A Bride of Convenience

by Jody Hedlund

  “But, Your Grace, I can provide a good home to the child—”

  “You are a representative of the greatest church and country on the earth. As such you must be above reproach in all things. You have already caused a scandal with your impetuous marriage. And I will not allow any further disgrace. Do I make myself clear?”

  Abe couldn’t respond. His insides were churning too fast.

  “Furthermore, if you have any desire for my support in your future efforts to become a bishop, then you would do well to heed my instructions.”

  While bishops were elected to their positions, Abe was well aware he needed Bishop Hills’s recommendation in order to have the slightest chance at being selected as a candidate. Even then, if he was chosen, he’d still have to go through another process of discernment before being approved to take part in the election. Bishop Hills’s support was crucial in every aspect.

  “Find an Indian family willing to take the infant by spring, Mr. Merivale. That is my final word.”

  What tribe would take in a strange baby? Not when they were already struggling to take care of their own. Besides, Zoe had married him in order to keep Violet. After going to such lengths, she’d never agree to give the child to a random family, especially if she sensed any hesitation on their part. For now, he’d have to keep the bishop’s ultimatum to himself and pray he’d discern a viable solution by spring.

  As a maid stepped into the study with another pitcher of steaming water, Abe excused himself and retreated from the bishop’s home. When the rear door closed behind him, Abe allowed himself a full breath, the first one he’d taken since he’d knocked on the door. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take so long, but he should have known better.

  Bishop Hills hadn’t been pleased to hear about his marriage, to say the least. John had mentioned it to their superior. So Abe’s news hadn’t taken the man completely unaware. Nevertheless, the past hour of the bishop’s censure had exhausted Abe.

  He started down the gravel pathway that led to the cabins, to the simple place he made home whenever he came to Victoria. The light was extinguished and the window dark, which hopefully meant he’d given Zoe plenty of time to take care of her personal needs.

  They’d talked while sipping tea, and he’d learned more about her niece, about how Zoe had been the baby’s primary caretaker because her sister hadn’t wanted the child. He’d understood without her saying so that the baby’s death had been difficult—perhaps almost as difficult as losing a child she’d borne herself.

  He’d shared more about his work in the mining camps, his small cabin in Yale, and the church he was hoping to construct there in the spring. She’d asked him questions about what life was like in the mountains, and he’d explained how the gold rush had started in ’58 when gold was discovered in the Fraser River Valley. As word got out to San Francisco, prospectors, speculators, land agents, and outfitters had flocked into Victoria, turning the town of a few hundred into a bustling city of over five thousand within days.

  With so many men arriving in the colonies, the Church of England had sent over missionaries for the purpose of establishing churches. The church had always been on the forefront of crown colonies, helping to replicate the order of the motherland.

  Abe was one of seven ministers who’d volunteered for the daunting task of transforming the fur-trade and gold-rush towns into civilized places. Like John and the other missionaries, he had no salary here and relied upon his savings and inheritance. The satisfaction of leading men to deeper faith was well worth the sacrifices he was making for the time being.

  When Violet had awoken and started fussing, he’d helped Zoe get a bottle ready and watched the baby consume her meal. He’d lingered as Zoe changed the infant’s napkin and dressed her in a flannel nightgown. Then he’d aided Zoe in lining a crate with blankets and making a bed for the baby, all the while discussing how he might be able to convince one of his parishioners, a carpenter turned miner, to craft a cradle, especially during the idle days that remained until the spring thaw opened the way for mining to resume.

  Finally, with Violet tucked into her crate, Zoe had grown silent—almost shy. He didn’t know much about womanly things, but he’d surmised she had needs of her own to attend to and would appreciate some privacy. So he’d gathered his coat and informed her he was stepping out to see the bishop.

  Now with the half-moon overhead guiding him, Abe’s footsteps crunched against the path, echoing a strange foreboding. Upon reaching the cabin, he hesitated. At the complete silence from within, he tried not to make any noise as he entered. The glow of coals within the stove illuminated the room enough that he could maneuver around without bumping into furniture.

