A Bride of Honor

by Ruth Axtell Morren

  Her father’s glance strayed to her. He gave her a reassuring smile, which she forced herself to return. With a subtle nudge of his chin, he communicated his wish to her.

  With a sinking heart, she turned in the direction he’d indicated.

  Jerome Stokes swallowed a healthy draft of his ruby-colored wine and eyed her. His full lips were still stained crimson, and Lindsay couldn’t tear her gaze away, even as a wave of repugnance filled her.

  “The sole was excellent, was it not? Although I found the mullet a trifle dry.” His tongue roamed over his teeth as if savoring the last remnants of fish.

  She forced herself to look away from his mouth. As his wife, she would have to…kiss that mouth. “I didn’t have any.”

  His hooded gaze wandered over her features. “You’re looking a bit haggard. Haven’t the megrim, have you?”

  “I’m quite all right.”

  He eyed her plate as it was being removed. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

  “I…wasn’t too hungry.”

  “As soon as dinner is over, I shall take you for a turn outside. That will put you to rights.” He covered her gloved hand with his large one and pressed it.

  She could only nod and turn away from him, knowing the real reason he would be taking her outside.

  Although there were a dozen courses to be got through, and she ate little, she found the meal going by too quickly. It was with dread that she watched the final dishes being cleared. The glacé cherries had helped refresh her but it signaled the end of the meal.

  As soon as the other ladies rose to go to the drawing room, she knew her time was short.

  “Are you quite all right, dear?” Beatrice asked as they seated themselves. “You seemed quiet at dinner.” She frowned, looking at her more closely. “You look awfully pale.”

  Lindsay smoothed down her silk gown. “Just a bit of headache.”

  The hostess came by and asked her to play a piece, and Lindsay almost jumped up at the chance to be doing something—anything—to forget for a few moments what the evening was for. She sat down at the pianoforte and looked over the sheet music. With shaking fingers, she finally settled on an ode of Handel’s. As she began to play and sing, her breathing steadied, and for a little while she managed to put aside thoughts of what awaited her.

  “That was charming. You have a lovely voice, Lindsay.”

  “Thank you,” she murmured to the hostess as she resumed her place beside Beatrice. Another guest took up the instrument and Lindsay pretended to be listening to the music.

  All too soon, the gentlemen rejoined the ladies. Her father wasted no time, strolling over to her with a purposeful step, bringing Mr. Stokes with him.

  “My dear, Jerry tells me you were feeling a bit peaked at dinner. He suggests a stroll in the garden. It will be just the thing.”

  She rose slowly, trying to steady her breathing. “Yes, Papa.”

  Mr. Stokes took her by the elbow and led her to one of the doors to the garden.

  She wrapped her shawl more tightly around her once they were in the chill night air.

  “It is not too cold for you?”

  “No, but perhaps we can soon return to the drawing room.” All she wanted now was for the evening to be over. She’d been fretting about it and dreading it for so long that she’d decided it was best to simply comply with her father’s wishes and make everyone happy.

  “Yes, of course.” They walked along the gravel pathway until they were a distance from the house. The lights spilled out of the upper level windows onto the dark garden.

  “Your father has given me to understand I have found favor with you.”

  She moistened her lips. How could she pretend this was what she wanted? She tried to think of the pleasure she’d take in pleasing her father but her mind was numb. “Ye…yes…”

  He took her hand in his. “In that case, I should like to ask for the honor of your hand in marriage.”

  She was silent for what seemed a long time. It was as if she stood poised at the edge of a cliff. Behind her was all that she was familiar with—her happy childhood spent in her mother’s company, her girlhood friendships at her boarding school, even the amiable times recently with Beatrice. A brief flash of Reverend Hathaway—but no, she blocked out all that his image evoked. She would break down if she thought about him.

  Finally, the word came out, a mere breath on the night air. “Yes.”

  “You have made me a most happy man.” He took her chin in his hand and guided her face upward. Her first impulse was to pull back, but his face came down too quickly, his fingers locking onto her chin. His sweet cologne filled her nostrils, bringing a wave of nausea over her.

  The next second, his wine-stained lips touched hers, and she recoiled. But he pressed against hers, hard, until she felt she would suffocate.

  “Please,” she gasped when he released her lips a fraction.

  “You are so lovely,” he breathed against her skin before assaulting her lips once more. His whiskers burned her cheeks. She tasted the residue of tobacco and port on his lips. She beat her hands against his chest, but he was immovable. Waves of dizziness swept over her.

  Finally, it was over. She gulped in the night air.

  “You will make me the happiest man,” he murmured, his hooded eyes staring at her heaving chest. She turned away from him, shielding herself from his view.

  But he reached out and took her elbow, forcing her gently but firmly around. “You will grow to like it, dearest Lindsay. I may call you that, may I not, now that we are to be wed? You’ll grow to like it,” he repeated, his voice a velvety threat.

  “Is everything all right?”

  Lindsay turned with a sharp intake of breath to face Reverend Hathaway.

