The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity
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Virginia stared at her friend’s earnest face, that sinking feeling confirming that Sarah was likely right.
“Besides,” Sarah said, lifting one hand to pat Virginia’s cheek, “what better way for us to be really sisters than this? I want my baby to have you for an aunt!”
Virginia gasped. “Baby! Oh, how wonderful! Does John know?”
“Of course. It’s why he wants to have this ceremony as soon as possible. He doesn’t want me traveling, even though I’m healthy as a horse. But I won’t miss your wedding, since without me it wouldn’t even be taking place. So tomorrow, Virginia. It’s a three-hour ride, straight west. You’ll be ready when John and I come for you? At ten? You’ll have to close the shop for the day, but it’s worth it to stay in business, isn’t it?”
Awhirl with confusion, worry, gratitude, and what seemed her only hope, Virginia nodded and hugged her friend, who then scooted back outside to her waiting carriage.
Chapter 2
Paul entered his home through the kitchen, a habit he’d had since childhood. Although his father had farmed so that his heirs could be what some from the old country might call “gentleman farmers,” Paul hadn’t quite lived up to the man of leisure his father had provided for. Paul blamed his father that neither Paul himself nor John had ever spent a day chasing idleness, since Father himself had so well modeled working.
He hung his equipment on the pegs designed for such use, his net and jar, the veiled hat and thick gloves he wore when investigating a hive. At his feet were already the smoker and drumming sticks he used to temporarily drive bees away from the investigations he carried on in the hives themselves. Normally he would have passed through the kitchen with little more than a greeting to his cook and housekeeper, Mrs. Higgins, but she was bent over the most extraordinary cake, and he was caught not only by the care she took to add a pink dollop of frosting on the bouquet of flowers decorating its top but by the concentrated effort on her pleasantly lined face.
“And what have we here?” he asked, reaching a finger toward the base of the cake to snatch a taste of the sugary creation.
She slapped away his hand, not as gently as she might have had the cake been for him. Obviously she was serving this masterpiece for a very special occasion.
“It’s your wedding cake, Mr. Paul, and I don’t want it sampled before this afternoon!”
“My wedding cake,” he repeated, bewildered. “Mrs. Higgins, you realize this isn’t a real wedding?” John had made all of the arrangements yesterday, assuring Paul he needn’t do a thing except be home at one o’clock. At least he’d known Paul wasn’t likely to go to the city to do this favor! “The minister will provide the service in the garden, we’ll sign a paper, and the woman will return on her way. I doubt she’ll stay for cake.”
Mrs. Higgins shoed him away, waving a small spatula in his face. “You leave this to me. There won’t be a wedding in my garden without a cake. Now off you go.”
“Your garden! Well, I like that. You, who complain every day that the flowers attract too many bees.”
“Out! Go straight up to your room for a shave and a freshen, and wear that shirt I put the iron to. I’ve left it laid out on your bed.”
Paul opened his mouth to protest over being treated like a child, but since Mrs. Higgins had mostly filled the role of mother even before his own mother died, he did her bidding.
He would have this favor done with, and tomorrow things would return to the peaceful, quiet routine he’d cultivated in his life.
But at least there would be cake today. While he enjoyed the honey that his industrious bees produced, he seldom thought to ask Mrs. Higgins to do any baking.
Virginia peered through the carriage window at the countryside lined with fields of grass broken by the occasional cluster of bushes or trees, and even more occasionally a field of wheat or corn or some other vegetation she couldn’t name. Having been born and raised in the city, she couldn’t understand why anyone would choose to live so far from others on these remote oases called farms.
She was tempted to look at her watch pin but caught herself before doing so. No sense in being teased by Sarah again. Yes, she was counting the moments until she would meet John’s brother, even if it was ridiculous to spend a moment wondering what he would be like. It simply did not matter. This ceremony would take place for one reason, and that was to fulfill the demands of her father’s well-meaning but obviously misguided will. After today, she would likely never see this about-to-be husband of hers.
Yet another lump formed in her throat, this one larger than the last. Swallowing nearly brought tears to her eyes. Marriage was a covenant of God, a symbol of the devotion He extended to those He’d made in His image. A symbol to me, a promise that His love will last forever!
Was she treating it shabbily, this rite that was clearly meant to be a holy union? God forgive her if she was—and yet, hadn’t her father done the same with this absurd demand, using the one thing—her bonnets—that meant anything to her?
“Don’t worry,” Sarah whispered, patting Virginia’s gloved hand with her own. Virginia stole a glance at John across from them, who broke away from his own perusal out the glassed window, as if surprised by Sarah’s soothing tone. What had she to worry about, after all? Wasn’t this ceremony meant to banish all of her worries?
“I’m just eager to have it over, I suppose. So I can get back to work.”
John shook his head. “You don’t know it yet, Virginia, but what you’ve just said has convinced me that we’re absolutely right in this whole farce. If ever there were two people who deserve a marriage in name only, it’s you and my brother.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Because he’s likely thinking the same thing you are.”
