The Negotiated Marriage

by Christina Rich

  His heart jumped into his throat at the sight of the shy, yet bold, courageous woman standing before him. His wife. His wife.

  “Ellie, do you have something?” Pastor Hammond asked.

  Stepping in front of them, Ellie drew three pieces of ribbon from her skirt pocket. A brown one matching the bows on their mother’s wedding dress, a color matching the gem on the ring, and a pure white one. “We have a traditional blessing passed down through our family.” With Camy’s fingers still held in his, Ellie took the ribbon and twined it around their hands. “Like the wedding band forms an exact circle, so shall peace reign in your marriage. May there be nothing missing and nothing broken. May your home be filled with love and laughter, and may you always remember to keep God the Father as a cord binding you together. As Ecclesiasties four and twelve says, a threefold cord is not quickly broken.”

  After what seemed like a long testing of his patience, Pastor Hammond declared an amen. “Mr. Murray, you may now kiss your bride.”

  * * *

  Now that it was over, Camy was glad the ceremony had been small and private. One of the reasons she disliked Mrs. Smith’s social gatherings had to do with the woman putting Camy and her sisters on display for every eligible bachelor and then flaunting their faults as she spoke highly of her own daughters. She couldn’t imagine the debacle had they waited to marry in front of all Rusa Valley and Mrs. Smith’s distinguished guests. Camy already had a time fighting the tears as he’d promised to love her with his affectionate gaze boring into the core of her being. The words may have been a pretense for Pastor Hammond and his wife, but she knew her sisters would be recanting the tale with timely sighs for months, possibly years, to come. She would. Too bad the story wouldn’t be passed to her daughters as her own mother’s wedding tale had been.

  Of course, if they’d waited, there would have been no wedding, and she wouldn’t now be Mrs. Duncan Murray.

  “Are you ready to go to Mrs. Smith’s?” His palm warmed the small of her back.

  The urgency propelling her to seek out Mr. Weston no longer existed. Only the overwhelming possibility of losing her husband. “Yes, of course.”

  They gave their farewells to Pastor Hammond and his wife and thanked them for performing the service. Camy prayed Mrs. Hammond, plump with child, would decide to show up at the party even though it was far from fashionable. Selfishly, Camy wanted a friend there for support, as her sisters would most likely run interference with Levina and Mrs. Smith.

  Once they arrived at Mrs. Smith’s mansion on the north side of Rusa Valley, they were ushered into rooms on the upper floors in order to get ready for the party. Camy and her sisters on one end, Duncan on the other. No sooner had the maid slipped out the room than a rap of knuckles sounding on the door had her heart skittering to a halt. She cracked the door open and was met with a wide grin and twinkling green eyes the color of a patch of moss. Gone was his coat. Shirtsleeves rolled up, baring the sinewy muscles of his arms.

  “Hi,” he said, bracing his forearm on the frame of the door.

  “Hi.” Her lashes fell as her pulse raced and her knees wobbled.

  Camy’s head spun with a longing to be worthy of his sacrifice.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Murray,” Ellie chided, swinging the door wide. “There will be time enough for conversation later.” Ellie grabbed her arm and dragged her back into the room, the door clicking in Duncan’s face.

  Ellie collapsed in one of the armchairs, upholstered in a claret velvet, and giggled. “I’ve never seen anyone so over-the-moon before.”

  “My mark is set high above the stars now.” Mara swooned on the bed in a dramatic sigh, hand on her forehead.

  “Honest, Ellie and Mara, I can’t help it.”

  “I’m not talking about you, dear sister.”

  “Nope. He’s been struck by a bolt of the looooove lightning.”

  Could it be? Had he fallen in love with her? Was that why he moved the wedding up two hours sooner? She gazed at the door, wondering if he stood on the other side waiting for her.

  “Mara Jean, don’t be so dramatic. I declare if Rusa Valley had a theater you’d be not only the talk of the county, but everyone’s darling. Now,” Ellie said, pushing to her feet. “Let’s prepare your sister to meet her groom.”

  As Ellie fastened the last pearl button on their mother’s gown, Mrs. Smith swept into the room. Her gray ringlets bounced at her shoulders as she came to an abrupt stop with her hand plastered to her chest.

