by Lorri Dudley
Nathan rubbed his face. “You can’t do the deal because you can’t stand the fact that I’m marrying her and you’re not.” His fingers dragged down the edge of his hairline and dropped back to his sides. “You’ve had all this time to make your intentions known, yet you stayed quiet.” He peered into Middleton’s eyes. “If I could trade places with you, I would.”
Middleton’s nostrils flared. Nathan’s words only appeared to incite him further. “I hope someday you come to realize the gift with which you’ve been blessed.”
He brushed past Nathan, thumping him hard on the shoulder with his own in the process. The door slammed shut behind him.
Nathan glanced at the priest. “That went well.”
The somber man laced his fingers in front of him. “You fared slightly better than John the Baptist.”
With a sigh, Nathan pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at the time. “I’m afraid it’s the next undertaking where my head gets served on a silver platter.”
In the quiet of the room next door, Lottie stiffened in her best gown of pale lavender satin. Priscilla fiddled with Lottie’s veil and pretended not to hear the conversation going on next door. How could she not hear them? Their voices penetrated the thin walls clear as day. Poor, dear Anthony. Lottie’d had no idea of his true feelings, but one thing she did know—he didn’t have the fortitude to rescue her.
If I could trade places with you, I would.
Winthrop’s rejection stung. She wanted to yell, “I don’t want to marry you, either.” Instead, she swallowed around the ever-increasing lump in her throat and held her tongue.
Priscilla smiled, but the lack of joy in her eyes proved it to be forced. “You look beautiful.”
Lottie choked back tears that threatened to suffocate her. “I powdered my hair.” She let out a chuckle, but it sounded hollow to her own ears. “I decided I’m no good at defying Mama. I made a horrific rebel, didn’t I?”
“Joan of Arc would have hung her head in shame.”
Her comment brought a smile to Lottie’s lips, but tears blurred her eyes.
Priscilla took her hands. “It’s going to be all right. I’ve heard the islands are beautiful. Palm trees, colorful flowers, turquoise water, and blue skies. Anthony says everything there is wild, but the cities are modern. He’ll visit you whenever he travels for business, and one day, I will accompany him.” She squeezed her fingers. “Think of it. You’ll have the freedom you’ve always wanted.”
Lottie nodded and wrapped her friend in a fierce hug. “I’m going to miss you. You’re my dearest and only friend.”
“You’ll see. Without your mother to scare people off, you’ll make oodles of friends in St. Kitts.”
“I do hope so.” She released Priscilla and wiped away her tears with gloved fingers. Priscilla was right. Everything would work out in the end. God had a plan for her life. She desperately needed to believe it.
Priscilla touched her arm. “Why did you hide instead of making your presence known that night?”
She twisted the index finger of her glove. “I don’t know. Perhaps, I feared being discovered partaking of spirits. Perhaps, I’d been annoyed by his interruption and hoped he’d merely turn and leave.” She lowered to a whisper. “Or perhaps, I was curious.”
“Curious?”
Lottie closed her eyes and conjured up the memory of that night. “After we danced, he looked at me with such intensity, as if he found me interesting.” Her eyes opened and met Priscilla’s gaze. “He even complimented me.” She bit her bottom lip.
A knock sounded to inform them the priest was ready. They both stared at the closed door.
A nervous giggle escaped Lottie’s throat. “I guess my curiosity shall have its fill.”
Priscilla nodded and swung the door wide.
Lottie smoothed any wrinkles from her gown and braced herself. All she had to do was get through the next hour and try not to think about the complete stranger—who didn’t want her—to whom she was about to pledge her life.
She relied heavily on her father’s arm to aid her down the aisle, for her legs were anchors trying to catch hold on a sandy bottom. The small church was packed tighter than a wealthy man’s coin purse, which was easily attributed to the gossip surrounding their hasty wedding.
She could hear the whispers, feel the judgmental glances of relatives and acquaintances. She passed her mother, who was wearing the darkest gown possible without being in mourning blacks. For the past three days, Mama had wailed about the injustice of it all and tried to recant Papa’s decision, stating they’d relocate to the northern mountains. But her father held firm as if he could right the wrong done to his sister through her. Never had Lottie seen her father so resolute—nor her mother capitulate.
