A British Bride by Agreement

by Stenzel, Therese

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She led him through the empty hall, past an empty dining room and into the kitchen that needed a few barstools. She snuck a glance at her appearance in a hall mirror and was appalled to see her hair sticking straight out on one side.

  He opened the fridge and poured a glass of orange juice. “How’s the decorating going?”

  She stopped trying to fix her hair and tucked it behind her ear. How could she tell him that meetings with Franz and his team and listening to their strange ideas, feigning interest in their antiquated fabric samples, wall paper, paint, crown molding, rugs, was frustrating and overwhelming. “Fine.”

  “Is the money adequate?”

  So far, on the few things she’d purchased, she’d only spent five thousand. “Yes.”

  “Sorry I couldn’t make the Cardinal dinner. How’d it go?”

  Her eyes widened. His chest tightened. She shot a glance at the clock. 2:15 a.m.? She’d slept through it. Gripping her hands together, she struggled to find the right words. “I—I didn’t go.”

  He set his glass down. “What?”

  “I forgot—I mean, I guess I fell asleep while I was waiting.”

  He paced away for a brief second, then turned back. “But,” he pressed his mouth into a thin line, “that was a great honor to be invited. To not go, without even a call, was rude. I thought we talked about this. That I wouldn’t be able to go, but you would be there to represent the family. I asked Nick to arrange a driver for you.” He shook his head. “That guy can’t be trusted to get things done.”

  Emma folded her arms. “I’m sorry. I told him I would drive myself, and I was really tired after meeting with Franz for the third time. And I visited five furniture stores, and an endless array of clothing stores. All your sisters want to do is shop, shop, shop.”

  His lips tilted in a smirk. “You shopped and that made you tired?”

  Heat filled her face. Men. They had no idea. “I am trying to be a good wife.” Her hands turned into fists at her sides. She was failing at being his wife. Her voice rose. “And if you can’t appreciate that—”

  He caught her fists and pulled her to him. His lips were just a few inches from hers. “I understand. This is a very over whelming world to become a part of.”

  She tensed. Did he really care for her? Her gaze drifted to his lips. Would he kiss her?

  “Where’s Adele?”

  Her gaze latched onto his. “Gone for the night.”

  “Lester?”

  She had to think for a second. She got Lester the butler and Leonard their cook confused.

  “Lester is gone and Lenard is cooking for your sister’s party tonight.”

  “So we’re all alone?”

  Her breath caught in her throat. His intense stare was consuming and her legs were turning into butter. Until a sweet, earthy smell wafted over her and threw a wet rag on her attraction.

  Speed by Lord Byron. Her father’s cologne. The one Montgomery Waterhouse wore when trying to impress others made her pull back. That cologne’s availability was limited by year, due to the extravagance and rarity of its ingredients, making it the most expensive cologne a man can wear.

  “I think I’ll go to bed.”

  His brows drew together in a frown. “I thought we could stay up and talk.”

  Mixed emotions fought for space in her heart. She cared for Jonathan, but there was something she still resented in the lifestyle he represented. Even the day he took her shopping in Munich didn’t feel right. She needed to sort these feelings out before she could allow him into her heart.

  “Could we do it another time? I’m really tired.”

  His gaze fell. “Sure. Get some sleep.”

  She closed the door to her bedroom and leaned against it. She could hear him shut his own bedroom door and flip on the light. She pressed her eyes shut. He was just on the other side of the wall. And by the way he acted tonight, he seemed to be attracted to her. She pictured herself knocking on his door and slipping into his arms. And where would that lead?

  CHAPTER NINE

  Later in the week, Jonathan got to work early to read up on the local charity groups he would be visiting today. In order to be an effective leader, he needed to know who and what he was leading. After Ms. Garrison’s poor, but true assessment of him, he decided to start meeting with some of the heads of the groups the Steller Foundation supported.

