The Wife He Always Wanted

by Cheryl Ann Smith

  This left him in buckskin, a second shirt from his pack, and the kindness of a fellow traveler, Mrs. Johnson, and her lye washing soap to keep him from smelling most foul.

  No wonder Sarah though him barbaric. He did look rather fierce. “Sadly, I spent all but my last few coins on the horse. The journey here was long, and I thought a sturdy gelding a more worthy purchase than clothing.”

  Clearly, she did not share the same notion. She could not pull her eyes away from the colorful beaded necklace that dangled to the middle of his chest.

  Chuckling softly under his breath, he examined her from her frayed gray hem up to her stricken face. The girl was not unpleasant to look at, somewhat pretty, really, albeit too thin for his taste. She was dressed in the severe manner of a spinster, though he knew she wasn’t yet old enough to wear that title. Still, he could do worse in a wife. And since it was too late to withdraw the lie and the damage already done, he silently vowed to do his best to give her the comfortable life his wealth could provide. And once they tired of each other, he could always take a mistress.

  Men still did take mistresses, did they not?

  Hell. He’d been away from society so long that he wasn’t entirely certain of the rules. Until a few minutes ago, he’d carefully avoided the marriage trap.

  The chain tightened around his throat. He urgently needed a brandy. He doubted her meager stores included that spirit.

  “I assure you, Miss Palmer, I do not usually look so savage. My purse is rather light at present to allow the purchase of a razor and soap.” His attempt to reassure her did not stop her lower lip from trembling. “I will shave and change as soon as we reach London.”

  The effort to calm her worries failed. Sarah lifted her sad eyes to his. There was hopelessness in the violet depths. She’d lost the flicker of spirit he’d first glimpsed when she’d tried to run him off.

  Truthfully, he couldn’t fault her dismay, or her tears. She’d lived for the last ten years in this small village. And according to Albert, she had never traveled far outside its boundaries once she’d been secreted away here as a girl, thus limiting her experiences with strangers. He could understand her dismay over his clothing and appearance.

  “Chin up, Miss Palmer. With a careful grooming, some women find me quite pleasing to look at.”

  The attempt to lighten the moment gained him no quarter. Her shoulders slumped forward. He tried again. “Would it help if I told you that my father is an earl and my family is well respected throughout England?” She remained as she was. “That we have more money than the Prince Regent?” He paused. “When we wed, we will live in a fine house in London with servants aplenty. You will never again have to make your own bed.”

  The mention of London and servants seemed to rouse her a bit. She rubbed her eyes with her palms then lifted her gaze to peer around the dismal room. He could almost see the effort it took for her to hang on to the last of a fighting spirit.

  Even the poorest citizen would find the sparse accommodations somewhat lacking. He was certain she’d sold off whatever she could to survive, leaving behind only that which had no monetary worth.

  “How do I know you are who you claim?” She met and held his gaze. “You could be a bounder out to take advantage of my plight. Give me proof of your connection to my brother or this conversation is finished.”

  The flash of resistance, and the question, took him aback. In that moment, he saw a bit of her strong-willed brother in her. The lass wasn’t as meek as she first seemed. If she wanted proof, proof she would have.

  “I have a letter.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew the missive. “It is unfinished, but it is in Albert’s hand.”

  He handed over the single sheet of parchment. She took the item in a calloused yet delicate hand. “He began it before he died. The fever came fast—” He let his words fade behind the lump in his throat as she unfolded the slightly crumpled note and read the two simple paragraphs. “He would want you to have it, even unfinished.”

  Her eyes welled. For a moment she silently stared at the page then blinked the tears away. Then, “We are strangers. How can a marriage between us work?”

  “Marriages have begun with little more than financial gain,” he offered. “And we are not truly strangers. Albert told me many stories about you, and I’m certain he wrote to you about me. There is much we know about each other already.”

  She lowered the letter and nodded. “Yes. Enough stories to warrant my refusal of a marriage to you.”

  It took a moment for her words to sink into his brain. He snorted. “On that we both agree. You should flee from me.” He ran a hand through his unruly hair. “All I can promise you at the moment is security. The future is yet to be settled. As you said, we are strangers. We may grow to despise each other.”

  “What a grim notion,” she said.

  “I can make you no promises of love,” he replied. “Only a life of ease. If you can accept that then we will wed.”

  For a long moment, he waited for her answer. Finally, he read her acceptance in the slump of her thin shoulders before she spoke. Their fate was set.

  “I suppose I can do no worse,” she said softly.

  She could do no worse? He bit back a grin. At the very least, a wife would keep the society matrons and their giggling daughters at bay. At best, his mother would be pleased he’d given up wandering the world and come home settled with a bride. That alone made the idea of the unwanted marriage palatable. He’d been a terribly neglectful son. Anything to assuage Mother’s ruffled feathers was worth the price paid.

  Sarah’s eyes drifted over him, taking his measure. Was she weighing her choices? Did she already have a suitor? This was something he’d not considered.

  Before he could inquire about another man, she puffed out a breath. “I accept. I will marry you.”

