by Renee Ryan
“If he hadn’t given me a job, I would have found another route of escape.”
Callie sighed. “I know that now.”
“Come on, Cal, you must admit.” Fanny nudged her sister’s shoulder. “Things worked out pretty well for you. You are married to a wonderful man and have a baby on the way.”
Callie turned her head, her gaze full of gratitude. “If I haven’t said it enough already, thank you, Fanny, thank you for breaking your engagement to Reese.”
“You’re most welcome.”
They fell silent, each lost in her own thoughts.
Callie shifted, rose up on her elbow again. “I confess, I didn’t know for certain that Mr. Hawkins was besotted with you until Mrs. Singletary’s charity ball.”
Fanny thought of the moment on the hotel terrace when she’d kissed Jonathon. “I have a confession of my own to make.”
“That sounds interesting.” Callie poked her in the ribs. “Do tell.”
“I…” Fanny sighed. “I was the one who initiated our first kiss. If I’d known the Ferguson sisters were watching, I would have never—”
“Wait, stop, go back. I wasn’t talking about Mrs. Singletary’s charity ball this year. I was talking about the one she held last year.”
“Last year?”
“I saw the way he looked at you. It’s the same way Reese looks at me. But what really gave Mr. Hawkins away was how he capitulated to your every request for your current position. He adores you, Fanny, and has for some time.”
Could it be true? Fanny barely dared to hope.
If Jonathon had feelings for her, feelings that had been building for over a year now, surely he would want to have a real marriage with her.
“Enough lazing about.” Callie hopped off the bed and dragged Fanny with her. “It is my duty to ensure the bride has a hearty breakfast. I will not shirk my responsibilities.”
Fanny hugged her sister. “I love you.”
“Love you, too. Now,” Callie clapped her hands together in a gesture that reminded Fanny of Beatrix Singletary. “You require sustenance and I shall see you get some.”
“I think…” Fanny pressed a hand to her churning stomach. “I’m too nervous to eat.”
“There’s nothing to be nervous about.” Callie presented her best big-sister smile. “It’s going to be a good day, Fanny.”
A ridiculously pleasant flutter went through her heart. “No, Callie, it’s going to be a great day.”
*
Later that same morning, huddled inside his heavy coat, Jonathon made the journey to Charity House on foot. In just over an hour, he would pledge his life to Fanny’s at the church connected with the orphanage. It was one of the many things they’d agreed upon about their wedding.
He’d enjoyed the planning process. He and Fanny made a good team. Their easy working relationship at the hotel had seamlessly translated into a personal one.
Fanny was purity and light, so little of life’s tragedies had truly touched her. Jonathon didn’t want that to change because of him. He wanted to be a good husband, but he was a little fuzzy on what that actually entailed.
Surely Marc Dupree would have pearls of wisdom to share on the matter. The man had been happily married for over sixteen years.
Jonathon would like to think he’d played a role, albeit small, in Marc and Laney’s romance. Had he not picked Marc’s pocket that fine spring day, been caught in the act and then been marched back home to Charity House, the two may never have met.
Smiling at the memory, Jonathon unlatched the gate and sauntered up the front walkway, his gaze on Charity House. Not much had changed since he’d lived here. The three-story structure was as regal and imposing as he remembered.
The red bricks, black shutters and whitewashed porch rail fit in with every other mansion on the street. The difference being, of course, that forty boys and girls slept under this roof, rather than one family and a host of servants.
The familiar sound of children at play wafted from the backyard. Smiling at last, Jonathon conquered the front steps two at a time and entered the house.
The front parlor was empty, as was expected. The children weren’t allowed in this area of the house without adult supervision. “Anybody home?”
“We’re in Marc’s office.” Laney’s muffled response came from the back of the house.
Jonathon worked his way through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors, then pushed through the door that led to Marc’s office.
Warmth. Acceptance. Unconditional love.
They were all here for him, in this room, with these two people, the man and woman who’d taken on the role of his parents for four years.
“There’s the groom.” Laney rushed over and yanked him into a motherly hug. After nearly squeezing all the breath out of him, she stepped back and straightened the lapels of his morning suit. “Aren’t you handsome? Your bride is going to swoon when she sees you.”
He grinned at the absurd image her words created. “Keep complimenting me like that, Laney Dupree, and I might have to steal you away from your husband.”
He winked at Marc, then swooped the petite woman into his arms and dipped her low to the ground.
She came up gasping and laughing.
“Oh, you.” She playfully slapped his arm. “You always did have quick moves and too much charm for your own good.”
“Which,” Marc said, “if I remember correctly—and of course, I do—those quick moves got our boy into more than a few scuffles. One in particular comes to mind, involving my wallet.”
“If I remember correctly,” Jonathon countered, “had I not picked your pocket, you would have never found out about Charity House. The way I see it, you owe me a debt of gratitude.”
“No argument there.” Chuckling, Marc circled around his desk and, ignoring Jonathon’s offered hand, pulled him into a quick, backslapping hug. “You ready for today?”
