Her heart squeezed. Now this good, upright man had to pay the price. She was used to picking up the pieces after Audrey scattered them around. Dr. McNair wasn’t. How would he endure the shame and humiliation of being left at the altar? Would his medical practice suffer? Would the townspeople still look at him with the respect he had received so far?
No. Plain and simple. No.
Dr. McNair straightened his stance, as if drawing from deep within an ounce of courage. “I’m sorry about this, Mr. Whittaker, sure I am. Please let me know what I can do to assist you through this difficult time. I’ll go to the church and tell Reverend Hansen there will be no wedding.”
“Not so fast, young man.” Her father wheeled around. The same determination that had taken a simple country store and turned it into the best establishment in town now lined his features. “Why shouldn’t there still be a wedding?”
“But, sir.” Dr. McNair shifted in his seat, raw pain in his face. “How can there be? I have no bride.”
“Why not?” Her father strode across the room and stopped directly in front of her. Grace swallowed hard. “You forget, my boy. I have more than one daughter.”
The air choked from her lungs. Father couldn’t mean …? He couldn’t be suggesting …? He couldn’t actually be offering …?
Herself as Audrey’s replacement.
“Sir?” Dr. McNair stiffened. “I haven’t the pleasure of quite understanding you. What can you be meaning?”
“I mean that since my eldest daughter is ungrateful enough to reject your suit, my youngest will take her place.”
The world she’d known crashed down again. She, wed Dr. McNair? Little, unremarkable Grace? Had her father lost his mind? As a replacement for Audrey, she was laughable. Dr. McNair would never agree. Nor would she. Would she?
“You wish to give me Miss Grace’s hand in marriage?” Dr. McNair looked ready to bolt out of the room. She didn’t blame him. Right now, she wanted nothing more than to crawl back under the covers and forget this terrible morning ever happened.
“Why not? Grace is all of nineteen years of age. Although she may not be as … well … as noticeable, she is just as capable as Audrey in running a house. The man who weds her will be most fortunate. And after all the trouble and expense I’ve been put to, it seems shameful for it all to go to waste.”
Noticeable? Just say it, Father. Audrey is ten times more likely to capture a man’s attentions than I. The words burned deep within her throat.
“Do you not care to ask the lass if she be willing?” Dr. McNair’s gaze sought hers.
A tingle spiraled down her spine. His chocolate-brown eyes. His chiseled features. Strength and masculinity. He couldn’t actually be considering … her?
“Why, of course she’s willing. What better offer could there be for her?”
The words stung, more because of their truth than anything else. Father was right. She would get no other offers. Except perhaps from some desperate widower who simply wanted a housekeeper.
But of course, she would never be anything more to Dr. McNair. He’d chosen her sister.
“I want to hear what she has to say.” The doctor looked down at her. Nothing resembling ardor filled his gaze. Only deep, heartrending sorrow.
“I would do anything to make amends for what my sister has done.” Tears swam in her eyes. For this man who her sister had so carelessly wounded. He’d given her his heart. She’d tossed it in the rubbish heap.
“There you have it. Now, Dr. McNair. What do you say? Shall you take my Grace in her sister’s place?” Her father laid a hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him. Instead of the usual censure in his eyes, something else lingered. As if he might, for a moment, think her special. Something valuable.
“Well? Will there be a wedding today or not?”
If only one could reel in events as easily as fishing line. Raymond would reel it all back, starting with yesterday evening. If he’d known of Audrey’s plans, surely he could have convinced her to stay, work things out. Somehow. Then he’d take back the events of the morning from the moment Grace had stepped into the kitchen. The letter. Mr. Whittaker’s anger. His substitute arrangement.
Had Mr. Whittaker taken leave of his senses? Women weren’t horses. You couldn’t simply exchange one for another. Audrey was the woman he’d fallen in love with. Not Grace. How could he, in good conscience, marry a girl he didn’t love? He couldn’t. Could he?