  Half of him wished she’d said no. The other half knew it was too late for regrets. He nodded. “We’ll take care of the deed when we are settled at Harrington House.”

  Something flashed in her eyes. Worry? Desperation? “You promise we will live in London?”

  “Of course.” He watched her eyes light up. Something about the city intrigued her. This was the first time he saw some hope in the girl. Perhaps she was weary of living in the center of nowhere. Even the smog-choked city was better than this desolate dirt patch. “My family is from there. It is where we will make our home.”

  She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and pondered the idea for almost a full minute. When she finally lifted her eyes to his, gone was the defeat in the violet depths, and in its place, acceptance. Or was it eagerness?

  Her next words surprised him.

  “We might as well get the deed completed today. There is no reason for waiting,” she said in a rush. She straightened in the chair. “Parson Morse is just down the road. I shall ready myself for our wedding.”

  She pushed up from her seat. Then, without acknowledging him, she walked with a stiff gait from the room.

  The speed of her surrender left him speechless. What was her hurry? A few minutes previous, she looked at him like he was horse droppings on the bottom of her shoe. Now she wanted to rush the wedding?

  Something was amiss. Could she be with child?

  Looking at her, the notion did not fit. Her narrow frame showed no signs of that condition.

  Then what? Maybe the chit saw him as preferable to starvation, or bedding men for coin. Perhaps she’d become infatuated with his weighted purse. He had told her his family was wealthy. This alone would be enough to lift him up, even in his current condition, in the eyes of most women. Was Sarah any different?

  Whatever her reason, she would soon be his wife. He glanced around and discovered a mirror over a small table. He walked toward it and bent to stare at his reflection. He smirked. He was truly surprised Miss Palmer had not shrieked at the sight of
him. She was much sturdier than he’d thought at first glance.

  Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do about his appearance. Even if she still possessed some of Albert’s clothing, he’d been a head shorter than Gabe and thinner of frame. All he could do was marry the girl and get to London. A good valet and tailor would set him to rights.

  He stared out the window and a rush of excitement filled him. The idea of seeing his family again brought happiness into his heart. The last five years of his life had been a wild adventure. Now it was time to go home.

  What would Mother think of his surprise return? She’d been displeased when he’d left, calling him irresponsible, and worrying for his safety. As a married man, he would be the picture of responsibility. Mother would be pleased.

  The idea solidified the rushed wedding. If Sarah wanted to marry today, he would see the deed done.

  A sound brought him around. Sarah had returned, stuffed into a featureless black gown with a high black lace collar and matching lace at the sleeves. The grim gown hung on her and did nothing to uplift the somber mood of their wedding day.

  If this was an omen to their marriage, he’d have a rough path ahead.

  “It was the gown I wore when mourning my father and brother,” she said in way of an apology and explanation. “It is the best I have.”

  She was indeed in a dire condition if her best gown was a mourning gown. He’d not shame her by asking her to change.

  However, he could not marry her like this. He stepped forward. “Please allow me some consideration. I am as unprepared for my wedding day as you are for yours. Certainly we can make a few small changes to your gown to make it more wedding-like?”

  She shrugged. “Do what you must.”

  With her permission in place, he slid his fingertips into the collar. He felt her stiffen, but she did not shrink away. With a few tugs, the inexpensive lace gave way with a soft tear. Once the seam loosened, he managed to remove the rest quite easily and without making intimate contact.

  Though not perfect, the gown looked much improved. At least Sarah could breathe. Then, giving thought to the heat of the day, he turned his attention to the long sleeves. He discovered the best place to detach the sleeve was just below the puffed part. Using a good amount of creativity, and his short-bladed knife, he separated the remaining sleeves from the puff. He slid the fabric down, first one arm and then the other, to free her. Gabe tossed the sleeves on a table nearby.

  The alterations did make the gown appear less mourning and more bridal. Well, as bridal as a black gown could be.

  “Better,” he said. Sarah took the desecration of her best gown stoically. He supposed she was holding her emotions by a tenuous thread.

  Smiling encouragement, he rubbed his hands together and held out his elbow. “Ready?”

  She nodded and gingerly took his arm. She held him back as he took a step toward the door. “What will your family think of our hurried vows?”

  He looked into her worried face. “I cannot say for certain, but my mother will be satisfied that I have given up my wandering ways.” He squeezed her fingers. “Do not worry. I will spin a tale so grand that they will see ours as a love match. That should be enough to quell any speculation.”

  The gelding stood where he’d left him, half asleep and chasing off flies with his tail. Gabe frowned. “I apologize for not bringing a carriage. Thieves stole my trunk and most of my funds.”

  “I can ride,” she said, sighing.

  Gabe rolled his eyes upward, mounted the horse, and pulled her up behind him. Despite her wish to wed, the girl acted like she was headed to her hanging. He wanted to ease her worry, but there was nothing he could do. They’d known each other for little over an hour. He was still surprised that she’d actually agreed to marry him, though he suspected it was the lie over Albert’s last wishes that had ultimately led to her agreement.

  It certainly hadn’t been his charm.

  “I hope that once you’ve gotten over the surprise of our betrothal, you’ll see that becoming Mrs. Gabriel Harrington is not as grim as, say, a beheading.”