He nodded. “Thank you, again, for agreeing to stand up with me.”
“It’s my honor and privilege.” Sincerity sounded in Marc’s words and shone in his eyes.
Jonathon’s throat tightened.
This was the man he’d spent his entire adult life attempting to emulate.
“We have a while before we’re due at the church. I thought you and I might take a few minutes to talk before we head over.”
“That’s my husband’s polite way of telling me to leave the room.” Laney rose onto her toes and kissed Jonathon’s cheek. “I’m proud of you, Johnny. You’re going to make your lovely bride a superior husband.”
Jonathon wanted to agree with her, but found he could only manage a noncommittal shrug.
“Talk to Marc. You’ll feel better once you do.” She patted his arm, then quit the room without another word.
Typical Laney, he thought, as he stared at her retreating back. The woman was both perceptive and kind.
Still, dread slid down Jonathon’s spine. He would never hurt Fanny, that was a given. He would provide for her and protect her from harm. Would it be enough?
The world she came from was vastly different from the world he’d once inhabited. They certainly didn’t have the same definition of family. Misunderstandings were sure to arise. Would they navigate them well, or would seemingly small matters grow into issues too big to overcome?
“Take a seat, Johnny, before you fall over.”
“I’m good standing.” But he wasn’t. So he did as Marc suggested and sank in an overstuffed chair covered in brown leather worn to a fine patina.
Marc sat in the chair beside him. “I know that look in your eyes. It’s called panic.”
Not bothering to argue about the accurate assessment, Jonathon rubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t want to hurt Fanny.”
“Then don’t.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“It should be.”
Too agitated to sit, Jonathon hopped to his feet and paced over to the bookshelf, ran his hand across several
of the bindings. “My situation with Fanny isn’t conventional.”
“Perhaps your engagement didn’t start out like most, but that’s not to say your marriage won’t bring you both great joy. I’ve seen you two together. You’re good for each other.”
Jonathon wasn’t nearly as confident as his mentor. “You know where I come from, who I come from.”
For several long seconds, Marc eyed him in stone-cold silence. “The question isn’t if I know who you are. It’s whether or not you do.”
The look in Marc’s eyes gave Jonathon pause. If he didn’t know better he’d think he’d insulted the man. That hadn’t been his intention. “I’m the product of an alliance between a woman of questionable virtue and an adulterer. That’s where I come from. My blood is forever tainted.”
“Your background is no different than my wife’s.” Marc leaned his elbows on his knees. “Is Laney’s blood tainted?”
“You’re missing my point.”
“Am I?”
Heart grim, Jonathon told Marc about his half brother’s recent antics, about the money he’d given Josh to set up his latest mistress in her own house, where she would raise their illegitimate child in secret. “The sins of my father have carried over into one of his sons.”
Marc pressed the tips of his fingers together, brought them to rest beneath his chin. “You believe you’ll turn out like your father and brother.”
Unable to deny it, Jonathon merely nodded.
“What about my influence in your life?” Marc asked, his tone giving away nothing of his thoughts.
And yet Jonathon knew exactly what his mentor was thinking. By hanging on to his connection to Joshua Greene, Jonathon was denying his link to this man.
Breaking eye contract, Marc stood, stepped around his desk and rummaged through the top drawer. He pulled out what looked to be a faded photograph, and handed it to Jonathon.
The image of the first Hotel Dupree stared back at him. The brick building had boasted nine impressive stories, and large, wrought-iron balconies on every floor. Jonathon had copied Marc’s original design, all the way down to the blue-and-white striped awning over the entrance.
“You once told me,” Marc began, “that you kept my name on your hotels because you wanted your legacy tied directly with mine.”
Jonathon continued staring at the photograph, the word legacy ratcheting around in his mind. “I remember.”
Marc laid a hand on his shoulder. “Not only did you go into the hotel business because of me, but you have carried on my tradition of hiring employees who need a second chance. Men and women with little skill or talent, who may have made mistakes in the past but want to change their lives for good.”
Jonathon looked up from the picture.
“The future stands before you, Johnny. You can either continue focusing on the fact that you are the son of an adulterer and a prostitute, or you can accept that you’ve overcome a difficult past to make something more of yourself. It’s up to you.”
Jonathon lowered his head and studied the image of the original Hotel Dupree, built by the man he most admired in this world. The backs of his eyes stung.
He swallowed hard, attempted to return the picture.
“Keep it,” Marc told him. “As a reminder of where you really come from.”
Unable to speak, he tucked the picture in an inner pocket of his jacket. “Thank you.”
“I’ve had the privilege of watching you grow from a troubled youth to a good, solid, godly man. You’ll make Fanny a proper husband. Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise, including yourself.”
If there was any good in him, it was because of this man’s influence. The Lord had blessed Jonathon with a surrogate father a thousand times better than his real one. Part of him would always be defined by his past, but he didn’t have to make the same mistakes the men who shared his blood had made.
Marc squeezed his shoulder. “Let’s get you married.”