  The first on the list was a teenage pregnancy home, followed by a drug rehab center, a food distribution center, and the children’s AIDS group led by Ms. Garrison. Once he returned to the office and had his report written on his recommendations for improving the charities, his review of each charity’s use of funding, and ideas for future support, he hoped it would prove himself to his father.

  He reached in his pocket and found a crumpled note. He unfolded it and gazed at the feminine hand. Emma. Have a wonderful day. I’ll be praying for you. She was consuming more and more of his thoughts these days. His mind drifted to their odd exchange earlier in the week. He could have sworn she’d acted as if she cared for him more like a true wife, but when he tried to get close, she shut down. Was it all the hours he’d been working?

  He hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time with her, or shared how challenging this new position was. He certainly hadn’t told her about the charity being scammed. Maybe he could tell her about it later tonight, even ask her opinion on a few things. He stared at his stark office. He needed some pictures in here and a photo of Emma to cheer up his cluttered desk would be nice. Something that captured her sunny expression, the soft glow of her skin, the brilliance of her green eyes—for image sake, of course. Behind every successful businessman… and all that.

  He rang his secretary. “Geraldine.”

  “Yes Mr. Steller?”

  “Would you phone my wife and ask her for a framed picture of herself.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Satisfied, he grabbed his schedule for the day and headed out for what might be one of his best tactics for improving the charity and advancing his career.

  He arrived at the Charlack Home for Unwed Mothers just after breakfast. The girls were clearing the tables in the eating area when he met the head of the center Dorothy Quirk. Her graying hair, and kind, gentle demeanor made her the perfect person to help girls through their troubling time.

  “Mr. Steller, I’m so glad you’ve come. I would like to give you a tour of our facility, but would you consider saying a few words to the girls first? They are just completing their morning chores and would like nothing more than to hear from you.”

  Jonathan tugged on his collar. Although often in the spotlight because of his family, he still wasn’t very comfortable with public speaking. The girls whispered and nudged each other until all their eyes were on him.

  These teenagers wore pigtails, lip-gloss, and heart-shaped necklaces. They seemed way too young to be pregnant. He couldn’t imagine his sisters being in this situation. His neck muscles tightened. They were babies having babies. What did he have to say to them? He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I have anything that would interest—”

  A low whistle, the kind a guy would make at a cute girl sounded from the back of the room.

  “Ladies,” Dorothy blew the whistle around her neck. “That is not appropriate.” She leaned in toward him. “They’re just shy girls.”

  One of his brows rose. Obviously not that shy.

  The girls sat in rows of folding chairs chewing gum. Many with rapt expressions of frank admiration.

  Dorothy nudged Jonathan toward the podium. “The girls are anxious to get to their studies, but I’m sure they’ll give you their full attention.

  “Good morning, ladies. I hope you are all well.” He gripped the side of the small stand.

  “We are since you came,” a voice shouted back.

  Dorothy peered over her glasses. “Don’t make me blow my whistle again.”

  He shifted his stance. “Thank you for having
me today. I’m glad the Steller Corporation can be a part of your lives, even for just a short time. And I…” A little girl dressed in jeans and a pink sweatshirt sat on a chair to the side, sucking her thumb. She looked all of ten years old. Anger gripped his throat. “I just wanted to say—”

  “Are you married?” A girl in a low cut tight white t-shirt called out from the front row.

  “Yes.” He cleared his throat. Emma would be so much better at this. He wished she were here now. “I’m married and I hope you all will be too, someday. Thank you and have a great day.”

  Dorothy stood by Jonathan. “Please give a hand to our corporate sponsor, Jonathan Steller.”

  As the thunder of enthusiastic clapping and whistling sounded around him, he breathed a sigh of relief as she led him from the room.

  An hour later, he gratefully shut the door of his Hummer and savored the muted quietness. He rubbed the back of his taut neck with his hand. “Well, that went well.”

