Thomas sat in his buggy, parked outside Bessie’s family’s vacation home. He hadn’t signaled for his driver to leave but instead told him to wait. For what, he didn’t know. He couldn’t quite decide the next step. Home, to make the house ready for his beautiful, blushing bride—or to Reverend Stout’s house to demand to know if he was aware of what he’d done.
He hated having spilled so much of his spiritual condition to Bessie. He had no right to, and, considering they were strangers—even if they were married—he’d undoubtedly horrified her. Wouldn’t he be shocked if he were a good Christian man and she had confessed to being forsaken by God? He could only imagine what had gone through her mind.
And then he’d terrified her by insisting she come home with him tonight, as his bride. But if they were to be married, she wanted it in name only, and that hurt. Really hurt.
But she would likely be ruined, her reputation in tatters, even if it was annulled. People would always imagine they’d spent time alone together. They believed what they wanted, as if the truth didn’t matter in the least. He knew it well enough. He needed to be man enough to take her in and shelter her. Protect her.
Love, honor, and cherish. And get to know her and maybe convince her to be his real wife….
Oh, yes. He was willing.
If he were still a praying man, he’d…What? Pray? He almost snorted. God had proved multiple times that He didn’t hear Thomas. After all, He’d allowed Pauline to rip Thomas’s reputation to shreds with both the European and American elite. And all because he obeyed his father’s directives. Honored the contract. A legally binding contract. One Thomas had no problems with, other than the fallout. And the lies.
And hadn’t Thomas prayed—begged God to return Pauline to him so they could marry, as he’d planned? Well, that prayer had been answered with a resounding “no.”
Thomas sighed. In hindsight, that was a blessing. He wouldn’t want her now. Not after meeting the woman he’d been dreaming of for as long as he could remember.
Jonas shifted on his seat. He probably was getting restless. And undoubtedly wondering if Thomas were in his right mind.
Yes, he needed to talk with the preacher, for more than one reason. And he would, too, if the man’s involvement in this scheme hadn’t effectively obliterated any trust Thomas had in him. He ejected another heavy sigh.
“Something wrong, sir?” his driver said cautiously, turning around and peering at him.
“Quite so. Everything is. Or maybe nothing at all. I don’t know.”
And that cleared it up nicely. Thomas could have laughed at the confusion on Jonas’s face, except it wasn’t funny. Not a bit.
“God sees you. Hears you,” Jonas said quietly.
If only it was true. “Take me by Reverend Stout’s place.”
Because he needed to give him a piece of his mind.
Bessie’s stomach fluttered, dipped, and dived like a fish discovering its fins for the first time. Despite the worry and fear, excitement swirled. Married to Thomas—the man who still noticed her after meeting her much more vibrant, beautiful cousins.
But she would have a lot of explaining to do when Father arrived on the island. He would be livid. Upset she’d somehow gotten married—by mistake.
How was it even possible?
But that aside, she’d gotten married without his approval. Without him walking her down the aisle.
And how would Thomas’s family react? Would they even like her? Or would they find her lacking? Light brown hair instead of delicate blond or fiery red. Hazel eyes instead of blue or brown. Average height and curvy instead of tall and willowy like Henrietta, or petite and delicate like Rosella. Boring instead of beautiful.
Inside the house, she drew a deep breath and went to direct the help to find her trunk and repack it. They wouldn’t need to know why. But then again, with the gossip mill the way it was, maybe she should explain it to them so they’d know the truth—that she had been duped into marrying a complete stranger, attractive and appealing as he was, when she thought she was only helping with the grand opening of a resort.
Keeping quiet was probably the best plan.
Jackson sat at the kitchen table, a steaming drink in front of him and what looked like a hot fruit turnover on his plate. He stood as she hesitated in the doorway. “Yes, miss?”
“When you finish, would you please put my trunk in my room and ask my maid to repack it? I’m leaving tonight.”
Curiosity lit his eyes, but he didn’t comment, other than another, “Yes, miss.”
Bessie returned to the parlor where Mother, Aunt, and Rosella pretended to focus on embroidery. She sat on the settee next to Rosella and picked up her own piece of sewing.
The door burst open and Henrietta blew in, ripping off her gloves. “I saw Miss Pauline Chapman downtown.”
Pauline—another beautiful debutante Bessie couldn’t compare with. All the men would notice her. Probably Mr. Hale, as well.
“Guess what? She told us all kinds of juicy tales about Mr. Hale. Turns out, he’s a spy!”
It didn’t surprise Thomas to find Archie already at the preacher’s house when he arrived. He probably planned to warn Mrs. Stout about Thomas being onto them and their wicked plans. But Mrs. Stout already knew. Thomas was sure of that since, when he’d seen her in town, she’d darted into a nearby gift shop in her feeble, obvious attempt to hide from him.
Silly, considering he was a man on a mission. He’d caught up with her anyway.
Archie hadn’t attempted to hide, but probably only because Thomas had approached him in the middle of the street. Well, that, and because Archie was a man. Men didn’t go running into gift shops to get away from their best friends.