  When he reached the bed and took in Zoe’s form underneath the coverlet, he froze. What was she doing in the bed?

  For an instant, he was mortified, even scandalized. Then heat flooded his face. Of course she was in his bed. Where else was she supposed to sleep? The small cabin had only one bed.

  With a sense of desperation, he scanned the darkness, looking for another spot for himself, any other option. He could sleep in the wingback chair. But with his large frame, he was never entirely comfortable in the chair. If he spent a whole night in it, he’d awaken with a sore back and kinked neck.

  He glanced at the slight floor space near the stove. It was too small. He’d never fit. He could shove aside the table and chairs and possibly eke out enough floor space by the entry. Even as he considered the possibility, he put it from his mind. He might be able to make do for a night or two with such rudimentary sleeping arrangements. But could he do so night after night?

  Closing his eyes, he tried to calm his racing heart. He’d been so focused on everything else that he hadn’t considered the practical implications of living with a woman. Or the conjugal aspect.

  Would Zoe expect him to consummate their marriage?

  His eyes flew open to take in her form. Though the coverlet shielded her, he easily pictured her lovely curves, tiny waist, and willowy body. And he just as easily pictured himself gathering her into his arms, pressing against her, and kissing her.

  Heat swirled low in his gut, an unfamiliar heat, but one that was certainly pleasurable, and pulsed into his blood.

  He gave himself a sharp mental shake. He couldn’t. She might be his wife, but they were practically strangers. Surely they needed to get to know each other before engaging in so intimate an act. Besides, if she’d been expecting him, wouldn’t she roll over and acknowledge his presence? As it was, she had her back facing him and was already asleep.

  No, tonight was not the time to bring up the intimacies of married life. He’d attempt to have a conversation about her expectations at a future date. That would give him time to figure out his first. Obviously, he’d always assumed he’d fulfill his marital duty. He was, after all, no saint. And he had normal manly desires. That had been plain enough lately with his growing needs.

  But he’d never anticipated this kind of marriage arrangement or such a sudden wedding. He could afford to be patient, couldn’t he? Even if his desires had become more prominent since his encounter with Wanda, surely he could wait a little longer, long enough to earn Zoe’s trust and admiration and devotion.

  He slipped out of his shoes, shrugged out of his coat, then pulled his clerical collar off, letting it fall to the floor. He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it on the growing heap.

  She made a tiny sound like the intake of breath.

  He paused and watched her, hoping he hadn’t woken her. When she didn’t move or make any other noise, he tugged first one suspender from his shoulder then the other, and a second later his trousers slid down with a swoosh.

  With a shiver of trepidation, he eyed the bed. It was a double, and she was as close to the opposite edge as she could go without falling off. Even so, he was accustomed to sprawling out on the entire mattress. How would he be able to share the bed without coming into contact with her?

  Tenta
tively, he lowered himself until he was sitting on the edge. He glanced again to the spot on the floor by the door. Maybe that was the better option.

  He shook his head. No, now that he was married he had to get used to sharing a bed. The sooner he shared, the easier it would get, wouldn’t it?

  Slowly expelling a breath, he swung his legs up, leaned back, and tugged the coverlet up.

  Still she didn’t stir.

  He stared up at the ceiling and hardly dared to move lest he accidentally brush against her. After long moments of silence with only the slight whistle of wind in the chimney, he closed his eyes.

  The first image to assault him was one of Lizzy in bed, not with him, but with another man. What had her experience been like? He hoped her first night was as awkward as his, that she was filled with regrets that she wasn’t in his arms.

  As soon as the thought entered his mind, shame followed on its heels. Even if he was angry and hurt, he didn’t wish her ill. He only wanted her happiness. Truly he wanted the best for her. If only he’d been enough. . . .

  Pain slashed through his chest again, this time constricting his airways.