  Soon he arrived at the Hillsdale House, a drug treatment center for those who had tried more traditional treatment facilities and failed. Jonathan was very proud that their success rate was higher than the national average. This was another tour and a meeting with the administrator. Jonathan let out a sigh. “Please, Lord, let this one go better.”

  Once inside the locked facility, Kevin Gibbs, a military-looking man that Nick had just hired greeted him sporting a severe haircut and a handshake that could crunch bones. He led Jonathan into a day room.

  People were sitting around talking, reading, listening to music with headphones. “Classes start up again in a few minutes, so this a break time for them. I’d like to introduce you to some of our people who are responding really well to treatment and are almost ready to leave the program.”

  Jonathan nodded. He’d make a mental note of their names, to put in the report to his father. Steller money having an impact on the world. Ich werde hilfe—I will help. The Steller motto in action.

  “This is Dina.” A rail thin woman with no teeth and many lines deeply etched into her face, sucked on a cigarette as if it was her last.

  “Nice to meet ya.” Her voice, akin to a gravel truck, rumbled around him.

  Jonathan stifled a shudder. She was a success story?

  “And here’s Ryan. He’s been with us for two years and is ready to move into our halfway house.”

  The man’s eyes shifted nervously. His feet didn’t stop moving. “Yeah, Kevin here sure knows how to run a tight ship.” He offered a nervous laugh, then continued biting his nails and spitting the chewed up fragments onto the floor.

  Jonathan discreetly shook one of the fragments off his Italian leather shoes.

  The director nodded. “And here is Anthony.”

  The red-haired boy wore his hair extremely short cut, but when he went to shake Jonathan’s hand, scars lined both arms. “I had issues with suicide.” He snickered. “But I don’t think about it so much now.”

  Jonathan nodded. He had no idea how rough drug recovery was. Or how unrecovered the people looked. He couldn’t tell his father about this. After the tour, he was supposed to have an early lunch with a few of the residents, but begged off. His stomach was in knots after all he’d seen.

  Heaving out a sigh, Jonathan sat in his car and gripped his steering wheel. He never wanted to go back there. Ever. Some charity leader he was turning out to be. All his noble ideas of helping people, of finding ways to improve these charity groups had been pulverized to dust along with his ego.

  Determined not to give up, he headed toward the Steller Food Distribution Center. As he pulled into the parking lot, the sight of the long line of young mothers with children clinging to them brought a heaviness to his chest. He’d lived a very sheltered existence until now, very rarely thinking about the poor. It was time for him to grow up and be a man. A man who wanted to serve God.

  Jonathan parked his car and walked over to the people waiting. He introduced himself to the ladies who asked him all kinds of questions about his organization. He picked up one blond boy with outstretched arms.

  “Here you are.” Ian Griffin, the food director strode up to Jonathan. “I thought you’d forgotten our meeting.”

  Jonathan shifted the little boy in his arms to shake Ian’s hand. “I just wanted to get to know some of the people you help.”

  “You mean, you help, Mr. Steller?”

  “No, I do very little of the helping. And I need to change that.” He toured the rows of foodstuffs and met the people who worked to distribute the goods to hungry families. More than once, he found himself choking back emotion. It was as if he was seeing God’s provision in action. He needed to spend more time here. The realization that this charity work was about God and not himself, was sinking in with crystal clarity. He needed to change.

  A half an hour later, Jonathan headed for the last charity group of the day. It was the Kinder AIDS Group headed up by Anita Garrison. “Lord, whatever You have for me here, I’m ready. Change me. Change my attitude, no matter what it takes.”

  As he got out of his car, he saw Ms. Garrison sitting on the front porch of a weathered looking home, with two children on her lap.

  “I didn’t think you’d really come.”

  “Ms. Garrison, have some faith in me.”

  She stood and shooed away the children. “We’ll see about that.”

  She led him inside of a clean but shabby home. Children roamed everywhere, but they looked neat and seemed happy. She led him into a bedroom with bunk beds in layers of three. “I need to buy more of these, but since you cut my budget, I can’t.” She bent over and pulled out worn pallets. “Some of the younger children sleep on the floor.” She stomped her foot on the wooden floor. “The hard cold floor.”