And now Thomas needed to talk to the preacher about more than one thing. His agenda included both the marriage mistake and his own personal relationship with the Lord. Though with the preacher’s integrity in question…
Thomas rubbed his jaw.
Maybe the “relationship with the Lord” problem could wait until Thomas found a preacher he could trust. God would understand, right? Because Thomas needed answers to spiritual questions that would remove all doubt.
Reverend Stout answered the door. A big smile lit his face and his hand rested on Thomas’s shoulder. “Good to see you, Thomas. Where’s the lovely bride?”
Behind him, in the manse, Mrs. Stout gave a startled glance at Thomas, jumped to her feet, said something to Archie, and with a furtive look behind her, darted into the kitchen. He heard the back door slam shut.
Archie stood. “Nice to see you again, Tommy. I need to help Mrs. Stout with something in the garden. I shall return, I’m sure.” He followed the direction Mrs. Stout had taken.
“What can I help you with?” Reverend Stout took a step back to allow Thomas entry then peered into the road where the buggy waited. “Where is your lovely wife?”
Thomas sighed. “My lovely wife is at home with her family, probably still wrestling with the fact that she somehow managed to get married against her will.”
Reverend Stout blinked at him. “What’s that you say?” He scratched his head. “Against her will? I’m quite sure I didn’t see any shotguns there.”
So, the preacher truly didn’t know? Thomas approached the settee where Archie had been seated, and sat without an invitation. “What exactly were you told about this wedding?”
Reverend Stout shrugged. “Mrs. Stout told me that you’d come by to ask me to officiate your wedding. Of course, I was more than pleased to do so. She also said you wanted the ceremony at Archie’s house, though I questioned that. You have a lovely home of your own, you know. I was also rather surprised at the suddenness of the marriage, especially since you weren’t waiting for your families to arrive, but my dear wife told me time was of the essence.” His face colored.
Thomas gaped, his own face heating.
“Needless to say, I agreed. We didn’t want that bit of scandal getting out. But you’re saying she didn’t want to marry? She’d rather be ruined?”
Thomas’s mouth worked as he tried to find his tongue. “Um…She’s not…We didn’t…” Jolly bad spot they’d been put into. “She’s not…I barely know her. We haven’t even been alone together.” Not quite true. They had danced, alone, in the moonlight. Thomas sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face. What had he gotten into? More important, how was he going to get out of it?
Not that he wanted to.
“Are you saying Mrs. Stout lied?” Reverend Stout’s voice hardened and his eyes narrowed.
Was he? Thomas looked down, trying to remember the preacher’s exact words. Time was of the essence. Mrs. Stout could argue that what her husband assumed wasn’t what she meant and claim misunderstanding…but the intent to mislead and manipulate was undeniably there.
Or was it? That could be argued, too. How could he know or guess her thoughts?
Thomas raked his fingers through his hair. “No, I’m not saying she lied. I’m saying she misrepresented the facts and landed us in a fine mess. And I’m not entirely sure how to proceed.”
Or maybe he did know.
“You see, Archie asked Bessie and me to reenact his grandparents’ wedding as a publicity stunt to advertise the opening of his resort.”
“Then why the marriage certificate? Why was time of the essence? I need to call my wife in. We need to see if we can undo this.” Reverend Stout stood.
“We’re willing to stay married to avoid further scandal.” Thomas grimaced. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that. But he was willing at least.
He had no reason to believe that Miss Bessie O’Hara—Mrs. Thomas Hale—would be going home with him that night.
Maybe not any night.
“Speaking of further scandal…” Reverend Stout reclaimed his seat. “With all the rumors whispered about you being some sort of a spy, not to mention dishonoring Miss Chapman in some manner—well, perhaps you could offer a bit of explanation so I could try to understand?”
Thomas sighed. “There’s a very large German munitions company in Europe owned by a family named Krupps. Among their many holdings is a factory in Berlin that supplied arms to the Boers in the war in South Africa. Miss Chapman’s father somehow had vested interest in this war, on Great Britain’s side, and he warned me not to sell iron ore to the Boers, who had earlier negotiated a contract with my father. I had no interest in the war and didn’t particularly care about whether Mr. Chapman did or not. I traveled to Germany, per my father’s wishes, and completed the sale.” He frowned, and clasped his hands on his knees. “As a result, I was wrongfully accused of being a spy for Germany. Miss Chapman publicly accused me of such, in addition to accusing me of having improper relations with her lady’s maid. She trampled my name in such mud that I fear it’ll never wash off.”
“Improper relations with her maid, you say?” The preacher’s eyebrows rose.
“Lies. I don’t even know who her maid is, and I have never had relations—proper or otherwise—with anyone.”
“To get this straight, you’re saying that because you supplied the Krupps with iron ore, which they in turn sold to the Boers for their war against England…” Reverend Stout rehashed the story. It sounded just as ridiculous when he told it.