Still, he needed a wife. Every respectable doctor did. Someone to run the house and assist in the practice. That, along with his attraction to her, was the reason he’d decided to tie the knot with Audrey. Now she’d jilted him for some slick theater manager. No doubt he’d have her in his act soon enough. She’d like that. Audrey did enjoy putting on a show. Apparently including one that, up until yesterday, had cast her in the role of a devoted bride-to-be.
He chanced a glance at Grace. She studied him, her large gray eyes troubled. He’d always thought her a sweet lass. Quiet and mousey, but sweet. But to make her his wife?
Yet, he must have a wife. He’d thought to have one of his choosing, someone he loved and who loved him in return. Now love was no longer a consideration. After his heart had been tossed in the dirt and trod upon, how could it be? If he married Grace, he would gain a respectable wife. One with whom he could form a successful partnership. Omitting romance, he would still get exactly what he wanted.
“Come now, my boy. We’re waiting.” For a man whose daughter had committed such a transgression, Mr. Whittaker’s tone was a wee bit over-impatient.
Raymond swallowed, the roof of his mouth dry and gritty as plaster. “No … yes.” Yes? Where had that come from? As if some force outside of himself had taken hold of his tongue and spoken the words for him.
“You’re agreed then?”
Every ounce of good sense he possessed begged him to retract the words. He glanced at Grace. A shy gleam lit her eyes, like the hesitant flicker of a candle.
He’d chosen Audrey. But she wasn’t here. He still needed a wife. Though he didn’t love Grace, perhaps they could make things work. A convenient arrangement of sorts.
“If Grace is willing, then yes. I’m agreed.” He tried to sound firmer than he felt.
“It’s all settled. I’ll go down and speak to the minster. He should have no objections. Since your sister is unworthy of the honor, Grace, you, instead of her, may wear your mother’s wedding gown. I know she’d be proud to see you in it, if the Lord in His Providence hadn’t taken her from us.” His eyes took on a faraway look for a brief moment. “You’d better go and finish your preparations, my boy.” Mr. Whittaker clapped his hands together and hurried from the room.
Raymond cleared his throat. Grace clasped her hands behind her back, seeming at a loss for words. Something her sister never had difficulty with.
“I’ll do my level best to be a kind husband for you, lass.” He offered her a smile. “Though we haven’t had time to get properly acquainted, we can be friends at least, can we not?”
“I’d like that.” She returned his smile tentatively. So timid. Like a little sparrow afraid to venture far from home. Contrast that with Audrey’s butterfly brightness. He should have known better than to trust a butterfly. Too many others were attracted to her color and beauty.
He nodded. “Later then?”
Her only answer was another smile, before she ducked her head and flitted from the room.
Fire and thunder be on your head, Audrey Whittaker. Faithless, faithless lass!
The Holy Word demanded he forgive her. He’d promised to obey God as a young lad and wouldn’t stop now. Sometimes though, when one’s heart had been trod upon and smashed to bits, fighting back seemed so much more satisfactory than turning the other cheek. For a hot-blooded man like himself, anyway.
He made his way out into the mocking sunlight. Why should it shine when inside his heart blew a cold drizzle of rain?
Chapter 3
Grace adjusted the lace v
eil with trembling fingers. It fell to her waist in thick folds, hiding her unremarkable brown hair. Though the gown had been altered for Audrey’s taller, less petite frame, she’d made do with a few pins. And she had to admit that bedecked in the cream-colored silk, a flush to her cheeks, she did look somewhat like a bride. Albeit a plain one.
It still seemed surreal that Dr. McNair had actually agreed to the wedding. Her heart thudded beneath the fine gown. Perhaps he was so much in shock he hadn’t quite realized what he promised to do. Then he would arrive at the church and realize there’d been a terrible mistake. Could she endure the embarrassment if that happened?
She had to. This was her chance to have a home and a husband. Even if they were Audrey’s castoffs. Kindness had lingered in his coffee-brown eyes as he asked if they could be friends. Maybe they could try. She wasn’t fascinating or beautiful like Audrey, but she’d try to make him happy. Someday he might grow to care for her. Be glad they had married.
