A Hasty Betrothal

by Jessica Nelson

  Still, a great feeling of accomplishment swelled through her as she read the book to them. The bright sun warmed her fingers and nary a sound from the boys could be heard as they listened to the story.

  Why had she waited so long to help others? Though it was true the children did sometimes stare at her birthmark, overall, being out of the house and doing a useful good deed already felt as though it enriched her life. Miles had been right to prod her, she mused.

  If being his wife opened the doors to helping others, then she had made the right decision. Whether he agreed or not. She thought of his coldness the last time they’d met, his distance when they’d gone to the theater with his friends.

  He was the Miles she’d always known. From childhood he had been a brooding sort. Something bothered him, and now that she’d successfully implemented her idea, she would corner him and get to the bottom of his rottenness.

  * * *

  When Miles arrived at the Littleshire Mill, the first carriage he noticed bore the Windermar crest. So Bitt had come, after all.

  Pensive, he strode to the factory and let himself in. Usually the faint clamor of machines and the water rush of the mill greeted him, but today another sound filtered into the entranceway. Hushed giggles and a soft, feminine voice.

  Interest piqued, he inched toward the room where his employees normally ate and peeked in. His betrothed sat in a puddle of skirt, surrounded by children. They all giggled at something she said. He peered closer.

  A huge book nestled in her lap. He supposed she didn’t own a small novel.

  He must have made a noise, for she looked up, beaming him a smile that indicated nothing of the way she’d left his study only days ago. At the theater she’d been quiet and only spoke when spoken to. When Langford mentioned her shyness, Miles simply nodded.

  He did not know how much of her timidity was due to shyness and how much to self-consciousness, but looking at her now, she appeared to be neither.

  Her eyes sparkled at him. She closed the book and addressed the children. “I have already used more time than allotted by reading to you beyond our outdoor lessons. You must work now, but I shall return.”

  “Tomorrow, tomorrow,” lisped Becky.

  Bitt flashed him a helpless look and then shrugged. “I will try, but I cannot promise anything. Only you all must do your very best to read everything that comes into sight, and if you find a book, hold on to it, stow it safely, for it is your entry into another world.”

  She rose to her feet, and everyone followed her lead. Rustles and thuds resulted as children knocked into each other. Two women, one of whom Miles recognized as Elizabeth’s lady’s maid, waded into the crush of children and began ushering them out the door.

  They waved to him as they stumbled by. He watched their exit and frowned. It did seem a shame to see them heading toward the main part of the mill rather than outside to play.

  “I have to thank you, Miles. The children enjoyed their lesson immensely, and I feel it will not be long until each and every one is fully literate.”

  Elizabeth moved past him, beckoning to the women. “You two may wait in the carriage while I speak with Mr. Hawthorne.”

  Curtsying, the women left.

  That left Miles and Elizabeth. He cleared his throat, feeling a strange itch at the back of it. “I’m happy the class proved productive.”

  “Oh, it was. I confess to being...” She paused, looking furtively past him. Voice lowered, she continued, “Gravely disappointed that you still keep Mr. Grealey on hand. He is altogether unsettling, Miles. I do not care for him at all.”

  “You must forgive his crass words. The man is doing his job.”

  “This has nothing to do with forgiveness.” She hiked up her chin.

  “I believe it does, but that is between you and God.”

  “How very condescending.” She glared at him. Fortunately, he was well used to these looks of hers.

  Winking at her, he gestured for her to follow him as he started down the narrow hall. “Come with me. I wish for you to look at my ledger again.”

  She let loose a puffy exhale, most likely to express her displeasure with him, but the sound of her dainty steps echoed behind him. Once in the office, he went straight to the cabinet where Mr. Shapely kept the ledger. Behind him, Elizabeth plopped her book on his desk. Or so he assumed, based on the smacking sound the leather binding made against the wooden surface.

  “Do you plan to always be peevish with me, Bitt?” he asked mildly as he drew out the book.

  “Forever” came the snappish answer.

  He turned. She lounged against his desk, a disgruntled slant to her lips. On her, it was adorable. But would she be like Anastasia? He wondered how often she cried, for his first wife had wept at the drop of a hat pin. She’d been very tenderhearted, and it had been the ruin of her.

  Besides that time in the stables, a memory that never failed to twist his gut, he could not recall Elizabeth actually weeping. He studied her now, bringing the ledger to the desk and setting it beside her.

  “Since I am incapable of making you happy, please take a look at this and show me the errors, for I have not found a one.” Obviously, he was incapable of pleasing women. The knowledge vexed him in unexpected ways. Elizabeth had been trying so hard to prove her mettle, but he feared in the end, he’d be the disappointment, not her.

  The unpleasant conclusion tried his patience even more.

  She flipped open the ledger but her eyes were on him. “Did you have a difficult day?”

  “No harder than any other.”

  “Come now, it is easy to see that you’re worn and irritable. Perhaps we should stop by Grandmother’s. I’m sure Cook has a tasty dish at the ready.”

  “Eating solves nothing.”

