He smiled a little as she prayed. She likely thought he’d be uncomfortable praying aloud since he had difficulty conversing, and decided to start the prayer for him. But that hadn’t been the problem, her hand had been the problem. Still was a problem. He stopped running his thumb along her index finger and concentrated on her words.
After a few minutes of praying, a glimmer of light, a loud creak, and a thump occurred toward the front of the sanctuary.
Helen straightened then dropped his hand to stand. “Reverend Atlee.”
“Oh, excuse me.” The man’s voice boomed from the front. “I didn’t know you two were already here. I thought the ceremony wasn’t until three.”
Neil stood beside Helen. “We don’t mean to be an inconvenience. We were just praying while we waited.”
The reverend cleared his throat. “I’m actually glad you’re here. The Wicketts were just at the parsonage. Gilda has fallen gravely ill, and they were hoping I’d visit soon, since the doctor thinks she could pass at any time, and I … well, might we move up the ceremony? If your witnesses could come earlier, that is.”
“We were only expecting you and your wife to witness.”
“Oh, well, Georgiana is just behind me. She wanted to bring in flowers.”
“Did you need me?” A high, chiming voice invaded the room along with the faint smell of irises.
Neil blew out his breath, hoping to relax. “Mrs. Atlee, your husband wondered if we could wed now. We’re ready whenever you are.” He turned a bit toward Helen and whispered, “Right?”
“Right,” she whispered back, and he let out the breath he’d held.
Helen pressed against the back of his arm just enough so he could tell she was leading him yet trying to disguise the pull, as if she were simply holding on to his arm as if they were a couple.
Well, they were a couple.
His heart raced to keep up with his stupid facial tick.
He thumped his hip against the pew’s corner and stifled a groan. Maybe they should’ve waited for Mrs. Atlee to light a hundred candles to go along with her flowers.
He tried to move forward as if he were leading Helen like a confident groom. No, he was confident. He’d thought this all through.
“It’ll be all right.” Helen’s lips nearly grazed his ear with her whisper, causing a quick shiver to cross his shoulders.
“All right, you stand here.” Reverend Atlee clasped his shoulder and turned him to face Helen.
Her hand dropped from his arm.
“And you turn this way.” Helen’s warmth disappeared, and he squinted, attempting to look at her but not straight on since he couldn’t see much that way. He could just make out the pinstripes, the curls. All such blurry images for this day, a day when most men probably memorized the sight of their bride’s appearance to cherish in the future.
After the reverend cleared his throat, he read aloud the marriage ceremony’s familiar words. Reverend Atlee hadn’t been fooling; he was ready for this marriage to happen now.
Neil rubbed his hands against his slacks then grabbed Helen’s hands and squeezed them. His throat dried as he tried to follow along and not miss when he was expected to repeat, but blast it, he wanted to see his bride today. If he kept his head still and didn’t move his eyes, perhaps the darkness stubbornly floating in front of him would settle enough to see more of her face than the soft curls she must have pulled out from her usually severe updo. There was some pink in her cheeks. The neckline of her dress was modestly covered in lace. But every time he thought he caught a glimpse of her eyes, he lost focus. He concentrated on relaxing so he could see the pink in her cheeks again. Her long, straight nose came into view, her lips moving to say something he should be listening to—
“You may kiss your bride.”
He blinked and looked at the pastor. He was done already? Had the vows between Helen’s niece and her new husband gone so fast last week?
He shouldn’t have looked away. The darkness stirred as he tried to return his focus on to his bride. What rotten timing. He didn’t want to embarrass Helen by kissing her nose or having to hold out his hands like an invalid needing assistance.
Her dainty fingers slid up onto his shoulder and he reached out to pull her close, but instead of moving in to kiss him, her cheek grazed his.
Her mouth was once again against his earlobe. Her breath tickled his ear. “There’s no need. Kissing isn’t required by the Bible, is it?”
No need? He didn’t want this to be a convenient marriage forever, but how could he voice that to a woman he admired but wasn’t quite comfortable with yet?
But when had he ever been comfortable laying out his feelings with words? His heart raced at the idea of talking about it. Surely things would naturally progress and he wouldn’t need words.
She backed away, but he reached up to capture her jaw. Talking wouldn’t work right now, but the kiss the reverend expected him to give her might … He brought up his other hand to cup the side of her face and moved his thumbs until they met the corners of her mouth.
Just because he wasn’t required by biblical mandate to give her a kiss didn’t mean one would be useless.
He pulled her toward him until their lips met. A bit off center, but he wandered toward the middle until he’d captured hers. After a brief second, she rocked away, probably in an effort to break the kiss, but he didn’t let her. He held on to her jaw, firmly yet gently, until she quit leaning back.
Her lips actually softened against his. A throat-clearing to his left registered, but Helen’s lips upon his was the most interesting sensation—
After Mrs. Atlee’s throat cleared again, Helen broke away. Though he couldn’t quite make out her expression, he heard her quick intake of air and heavy swallow.
“I’m sorry.” He hadn’t meant that to go on as long as it did.