Lottie barely heard the words the priest spoke, over the thumping death march of her heart. She assumed her place next to the groom and successfully avoided eye contact, but his presence loomed like a hangman’s noose. The vicar’s kind eyes did not match the life sentence he laid upon her, but she raised her chin and stood with enough regal dignity to do Mama proud.
However, when it came time to face her groom and say her vows, Lottie’s resolve slipped.
If I could trade places, I would.
She’ll never survive.
If she remains, she’ll be dead to us already.
The vicar skimmed the crowd. “If any man do allege or holds just cause to impediment why these two persons should not be coupled in holy matrimony, declare it now or forever hold your peace.”
Lottie peeked over her shoulder and held her breath. Mother shifted forward in her seat as if to protest, but Papa put a restraining hand on her arm. Lottie’s gaze sailed to Anthony. Anthony’s eyes met Lottie’s for the briefest of moments before his head sagged, and he stared at his hands.
Her throat went dry. She angled to accept her fate, and the stained-glass window blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors. God, please intervene. I’m sorry I ever prayed to be free from Mama. I don’t want to be alone.
“Let us proceed,” said the vicar. “Please, take each other’s hands.”
Winthrop’s strong grip engulfed her own and transferred a great deal of warmth. Her fingers felt colder than a jar fresh from the cellar. His steely eyes showed no emotion but boredom. He spoke out his vows in a succinct, businesslike manner, as if to get the deal done so he could focus on the next proceedings. He slid a ring on her fourth finger.
Instead of the simple silver band she expected, Lottie blinked at the sparkle of a large sapphire placed in a rose gold setting. Her lips parted in surprise. Where did he find such a ring, and why would he waste it on her? Did he see hope for them? Despite the trivial way he spoke of her, did he believe she may yet hold value? Or, was this another way for him to show off his profits? She met his cool eyes and witnessed a flash of apprehension, but the emotion disappeared.
The vicar cleared his throat, jolting Lottie. Everyone waited for her to say her vows.
“With…” She started in a strangled voice. “With this ring…” She paused to breathe. Had her maid pulled her stays too tight? “I thee wed.”
Winthrop’s eyes locked on hers with a hurry up, we have a ship to catch sort of look.
“With my body…” She murmured past the thick and cumbersome feel of her tongue. Inhale…exhale. “I thee worship.” Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. How had he said these same vows with such ease? “And with all my worldly goods.” Inhale…exhale. Where was the brave woman of less than a fortnight ago?
Winthrop leaned forward as if to coax the words from her mouth. His tilted brow distinctly communicated, get on with it.
“I thee endow.” Inhale…exhale. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”
There. Done.
She sucked in a breath, blew it out past her lips, and issued the priest a curt nod.
Winthrop dropped her hands as if he’d tolerated enough of her touch, and stepped forward to the annals. He dipped th
e pen and signed in a slanted script, then passed the quill to her. Lottie dipped and signed what was now her maiden name. Her hand shook like an old woman’s, and she stared at the wiggled lines. It would be the last time she signed Etheridge. She would forevermore be Charlotte Amelia Winthrop.
Inappropriate, bittersweet mirth welled up within her throat like bubbles of champagne. Marriage, she’d always known, would be her escape from her mother’s tyrannical rule. She’d just never thought she’d take it to such an extreme. She’d married someone her mother despised. A foreigner. A stranger. And worse, a common merchant who worked for a living.
She should be celebrating her long-awaited freedom. However, the urge to squeeze her eyes shut and bawl like a child had never been so overwhelming. Oh, the irony.
A small snort leaked its way through her nose.
Winthrop’s head jerked in her direction.
She rolled her lips tight and bit the insides for added suppression. What must Winthrop think of her? A bumbling nodcock who caught her skirt on fire and forced him into marriage, then dared to hold back a fit of giggles during their wedding ceremony.
What was the matter with her? Had she gone mad? Where were her manners? She dared not breathe in case more unladylike snorts attempted an escape. Her cheeks ached, and her face felt red and pained. The priest announced them man and wife, causing another snort to slip. Winthrop grabbed her wrist and yanked her down the aisle. He burst through the doors into the sunlit morning sky.