  His look and tone were so solicitous she had to fight the urge to throw herself upon his broad chest and ask for his protection. She had come to his Bible study feeling it her only place of refuge in the nightmare her life had become in a few short weeks.

  She pressed her lips together, trying to maintain her composure. “Yes, of course,” she finally managed, the words coming out a choked laugh.

  His blue eyes continued to regard her with concern. “I’m sorry if I seem to be overly inquisitive. I only wondered because of our talk the other day. I take it the Lord has answered your prayers to your satisfaction?”

  She gripped her teacup more firmly, finding it harder to maintain her composure. Oh, how she wanted to confide her fears to him! “I—want so much to obey and yet—”

  “And yet?”

  At that moment, Jonah tapped his teaspoon against his cup, calling everyone’s attention. “Miss Hathaway has finally settled on a date for the wedding. It’s to be the last Saturday of this month and you are all invited to attend the ceremony, which our good parson here will perform.”

  At once, everyone began clapping and talking at once. Well-wishers crowded between her and Reverend Hathaway.

  Turning away, she swallowed her anguish and told herself it was for the best. What could he do after all? He had enough worries of his own taking care of his parish. She wouldn’t add to his burden.

  Lindsay walked slowly to Miss Hathaway and Mr. Quinn. Mr. Quinn stood beside Miss Hathaway’s chair and beamed at everyone who shook his hand. “Yes, I’m a blessed man. She’s certainly marrying beneath her, but let’s hope she’ll succeed in bringing me up a smidgen more than she’s managed already.”

  As the others laughed and Miss Hathaway looked embarrassed, Lindsay extended her hand. “I wish both of you all happiness.”

  Miss Hathaway smiled at her, and Lindsay felt a sudden overwhelming pang of envy. What must it be like to be celebrating one’s betrothal with a man one loved and trusted? For despite their differences in station, the couple clearly cared deeply for each other. She could see it at every Bible study in the way they deferred to one another and seemed to anticipate each other’s needs.

  “Thank you, my dear.” Miss Hathaway glanced u
p at Mr. Quinn, and he looked at her at the same moment. Lindsay could see the silent understanding being communicated between the two, before Miss Hathaway turned back to her. “I hope you will know the same kind of joy.”

  Lindsay’s mouth attempted a smile, but her lips felt wobbly as all she wanted to do was cry. Quickly she murmured her thanks and moved away, feeling as if her own world were ending when another’s was beginning.

  On the way home with Beatrice, her cousin, said “How happy Mr. Quinn and Miss Hathaway appeared. It was so nice of them to invite us to their wedding.”

  “Yes.”

  “I wonder what we should get them for a wedding gift. Miss Hathaway told me they will eventually be moving to a nice farm a few miles up the road from the chapel. Mr. Quinn is an experienced farmer, although he has never owned his own farm.”

  Lindsay turned to her in surprise. “They won’t be living at the parsonage with Reverend Hathaway?”

  “Well, it won’t be for a while yet, she gave me to understand. Still, when they do leave, I wonder what the curate will do by himself? A parson needs a wife to help him with his duties.”

  “Does—” She cleared her throat, glad for the darkness in the carriage. “Is there anyone…?” Her voice trailed off.

  “In Reverend Hathaway’s life? I couldn’t say. He is a very handsome man. I’m sure there are a dozen young ladies in his congregation who would be honored to be his wife.”

  For some reason the information did not cheer her. Of course there must be someone special. Reverend Hathaway was such a dear, kind man. The most noble man she’d ever met.

  “It’s a pity about his leg,” Beatrice went on, “but I shouldn’t think that would matter to a good Christian woman.”

  “Of course not.”

  “You seemed very quiet tonight.” After a few moments, Beatrice added, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention your own good news.”

  “What news?”

  She could feel her cousin’s stare in the dark. “What news, indeed! Why, your betrothal, of course.”

  Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no!”

  “Why ever not, my dear? A young lady is usually very proud to announce such an event.”

  “I didn’t feel it appropriate. Miss Hathaway seemed so happy. I didn’t want to take away any of the attention from her this evening.” Lindsay looked down at her lap, amazed at how one could feel such utter despair on one hand and sound so matter-of-fact on the other.

  “That was thoughtful of you.” Her cousin turned to peer out the window. “You are such a modest young lady. Most would be showing off her ring to all and sundry. Apropos of that, has Mr. Stokes given you a ring yet?”

  “No. I told him there was no rush, that…we could pick it out together,” she added hastily before her cousin could show her amazement again.

  “Oh, well, that makes sense. You might as well sport something to your liking. I’m sure Mr. Stokes won’t stint with jewelry. And once you are a married lady, your father will begin giving you your mother’s diamonds and all the most valuable jewelry that has been in both families for generations.”

  Why did the thought give her no pleasure? She pictured herself, jewels draped about her neck. The imaginary weight suddenly felt like chains.

  Her cousin continued talking, unaware of the turmoil in Lindsay. “Of course, someone at the Bible study has probably read about Mr. Stokes’s marked attention to you in the papers. It has certainly captured the attention of the ton this season. You have made a brilliant match.”