He’d convinced himself he’d have more control over his life by marrying and staying in California than going to live with his sister in Kansas.
But maybe he’d just unwittingly surrendered what little control he’d had.
Chapter 3
Behind his desk, Neil fiddled with his pen, almost able to see its whole length clearly, when a knock interrupted. “Come in.”
“Good morning, Neil.”
He shifted his focus onto his wife and the scent of coffee. He’d disappeared into his study before she’d awakened—he felt more secure holed up in here. Having a woman in his house for the past week had made him feel exposed somehow.… Why, oh why, had God made him weak and reliant on somebody?
Over the last five days, Helen had been industrious, mainly cleaning his small house from the moment she’d arisen until she bid him good night. If he didn’t know better, he’d have suspected his housekeeper had stopped cleaning thoroughly after his vision began to fade, but he knew that couldn’t be the case. He only hired people with a history of integrity. Rose wouldn’t shirk responsibility, even if he’d never know.
But since the wedding, Helen had turned quiet. He was happy with companionable silence, but over the last day or two, he’d begun to wonder if her silence was not as peaceful as his.
He shouldn’t have kissed her after she’d suggested otherwise—maybe she wanted their marriage to remain convenient. He should have let things progress naturally, as he’d intended.
Her shadowy form still hovered in the doorway, so he beckoned her in. She needed to step away from the sun lighting her from behind so he could see her better. He pushed aside the stacks of books he’d been trying to work through. He needed his desk cleared anyway, so he could answer Professor Larson’s letter asking to visit.
And he had to say yes. He’d practically begged the man to come in past letters, so he could hardly deny the professor’s request now just because he’d not gotten used to Helen yet. Somehow he didn’t think his mentor would approve of their relationship—the convenient aspect of it anyway.
He’d need to reserve a hotel room for the professor to hide t
he fact that there wasn’t a bed big enough for the newly wedded couple. He’d thought to allow Helen to furnish the house to her satisfaction after the wedding but had been stymied when she’d been uninterested.
So he’d ended up on the couch. He’d never realized how uncomfortable that piece of furniture was. Never had reason to sleep on it before.
The professor was coming in a week and a half. Could he make his marriage look more conventional by then? Nine days wasn’t much time to win Helen over.
Despite knowing it would be futile, he blinked repeatedly, trying to better see his wife in the chair across from him. The slow way she’d lowered herself, and the way she now seemed to sit uncomfortably, bespoke anxiety.
But after many ticks of the clock, she still hadn’t asked him for whatever had driven her into his study. Had she finally decided to order new furniture? Everything in the house might as well be changed to her liking since he’d not be seeing much of anything soon. But she claimed she felt uncomfortable with the expense.
Well, he was uncomfortable on the couch. “Have you decided how to redecorate?”
It would be a far better use of her time than rearranging. Did she not realize that moving chairs on a near-blind man would confuse him? But if that’s how she made herself feel at home, he’d pray she wasn’t afflicted with the same malady that caused his mother to move furniture around whenever she felt restless.
“There’s no need to waste money. Your home is adequately furnished.”
Hmmm, his mother would never have been happy with adequately furnished. This house was also much smaller than his mother would expect of a wealthy man. But then, Helen was a more practical woman. “I can afford more than adequate.”
“I know.”
He blinked at her but couldn’t quite read her expression. Well, so be it. It wasn’t like he’d be able to appreciate her decorating efforts. If she was content, he’d let her be so.
But his room did need a bigger bed … eventually … probably. He needed something.
He looked down at where he should have been able to see his feet, but his brown shoes disappeared against the wood boards. Maybe this was her way to keep him on the sofa indefinitely. Did he have room in the study for a bed?
She’d been skittish since he’d kissed her at the wedding, so outright telling her he needed to move into the bedroom would make everything more awkward. He tapped his pen again. Any other man would probably have wooed his wife by saying her eyes sparkled or something. But, of course, she’d see through such compliments, considering he couldn’t see much of her at all.
If only he hadn’t rushed this. He’d done well in business by pushing forward with his decision the moment he’d made a plan. But then, relationships were hardly businesses, and friendships were not his forte. Though his few friends were loyal, he didn’t realize how rarely he saw them until they sought him out.
But he couldn’t sleep on the sofa much longer. He was too tall—the thin wooden arms either attempted to cleave his head in two or cut the blood to his ankles where they hung over the end, and he was too big to curl up sideways. “Do you prefer pine, oak, cedar, or cherry?”
She fidgeted, the chair creaking beneath her. “Cedar, I suppose.”
Good, at least she had a preference. He’d go by the furniture maker this afternoon and order a headboard, footboard, wardrobes, a chest, and a mattress as spacious as the room would allow. Something simple, since she didn’t seem to want to spend money.
“I’m antsy to learn about your business before your vision makes sharing difficult.”
He glanced over at her. Had he not told her his vision had improved a little since the wedding? The stress of his diagnosis and decision to marry had probably caused some of his visual problems that were now settling a bit.
But to tell someone about his aches and pains, where he was going, his hopes and fears—well, he normally shared nothing with anyone beyond the business contracts or Greek grammar he was pondering.
