Groom by Design

by Christine Johnson

  “Of course.” Ruth managed a tremulous smile. “Is Daddy feeling better?”

  Mother shut the door behind her. “Now, don’t you worry about your father. He simply had to rest a spell. He wouldn’t miss this for the world. Blake is driving him to the church right now, and then he’ll come back for you and Beattie.” She frowned. “Where is your sister? Your matron of honor should be here.”

  “She forgot the veil. I told her I didn’t need it, but you know Beatrice. She insisted on going home to fetch it. I thought she was going to ask Blake to drive her there, but if you didn’t see her leave with him and Daddy, then where did she go?” Ruth pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, dear, why is everything going wrong?”

  Mother hugged her. “Everything is going the way it always does on wedding days. Did you know that your father was late to the church? My mother distracted me by saying the minister wanted to pray with the groom.” She chuckled at the memory. “I actually believed her. Only later did I learn that your father hadn’t secured the buggy properly and his horse took off without him.”

  Ruth recalled that her father had grown up on a farm well outside town, but she’d never heard this story before. “How did he get to the church?”

  “He walked. What a dusty sight he must have been, but I never noticed. All I saw was the look on his face when he first saw me.” She squeezed Ruth again. “You’ll forget everything else when you see Sam standing at the front of the church.”

  “I hope so.”

  “You will.” Then Mother looped her strand of pearls around Ruth’s neck. “I want you to wear these today.”

  “Grandmother’s pearls.” Ruth touched them with reverence. Mother seldom let any of them see the heirloom necklace, much less wear it. “Are you certain?”

  “Yes, dearest.” She dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief. “How beautiful you are.”

  Instead of deflecting the compliment like in the past, Ruth accepted it. The pearls, the gown—it all made her feel like a princess. “You did such a wonderful job altering Beatrice’s wedding dress to fit me.”

  “And you look just as lovely as she did.” Mother smiled. “I hear the car. It’s time to go.”

  Ruth’s nerves multiplied during the short ride from her house to the church. The sun shone brightly, and the maples were turning scarlet and brilliant orange. The colors of this time of year always took her breath away. Today they lined Main Street in glorious celebration. But she couldn’t help fretting. What if Beatrice didn’t return in time? What if Daddy felt ill? Had Sam’s brother arrived? The list went on and on.

  When Blake stopped the car in front of the church, Ruth saw to her relief that Beatrice waited outside with the veil and Ruth’s younger sisters. Everyone else had already gone inside. Blake helped Mother and her out of the car before going inside himself.

  “You look so pretty,” Minnie gushed.

  “Scared?” Jen asked while Beatrice fussed with the veil.

  “Not at all.” Ruth looked up the steps leading to Sam and their future together. Now that she was here, she felt confident that all would turn out well.

  “My darling Ruth. I need to take my place inside,” Mother said and gave her one last kiss before going into the church.

  Then Beatrice began to pin on the veil. It seemed to take forever.

  Ruth winced as a pin poked into her scalp. “Aren’t you done yet?”

  “It’s not quite straight,” Beattie insisted yet again.

  Jen rolled her eyes, looking uncomfortable in the autumn-red cotton voile dress. “How straight does it have to be? Let’s get on with this before we all turn into old maids.”

  Ruth stifled a snicker. At least Jen had managed to take her mind off all the details of the wedding for a moment. If not for her sister’s crazy marriage idea, she might not be standing here today.

  “Thank you.” She embraced Jen, who, like an abashed child, shrugged off the gesture.

  “Let’s get this ceremony under way,” Jen said.

  “All right, all right,” Beatrice conceded with a wave of her hands. “I give up.” She gave Ruth a big hug. “I love you, sis.” Like Mother, she dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “You’re so beautiful.”

  Her younger sisters also gave Ruth a hug, though neither of them teared up.

  Hendrick Simmons poked a head out the door. “Are you gals ready yet?”

  Ruth took a deep breath and nodded. In minutes she would become Mrs. Samuel Rothenburg Jr. She had never dreamed such a marriage possible, yet here she was, following her sisters up the steps and into the church.

  Inside the vestibule, Daddy sat on a chair, while the groomsmen stood around him laughing at something he’d said. At the women’s entrance, the laughter died, and the couples paired off. Minnie walked up the aisle with Peter Simmons. Jen took Hendrick’s arm, and Beatrice was paired with Sam’s brother, Harry. In the two months since Sam gave up his inheritance to his brother, the two had become close. Harry sought Sam’s opinion on everything. Sam generously helped his brother. Though Ruth’s family held out hope that Sam would regain his inheritance one day, she knew his heart lay elsewhere.

  One thing could make this day complete. Ruth looked for Sam’s father at the front of the church. He was not there. Her heart sank. That bridge had yet to be crossed.

  The organist began playing the wedding march, drawing Ruth out of her disappointment. Her pulse accelerated as the guests stood. This was truly happening!

  “Ready?” Daddy asked.