Lottie blinked against the bright sun until Winthrop’s frame shadowed over her. His face a mask of fury. Her laughter dispelled faster than the pop of a soap bubble.
“Get hold of yourself. You will play the part of the cheerful bride and not dishonor your family or me with childish antics. Say your good-byes to your friends and family. My ship awaits us to depart for St. Kitts.”
A blast of cold shock pelted Lottie in the face. “We leave today? But—”
“We leave immediately following the ceremony.”
“But my things—”
“Are being loaded onto the Katherine as we speak.”
“The reception—”
“To celebrate would be a mockery of God’s marriage sacrament. You’ve brought this upon yourself, and now you will deal with the sober reality of it all.”
Mama exited the church, followed by Papa and Gerald. Lottie jerked her spine into a straight line out of habit.
“There you are, Charlotte.” Her mother drew up alongside her. “I’ve seen smoother weddings, but considering all, it was well done.”
Other guests departed the church, and Mama acknowledged them. Lottie did her best, but the scene commencing around her seemed surreal, as if she were watching through someone else’s eyes. “Thank you, Miss Chatham, you are too kind.” A curtsy, a nod. “Yes, Lord Franklin, I shall endeavor to look up your second cousin when I arrive in St. Christopher.” Another curtsy. “Thank you, Lady Sylvan, may I say you look lovely as well.” Only when Priscilla approached, did Lottie snap out of the numbness.
“I shall miss our escapades, my friend.” Priscilla’s eyes welled with tears.
Lottie didn’t care what the others around her thought. She hugged her dearest friend in a tight squeeze. “I shall miss you.” She choked out. “Write often. Your letters will be a light in my dark days.”
“You’ll be too happy enjoying your newfound freedom to await my letters.”
Priscilla pulled away with a weak smile, and Lottie returned hers with a wobbly one. Tears flowed freely down both of their cheeks. She wasn’t sure how, but Lottie knew Winthrop was staring at her. His gaze burned like a matchstick flame too close to one’s fingers, but she refused to let him ruin the moment.
Instead, her mother did. “Well, that’s the last of the guests. Run along, Priscilla. Your brother is waiting in the carriage.”
Lottie waved a final farewell as Priscilla stepped into the coach. Anthony had snuck out without saying his congratulations or good-byes, and wouldn’t make eye contact as Priscilla alighted into their family carriage. It was for the best.
Lady Etheridge turned to her new son-in-law with a raised chin. “Winthrop, we may have our differences, but you are now family and shall be treated as such.”
Winthrop’s gaze flicked to Lottie’s with a sardonic arch to his brow. He knew her complaints about how Mama treated family.
“Thank you, Lady Ether—”
“I expect you to treat my daughter with the utmost of care.”
“Of course—”
“We shall ride together in the Etheridge carriage to the reception at our—”
“Lady Winthrop and I have a ship to catch.”
Mama’s face paled. “The ship can wait. You’re expected at the party.”
“The ship is already a week off schedule due to the unplanned marriage. If we leave today, there’s a chance we can make up time. If we wait until tomorrow and the weather doesn’t hold, then we would be responsible for any perishables on board.”
Mama’s lips thinned until they almost disappeared. “The devil with the perishables—”
“Honoria,” Papa interrupted. “The man shows prudent business sense. Say your good-byes, and let’s see them on their way.”
Mama’s face morphed through a tumult of emotions before she exhaled and faced Lottie. She grasped Lottie’s hand in hers, an uncharacteristic gesture. “If you lack for anything, I will be on the next boat. Charlotte, I …” She swallowed back what appeared to be tears. “I …” She blinked several times, but never finished that sentence. Instead, she said, “You look lovely.” Mama straightened even taller, if that were possible, and turned to Winthrop.
Papa approached Lottie and leaned down to wrap her in an embrace. Even though he didn’t like to be bothered with the raising of children, Lottie knew her papa loved her by his words of encouragement or the occasional measured hug. “God has a way of turning all things around for His good,” he whispered into her hair.