Was learning to be a husband at fifty-three more than he should’ve taken on? “I didn’t want to rush you.”
She’d seemed content to clean the past week, or had his vision kept him from noticing some other emotion at work in her?
“I’d like to start. With you having a cook, a maid, and secretaries … well, I would like to occupy my time with important things.”
She didn’t have to rush. Did he remember to tell her she could read his books? He hadn’t once seen her in here perusing his floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. “You do know that if I don’t have the sort of books you want to read, you’re free to purchase as many as you’d like.”
“Thank you, but you’ve overestimated my ability to take over your business if you don’t think I need to start learning right away. I’ve never done anything beyond keep house. When your secretary came by yesterday, I wish I could’ve done more than tell him when I expected you back.”
“Next time, feel free to ask him what he wants. He came to ask how I wanted to handle the sawmill supervisor who’s irate over one of our supplier’s behavior.”
“But how would I have known what to do?”
“Well, it was more of a personal issue than a business decision. I’m sure you could’ve talked Mr. Yates through the situation. But if it had been something more operational, he could have explained it to you.”
“So you don’t intend to teach me.” Her tone sounded disappointed. “You want me to learn everything through Mr. Yates?”
“No.” He blew on the coffee she’d warmed up and took a sip. “We’ll go through everything together. But you don’t have to defer to me, even now. My workers have been informed that in my absence, you’re their authority and your word holds.”
“But I hardly know what you do beyond you own a sawmill, several textile mills, and you lease several buildings in town.”
“I trust you, Helen. If you don’t know what decision to make, I’m sure you’ll ask for more information, get someone’s advice, or tell them to wait if you want to discuss it with me.” He placed his arms flat on the table and leaned forward. “But if you’re ready, I can start showing you around my properties this afternoon.”
Maybe his tongue would loosen over the business talk they’d have to do. He stared at one of the white rectangles on his desk that was likely Professor Larson’s letter. Even if they talked about his properties, that wasn’t close to the kind of talk a husband and wife should be doing. And yet, it had only been a week since they’d wed. Surely people who married for love courted for a much longer time before feeling comfortable together.
Hopefully Professor Larson wouldn’t be interested in his marriage at all, because if he was, he would slice right through all the uneasy excuses and probe Neil’s deficiencies. He’d always liked the man for not dancing around hard topics—when it came to religion. But would he still feel that way when he pointed out the trouble Neil had gotten himself into by taking on a wife, when he could barely maintain a friend?
Helen shifted her weight from one foot to the other. How many hours had they walked up and down the floors of the three textile mills Neil owned? She needed to order a more comfortable pair of boots. She glanced at her timepiece as Neil patiently listened to the woolen mill’s third-floor supervisor complaining. Evidently this man was rarely satisfied with anything.
“Are you all right, Helen?” Neil’s hand clutched her elbow. The portly supervisor was staring at her as if she’d purposely interrupted his harangue.
“A woman my age isn’t used to so much walking.”
“Come now, don’t put us in the grave yet.” Neil smiled at her then beckoned to Mr. Yates. “Would you see my wife home while I finish with Mr. Sackett?”
“Certainly. My own feet are begging for a reprieve.” Mr. Yates’s hair was prematurely gray, and the gentle laugh lines around his eyes crinkled at the slightest provocation. “And I’m not even old enough to have grandchildren.”
She shrugged but couldn’t muster up even
a glimmer of amusement. She’d never have any grandchildren. And though she’d come to terms with that ages ago, the sting of sadness was more acute now that she’d actually married.
Not that she and Neil would have had children earlier, considering blindness was the only thing that had turned his head her way.
She should be grateful for being chosen to help him now.
And yet, if only he’d spend a little more time with her, talk to her some more.
For what purpose? She rubbed at her eyes. This discontent was ridiculous. What other person in the whole state of California had as much attention from Neil as she? He was plenty hospitable and never once made her feel ugly and old—like she was.
Yes, she should be plenty content with his genial attention.
She looked over her shoulder, but Neil had already walked off with the unhappy supervisor.
Mr. Yates led her down to the carriage and handed her inside then took a seat up with the driver.
Within minutes, they were in front of Neil’s modest home, and Mr. Yates jumped down to help her out.
She’d never really thought of where Neil lived before she married him. She’d assumed he lived in a house at least the size of her sister’s, since his income was enormous compared to Don’s, yet this house was nothing more than a small two-bedroom cottage. And one of the bedrooms, the larger of the two, had been converted into a library and study.
She’d assumed she’d have her own bedroom … a choice of bedrooms, actually. But then, she should’ve known better. Neil wasn’t the kind of man who needed a room to entertain overnight guests.
But after he’d unexpectedly kissed her at the ceremony …
He’d laid out his plan for marrying with such precision that she’d truly not expected to be more than his companion with legal claim to his estate. But then he’d kissed her, even after she told him she didn’t expect one. And it hadn’t been a simple kiss, no, he actually seemed to have put some feeling into it, as if … as if he actually thought she was worth—
The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity Page 22