  “That is not what Grandmother says.”

  “Must you always argue?” Miles threaded his fingers through his hair. “In truth, it has been a harder day than most. There was another machinery malfunction at my other mill and the costs are hefty.”

  “Another one?” Elizabeth frowned, her empathetic tone making his arms ache to hold her.

  A perfectly natural response, he assured himself. It was normal to seek comfort when agitated.

  “Yes,” he said shortly. “I have a suspicion that someone is out to sabotage me, but I’m not sure who or why.”

  “That is a strange thought, but it is true that all of these sudden problems are rather suspicious.” She paused, her finger to her chin. “Grandmother says that food comforts the soul and prayer comforts the spirit. Perhaps you ought to pray?”

  He let out a short laugh. “I pray every day.” His relationship with the Lord was the only thing that kept him sane after Anastasia died.

  “Well, that is very good of you. I did not use to, but when that dreadful Wrottesley accosted me in the gardens, I prayed hard indeed and God sent you. I was amazed by how quickly He responded. Perhaps if you pray now, He shall send you a quick answer.”

  “He is not a math problem. Praying isn’t an equation to solve to get what you want.”

  “Don’t be cross with me, Miles Hawthorne. I know that God is not my personal wishing well. I simply was surprised. I had expected a more distant being.” She propped her chin on her fist, her eyes taking on that faraway look. “I had almost hoped to get a glimpse of heaven through my telescope.”

  Miles squinted at her, his chest constricting. Thinking about Wrottesley increased his pique exponentially, but Bitt was already dreaming of something else. She really had no idea, or refused to think about, the ramifications of what could have happened. But perhaps this was better.

  She believed God to have rescued her, and as far as he remembered, Elizabeth had never spoken of God. He did not think she even attended any chapels, unless for a special occasion. With all her
book learning, had she ever read the Bible?

  He moved to the desk and propped himself on the corner. “My father believed deeply in God. He brought us up to have faith in the darkest of circumstances. Perhaps that is why he and your grandmother were great friends?”

  “I’d like to believe they were secretly in love. Rather like Romeo and Juliet, but without the tragedy. Grandmother only speaks of him fondly. If she felt more for him than friendship, she does not let on. You know they were the same age. She simply had my mother before your father was even married. Perhaps they shared a similar faith.”

  “What do you think of religion?” He studied her carefully, noting the thoughtful expression that crept into her eyes and the relaxed posture of her shoulders. What a fascinating woman Elizabeth had turned out to be.

  “I have no use for religion,” she said. “But faith, on the other hand, seems to have served Grandmother well. Except when it comes to her moments of shock. I confess I find her fainting spells puzzling. And utterly convenient. I should rather like to learn how to faint, for I believe it might stand me in good stead during moments of abject boredom.” She slanted him a crooked smile, which he thought surprisingly irresistible.

  “I attend a quaint little chapel on the outskirts of London,” he found himself saying. “Perhaps this Sunday you’d like to attend with me?”

  “Why, of course...” Her face fell. “I don’t know. New places are...uncomfortable. You are used to this—” her hand fluttered toward her birthmark “—but it is alarming to some. I do not care to be stared at nor to embarrass you.”

  Miles started, surprise shooting through him with all the force of a steam engine. “Whatever are you talking about? You could never embarrass me.”

  “I assure you that I could.”

  “What I am saying is that you are beautiful and graceful. You will be my wife,” he said in a stern voice. “I will never be ashamed to have you by my side.”

  She blinked, looking down at the ledger. “Those are strong words.”

  “I mean every one of them. As I told you, God has designed you just as you are. I shall be proud to have you on my arm.”

  She made the slightest of sounds that might have been a sniffle. He frowned. Had he made her cry? Now his gut really knotted. He stood, unable to sit any longer.

  “Check the ledger, please,” he said gruffly. “I wish to know exactly where you spotted the errors.”

  Her head bent, the dark strands shining in the room’s candlelight. In the silence, he became aware of the faint sounds of the mill that so often comforted, reminding him of long nights spent at his father’s knee while some issue was attended to.

  She shook her head. “This isn’t right.”

  He came over, bending to see closer. He should have brought his spectacles. The numbers blurred. He bent closer, searching where her finger pointed. “What is the problem?”

  “These aren’t the same values.”

  He straightened. “What do you mean?”

  She looked up, her expression confused. “I mean, this is not the same ledger I read before.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Someone had traded the ledgers.

  Elizabeth could hardly believe it, but the evidence glared at her from Miles’s desktop. His face scrunched while he bent to look at the book. She caught a faint whiff of soap and woodsy cologne. She allowed herself an appreciative sniff.

  “How can you tell?” he asked.

  She pointed to the numbers. “What I thought odd was the cost of your new carding machines. I had read an article several months ago promoting the use of them, and I remember the price being far cheaper. There were also more entries in the other book for miscellaneous items.”

  “I shall ring Grealey. Perhaps Mr. Shapely keeps two and has not updated this one.”