  Ruth held out a hand to help her father stand, but he waved off assistance and used his cane to push to his feet.

  “My lovely Ruthie,” he whispered, his eyes soft with tears. “You will always be my precious little girl.”

  She felt the tears well, too. “Daddy. You’ll always be the most important man in my life.”

  He shook his head. “No, child. From this day forward, Sam must be most important.”

  “But you’re my father, and you’ll always be a part of my life.”

  “Yes, but Sam must take the lead now. That’s as it should be.” He patted her hand. “Are you ready to become Mrs. Rothenburg?”

  How grand that sounded, almost intimidating. She swallowed the nerves that resurfaced and managed a nod. Then she took his arm and slowly they walked down the aisle past all of Pearlman—friends and neighbors, customers and competitors. Today they stood as one, smiling and encouraging her forward.

  Then she saw Sam, and every trace of nerves vanished. The look on his face—marvel and wonder and love all mixed together—strengthened her. With him she could face any hardship and conquer any trial. Her feet itched to dance toward him, but she measured each step by her father’s pace. When Daddy released her into Sam’s arms, any sadness for what would be lost was overwhelmed by anticipation for the new life she and Sam would stitch together.

  Their future gleamed as brightly as the autumn colors. Their vows came straight from the heart, wrapped in love. When at last Pastor Gabe pronounced them husband and wife, Sam bent to seal their union with a kiss. Ruth’s heart could not possibly hold one more ounce of joy.

  Then everyone in the church clapped and cheered, and she knew deep down that no matter where life took them, she and Sam would always be members of the greater family of Pearlman.

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from SECOND CHANCE CINDERELLA by Carla Capshaw.

  Dear Reader,

  Like Ruth, I developed poor eyesight as a child and let other children’s taunts define my impression of myself for many years. Today, the media is filled with advertisements and products that continually tell girls and women that they are not pretty enough, thin enough and so forth. It breaks my heart! In God’s eyes, every single one of us is beautiful beyond compare. If only we could see ourselves the w
ay He sees us. Yet we look in the mirror and dwell on each blemish and imperfection.

  When a dear friend was in the last stages of ovarian cancer, her body was terribly ravaged by the disease. Yet God’s Spirit radiated from her so strongly that I could see only exquisite beauty. The frail body was cast away and the true woman of God revealed. That is who we truly are, sisters!

  Ruth’s story imagines how an ordinary woman might take those insecurities so much to heart that she closes off any avenue to the life God has in store for her. Sisters in Christ, I pray every one of you looks in God’s mirror and sees the true beauty you are. Step forth in the knowledge and security that you are His treasured daughter.

  In Christ Jesus,

  Christine Johnson

  Questions for Discussion

  Of the three sisters, Jen seems the least likely to come up with the plan to marry into wealth. Why do you think she is most interested in this?

  Ruth constantly averts her face. Why? What is she afraid people will see?

  Minnie has a crush on a rich, handsome playboy who is several years older than her. Did you ever have a crush on a man who didn’t seem to notice you? What happened?

  Why doesn’t Sam tell the people in town his real name? What do you think is the real reason he withholds his full name from Ruth?

  Illness both dictates the Fox family’s financial troubles and their actions. Have you ever faced devastating illness? It could be in family or friends. How did it affect everyone around the person who was ill? What or whom did they turn to in the dark hours?

  At the picnic, Ruth plans to try to match Sam with Jen, yet she allows herself the indulgence of a walk with Sam. When he comforts her, she pulls away. Why?

  Ruth fears dances above any other social function. What reason does she give for avoiding them? What might have happened in her past that would increase her fear of them?

  Ruth focuses most if not all of her energy on running the dress shop and trying to make changes that will help it survive. What changes are taking place in society at large that threaten the dressmaking business? Why does Ruth invest so much energy into the shop? What does it represent for her?

  All his life, Sam has tried to please his father, even going so far as to accept his father’s orders to hide his identity. Why does he desire his father’s approval so much? Why does his father pit the brothers against each other? What scars would come out of such a battle?

  Ruth’s father chooses to return home rather than pursue expensive medical treatments. If you were placed in such a situation, what would you do? What would be the repercussions on your family?

  At first, Sam doesn’t understand Ruth’s anger over his not telling her his full name. Why? How does Sam see the situation differently from Ruth?

  Ruth’s mother shows uncommon strength in the face of her husband’s failing health and the family’s dire financial straits. What gives her this strength? How would you imagine she will cope as events continue to transpire?

  Why does Sam create the window display to match the night of the dance with Ruth?

  Ruth has trouble speaking in public. Fear overwhelms her, and the words disappear. Fear of public speaking is one of the top fears. Have you ever spoken to a group? If so, how were you able to overcome that fear? If not, how do you think you would cope?

  Sam gives up a great deal at the end of the book. Do you think it was wise? Should he have worked out a compromise with his father? If so, why? If not, why not?

