A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  There hadn’t even been time to have a proper wedding dress made. Dear Beatrice and her personal maid had contrived to smuggle out many of Lindsay’s gowns from home—her father had not permitted her to retrieve anything herself from her house. Lindsay had gone once to her home, only to find the butler she’d known since childhood not permitting her entry.

  That had hurt more than her father’s anger and disdain the night of her flight. This was evidence of the cold rancor her father now harbored. She knew nothing would move him, despite what Damien had told her.

  Today, she wore her best gown, thanks to Beatrice—an ivory muslin. Beatrice had purchased matching silk ribbons to replace the blue ones that had decorated it before. On her head, she wore a crown of white silk rosebuds atop the lacy veil Beatrice had fashioned for her.

  She glanced to her future husband again. He looked as serene as always. Unlike her, he seemed to be listening closely to the solemn words being uttered on the state of holy matrimony. Lindsay could not seem to focus on anything that morning. All her thoughts came back to one: was she ruining Reverend Hathaway’s life? She’d asked herself the question so many times in the darkness when sleep refused to come that it had become a refrain with no answer. He had been nothing but attentive and kind in the days following her terrible lie to her father, but always she detected a curtain across Damien’s blue eyes. There were things he was not showing her. Was he trying to protect her, or merely shielding her in his unselfish way from the upheaval she was causing in his life?

  His sister had made it plain that Lindsay had done an unforgivable thing. Not in direct words. She’d welcomed Lindsay into the parsonage and congratulated her on the upcoming nuptials. But in the days leading up to the hasty marriage, Florence had attempted to show her the different tasks the mistress of the parsonage carried out. The more she showed her, the more ignorant Lindsay felt. Florence had not been able to repress several deep sighs as she toured her through the account books, the herbal garden, the stillroom, where all her medicinal distillations were kept.

  “What do they teach young ladies of the ton?” she’d muttered one evening when Lindsay had not been able to darn a sock in the heaping basket.

  “I’ve only learned fine embroidery at Miss Pinkard’s Academy,” she answered quietly.

  Florence pressed her lips together in that way that showed more clearly than any words her disapproval.

  But she would have been able to endure all this and more—including the funny looks of the parishioners after Damien had introduced her formally on Sunday last and announced their impending nuptials—if her marriage were a real marriage.

  Ever since Damien had spelled out so clearly the parameters of their marriage to her, despair had lodged around her heart and wouldn’t budge. If she had felt fear and agony before, thinking she must marry Mr. Stokes, how much more desolate Damien’s gently spoken words about an annulment had made her.

  She was about to speak age-old words that joined her to him and he to her, and yet he was to be no husband to her. How she’d wanted to tell him the day would never come when she’d want to turn her back on him and return to her old life. How could she, when she loved him?

  But how could she ever say that when clearly he didn’t love her and was only marrying her as a means to help her? It was pity that motivated him. Pride prevented her from throwing herself at him. Once again shame flooded her as she recalled how she’d left him no choice that night with her awful lies. He’d never reproached her, yet every kind word and gesture reproached her a hundredfold.

  “Into this holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined…”

  The words smote her, making a mockery of the union she would enjoy with the man standing beside her, and she felt anew the conviction that she had done something dreadful.

  “If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully join together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” Lindsay tensed, still expecting her father to appear at the rear of the small church and denounce their wedding.

  But the only sounds in the old stone building were a few rustlings of the people standing directly behind her—the church clerk and Jonah and Florence, their two witnesses.

  It had been a harrowing week, as Damien and Jonah had gone back and forth to her father’s house and then to the offices of his solicitors, trying to obtain her father’s permission. Damien had finally even had to hire his own solicitor before her father had at last consented.

  She felt doubly ashamed, as they’d had to continue the charade of her loss of virtue. She knew from Florence that there was the awful question of disciplinary action toward Damien from the church for his supposed conduct toward her. But he’d reassured her that everything was going to be all right, and she’d preferred to accept his words than to go back and confess the truth to her father.

  “Ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, ye do now confess it.”

  Once again the clergyman’s words struck fear and dread into her heart for the awful lie she was perpetuating.

  But nothing happened, and she continued to stand in her ivory muslin beside Damien and the other witnesses. The minister turned to Damien and began, “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Damien turned his eyes on her. As he said the words “I will,” she had the sense he was truly pledging his troth to her. That all those things the curate had stated—forsaking all others, keeping himself only unto her—he was actually promising to do for her.

  Before she could read anything more in his beautiful blue eyes, the minister turned to her and began listing the same vows. She tried to concentrate on the words, but could not take her gaze off Damien.

  “Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together…”

  She swallowed then, lifting her chin a notch, her eyes never wavering from Damien’s, and repeated, “I will.” Once again, she felt a tangible connection between the two of them, as if they were the only people present and God Himself were witnessing their vows.