  A terrible suspicion was taking root in Elizabeth’s stomach. What if Grealey were up to no good? What if he were stealing from Miles? As she pushed back from the desk and stood, she wondered how feasible it would be to share the thought with Miles.

  His agitated stance, the tension radiating from him as he strode to the door, decided for her. She needn’t add to his worries. A good wife soothed her husband.

  A hot burn scalded her cheeks. She wasn’t his wife yet, but the prospect seemed less and less horrendous. She studied him carefully, recalling the gangly youth of childhood now fleshed into a mature man. So much more serious than she’d ever anticipated.

  He had been right, she mused, while they waited for Grealey. Locking herself up at Windermar, shutting herself off from the world, had taken much more from her than experience. His hair, mussed from nervous fingers, stuck up in different directions.

  What would he do if she walked over and casually straightened his unruly locks? Or if she leaned up and kissed his freshly shaven cheek?

  His gaze met hers then, and every part of her trembled at the look he gave her. Did he know her thoughts? Though he stood at the door and she at the desk, the distance between them shrank beneath the power of their shared glance.

  To know someone since childhood, to see him young and then grown, and yet...she felt as though she hardly knew him at all. His marriage to Anastasia had truly hurt him in ways she could not fathom.

  “Grealey shall arrive in a moment,” he said, his voice a rumble that soothed her senses.

  What was wrong with her? Just because he called her beautiful did not mean she should overthink his feelings toward her. And yet her heart would not stop its confounded pitter-pattering.

  Elizabeth moved toward Miles. “Though I should like to stay and confront that odious man, Miss Townsley and Jenna await. I am so happy I was able to see you today. I should like to attend your chapel and perhaps then you may share with me Mr. Shapely’s response.”

  “I will send a post to your London address with the name and location of the church.” He stepped to the side, allowing her to exit.

  She was altogether too aware of the breadth of his shoulders and scent of his skin. She swept by, head up, when what she wanted the most was to hold him close and assure him that she would never hurt him as Anastasia had.

  The ladies waited for her outside. During their two day journey, they chatted about what had been successful in their approach with the children and what needed more work. Miss Townsley was full of practical ideas, but Elizabeth scrambled to pay attention. Her mind kept wandering, skipping all over the place.

  From Miles and his impassioned words about her beauty to the strangeness of the accounts. Something was dreadfully wrong, but what?

  If only she could stay and help him, but duties called. She struggled to put an ear to the conversation. They spoke of obtaining better writing utensils, more books. Of engaging the Littleshire community in helping the children.

  All grand plans.

  She gazed out the window at the passing trees, the verdant grasses and the air that grew fresher the farther they traveled from Littleshire. Soon she’d be married, but only as a countermeasure. Though it had seemed the right choice at the time, now she wondered if it might be even more lonely to be a wife without love than a ruined woman.

  It was all so very confusing. At times Miles eyed her with a strange intensity, but then he returned to his laughing self. And he’d invited her to church.

  Church, of all places.

  Her faith had wilted long ago, bent beneath the harsh blows of reality, but lately a change had been taking place within. A softening, and as she watched the land pass, covered in cloud-shaped shadows, the newly blooming flowers ripening the air, she couldn’t help but feel that this Sunday might be an exciting moment for her. As if flowers bloomed within her.

  How would Shakespeare write this feeling? More adeptly than she, certainly.

  Attending chapel was another scary step into a
world unaccustomed to her looks. The very thought quivered her spine and brought up the urge to bury herself so deeply in a library that she need never claw her way out.

  Her thoughts traveled to the young stable hand so long ago. Luke. Just a boy, really, but his incredulity that she had thought he found her pretty still stung.

  He had been so kind to her, which was what had confused her. Made her think he found her attractive, but in the end, he had only been trying to do his job well.

  Which brought her thoughts circling back to today, to the oddness of agreeing to be seen publicly. But wasn’t that what being betrothed meant? What else would be required when she married? Certainly she’d attend church with him once in a while.

  Going to church with Miles... She sighed. They would sit together in the pew, she supposed. Only a month before she had not seen a future beyond living with Grandmother and finding new novels to read and writing articles about fascinating advances in technology.

  “Heavy thoughts, my lady?” Miss Townsley asked. Her inquisitive brown eyes gave the impression of seeing too much.

  Elizabeth forced a smile. “Always heavy, as worries tend to be.”

  Miss Townsley laughed. “That is positively true. Which is why for the longest time I tried very hard to never think at all.”

  Despite herself, curiosity rose. “And then something happened?”

  Miss Townsley cocked her head, expression sobering. “Life, my lady. Life forced my hand.”

  “As it does to us all,” murmured Elizabeth.

  And she wondered what Sunday would bring.

  * * *

  Sunday brought Miles a measure of anxiety in heaping doses. He readied for church, hands unsteady and mood sour. Elizabeth might not show up. That would be for the best. Or so he told himself as he climbed into the rig. Powell joined him, and so did the upper housemaids.

  The misty morning threatened rain, but it was too late to change vehicles. His mood dampened even more.