  He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling again. All evening, since marrying Zoe, he’d kept distracted and busy so he didn’t have to think about Lizzy. But now in the quiet of the night, he was alone with his thoughts, and they were clamoring louder with each passing second.

  He had to reflect on something else—anything else—or he’d only sink deeper into despair. He needed to pray, but somehow, somewhere during the evening he’d lost his sense of God’s presence, as if he’d fallen overboard and was drowning. The wind and the waves pounded against him so that he couldn’t hear or see the Almighty.

  Oh, God, he silently whispered through a haze that rapidly swelled and threatened to suck him down. Please.

  A strand of hair tickled his cheek. He lifted his hand only to find that Zoe’s long, thick hair spread out over her pillow and cascaded onto his. Gently he touched the strand.

  When she didn’t react, he glided his fingers in deeper. As he did so, the silkiness and the thickness and the warmth soothed him. He lightly twisted the strands. Then, expelling a deep breath, he closed his fingers about her hair and brought a thick fistful to his nose. He breathed it in, then pressed it against his cheek before sliding it to his lips.

  The touch was exquisite and made him want to dig into her hair and breathe her in more fully. He held himself back. With the silk cascading through his fingers and against his face, he closed his eyes and let the sensations soothe his aching heart and help him forget about all he’d lost.

  ten

  Abe awoke with a start.

  “Hush now, wee one” came a whisper.

  Gurgling and cooing rose up in the darkness. And for a moment, Abe couldn’t make sense of the sounds.

  “You’ve got to be going back to sleep,” said the same voice.

  He sat up and blinked hard, confusion hanging like a thick mist. Who was in his home and why?

  At another soft squeak of a baby, realization crashed through him with the force of raging rapids. He’d gotten married last night. To a woman he barely knew.

  Oh, Lord God Almighty, what had he done? And what had he been thinking?

  He dropped his head into his hands and almost groaned. For a second he willed the silence to continue, for the woman and infant to disappear, for himself to wake up and discover he’d only been dreaming.

  But the baby chirped a contented noise, and the woman once again murmured soft words in response. Zoe Hart and Violet Cox were in his wingback chair in front of the stove.

  He buried his face deeper as the memories came back. He’d gotten Lizzy’s letter, had been shocked to discover she was married, and had been so overcome with pain and anger that he’d been blinded. Yes, blinded. There was no other explanation for why he’d so hastily married Zoe.

  Instead of taking the time to present his heartache to the Lord and prayerfully consider what to do next, he’d forged ahead with his own plans in his own way.

  Misery slithered around him like a draft of cold air, making him want to shudder down to his bones. What had he been thinking to rush into marriage like this? Hadn’t he warned Zoe about the need to take her time in finding a husband?

  Now he was a hypocrite—preaching one thing but doing another. Once the miners discovered what he’d done, they’d lose respect for him. They would surely think he was a desperate, lusting man who couldn’t control his urges.

  Oh, Lord, he silently prayed. Help me.

  Was there any way he could change what had happened and make things right? For long moments, he sat with his head in his hands and tried to think, tried to find a way out of the mess in which he found himself. Was he stuck?

  The bed beneath him seemed to sag lower. The bed. He lifted his head. Even though they’d shared the bed, they hadn’t consummated their union, which meant they still had time to nullify the marriage and go their separate ways. Surely Zoe would understand and would keep quiet about the whole affair.

  A glance out the window to the faintly lit sky told him dawn was close at hand. If he spoke with the bishop now, perhaps he’d find a way out of the situation. After the bishop’s anger the previous evening, surely the older gentleman would be all too happy to give Abe an official annulment.

  Abe swung his legs out of bed, his bare feet brushing against the cold floor.

  “Good morning,” Zoe said, her voice sweet and shy.

  “Good morning.” He earnestly prayed he hadn’t touched her inappropriately during the night and flushed at the very thought.

  He groped at his pile of clothing, hoping to make contact with his trousers. “Violet is up early this morning.”

