Hosea’s mind raced. If Susanna had used him to escape the country and if she loved Sir Simon, why act like she loathed him instead of running off with him at once? Hosea wiped his brow, recalling Susanna shooting at Claudine’s killer. Yes, she was capable of murder.
Meanwhile, the others were laughing at him behind their smirks. Maybe he was a fool to believe she would choose him over riches; yet, as Mr. Cowdry noted, something didn’t sit right about her leaving with Sir Simon.
If she was adamant about not being enslaved through marriage or contracts, why become dependent on him?
“You’re wrong,” Hosea concluded. “I can give her something that you can’t.”
“Such as an endless supply of sermons?” Sir Simon mocked.
Despite the pain, Hosea threw back his shoulders. “I can give her freedom.”
“Impressive words,” said Sir Simon. “How?”
Hosea yanked out a chair from the table and sat down. “I’ll win her. Deal me in.”
Sir Simon and his companions laughed until they realized Hosea was serious. “Are you mad?” said Sir Simon.
“Yes, madly in love,” said Hosea. “The game is five-card draw. Do you know it?”
“Yes, I know it,” Sir Simon sneered.
“Good. If you win, I’ll go home.” He hated the thought of walking away, but knew if Susanna truly didn’t like Sir Simon, she’d run away as was her habit. “If I win, you withdraw whatever threat you’re holding over Susanna and she’s free to go.”
“You assume I know her whereabouts.”
Hosea glared. “Humor me.”
“It’s your game,” Sir Simon said with a flick of his wrist.
“A fresh deck, gentlemen?” asked Mr. Henry.
“If the vicar agrees,” said Sir Simon.
Hosea nodded. Mr. Henry retrieved a deck from his jacket pocket and shuffled and dealt the cards. The other two men looked on not knowing, just as Hosea didn’t know but Sir Simon did, that the deck was marked.
“Gentleman?” Mr. Henry asked. Sir Simon discarded one. Hosea threw away two cards with a prayer and gained two more, but to no avail. Even without Edna there to hint, he knew his hand wasn’t good.
Sir Simon made no attempt to disguise his pleasure at his hand. “I don’t suppose you want to raise the stakes?”
“How?” Hosea asked, suspicious. He had no money or possessions of value to add to the pot.
“Let’s say if I win, you won’t attempt to see or contact Susanna,” said Sir Simon.
Hosea swallowed. “If I win?”
“Name your stakes.”
Hosea’s face hardened. “If I win, you’ll give her the money to start a new life elsewhere and never bother her again. You’ll also never set foot in the village, for I see no one’s daughter is safe from you.”
Sir Simon rolled his eyes. “You always were a fool.”
Hosea leaned forward. “Are you in or are you afraid of being beaten by a fool?”
Sir Simon looked amused. “I don’t fear the impossible.”
Hosea laid down his cards: a low pair. “Tough luck,” Sir Simon clicked his tongue, revealing his full house. “Gentlemen, this has been a most amusing game.” He rose from the table. “Now if you will excuse me, I’m going to partake of my winnings.”
Hosea lunged at him again just as the door burst open a second time that afternoon. In marched Lady Godfrey with the flustered clerk in her wake. “What is this I hear about winnings?”
“Mama!” Sir Simon exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in Amsterdam.”
“This is a gentlemen’s club, madam,” the clerk pleaded. “You must leave.”
“I shall leave when I am ready and not a moment sooner,” Lady Godfrey said, frowning at the table. “Gambling away my money again, Simon? That makes your winnings my winnings.” She noticed Hosea. “Vicar, have you come to London to look for a wife? That is all very well, but gambling with my son is not. Tell me, what have I won?”
“You’ve won my wife, Your Ladyship.”
Lady Godfrey’s brow arched. “You have a wife? Why is she in the pot? It’s not one of those Sneed girls, is it?”
“No, Your Ladyship. She’s from Texas. It’s a long story.”
She held up a hand. “I’m in no mood to hear long stories. We had a rough crossing and sailing up the Thames was most disagreeable. I suggest you return home and reform your ways. Gambling is a terrible vice.”
“Thank you, Your Ladyship.”
“Simon,” she said, “follow me. Good evening to you, Vicar. Please convey my regards to Mrs. Honeywell. I expect you both at dinner Sunday next.” She paused. “I suppose it’s too much to hope you brought back a penny dreadful?”
“Forgive me, I didn’t think to purchase one,” said Hosea.