  “Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”

  Her father did not step out to take her hand, but Jonah, who had offered to give her away, came to stand on her other side and took her right hand in his large one. She could have wept when he gave her a quick wink and squeezed her hand. He’d been nothing but kindness to her in the past few days, seeming to guess her every fear and guilt, and reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.

  The minister took her hand from Jonah’s and offered it to Damien. He took it in his right hand. His slim fingers enfolded her hand and she drew strength from them.

  “I, Damien Ashton Hathaway, take thee Lindsay Catherine Phillips, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”

  They let go of each other’s hands, and then, as she’d been instructed earlier, she took Damien’s hand in hers and repeated the same words. “I, Lindsay Catherine Phillips, take thee Damien Ashton Hathaway, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold…”

  Jonah handed Damien the ring. Lindsay held out her left hand. He slipped the slim gold band he’d told her had been his mother’s around her finger and then his fingers rested atop her hand. “With this ring, I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  Then everyone was bowing their heads and repeating the Lord’s Prayer. Once again, the curate was joining their right hands together and saying, “Those whom God hath joined together let
no man put asunder.”

  She felt a profound sense of relief that no one could come between them now. A shudder of horror went through her as she contemplated how close she had come to having the same pronouncement uttered over her and Mr. Stokes.

  “You may kiss the bride.”

  The minister’s words startled her. Before she knew it, Damien lifted her veil. The next second his face was drawing close to hers, and then his lips touched hers softly, almost hesitantly. She felt the earth rock beneath her. Before she could react, before she could reach up and put her arms around his neck the way she longed to, he retreated.

  She still felt the imprint of his warm lips against hers as he turned to face the minister again.

  The minister pronounced a blessing over them, and then it was over. Jonah offered her his hand and a wide smile. “Congratulations, dear girl. You’ve tied the knot with my good and true friend Damien.” Then he gave Damien a hearty embrace and Florence gave Lindsay a quick peck on the cheek and murmured her congratulations, as well.

  They didn’t linger at the altar but went to sign the registry. Her hand shook slightly as she signed her maiden name for the last time. All the while she relived Damien’s kiss. She turned to him in wonder as he took her arm lightly and guided her down the steps into the morning sunshine.

  They were well and truly married. The thing she’d most feared—that somehow her father would prevent it—had not happened. She glanced quickly up at the puffy white clouds against the blue sky and promised God to behave from now on. She would never tell such a lie again, as long as she lived. If only she could remain Damien’s wife. She would be a good wife, proving indispensable to him, so he would never want to return her to her father.

  Damien helped her into the coach they had hired for the trip back to the parsonage. The Quinns rode with them. Once they were all seated, all her fears and guilt returned.

  Only the crunch of the wheels on the dirt road and the clatter of the horses’ hooves broke the stillness.

  Lindsay didn’t know what to say or do, her naturally friendly personality subdued in the face of Florence’s serious countenance.

  “Are you all right?”

  She turned with relief at Damien’s low tone and gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Beautiful morning.” Jonah’s tone was jovial.

  “It is indeed,” replied Damien.

  Lindsay moistened her lips. Was she expected to contribute to the conversation? But what could she say that would be welcome?

  “A perfect day for your wedding.” Jonah grinned at them both, and Lindsay offered a smile.

  “Yes. We were certainly blessed,” Damien said.

  “We’ve been having a spate of fine weather. The plowing is coming along nicely.”

  “I’m sorry you missed working on your new farm today.”

  Jonah frowned at him. “And miss your wedding? I’d as lief be shut up in Newgate!” he said with another wink at Lindsay. She couldn’t help smiling back but was quickly cowed by Florence’s frown at her husband.

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  “I can come out and help you with the plowing on Monday,” Damien offered. Lindsay stared at him, surprised at his offer. A clergyman plowing in the fields? But Jonah’s acquiescence surprised her even more.

  “We can make a day of it, if the weather holds. If you bring Miss Phillips—beg pardon—Mrs. Hathaway with you, she and Florence can spend the day together.”

  “Excuse me,” Florence responded immediately, “if you wish Damien’s wife to be able to take the reins of the parsonage, I still have much to go over with her about its daily management.”

  Jonah smiled at his wife, unfazed. “Very well, you continue on with your task.” His green eyes twinkled at Lindsay. “If she’s half the taskmaster she was with me, you’ll be ready to take over the entire parish in a fortnight.”

  Florence sniffed and looked out the window.

  Damien turned to Lindsay, concern in his eyes. “You needn’t do anything more than you wish. I didn’t marry you to take on all the duties of a clergyman’s wife, I assure you.”

  “That’s all right,” she said immediately, then an awkward silence ensued once again as she thought about the reason he had married her.

  As if sensing the awkwardness, Jonah spoke up. “I promised Jacob we’d finish up your fields this coming week.”