Tears scratched at the backsides of her eyes, and a sob escaped through a shuddered breath. She’d loved when Papa used to visit her sickroom to offer Mama or the nurse a reprieve. He’d sit by her bed and read to her from the Morning Gazette. She’d dream of a life beyond her window. She just never imagined he wouldn’t be part of it.
Papa nodded and stepped back to wait for his wife.
Gerald hung in the background, awkwardly shifting his weight and staring at the tips of his shoes. Lottie stepped up to her brother and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I shall miss you.”
He grasped her elbows. “Not as much as I shall miss you.” His gaze flicked their mother’s way, and he reluctantly released Lottie. She’d always been the buffer between her parents, and now she was leaving.
Mama pointed her closed fan into Winthrop’s chest. “I hope we have an understanding.”
Winthrop didn’t respond, but his scowl darkened.
Mama tapped her fan in Lottie’s direction. “She is and will always be an Etheridge. It would do you well to remember that and—”
“Noted.” His eyes slanted in Lottie’s direction.
“I will visit as soon as I can.” Having said her peace, Mama grasped Papa’s arm. “Very well, then. The guests await, and someone needs to notify them of the lack of bride and groom.”
“I see no reason for the celebration to cease on that account,” Papa muttered as the footman opened the door to the coach.
Winthrop didn’t move. He watched the pair alight before he turned to her and held out his arm. “Time to depart.”
She forced the tense muscles of her hand to slide around the crook of his elbow and rest in between his forearm and bicep. He was no waif. His muscles strained against the material of his jacket. She spared him a sideways glance. His piercing blue eyes penetrated her soul, and an oddly primitive warning struck the cords of her heart. He was a stranger, yet he was her husband.
God help her.
Chapter 5
Increase rati
ons for an additional passenger. I seem to have acquired a wife.
~ From Mr. Nathaniel Winthrop to Captain Jeremiah Fielding
Nathan inhaled the briny seaport air as the carriage drew closer to the wharf. The tightening band around his chest that had formed the night he met Miss Charlotte Etheridge finally lessened a notch. Soon he’d be aboard the Katherine and one step closer to home. Even though the island of St. Kitts was a British territory, England itself was a strange land to which he was not accustomed.
Miss Etheridge—no—Lady Winthrop, his wife, stared out the window at the passing buildings. He had to admit, she was a beauty, with fine cheekbones, ripe lips, and a delicate nose. Even if her hair wasn’t the vibrant red he’d remembered from the Middleton party, and her cheeks no longer held a rosy flush from when they’d danced, she still held an incomparable freshness. In fact, her coloring had waned to a milky white. Such fair skin would blister in the strong Caribbean sun. He would have to ensure she remained covered at all times.
Nathan rubbed his temples with one hand. How did he end up in this predicament? The last thing he needed was to be leg-shackled, and to an English socialite to boot, especially since he’d invested a significant amount of funds into another shipping vessel. He needed to focus on keeping his father’s legacy afloat, not jumping into marriage.
He hadn’t conceded to the marriage out of the threat of a duel. He hadn’t feared he’d be bested and end up with bullet in his gut. Nathan had grown up in the wildness of the islands. His father taught him to be a crack shot out of necessity, for one never knew if the French would return to claim the island or if wild Caribes would attack from the jungle.
He’d agreed to the union because, while chaos had broken out in Middleton’s study, a sense of clarity unlike Nathan had ever known settled over his body. He no longer heard the rumbling voices around him, Lady Etheridge’s wails, nor Lord Etheridge’s threats. Instead, the clearest thought he’d ever heard said, marry her.
Charlotte’s fright had almost been palatable. She’d needed rescue. Thoughts of his younger sister overwhelmed his good sense, and he was driven by the same need to protect Charlotte as he had desired to protect Katherine. He’d opened his mouth to accept his fate when Lady Etheridge attacked his honor. His pride raised its prickly hackles, for if there was one thing he believed in, it was honor. However, the Etheridge elders had no idea the dangers to which they would be subjecting their daughter. It had to be her decision. To his surprise, and to what appeared her own, she’d said yes.