They made the trek out to the backyard, which spilled onto the church’s property. With plenty of time before the ceremony, Jonathon took a few minutes to toss a ball around with a couple of the older boys. The activity was simple, a game he’d played hundreds of times in this yard.
A reminder of where you really come from.
A half hour later, with Marc standing on his left and Laney perched in the front pew beside Fanny’s mother, Jonathon took his place at the front of the church.
Reverend Beauregard O’Toole moved in on his right. The rebel preacher opened his church to the lost, the broken and the hurting. Jonathon had found God thanks to Beau’s guidance. It mattered that he was the one to officiate this next step in his life.
Beau nodded to the woman at the piano and the short processional began.
Fanny’s sister entered the church first and made the brief journey down the aisle. Callie’s gaze was stuck on her husband sitting in the second pew. Reese Bennett Jr. winked at her. She blushed. He winked again.
Feeling as if he was intruding on their private moment, Jonathon looked away.
Still smiling, Callie drew to a stop on the other side of Beau, then turned to face the back of the church.
The music changed.
The wedding guests collectively rose to their feet.
And then…
Fanny appeared at the end of the aisle, her arm linked through her father’s.
Jonathon’s breath caught in his throat and all he could do was stare in wonder at the vision she made.
Dressed in cream-colored lace from head to toe, Fanny was the very picture of a beautiful bride. She’d pulled her blond curls into a fancy, complicated style atop her head. Little sprigs of wildflowers were scattered throughout, giving her beauty an ethereal quality.
His heart pounding with rib-cracking intensity, Jonathon knew he would forever treasure this moment when his bride stood in the doorway, arm in arm with her father, poised to begin her march down the aisle.
She was too far away for him to read her expression accurately, but he could feel her run her gaze over his face, each sweep a soft caress.
Minutes from now, she would be his wife.
She’d had little choice in the matter.
Jonathon braced his shoulders for the familiar guilt to slam through him. He experienced only a surge of joy.
His mind emptied of every thought but Fanny.
She was more than his business associate, more than his friend.
She was his future.
His bitter soul didn’t deserve this woman, but now that he’d received her caring, experienced her generous spirit, he would never let her go.
Chapter Sixteen
Caught inside Jonathon’s stare, Fanny’s heart took a tumble. Now that the time had come to pledge her life to him, she couldn’t be more ready.
She started down the aisle.
Her father pulled her to a stop. At the sight of the concentrated intensity on his face, she felt her stomach clutch. He had something important to say to her, something that he wasn’t quite sure how to voice.
She waited, impatient for him to break his silence.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked at last.
Fanny glanced to the front of the church, her gaze uniting with Jonathon’s once again. His eyes were filled with promises, promises she knew he would do everything in his power to keep.
If she’d had any doubts before, they vanished beneath the silent assurances she caught pooled in his eyes.
There were no guarantees, Fanny knew, but she also knew that with her love, and God’s guidance, Jonathon would one day give her his entire heart.
She had to believe he would fully commit to their marriage, and make their union real, preferably one day very soon.
Fanny wouldn’t force his hand on the matter. She would not nag or cajole, but she wouldn’t remain completely docile, either. Some things were worth fighting for, and her marriage to Jonathon lived at the top of that list.
For now,
Fanny would take whatever he was willing to give her, and hope for the rest. “Yes, Daddy, I’m absolutely, positively sure this is what I want.”
He tilted his head to the side and regarded her with a long, searching look.
“Truly,” she added.
He nodded, obvious relief flickering along the edges of his gaze. “Then I wish you the same happiness I have with your mother.”
Fanny remembered what her mother had said to her just this morning during the carriage ride over. Where there is life, my dear, there is always hope.
Hope. All Fanny needed was hope, which started with faith. One small leap of faith.
She lifted her foot to begin the march into her future with the man she loved. This time, her father didn’t pull her back.
With a quick glance to the left, then to the right, Fanny took note of the people packed shoulder to shoulder in the pews. The majority of her family was here, Mrs. Singletary, of course, as well as friends and other close relatives.
She caught her mother’s eye.
Mary Mitchell looked happy, healthy and—praise God—was breathing easily. Her asthma seemed to be improving by the day. For that reason alone, Fanny had been right to accept Jonathon’s proposal.
Her gaze returned to the front of the church. Marc Dupree stood like a sentry by Jonathon’s side.
Jonathon had gone through most of his life alone, save for the four years he’d spent at Charity House. Four blessed years that had helped mold him into the man she loved. As she closed the final distance between them, Fanny made a silent promise to herself, and to Jonathon. She would spend the rest of her days making sure he knew he was loved.
The next few minutes passed in a blur. Pastor Beau asked who gave this woman away. Her father answered without pause, “Her mother and I.”
Eyes shining, he kissed her cheek and then joined his wife in the front pew.
Jonathon took her father’s place, reaching out his hand to her. Fanny placed her palm against his and let him draw her forward.
“Ready?” he whispered in her ear.
She smiled up at him. “I am more than ready.”
Pastor Beau opened his Bible and began the ceremony.