  “Dear child,” Mrs. Smith said as Camy prepared herself for the insults surely to come her way. “I never thought to find you stunning. Look at you.” She turned Camy in a circle. “The gown is far outdated, and your hair. Oh dear, I suppose we can’t rid ourselves of the bandage on your shoulder, can we? Well, I guess there is nothing more to be done, since you were late in your arrival. Perhaps I have a shawl you can borrow. Mary, bring me my shawls.”

  Mrs. Smith called to her maid. Standing back, she rested her chin on her fist and clucked. “At least remove your spectacles, child.” Before Camy could protest, Mrs. Smith had removed her spectacles and slipped them into her pocket. “Certainly you can see without them. We wouldn’t want you to seem bookish and boring, not when you’re the guest of honor.”

  “Mrs. Smith,” Ellie said. “You wouldn’t want Camy to fall down your stairs.”

  Knowing the futility of getting Mrs. Smith to change her mind, she gave her sister a sympathetic smile. At least she wouldn’t see everyone staring at her if she did.

  “Oh, poppycock.” Mrs. Smith smoothed one of Camy’s curls over her ear. “She’ll be on the arm of her fiancé. By the bye, how did you ever convince such a handsome man to marry you? Rumor has it he’s the one who shot you. I suppose men have married for stranger things than guilt.”

  Flinching, as if she’d been slapped on the face, Camy spun from the older woman and immediately whacked her knee on the corner of the bed.

  “Child, do be careful. Now,” she said, pausing. “Which of these best suits the occasion?”

  “I don’t need to cover my injury. Not when the entire town knows about it.” Camy sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Again, poppycock. Out of sight, out of mind. They’ll forget all about it if they don’t see it. The conversation needs to be about your upcoming nuptials, not how you coerced the man into marrying you.”

  Insult upon insult. How would she survive the evening? Fortunately Mrs. Smith didn’t know they’d already married and Camy preferred to keep it that way, else the sugarcoated venom would, no doubt, be worse. Many times Camy smiled and nodded, or found a corner to hide rather than argue. She didn’t want lectures from a woman who’d been less than teary-eyed when her husband perished from a heart attack. Camy didn’t want to judge, but Mr. Smith had seemed nice enough, too jolly at times, but she couldn’t imagine not mourning a man she’d been married to for as long as the two had been married. She couldn’t imagine not mourning Duncan, and she’d been his wife less than two hours.

  “Mrs. Smith,” Camy said as she fortified her backbone. “Thank you for throwing us this party.”

  “Of course, of course. It’s the least I can do. You poor dears, with no parents.” She dabbed at her eyes. “I know I shouldn’t, but I do pity you darlings. After all, the Good Book has commanded us to look after orphans.”

  Ellie’s eyes narrowed and Mara’s fist clenched at her side. No matter how intimidated Camy felt around the older woman, she couldn’t hold her tongue. “And widows too. Perhaps we can find a charitable means to pity you as well, Mrs. Smith.”

  The poor dear quit flapping around like a duck, not that Camy could see much beyond shadows. She’d do about anything to have her spectacles, but had she been wearing them, she wouldn’t have had the courage to say what she had to Mrs. Smith.

  “Hmph,” Mrs. Smith grunted as she
turned toward the door.

  “Mrs. S-Smith,” Camy said, halting her. “You wouldn’t want me to embarrass you by spilling punch on your carpet, would you?”

  Camy imagined Mrs. Smith’s face paled beneath her rouge. “You dare?”

  “Of course not.” Camy held out her hand. “However, I fear it’s a risk you take if you don’t return my spectacles posthaste.”

  Mrs. Smith deposited Camy’s spectacles into her palm. The swift click of the door as it closed behind the woman cut off the angry swish of silk. Camy slid the wire rims into place, releasing the tension in her head from squinting.

  “You’ve done it now. We’ll never be invited to another one of her parties. How will I ever find a beau?” Mara fell into a fit of giggles. “I know, I’ll ask the most handsome and richest eligible bachelors to shoot at me, and whoever hits the mark wins a bride.”