Chapter 3
He’s waiting for you in the garden, Mr. Paul,” said Mrs. Higgins after he opened the door of his bedroom to her gentle knock.
He intended to stride past, but Mrs. Higgins stepped in his way. “Now just a minute, little mister,” she said, his old pet name slipping from her lips as it sometimes did. That he’d towered over her since he turned fifteen had little to do with it. She reached up to straighten the silk tie hanging haphazardly from his neck—an accessory he seldom wore but had dutifully donned, since she’d laid it out on the bed for him.
“And the hairbrush?” she asked.
He waited long enough for her to take a few quick brushstrokes to the back of his head, something she hadn’t done for him since he better fit the term of endearment she obviously still held of him.
“All right, then,” she said, stepping back to eye him with a look of satisfaction. “Go on. The minister wants a word with you before your bride arrives, and she’s due here any time now.”
My bride … What a strange sensation came with such words. But now was not the time to get sentimental, so he found his way to the garden, going through the glass-paned doors of the dining room rather than his usual route through the kitchen. He might as well play the part his father had left to him, if only for the minister’s benefit, and use a proper door.
However, what caught his eye first stood at the edge of his garden: the tall glass box he’d been working with for several days now. He’d been luring bees to it with a bit of sugar here, the nectar of a flower there—smeared into the corners of the box he’d fashioned so he could see inside. So far he’d succeeded in capturing far too few specimens to be worth so much trouble—but there now! A fair swarm of them, their sweet buzzing like a symphony to his ear.
Without a word to the figure in black waiting amid the rest of the flowers in the abundant garden, Paul hurried to the kitchen door where he kept his gloves and veiled hat. Although he barely felt a sting anymore even if a bee did protest his accidental contact, today was not the day to suffer an uncomfortable stab. He emerged from the back of the house a moment later with his head and hands safely covered then walked right past the staring minister to take advantage of what nature had sent to h
im. All he needed to do was slip the glass top on the box, and he would have what he needed. It would only take a moment.
The bees were busy as usual, too busy to take much notice of him. Moving slowly, carefully so not to alarm them, he leaned down for the lid he’d made of glass and glue and netting-covered air holes.
In a moment he would place the lid on top, temporarily imprisoning the bees that enjoyed what he’d provided for them. He would get this ceremony over with and then, once the bees had had their fill, he would free them to follow back to their hive. He had enough of them now to easily track their path.
But he couldn’t help pausing to admire the creatures as they collected the sweet provision.
Virginia followed John after he helped first her and then Sarah from the carriage. Distracted as she was by what was about to take place, she still couldn’t miss the loving care John offered to his wife. Her recently discovered pregnancy might not be the topic of polite conversation, but Virginia was fairly certain it was all both of them thought about these days. John treated her as if she were porcelain. Or perhaps a queen.
But she refused to dwell on the ripple of unexpected envy that swept through her. Sarah was so very dear to her, and Virginia celebrated that her friend had a husband who rejoiced in how precious she—and their coming child—was to him.
However, once they were both safely on solid ground, John fairly sprinted to the front door. It was barely opened by a middle-aged, salt-and-pepper-haired woman who pointed around the house before John waved them to follow through a narrow though perfectly manicured pathway amid thriving flowers surrounding the entire house.
“The minister is here,” John called over his shoulder. “They’re both in the back garden, my brother as well. You don’t mind if I run ahead, do you? I want to make sure all is in order.”
Sarah’s laugh followed him, though Virginia doubted her husband could hear the words that followed. “What does he think could go wrong? Isn’t this a perfectly normal occasion? A wedding?”
Virginia grabbed Sarah’s hand, hoping she could absorb some of her friend’s obvious peace and approval of the day. But it didn’t work.
“Now don’t you worry, too!” Sarah said. “I know this is meant to be. My instincts are never wrong, and I have a very definite feeling we’re doing exactly the right thing. Come along. No dawdling now that we’re here.”
It was true, Virginia had dawdled. Now she stopped altogether. “Shouldn’t I … Well, take a moment to freshen up after the journey?”
Sarah looked her over. “You look lovely! We don’t want to keep the minister waiting.”
“All right, but wait.”
With trembling hands, Virginia reached up to unravel the delicate lacing she’d sewn into her yellow bonnet. It was black, perhaps not quite the color a bride should wear but taken from a butterfly design. The yellow and black color combination was ordained by God Himself. She knew the veil would obscure her face, but perhaps that was fitting, considering the details of the union about to take place.
Virginia couldn’t help but notice the profusion of flowers that lined the wide flagstone path leading them around the two-story brick house. The city had its parks, windows had their boxes, and florists had their bouquets ready to be delivered anywhere in Milwaukee. But this place was a mix of cultivation and a wild array of color and scent. She couldn’t name half of the buds that drew her eye, as the sight of such beauty permeated the tension she’d carried with her from the city.
