he was up at first light. As soon as he sat down with a cup of tea in the kitchen, both Florence and Jonah entered the room. “You are down early.”

  Florence gave him a slight smile. “Could any of us be expected to sleep much last night?” She looked around her. “Miss Phillips has not yet arisen?”

  He shook his head. “I told her to stay upstairs as long as she liked this morning when I bade her good night.”

  “That’s good. It will give us a chance to talk.”

  They remained quiet as they served themselves. As soon as they had said the blessing, Florence looked up. “Miss Phillips didn’t say anything last night about why she should make such a terrible accusation against you?”

  His brother-in-law was looking at him with sympathy in his green eyes. “Poor thing looked done in last night,” he said, pouring some cream over his porridge. “I’d be surprised if she could string together a decent sentence.”

  Damien sighed. “Yes, she was quite overwrought.”

  Florence looked from one man to the other. “But to make such outrageous accusations! I would never have credited it of her. She has always behaved with decorum.” She shook her head. “What is to be done now? If only Reverend Doyle had not witnessed it all, we might have salvaged the situation. There is no telling what he will do. Apropos, why was he here last night?”

  Damien braced himself. He hadn’t decided how much to share with Florence, but he knew she’d have to be told everything eventually. “He came to inform me of the report he has sent to the bishop.”

  Florence’s teacup stopped halfway to her mouth. “What has he said?”

  “He has recommended disciplinary action for my part in Jonah’s escape.”

  “Insufferable jackanapes!” Jonah looked at Damien sheepishly. “I didn’t mean for you to have to pay for my actions.”

  “Of course you didn’t. Don’t worry, the bishop is going to look at the entire matter,
including the prince’s pardon of you. I can’t imagine he will want to censure me in light of that.”

  Florence pursed her lips. “Except for the fact that after Miss Phillips’s conduct last night, Reverend Doyle now has plenty to fault you with.”

  Damien could find nothing to say.

  “Do you think the girl’s father really meant what he said about cutting her off?” Jonah asked.

  Damien picked up a fork and toyed with it. “She is his only child. I can hardly imagine he’d repudiate her forever, especially if she came to him and confessed she’d made up the whole story.” He looked from one to another. The moment of truth had arrived. “However, I don’t believe she will want to do that, not in the immediate future, nor would I advise her to.”

  Florence drew her breath in sharply. “Why ever not?”

  “Because it would mean she would be forced to wed the man her father has chosen for her. I believe Miss Phillips said what she did last night because it was the only way of escape she could see.”

  “Even if it means your ruin?” He knew his sister’s angry tone only expressed her frustration.

  “You are not wholly aware of the kind of man Mr. Stokes is, so I can understand your feelings.” He glanced at Jonah. “I believe when you hear what Jonah has to tell you about him, you will agree that anything is preferable to her marrying him.”

  Jonah nodded grimly. “The man is a wolf in sheep’s clothing, no doubt about it, my dear. If the girl weds him, she’ll be ruined herself. I shall fill you in after breakfast.”

  Florence’s lips tightened and she looked down at her plate. “How could her father have chosen such a man for his only daughter?”

  Jonah threw down his napkin. “Because the knave belongs to all the right clubs, travels in Mr. Phillips’s circles and probably toadies up to him. Don’t forget, Miss Phillips is worth quite a penny. As is this Stokes. You know how these gentry coves are, they want to keep their wealth together.” He shrugged, then grinned at Damien. “’Course, she’s a pauper now. That doesn’t mean anything to you though, does it, Parson?”

  Damien shook his head slowly, amazed as always by his brother-in-law’s discernment. It was as if Jonah had already guessed the course Damien had decided upon.