  “Don’t be silly, Mrs. Smith wouldn’t feel superior if she didn’t have anyone to demean, so of course she’ll keep inviting us. Besides, she loves eating Camy’s pies,” Ellie said as she primped Camy’s hair. “You are beautiful, Cameron. You’re stunning in Mama’s dress. Don’t let Mrs. Smith’s jealous insecurities tell you otherwise. Duncan Murray is one happy husband, and he wouldn’t be if he married you out of guilt.”

  “I know. It still doesn’t take the sting out of her words.”

  “Remember who you are,” Ellie said. “You’re a Sims by blood and a Murray by name. You have a heart filled with love and kindness, and you’re loved by those who love you. And that, dear sister, is much more than being a Smith who lives in a mansion.”

  “Thank you, Ellie and Mara. I love you very much.”

  They joined in a group hug, and then Ellie started crying. “I am proud of you, Camy. I know marrying Duncan is a frightening thing, but you’ll find your feet and we’ll be here for you whenever you need us.”

  “Thank you for sacrificing so we can keep our home,” Mara added.

  “I thought you hated the farm.” She hadn’t considered marrying Duncan a sacrifice, even if theirs was only a marriage of convenience. She just prayed God would help them discover who had hurt Miller before anyone else came to harm.

  “I used to, but with Duncan helping to do the chores, I don’t mind it,” Mara said, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

  “I’ll admit, it is nice having a man help do the things we couldn’t,” Camy said as she stood. She shook out her gown and drew in a long breath as she adjusted her spectacles and opened the door. A new resolve came over her, a sense that all would be fine, right as rain as Duncan would say. She didn’t know what the future would bring, but she was as ready for it as she’d ever be. “I think I’m ready to fetch my husband.”

  Ellie and Mara each gave her a hug, then swept down the stairs arm in arm, their heads bowed together in conversation. Camy slowed her pace as she neared Duncan’s room. Staring at the white wainscoting door trimmed in powder blue, she willed her pulse to slow and raised her shaking hand to knock. She pressed her palm to her trembling stomach as she waited for Duncan to open his door.

  “Hello, Mrs. Murray,” Duncan said as he stepped out into the hallway.

  “H-hello.” All the bravado she had felt minutes before rushed to her toes, and she almost wished she’d allowed Mrs. Smith to keep possession of her spectacles. She’d thought Duncan handsome before in simple homespun garments, but now he stole the very breath from her, leaving her light-headed and at a loss for words. Hair slicked back from his brow. His jawline freshly shaven. Black trousers, a black frock coat and a vest nearly the exact color of her gown, he looked fashionable. Modern.

  Mrs. Smith’s words spun in her head. Mama’s gown, hugging her curves in all the right places, thanks to Ellie’s handiwork, paled in comparison. Nausea building in her stomach, she took a step back. “I—uh.”

  He captured her elbow, the warmth of his fingers sliding down her arm. Grasping her hand, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping them around her. Her cheek rested against the thudding of his heart, his chin atop her head.

  “You look as though you’re about to climb out a window.” His deep timbre rumbled through her.

  Trembling, she leaned back and gazed into his probing green eyes. “We d-don’t suit.”

  The corners of his mouth turned upward. His eyes twinkled. “Why do you say that?”

  “I’m a p-poor orphaned farm girl wearing her mother’s outd-dated wedding gown.”

  “You’re more beautiful than any I’ve laid eyes on, inside and out.”

  Her cheeks warmed at his compliment. “You should marry within your social ranks.”

  “But I’m already married.” Winking, he lifted her left hand to his mouth and kissed the ring he’d placed on her finger a little over an hour before.

  “Duncan,” she said, turning out of his arms. “I’m being serious.”

  “As am I, sweetheart,” he said, scooping her back into his embrace, his eyes searching hers. “And I intend to keep it that way, even if I have to give all my fortunes to charities to make you happy.”

  Certainly he joked, but she wondered just the same. “You would do that?”

  The hum of conversation from the guests entering Mrs. Smith’s home filtered up the stairs. Ellie’s quiet “how do you dos” and Mara’s giggles as they greeted individuals stirred her uneasiness. Soon they’d be called down. Soon she’d face Rusa Valley and the whispers of how she manipulated a brawny, handsome man with money enough to buy their entire town into marrying her. A man who coveted Sims Creek, enough to take on the burdens of the farm, and she, like one of the livestock, came with the property.