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

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  Chapter One

  London, England

  September, 1842

  It was the woman’s hair that drew Sam Blackstone’s full attention. The waterfall of gold tumbling down her narrow back from beneath a serviceable black bonnet reminded him of Rose Smith. As the blonde disappeared into the sea of pedestrians, his mood soured that same instant. The last thing he wanted or needed was a morning poisoned by memories of the past.

  Relying on the years of strict mental discipline he’d employed to rise from being a village ne’er-do-well to one of London’s most prominent stockbrokers, he forced memories of Rose’s betrayal from his mind and descended the wide front steps of his elegant Mayfair townhouse.

  In the past nine years, he’d played the game well and few challenges remained. He’d acquired more wealth than he’d ever dreamed as a young orphan in Ashby Croft. Far from going to bed with an empty stomach gnawing his ribs, sleeping in a drafty hovel and wearing itchy rags, he dined on delicacies, lived in a mansion and dressed in the finest Savile Row suits. Few rivaled his influence in financial circles. His advice on monetary matters was sought by everyone from potato farmers to Parliament members.

  His driver opened the coach’s door. Sam climbed in and sat heavily on the black, embossed leather seat, impatient to get underway.

  As he waited, his gaze slid back to the Georgian edifice he’d acquired three years earlier. The echoing monstrosity boasted every luxury and admirably performed its duty to impress, but the residence was devoid of human warmth or cheer. He much preferred to spend his waking hours at the city offices of Stark, Winters and Blackstone or overseeing the firm’s vigorous trade of commodities at the Exchange in Capel Court.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon for the delay, sir,” his driver, Gibson, said over the din of the busy street. “Oxford’s in a tangle. The fine weather’s drawn everyone out. I ’spect there’s nary a church mouse to be found indoors at present.”

  The coach finally pulled away from the curb. The pungent aroma of horseflesh and smoke carried on the air. Sam consulted his pocket watch before extracting several reports from the leather portfolio he’d brought with him. Not one to waste time when there was more wealth to be gleaned, he shuffled through the pages.

  The list of figures blurred and the brisk activity all around him faded as his mind wandered to the taunting vision of the woman with blond hair. Something about the stranger beckoned him to find her, but he remained in his seat, determined to shut her out with a stubbornness that bordered on vice. She was nothing and no one to him. True, she’d been of similar height and build as Rose. And that golden hair—such a unique color. What if, by some twist of fate, Rose had come up to London and—

  He scrubbed his hand over his eyes, dispelling the wild notion before his imagination grew to unrealistic proportions. Nine years had come and gone since he’d left tiny Ashby Croft. He was never going to see Rose again, and frankly, good riddance. Far from waiting for him as she’d promised, she’d married another bloke within months of his leaving. If a heart could break into a thousand jagged pieces, his had the day he’d returned to Devonshire to collect her and learned she’d thrown him over for someone else.

  As much as he’d tried to forget her, the foul taste of her faithlessness had tainted every day for him since.

  Despising the black mood overtaking him, he stuffed the reports back into the portfolio and closed the latch. The flow of vehicles congesting the street had slowed to a standstill. “How much longer, Gibson?” he demanded. “The ’Change opens in an hour.”

  “Yes, sir, but—”

  “Bother this.” Sam thrust the door open and climbed down from the vehicle. “I’m cer
tain I’ll find the pace more brisk if I walk. Pick me up at half past six as usual...if you manage to be free by then.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but shall I make that half past five? I overheard Cook say you was dinin’ with guests tonight.”

  Sam frowned. He’d forgotten all about his dinner companions, including Lord Sanbourne and his beguiling daughter, Amelia, who was to serve as his hostess for the evening. “Right you are, Gibson. Half past five.”

  The driver tipped his cap with a quick, “Aye, sir,” before pulling along the curb and setting the brake. The matched pair of gray geldings hitched to the conveyance whinnied and shook their heads as though disappointed by the loss of their morning exercise.

  Portfolio in hand, Sam started off, shouldering his way through the occasional gaps that opened between his fellow pedestrians. He pressed his top hat tighter to his head to keep it from being dislodged by one of the frequent gusts of wind. At Oxford Street a seemingly endless row of traffic forced him to wait on the crowded corner.

  “My, what a glorious day,” a lady in front of him cooed, nearly poking him in the eye with her ruffled parasol.

  “Indeed, ’tis marvelous,” her elegant companion agreed.

  Sam supposed it was true. The sun shone with undaunted enthusiasm, and rather than fog or London’s usual gray haze of coal smoke, the air seemed clear for once. Pots of flowers graced the steps and entryways of the grand terraces on both sides of the busy thoroughfare. Their late-summer blooms shone in shades of bright pink, fiery-red and, to Sam’s everlasting irritation, a golden-yellow that once again reminded him of Rose’s burnished hair.

  Gritting his teeth, he headed toward Regent Street.

  He wasn’t one for mysteries. He understood himself well enough to know that if he didn’t at least try to ascertain the truth of the blonde’s identity his imagination would pester him forever.