  “She’s still needing to learn what’s day and what’s night.”

  He fumbled to find a trouser leg. Even though the room was shrouded in darkness, he could see her outline in the chair. That meant she could see him partially too. And he was all too conscious that he was attired in his drawers and nothing else.

  “I hope we didn’t wake you.”

  “No, I’m a heavy sleeper.” He flushed again. The revelation seemed too intimate. In fact, the entire predicament was too intimate. If only he could step into another room to finish dressing and grooming instead of fumbling around in front of her.

  He stuffed his leg into his trousers only to find his foot wedged tightly. Standing on one leg, he jerked at the trousers and managed to get his other leg inside except that his other foot also stuck. With both feet trapped, he lost his balance and fell backward onto the bed.

  “No need to be in the dark.” She rose from her chair. “Since we’re all awake.”

  “I’ll be fine.” He attempted to pull up his trousers again.

  “It’s no trouble.” Before he could protest further, she lit the lantern on the pedestal table. Adjusting the wick, she stood with her back to him. Her hair was unbound and reached nearly to her waist. The rich ebony was a contrast to the pure white of her nightgown, and the thick waves shimmered as though beckoning to him.

  His fingers twitched with the need to tangle there. Had he really touched her hair last night before he’d fallen asleep, or had he only dreamed it? The sensation of her thick strands in his hands and against his lips was all too real. And all too real was the pulsing urge to touch her hair again.

  As she turned, he tried to send his thoughts in another direction, but long cascades fell over her shoulders, richer and finer than any luxurious pelt he’d ever seen. She had beautiful hair. There was no sense in denying it. In fact, he’d probably feel better if he acknowledged the facts.

  “There. That’s better, isn’t it . . . ?” Her gaze connected with his bare chest. Her eyes widened, and pink infused her cheeks before she shifted her attention down. Her eyes rounded even more, and after a moment a smile twitched at her lips.

  Embarrassment rushed through him. He was still bare chested, his shirt discarded in a heap with the
rest of his garments on the floor. What did she expect? She should have heeded his admonition not to light the lantern. Now they were both in an extremely awkward situation.

  He tugged at his trousers so he could at least cover his lower half.

  A laugh escaped before she cupped her mouth. Even so, her eyes danced with merriment.

  He gave another futile pull before glancing down to discover his legs each stuck in a shirtsleeve. With his feet and calves trapped in the shirt, his bare knees and thighs were exposed up to the edge of his light blue underdrawers. For a second, he was tempted to drag the coverlet over his body and bury himself in mortification.

  But at another muffled laugh coming from behind her hand, he glanced at himself again. Even though he was mortified, he managed a grin. He looked ridiculous. It was no wonder she was laughing.

  He allowed himself a chuckle.

  She dropped her hand, giving him full view of her beautiful smile and her adorable dimples.

  He laughed again, and when she joined in, somehow the embarrassment dissipated. Their laughter grew louder until the cabin rang with it and she was wiping tears from her cheeks.

  Finally, she crossed to him, set Violet on the bed, and reached for one of the shirtsleeves. “I think you’ll be needing help if you have any hope of freeing yourself today. Unless you’re hoping to set a new fashion trend.”

  “The only thing this will set is tongues to wagging.”

  “Aye.” She gripped the wrist of the shirtsleeve and attempted to wiggle his foot free. “That it will.” With her dark hair flowing over her shoulders, her lips puckered in concentration, and her long lashes framing her bright green eyes, he couldn’t remember why he needed to protest their marriage. Why couldn’t he stay married to this breathtaking beauty?

  “There.” She freed first one leg, then the other. “Now you needn’t ruin a perfectly good shirt.” Her nightgown pulled snug, drawing his attention downward. The scooped neckline was modest but emphasized her womanliness and reminded him of just how desirable she truly was. She finally glanced up at him and smiled, her expression so innocent, so trusting, so sweet.