  “For you.”

  Those two words tied her insides in a knot, just as they had done when he said he’d fight for her. Had he meant on her behalf, or had he meant for her? None of that mattered, as she couldn’t remove Mrs. Smith’s words from her thoughts. She had wanted to marry Duncan, had vowed to love him, to honor him, and she’d done so with everything in her. However, Duncan had seen their marriage as a business opportunity. Which was worse, being married for guilt or for business? “Mrs. Smith says you’re only marrying me out of a sense of guilt. I guess I’m preying on your goodness.”

  Laughter burst from him. “If she knew me so well, she’d know I’m not easily swayed. Many a young lady has tried, and not one has succeeded.”

  “How many did you shoot?” She twisted her lips, knowing the truth. The other ladies might have tried to marry Duncan, while she didn’t, as she hadn’t been looking for, nor had she wanted, a husband, but the tactic worked nonetheless.

  Sobering, he shook his head. “Only you, sweetheart, and I’m sorry for it, and yet I’m not. When Hamish first proposed I marry, I became enraged. He’d played me like no matchmaking mother I’d come across, luring me in with the promise of land full of vibrant green hills like my childhood home. He knew I didn’t want to marry, that I emphatically planned to never marry. If you hadn’t been injured, I never would have stuck around long enough to realize how well we’re suited to each other.”

  “You’re certain you wouldn’t prefer a more refined lady?”

  He took her face between his hands and searched her eyes. “Camy, I’m more than certain.”

  “Come along.” Mrs Smith appeared in the hall. “Your guests are waiting.” She raised her chin and descended the stairs.

  “A moment, if you will,” Duncan said as he returned to his room.

  Camy stood at the top of the stairs, watching, as Mr. Weston appeared at the bottom step and took Mrs. Smith’s arm. An image of Miller, beaten and left for dead, pressed into her mind, only it wasn’t Miller at all but rather Duncan. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to speak with Mr. Weston, but she knew that it was. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to the man she loved. Never.

  “Are you ready
, Mrs. Murray?” he whispered in her ear. Looping his arm through hers, he sent a bevy of shivers down her spine. As if judging her trembling as hesitancy to spend time in the company of Rusa Valley, he said, “Another hour, and then we can go home.”

  Home. It had a nice ring to it, but she couldn’t help wondering if they would survive the evening. Her overtaxed nerves were ready to see her in a fit of vapors because the man beside her, solely focused on her, didn’t seem to care that somewhere someone had sought to hurt her through harming a friend. And if they did it once, they’d do it again, and this time, Camy feared, they wouldn’t be as kind.

  Chapter Twenty

  Shock rocked Duncan back on his heels at the sight of Calvin Weston standing in Mrs. Smith’s home. What was his business partner doing in Rusa Valley? Perhaps he should have met with his friend Deputy Nate Cooper instead of rushing headlong and marrying Camy. Not that he regretted marrying her, but the sight of Weston sent a chill into his bones.

  Mrs. Smith rang a bell until everyone quieted. “May I introduce to you Miss Cameron Sims’s fiancé, Mr. Duncan Murray?”

  “Hold up there, missy,” Hamish’s raspy voice called as he pushed through the crowd. “They’s married now.” Hamish’s toothless grin split his face, his white-gray beard bobbing as he chuckled. The guests gasped and whispered congratulations. Mrs. Smith’s jaw dropped, and then her eyes narrowed to mere slits directed at Duncan’s bride. Camy tensed. The chill in his bones turned frigid. “I’s pleased to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Duncan Murray,” Hamish said, holding up a glass of lemonade.

  Duncan slipped his arm around Camy’s waist, pulling her closer to him, shielding her like a hen would a chick. He glanced around the room, his gaze hard, daring anyone to dishonor his wife. “I’m honored and blessed to have Camy as my wife. The nuptials were spoken only an hour ago with Pastor Hammond and Camy’s family as witnesses.”

  “He must have compromised her.” Levina Smith’s gold ringlets bobbed at her shoulders as her loud whisper echoed in his ears.