  “As soon as you finish your own,” Damien told him. “I’ll assist Jacob, as well.”

  After a few moments of more silence, Jonah slapped his knees. “Yes, it was a fine service.”

  Suddenly, the coach leaned to one side as a wheel fell into a rut in the road. Jonah put a steadying hand on his wife’s arm. “Easy there, love.” Lindsay felt a pang at the note of tenderness in his voice and the look that passed between the two as she murmured her thanks.

  When they’d regained an even pace, Jonah addressed Damien again. “Have you invited the minister to the wedding breakfast?”

  “I did, but he excused himself. It’s a bit far for him to come. Only Jacob and Elizabeth—and Betsy—will be there.” Damien glanced at her. “And your cousin, of course.”

  Dear Beatrice. Her only ally. None of her schoolgirl friends had responded to her invitations.

  She still found it strange that the only other wedding guests were to be servants. Never in her life, no matter that she’d known her father’s servants since childhood, would she have shared social events with a servant.

  After a few more attempts at friendly conversation, Jonah lapsed into silence and the party rode the rest of the way without exchanging a word.

  Lindsay spent the intervening time reliving Damien’s kiss and thinking that this day had changed her life forever.

  She couldn’t help comparing her wedding day with the one she’d witnessed a scant few weeks ago. Even though Damien had announced his impending marriage to his congregation, eliciting shocked murmurs, he had not specifically invited anyone to the nuptials. Whereas the entire congregation had seemed to be present at the Quinns’ wedding ceremony, no one had come to theirs. Undoubtedly few would care to travel to the village outside London, Lindsay told herself.

  Just as she was beginning to feel sick from the coach’s swaying, due to her empty stomach and tense nerves, they finally arrived back at the parsonage.

  Damien helped her down from the old coach, then went to pay the driver as Lindsay waited for the others to descend. She didn’t even feel she could precede them into the house, no matter how many times Florence had told her she was now mistress of the parsonage.

  She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the other coach, carrying Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, their daughter and Beatrice, arrive. Lindsay hurried over to receive her cousin.

  “You looked so beautiful, my dear,” her cousin said as soon as she’d been helped down by Mr. Nichols. “I couldn’t help shedding a tear. It was a beautiful wedding.”

  Lindsay felt a lump grow in her throat and couldn’t speak. The two women looked at each other and Beatrice squeezed her hand as if she understood all that was going through Lindsay’s mind.

  “Come along, everyone, refreshment awaits,” Jonah’s friendly voice boomed out.

  They entered the dining room on the ground floor. Lindsay stood with her cousin, unsure where to be seated. Until today, Florence had sat at the foot of the table as mistress of the house.

  Lindsay didn’t have long to wait. As soon as Florence entered from a quick inspection of the kitchen, she approached Lindsay. “Please take your proper place,” she said, indicating with a nod of her head.

  Lindsay walked toward the end of the table, feeling with every step that she was unworthy of the place of honor. Damien joined her almost at once and held the chair out for her, giving her a smile.

  Lindsay listened to the conversation around her and nibbled on the selection on her plate: fresh bread and farm butter; cold meats and slices of cheese and stewed fruits. She joined in the toast for
their future. Beatrice and Jonah kept up most of the conversation, with Damien and his sister joining in occasionally.

  Lindsay was the outsider. What would she do when Beatrice left? She sighed, praying for the strength to carry out the charade she’d begun.

  After lunch, Beatrice bade them farewell.

  “You don’t have to leave so soon, do you?” Lindsay asked at once.

  “Yes, my dear. I have a long way to go and must start my journey immediately.”

  “Go? Where are you going?”

  “Your father has requested I return to my home.”

  “Oh, no!” Another thing Lindsay was responsible for.

  Damien had been listening to their conversation and he approached. “You are welcome to make your home with us, Cousin Beatrice.”

  Beatrice turned to him with a warm smile. “Thank you, dear boy. You don’t know how your kind invitation warms me. But I am returning to my sister’s home. I was residing with her before Lindsay’s father summoned me to help in her coming out. My sister depends on me for help with her numerous family.” She turned back to Lindsay. “I shall be fine, although I shall miss you dreadfully. You have been like a daughter to me in these short months.”

  Lindsay felt herself tearing up again. “I hope you can visit us.”

  “Yes,” Damien said immediately. “You are welcome here anytime.”

  Amidst more promises, Beatrice made her departure. Outside, Lindsay hugged her tightly, feeling as if her last lifeline was leaving.

  “There, there, dear girl, I know I leave you in good hands.” Beatrice eased away from her and took her hands. “Although this union began in a somewhat unorthodox fashion, I feel in my heart everything will work out fine.”

  Lindsay pressed her lips together. “I…I’m frightened.”

  “Everything new is frightening. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to go to Reverend Hathaway. He looks to be a good, compassionate man. I know he’d do anything to help you adjust.”