She sighed. “Oh, well, I shall have to settle for hearing tales of your sabbatical. Do try to make them entertaining, for my sake.”
The room felt swept clean by Lady Godfrey’s swift dispensing of justice and sudden exit, but Sir Simon’s face burned. “You may have my mother’s favor, Honeywell, but you can’t have Ruby.”
“I wouldn’t say I alone have her favor,” said Hosea. “She rescued you from a thrashing.”
“A thrashing? Is that what you were going to do? Teach me a lesson?” he scoffed.
“It might have done you some good.” Hosea turned away. “Mr. Henry, I suspect you know where my wife is. I’m obliged if you show me the way.”
Mr. Henry cleared his throat. “I want no part of this quarrel.”
“You’re already part of this quarrel!” Hosea shouted. “You will take me to Sir Simon’s house.”
But when they reached the door, they heard a click. They turned to see Sir Simon pointing Susanna’s pistol at Hosea.
“You can’t have her,” Sir Simon growled. “She’s mine. Forget you ever met her.”
“Or what?” Hosea stepped toward him. “Shall you shoot me?” He took another step. “You can’t abide the thought of losing her again, for it’s obvious you lost her before.” Another step. “You’re a wicked man who has to pay women to keep his company.”
“Stay back,” said Sir Simon.
Another step. “If you shoot me, you’ll spend the rest of your wretched life in prison. If you don’t shoot, you still lose her. She’s not yours.” Hosea stopped, the gun pressed against his chest.
Sir Simon sweated and shook. “Blast it all, why should I go to prison for the likes of you?” He dropped the gun to his side. “You think you’ve beaten me? You haven’t. I still have my title and Eastleigh Hall and as many women as I please. What do you have? Your Bible and a woman who will bring you down.”
“You first,” said Hosea, throwing a punch that cracked his jaw. Sir Simon was out cold before he hit the floor.
Hosea’s hand was still throbbing when he entered Sir Simon’s house. “Where is she?” he demanded of the surprised footman.
“This way,” said the footman.
“I take my leave of you. Good evening,” Mr. Henry hurried down the front steps.
“Mr. Henry,” Hosea stopped him. “I don’t give a fig about Sir Simon’s reputation, but his family and my wife deserve respect. I trust what’s left of your sense of decency will serve to keep this matter a secret, as long as you want to keep secret your complicity in it.”
Mr. Henry bristled. “Is that a threat, sir?”
“No,” said Hosea, “it’s a promise.”
Without waiting for a reply, Hosea followed the footman up two flights of stairs. He tried the bedroom door; it was locked. “Open it,” he ordered.
“If you please, only Sir Simon has a key,” the footman said.
“Susanna? Susanna, are you in there?” Hosea called. From inside came muffled cries and thumping. “Susanna! I’m coming!” He kicked the door with unbridled fury, terrified of what he would find on the other side.
When it flew open, he found Susanna gagged and her hands bound above her to
the bedpost. Her face was bloody and bruised, as were her wrists from straining against the ropes.
Hosea flew to her and removed the gag. “My dearest
Susanna! Hold still, let me untie these ropes.”
“They’re too tight,” she cried.
“Does he keep a knife?”
“I don’t know.”
“You there,” he shouted to the footman. “Fetch me a knife and a doctor!” A knife was quickly procured and Hosea cut her free. “You’re safe now. You’re free,” he said, holding her tightly.
Yet she didn’t return his embrace. His heart sank. She didn’t care for him after all. He might be her rescuer, but it didn’t change her indifference toward him. It was a bitter pill to swallow. He didn’t know where the strength came from, but he let her go.
“I can’t feel my arms,” she sobbed.
“It’s all right, you’ll feel them in a moment,” he said, half in joy knowing the reason she couldn’t embrace him, half in agony that she was in pain. He massaged her arms. “There’ll be some pain as the blood begins to flow, but it will pass.”
Susanna trembled. “Where is he? How did you know I was here?”
“Sir Simon is at his club. Mr. Henry brought me.” He studied her swollen eye and the cuts on her face. “How could he do this? Are you hurt elsewhere?”
“No. Yes. I—” She wept. “I was so scared. He was going to kill me.”
“You’re safe now,” he held her again. “Everything is going to be fine.” When her sobs subsided, he continued massaging her arms.
“Why are you here?” she asked, wincing as the feeling returned.
He paused. “Because I love you and I want to be your husband.”
“You’ll be ruined,” she protested. “You’re a good man and you deserve a good woman.”