Lord, guide me. Help me to be a good wife to Dr. McNair. I know I’m not Audrey, but help me to try. And to be brave whatever happens this afternoon.
She smoothed the front of her dress one last time then picked up the flowers waiting on the dressing table. With her veil down, perhaps no one would notice who the bride was. At least during the ceremony. But afterward, there would be curious stares. And many questions. The town gossips would want all the details and were never shy about getting them. Oh, how she hated it when people stared. Especially at her.
She wouldn’t be alone, though. Dr. McNair would be with her. They could be stared at together.
Her father waited at the foot of the stairs, looking every inch the successful storeowner in his dark suit and tie. He’d brushed his thinning hair back, and his gold watch gleamed bright. Her pulse sped up. Since she’d been a child, she’d spent countless hours dreaming of her wedding day. Wearing her mother’s wedding dress, her father walking her down the aisle. The love in her groom’s eyes.
She’d have the first two at least. She could make do without the third.
“Thank you, Grace.” Her father smiled. “At least I have one daughter worthy of the Whittaker family name. Your mother would be so proud.”
“Thank you, Father.” Tears gathered in her eyes. She’d always longed to please him, to be a daughter he could be glad of. Now, in a strange twist of fate, she’d accomplished just that.
The carriage waited outside, and in a matter of minutes they arrived at the church. The gray stone building with its tall steeple, a cross at the tip, always filled her with a sense of reverent awe. Today, even more so. Within these walls she would be transformed from Grace Whittaker into Grace McNair. A different person. One who could perhaps be something other than plain and unimportant.
Within the church, people laughed and talked, the strains of a piano intermingling. Clutching her skirt with one hand and her father’s arm with the other, Grace climbed the steps.
Another melody swelled from the piano, banged out by Mrs. Morgan’s knobby fingers. Mendelssohn’s “Wedding March.” She sucked in a breath. In mere moments she would pass the point of no return. There’d be no taking back this hasty decision.
Her hand delicately placed atop her father’s arm, Grace took the first step. The long aisle stretched before her, a sea of faces endlessly ahead. At the end stood Dr. McNair. So very handsome in a gray, double-breasted suit, his sun-bronzed face pale. She faltered as around her, people gasped, no doubt realizing the switch in brides. Still, she made herself keep going. One foot in front of the other.
At the altar, the minister waited, the small black book solemnly in his hands. Dr. McNair moved to take her arm. Her throat tightened as she gazed up at that firm, resolute face. No sign of love, only determination. She should expect nothing less, of course, but …
His large hand all but swallowed hers, and as moisture slicked her palm, her grip began to slip. She tightened her fingers around his and looked up at the minister.
“Dearly beloved …”
The ceremony passed in a blur as she pledged herself to a stranger. To love and cherish him till death did they part. Such lofty promises. Could she keep them? Would he keep his and care for her in sickness and in health? Forsake all others and keep only unto her as long as they both should live?
Had they both made a terrible mistake, entering into a contract so binding? Perhaps she should never have agreed. But the deed was done. She was in for a penny and in for a pound.
“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
He gave her a slight smile as he lifted her veil, throwing back the lace to reveal her identity to the entire assembly. More gasps and piercing stares. The piano burst into another piece. If she’d been Audrey, he would’ve kissed her in celebration. Instead, he simply took her hand.
Into the sunlight they went, racing down the steps as showers of rice streamed in their direction like hundreds of tiny good wishes.
If the first few moments of their marriage were any indication of how the rest would be, they’d certainly need them.
They’d survived the gauntlet of stares and questions and emerged basically unscathed. Thank goodness it was over. Raymond couldn’t imagine a worse three hours than those spent at the Whittaker home during the reception. Though few had actually asked outright, the hints and innuendos had been more numerous than he could count.