  When Lindsay said nothing, her cousin asked, “Are you all right?”

  “I’m just tired, I suppose.”

  “Yes, with so many parties you’ve been attending, I’m surprised you have been so diligent in going to the Bible study. I commend you for it. I’m sure the curate does, too.”

  “I don’t do it to be thought good.”

  “I assure you, my dear, that is not what I meant.” She reached over and patted Lindsay’s hand. “I do commend you all the same. It’s not many young ladies of the ton who spend any thought on the things of the spirit. Their charitable works usually don’t begin until they are gray haired like me,” she added with a chuckle.

  Would that be all Lindsay had to look forward to? Doing good works in her old age? Would she then enjoy a relative freedom, a freedom from her husband’s un-appreciated physical desire for her?

  Her only hope for the future seemed to be that one day he would no longer find her attractive.

  Chapter Six

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony.”

  Lindsay sat near the front of the church with her cousin and listened to Reverend Hathaway’s steady voice repeat the age-old words. Mr. Quinn and his bride stood with their backs to the congregation. There was not a seat to be had in the chapel. She felt honored the reverend and his sister had reserved these seats for them. The entire parish must have turned out for the ceremony.

  The late-May day was a glorious one, warm and sunny, filled with birdsong.

  “‘It was ordained for the mutual society, help and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity…’”

  Would she ever come to feel this for Mr. Stokes? She could well imagine such sentiments between Mr. Quinn and Miss Hathaway. After all, their love had already been tested by the most supreme adversity.

  Mutual society…comfort. Would Mr. Stokes ever offer her those? Whenever he was with her, all his attention seemed fixed on her physical proximity. They had no conversation between them, unless one counted his going on and on about some scientific interest he shared with her father. The two men could converse for hours while she sat silently by with her needlework in her lap.

  “‘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?’”

  Jonah Quinn turned to his bride. “I will.” Lindsay caught her breath at the solemn look of devotion in his eyes.

  How would it be to have a man look at one and pledge his life in such a manner? Her glance drifted to the curate. How handsome he looked in his priestly robes. The light streaming in from the stained-glass window caught on his short curls, turning them gold. His hands looked so fine as he held the prayer book before him.

  How tenderly he repeated the question to his sister. How proud he must be of her on this day, how happy to be able to join her with the one who cherished her so.

  She had grown to admire him more and more each time she attended his Bible study. He always made a point of asking her how she was, looking at her so searchingly with his blue eyes. How close she had been to confiding in him the last time! But they were always surrounded by so many people, and she didn’t dare ask again for a private meeting.

  Remembering Beatrice’s words, she wondered again if there was a special person in his life. She had observed no young lady at the Bible study. She sighed as she sat in the church pew. To have a man like the reverend—a man who was so good and pure and true—look at her the way Mr. Quinn was looking at Miss Hathaway…

  At that moment Mr. Quinn took his bride’s hand in his and repeated the words the reverend spoke to him. “I, Jonah Michael Kendall Quinn, take thee, Florence Diane Hathaway, 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.”

  I plight thee my troth. A solemn promise of fidelity. To receive such a vow from a man one had such high regard for. Her gaze drifted back to the curate.

  She brought herself up short at the direction of her thoughts. Reverend Hathaway was a man of the cloth. She had no right thinking of him in such a way. Had all her admiration for him been nothing but romantic infatuation?
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  Yet her thoughts persisted, even after the ceremony was over and the congregation exited the church. An outdoor reception was being held in the apple orchard to accommodate the entire gathering. Long tables laden with food and drink formed two rows between the trees.

  Lindsay held a cup of cider in one hand, the other toying with the green ribbons of her new bonnet. Beatrice smiled beside her, her glance taking in the crowded yard. “They could not have had a better day for their wedding.”

  Lindsay held her face up to the warm sunshine. “No, indeed.”

  “Hello, my fine ladies. I am honored you could attend our humble wedding.” Mr. Quinn approached them, his bride on his arm. Miss Hathaway—Mrs. Quinn now—looked radiant. For one whose complexion was naturally pale, today she had a positive bloom to her cheeks.

  “Thank you for inviting us. We are honored you call us friends after such a short but most congenial acquaintance.” Beatrice held out her hand to him and addressed them both warmly.

  Mr. Quinn bowed over Lindsay’s hand. “I hope you consider us friends, as well.”

  Lindsay blushed and smiled up at the large man. “Oh, yes! I wish you and Mrs. Quinn all happiness.”

  “We hope to be able to see you as joyously united as we are,” Mrs. Quinn said with a firm shake of her hand.

  “Th-thank you.” She bit her lip.

  The reverend joined them at that moment.

  Mr. Quinn slapped him on the back. “Well, Damien, you yoked me at last.” His twinkling green eyes looked at his new wife. “I have the feeling my new shackles will be tighter than those at Newgate.”

  The reverend chuckled in response. “Ah, but she has been the making of you, has she not?”