  She frowned. “I’d rather think not.”

  The ride was short, and just a few minutes later they met the parson, who was clearly shocked at the sight of Gabe squiring Sarah into the tidy church. His eyes were owl-round behind his spectacles. When Gabe explained the reason for their visit, the parson took Sarah aside and began what Gabe suspected were several minutes of the elderly man begging Sarah to reconsider.

  Sarah won the argument and they married before God and two flabbergasted middle-aged women that the parson had shuffled in off the road to act as witnesses. Gabe brushed a kiss on Sarah’s cheek and the deed was finished.

  “Chin up, love,” he said. “You are now Mrs. Gabriel Harrington, Lord help you.” Gabe paid the parson, thanked the still-startled witnesses for their kindness, and took her back to her cottage.

  A second look over the property did not change his first impression. The cottage was positively ramshackle. He’d done his wife a service by marrying her.

  “I shall warm the stew,” Sarah said as they crossed the threshold. She hurried away.

  * * *

  He dropped into the nearest chair and rubbed his eyes. The last few hours had been impulsive and reckless. Clearly, he’d not shed these impulses with maturity. He only hoped he’d not done Sarah a grave injustice by tying them together for eternity.

  The evening slogged on in silence, but for the few times he struggled to engage her in conversation. Where Albert had been a man known to charm everyone around him, his sister was clearly content to keep her own company.

  Perhaps desperate measures were needed. “I am wanted in Texas for murdering a pair of marshals, a school teacher, and a herd of goats.”

  “Hmmm.” She stared down and pushed the thin stew around her bowl with her spoon.

  “And I hope you don’t mind sharing my affections with other women. I have eight more wives and forty-seven children that will be living with us, once we get settled in a permanent home of our own.”

  “Hmmm.” She reached for her teacup, sipped the bitter brew, and made a face. Without funds for sugar, the tea was unpleasant to the tongue.

  Gabe gave up. He let the clock break the silence.

  When dusk settled and bedtime approached, Sarah stood from the settee where she’d been sewing and twisted her fingers together. “I shall ready myself for bed, Mister Harrington.”

  “Gabe, please,” he urged, but she was already out of her chair and halfway across the small room.

  Gabe watched her vanish into the hallway, still wearing her dreadful black gown. He’d prepared to offer to delay the bedding until she became used to him, but she’d not given him a chance to do so. She was as skittish as a filly. However, he suspected she’d resigned herself to completing the task and would see his offer as a rejection.

  This marriage had been a dismal mistake. Sadly, there was nothing he could do about it now.

  * * *

  Sarah paced the small bedroom, her thoughts jumbled. She was Mrs. Gabriel Harrington, whatever that meant, and her wedding night was upon her. Remembering his kindness thus far, she supposed, if she asked, he would allow her a few days to settle herself into the marriage before pressing upon her his marital rights. But something had changed in the moment he’d pledged himself to her. He’d looked deeply into her eyes and a small shiver had gone down her spine.

  And the shiver had not been from fear or panic, but from realizing for the first time that he wasn’t entirely unattractive, her husband. The feminine side of her had noticed this despite his untamed whiskers and odd clothing.

  From that moment forth, she’d noticed everything about him: his hands, his voice, his manners. Even as she all but ignored him through supper, woolgathering about him certainly, he’d been unfailingly polite, acting as the gentleman he
’d claimed to be.

  A gentleman, and her husband.

  Her heart beat a little faster. If she did not refuse him tonight she might get her very first kiss. She’d never been kissed. Were kisses pleasant? Was she ready to be kissed?

  She glanced in the small mirror. Her nondescript brown hair tumbled around her and down over the white nightdress that even nuns would consider prim. Her violet eyes reflected her apprehension, her fears, her dismay over having accepted and married Mister Harrington with little more than an unfinished letter as proof he was who he said he was.

  Could she let him kiss her, bed her, just to solidify her place as his wife?

  Her stomach grumbled. No, that was not her only reason. He was, in truth, a way out of this desperate life. That he was a friend of her brother, and a gentleman of sorts, had moved him to the head of her very short list of suitors.

  A great sigh escaped her. “Having accepted him as my choice, I will see this through.”

  Lud. There was no woman of age in all of England more innocent than she. Her one suitor was the brutish smithy, and even he had not tried to steal a kiss. Now she was married and unprepared for all that it entailed.

  The sound of his knock swung her about. The moment was upon her to decide the course of the evening. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply for strength.

  “Enter,” she called out, and the decision was made. Her future was set by the parson’s words. There was no use delaying the inevitable.

  She clasped her hands together as the door swung open. Mister Harrington dipped his head to step inside. Pausing to glance around the sparse space, he finally turned back to her. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes showed his hesitation.

  “I almost did not come,” he said.

  “I thought about locking the door,” she admitted. He smiled. She dropped her gaze to his mouth. A second shiver went through her. Would she enjoy his kisses? Would his breath be sweet or foul?

  His full set of white teeth gave her confidence of the former. Thankfully, he had none of the blackened and broken teeth of Mister Campbell.