  Jonathan tugged at his necktie.

  “Come here, baby.” She scooped up a blonde haired blue-eyed girl who looked to be about two. “Smile for the nice man.”

  Black rotting front teeth marred the lovely picture.

  Inwardly he recoiled at the disfiguring sight.

  “My kids need dental work.” She set the child down and walked into what looked like an infirmary. A child was lying on a cot with a woman pressing a cloth to the side of his face. “This is Sammy. He’s five.”

  “Hey, big guy. Got a stomach ache?”

  The little boy with deep brown skin stared back at him. “He’s had a toothache for the last three days. Probably needs to be pulled, but I don’t have any money for dental work.”

  Jonathan shoved his hands in his pockets and studied this woman. By the fierce glint in her eyes, she would fight to the death for these children. They were blessed to have someone who cared this deeply for them. “Let me look into—”

  She snatched a child who walked by and held her in front of her. “Mr. Steller, I’ve been helping children with AIDS for over twenty years. I need your commitment that you are going to give these children what they need to survive—”

  Screaming drew their attention to the back door. A little boy walked in bent over with another older child helping him. Blood poured from his mouth, down his shirt, and splattered on the floor.

  “H—he fell off the slide.” The older boy blurted out.

  Jonathan froze. He’d done enough research to be comfortable around people with AIDS, but not with their blood.

  “Move out of the way.” Anita slipped on latex gloves before lifting up the child and raced past Jonathan toward the infirmary.

  Jonathan’s heart pounded as he followed. But he had to see the good and the ugly of charity to work to understand it.

  She laid the child down on a cot covered in plastic, undressed him, and with a wet cloth wiped the blood from his face and neck. She shoved the cloth and all his clothes in a bag labeled, Hazmat

  Jonathan watched from a distance, disturbed by the stinging smell of bleach and the sight of blood. And yet, he was amazed by her dedication to these children. A dedication he didn’t have.

  After the child w
as cleaned up and bandaged, Ms. Garrison stood. The front of her shirt was covered in red. “You’d better go, Mr. Steller. I have too much to do to give you the rest of the tour.”

  “It’s not necessary.” His voice strained. “I can see now that accounting has made a mistake. I believe we intended to increase your budget by twenty percent not cut it.”

  A smile lit up her face, but was soon clouded with suspicion. “And when will this happen?”

  “Today. You have my word.”

  “I’ve misjudged you.”

  “I’m heading back to the office to talk with my staff now to see what we can do.”

  Anita gestured. “You might want to change first.”

  He glanced down. Blood lay splattered across his shirt sleeve.

  ***

  Jonathan lay on the couch in his home with his hair still wet from his long, hot shower. His expensive hand sewn shirt stuffed in a bag in the trash. His arm rested over his face. He’d called his doctor on the way home and his longtime friend assured him, since he had no cut where the blood went through his shirt, he would be fine.

  To make matters worse, on the way home, he’d phoned Nick to have him up the support to the Kinder AIDS group, when Nick told him the police had called him about Kevin Gibbs, the manager of Hillsdale House. He was being taken in for questioning, suspected of selling drugs to the residents.

  Jonathan rubbed his eyes. How could he be an effective leader if he couldn’t accept the people he was helping? And if he couldn’t see through the scammers the charity attracted?

  Revulsion welled at the memory of those supposedly recovered addicts. They looked terrible. Wasn’t that a clear enough clue? And the children he’d seen today? His heart hurt as if pierced by a sword. Children who should be focused on playing and riding bikes, not infected with a deadly disease.

  How long before his father discovered the chaos he’d made of the family charity? Maybe he should just sequester himself in his office and never meet with sick people again. He could focus his attention on the paperwork involved with the established charities they supported, and turn all the others asking for money away so he wouldn’t fall into another trap.