“You are a good woman,” said Hosea, “but I won’t ask you to stay where you’re unhappy. We’ll find a way for you to start over in America.”
“He’ll come after me,” she cried.
“No, he won’t bother you again.”
“How can you be sure?” she said, panicking. “You can’t trust him. He’s a liar.”
“Shh, my dear, don’t fret,” Hosea stroked her hair. “Don’t think of him.”
“You don’t understand,” Susanna pleaded. “I shot him! That’s why I came to England, to escape from the law. I thought he was dead. He can have me thrown into prison.”
“He held you against your will and threatened to shoot me and there are witnesses. Believe me when I say he has reason to fear us.”
Susanna looked wild and tried to climb out of bed. “He threatened to shoot you? I would have made sure to kill him if he had.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Hosea pulled her back. “It’s all over. The doctor will be here soon. You must rest.” To his dismay, she burst into tears again. He held her once more; this time she put her arms around him.
“He beat me. I had to shoot him. If he didn’t kill me, he would have killed another girl.”
“Like Claudine,” said Hosea.
“Like Claudine,” she whispered.
It was a long time before she let go, wiping her nose. “I’m sorry for lying to you. You have to see I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve someone as good as you. That’s just how it is and it isn’t going to change.”
Hosea took her hands. “It has changed. The Lord changed it. I told the church everything: what God told me to do, my disobedience, and how I love you.”
She dropped her eyes. “Now you can’t go back. I’ve ruined your life. I’m so sorry.”
“We can go back,” he said. “My life isn’t ruined. How can it be when you’ve made it better?”
“Better?” she said. “I’m a whore, just like my father said.”
Hosea reached into his pocket and pulled out his mother’s pearl ring. “Not that I would ever disagree with a lady,” he said, slipping the ring onto her finger, “but you’re not a whore. You’re the vicar’s wife.”
Tears welled up afresh as she stroked the pearl. “You told them everything?”
Hosea bit his lip. “Not exactly. I left out the part where the Lord spoke to me in another dream.”
She looked startled. “What did he say?”
“He told me to show my love to you,” Hosea confessed, turning red. “But if you don’t wish to stay, I understand. The choice is yours.”
There was an awful pause. He didn’t expect her to choose here and now, not while she was injured and distressed. At least, he hoped she wouldn’t decide right away. No, she needed time to recover, to make plans with careful consideration about where to go and what she should do to earn income. Besides—
Suddenly, Susanna smiled. “I’m glad you were obedient.”
Hosea shrugged. “I thought it prudent not to disobey the Lord again. I might end up halfway around the world in the other direction, most likely Outer Mongolia.”
Susanna shook her head. “That’s not what I meant.”
Now it was Hosea’s turn to look startled. Did he divine her meaning correctly? “Do you mean—?”
She nodded.
“Dear Susanna, are you sure? You mustn’t make a hasty decision? Are you quite sure?”
Her smile grew wider. “Maybe this time I’m making the right one.”
As the implications of her words sank in, he wanted to shout for joy. “Were your lip not cut, I’d ask for permission to kiss you,” he said.
“Hosea,” she said, “you have permission to kiss me always.”
He did. “Thy lips are like a thread of scarlet,” he quoted the Song of Solomon, a book he had never dared to quote before.
Susanna giggled. “Hosea Honeywell, if you compare my hair to a flock of goats from Mount Gilead and my teeth to shorn sheep, I’ll—” she paused.
“Yes?”
“Well, I don’t know what I’ll do. Give me a minute and I’ll think of something.”
Hosea kissed her again. “I’ll be waiting right here.”
Epilogue
Guildford, 17 July 1877
My Dear Mr. Biddle,
Thank you once again for your continued correspondence in regard to Reverend and Mrs. Honeywell. I had the honor of meeting Mrs. Honeywell yesterday and found her most enchanting. I am sure she will prove a great asset to Rev’d Honeywell and to the parish.
As the reverend writes to me often, in future you might limit your kind letters on their activities. What you save on postage could be put to better use, such as alms for the poor.
I remain your humble servant, etc.,
Rt. Rev’d S. Pringle
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To all who played a part in the creation (and recreation) of this book, I owe a big THANK YOU: Shelby, Becky, Mom, Charlene, Sonja, Scott, Kelly, Rebecca, Rachel, Lisa, and Amy.
If you’d like to learn more about the story, stop by my website. And thanks for your reviews on Amazon and Goodreads. They are greatly appreciated. www.victoriakovacsauthor.com
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