Rounding the corner of the house, she saw a man beside John. Both seemed to be staring in the other direction. A third man in strange garb was off at the corner of the garden, decked in a wide-brimmed tan hat with a veil even thicker than the one she wore. And his gloves were surely too cumbersome to work the ground. He was staring into some sort of glass box, and barely moving.
What sort of gardener wore such attire? Where was John’s brother? And—goodness, a hint of panic assailed her—what was his name? Obviously Turnbridge, since that was John’s name. But what in the world had John called him?
“There’s Paul,” Sarah whispered.
Ah! Paul! Her husband-to-be was named Paul. Not that she would have occasion to address him, but it was nice to know such a detail.
She followed Sarah’s gaze and to her bewilderment it led her straight back to the odd fellow staring so intently at that unusual box. She watched as he moved with smooth, measured progress to place some kind of lid on the stand before him and then, some moments later, turned to see those who awaited him in the garden.
Chapter 4
Paul was used to seeing the world through the thick black veil protecting him, and he instantly noticed the three new arrivals. Skimming past his brother and his wife, his eye settled on the woman he was to marry. Instantly he noticed his was not the only veil between them, and he wasn’t sure why he felt disappointed at the limited first sight of her.
She was taller than he expected, nearly as tall as John, who was only a few inches shorter than Paul himself. And though she wore a capelet over her gown, he could tell her form was pleasing. Her hair, what he could see of it behind the veil and the ribbon holding what even he could tell was an artfully designed yellow bonnet—the exact shade of a bumblebee, especially with its accompanying black—was a mix of sand and gold, darker than Sarah’s hair but undeniably fetching.
None of which should matter, though he couldn’t deny he wished he could see her face.
He approached, in no particular hurry as he contemplated what was about to take place. He hadn’t any qualms about it while it was still just a favor for his brother and Sarah. But now, seeing there was a real live person attached, it suddenly seemed … important.
Reaching the little cluster of visitors, he took a place at his brother’s side rather than by his bride, who stood clutching Sarah’s hand as if she needed to be kept in place. That surprised him. It was for her benefit, after all, that this whole thing had been arranged.
“Reverend,” Paul said, choosing to greet him first out of pure consternation over how to greet the woman whose name, at least, would forever be linked to his.
Reverend DeWeis filled the black garb of a minister to perfection. Tall, dignified, a thatch of silver hair complementing the figure he cut as a man to be trusted, respected, sought for advice. On the few occasions Paul made it to church, he was always impressed with the man’s dedication to his flock.
Just now, however, rather than the traditional smile with which he normally greeted Paul on his rare visits, the man turned to him with a frown.
“Your brother came to me yesterday with the most extraordinary request to be here by one o’clock, with a marriage license I am to file, prepared to wed you to a woman this very day.” Turning to include the woman in his attention, he added, “And I surmise this is the woman you are to wed.”
“Yes, it’s true,” Paul said and would have continued but John jabbed him in the shoulder.
“Would you take off that blasted beekeeper’s hat!”
Paul had nearly forgotten he wore it, but realized he likely looked silly in it now. He pulled off the hat, then the gloves one-by-one, and tossed them to the wrought-iron bench he frequented when waiting for new visitors to his flowers.
For some unexpected reason he only managed a quick glance in his bride’s direction, unaccountably wondering what she might think of the face of her husband. It was, after all, more information than he had of her. All he could tell was that her nose wasn’t overlarge, because the veil didn’t protrude much. For all he could see she didn’t have a nose at all.
Reverend DeWeis looked between Paul and his bride. Virginia. Her name floated easily to his mind, a name he suddenly found himself liking.
“Am I to understand this is an arranged marriage in every sense of the word, then?” the reverend asked.
“Yes,” Paul said, “you could call it that.” What more did the man need to know? He must perform weddings of all kinds; surely this wasn’t the fir
st couple he’d joined that he didn’t personally know very well.
The minister eyed him suspiciously, but soon let his gaze travel farther from the garden to include the house and fields in the distance, easily spotted from their somewhat elevated height. “I understand your desire to leave a legacy, Mr. Turnbridge. You’ve been blessed with much and no doubt want the future of this fine estate to stay in the family. However, it’s my habit to meet with the couples I marry, to interview them so to speak. There is the matter of being unequally yoked that I’d like to avoid. I’ll not put my blessing on a couple the Lord does not see fit to be joined in the ministry of life.”
Paul clasped his hands behind his back, wondering just how honest he was expected to be. Surely John had told the man the conditions of the agreement when he’d set up this ceremony? Why was the minister so intent on details like knowing whether or not he and his prospective wife were matched with similar faith?
“Reverend DeWeis,” he said slowly, considering his words before letting each one out and purposely avoiding the gaze from his bride, “as you know I am unconventional in my faith.” He lifted his hand to indicate the beauty of nature surrounding them. “I can more easily worship God from this cathedral right under His sky than I could in the far more humble building you call a church. But rest assured I submit to the authority of God in three persons, Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”
The reverend turned to the bride. “And you, young lady?”