A dull ache pounded in his temples as the carriage stopped at the door of his practice. He jumped down and offered his hand to Grace. In silence, they climbed the steps. He opened the door. He’d always imagined carrying his new bride over the threshold before giving her a long and lingering kiss. For over a year, he’d dreamed it would be Audrey. Now, a small and silent girl stood in her place, so he simply opened the door and stepped back to let her inside.
The waiting room was deserted, of course, the books and periodicals stacked neatly on a small table, the clock ticking away above the frame that held his medical degree. That scrap of paper he’d slaved so hard for during four long years, an Irish kid from the coal mines who shouldn’t have amounted to a darn thing. He’d been determined to succeed in his career. With God’s help he’d succeed in marriage as well.
He climbed the stairs and unlocked the door. Twilight flickered across the carpet, the walls he’d so painstakingly re-papered, the sofa and easy chair he’d purchased. A vase of flowers sat on the kitchen table. Audrey’s favorite orchids. All of it done for her, only her, and she’d thrown it in his face!
An intense wish for an ax and a pile of wood to demolish came over him. Something to burn the anger and frustration hovering in the corners of his mind. Beasts rattling their chains of self-restraint, begging to be unleashed. His gaze landed on Grace, wavering by the door like a little sparrow who would take flight at the slightest threat. He had to put her at ease. Irish men were gentlemen, no matter the circumstances.
“This is the parlor.” He lit the lamp atop the fireplace mantle to give the room some light. “And sort of the dining room as well.” He opened the kitchen door. “Through here is the kitchen. I had a pump installed so you don’t have to go outside to get water. Audrey … your sister said your house had one. Then, across the hall is your room.” His, actually. But there was only one bedroom, and he wouldn’t have her sleeping on the sofa. It would do just fine for him.
She crossed the room in silence and opened the chamber door. A fist closed around his throat. He’d even bought new linens to replace the old sheets he’d been using, and covered them with a new quilt that the wife of one of his patients had made.
Raymond brushed past her, into the room. “Give me a moment to collect some things and then I’ll be out of your way.” He opened the closet and pulled his few suit jackets and trousers off their hooks.
“I’m sorry … to put you out of your room.” Her voice came out thin as a reed.
He grabbed his shaving kit and comb and added them to the top of the pile. “I’m fine.” One last sweep
of the room. Only the things in the drawers remained. Those he would retrieve tomorrow. Good. He could get out of here now. “There’s leftover stew in the kitchen if you’re hungry.”
“Thank you.” She perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ve been very kind.”
He shifted the pile of stuff in his arms. “If there’s nothing else you’ll be wanting, then I’d best go see to the horses.” He all but ran from the room. The door clicked behind him.
Once in the parlor, he deposited his pile on the sofa then escaped down the stairs. The comforting scents of his clinic wafted over him. The spice of herbal remedies. The pungent antiseptic he cleaned with. The starch of the clean linens atop his examining table. After the events of the day, this at least remained unchanged. Something to throw himself into. A surefire way to forget the woman upstairs who now shared his name.
Lord, I need Your strength. In Your Word, it promises You never leave nor forsake us. Never am I more glad of that than now. Be with us in the days to come. And somehow, help us to make this work.
He ran his fingers through his hair. Enough. Despite his problems, Blarney and King still needed to be fed and stabled.
Thank heaven for work.
Chapter 4
Why couldn’t she be beautiful like Audrey? Why did her features have to be so small and unremarkable, her straight hair such a muddy shade of brown? Not blessed with effortless curls like Audrey’s, her tresses hung to her waist like a sheet. Leaving no practical way to style it, save in a knot at the nape of her neck.
She jammed in pins, smoothed her fingers over the chignon, then hurried from her room. No use looking in the mirror again. She’d only dislike what she saw.
Morning light streamed through the parlor windows. Grace stifled a yawn. She’d scarcely slept last night, overwrought by her change in surroundings and the nearness of the man in the next room. She opened the kitchen door. Deserted save for a table, two chairs, a stove, icebox, and dishpan. Where was Dr. McNair?
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 2