“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God…”
Lindsay had just heard those words at the marriage of the Quinns. And now, they were being spoken for her and Reverend Hathaway—Damien, she corrected herself. She still blushed remembering when he’d first asked her to call him by his given name, only a few days before the wedding. Everything had happened so quickly, she could scarcely believe she now stood at the altar with him. Her greatest fear had been that somehow her father would stop the wedding.
She inhaled deeply, only now beginning to believe she would well and truly be Mrs. Damien Hathaway. She snuck a peek at her soon-to-be husband’s profile through her thin veil. He was staring straight ahead at the young curate performing the ceremony.
Damien had introduced her to his former classmate and friend, but Lindsay couldn’t remember the clergyman’s name. So many times in the rush of the morning she had felt giddy with nerves. But Florence’s firm presence and Beatrice’s tender counsel had carried her through and now she stood, ready to repeat the solemn vows of love, honor and fidelity to the man standing so seriously beside her.
There hadn’t even been time to have a proper wedding dress made. Dear Beatrice and her personal maid had contrived to smuggle out many of Lindsay’s gowns from home—her father had not permitted her to retrieve anything herself from her house. Lindsay had gone once to her home, only to find the butler she’d known since childhood not permitting her entry.
That had hurt more than her father’s anger and disdain the night of her flight. This was evidence of the cold rancor her father now harbored. She knew nothing would move him, despite what Damien had told her.
Today, she wore her best gown, thanks to Beatrice—an ivory muslin. Beatrice had purchased matching silk ribbons to replace the blue ones that had decorated it before. On her head, she wore a crown of white silk rosebuds atop the lacy veil Beatrice had fashioned for her.
She glanced to her future husband again. He looked as serene as always. Unlike her, he seemed to be listening closely to the solemn words being uttered on the state of holy matrimony. Lindsay could not seem to focus on anything that morning. All her thoughts came back to one: was she ruining Reverend Hathaway’s life? She’d asked herself the question so many times in the darkness when sleep refused to come that it had become a refrain with no answer. He had been nothing but attentive and kind in the days following her terrible lie to her father, but always she detected a curtain across Damien’s blue eyes. There were things he was not showing her. Was he trying to protect her, or merely shielding her in his unselfish way from the upheaval she was causing in his life?
His sister had made it plain that Lindsay had done an unforgivable thing. Not in direct words. She’d welcomed Lindsay into the parsonage and congratulated her on the upcoming nuptials. But in the days leading up to the hasty marriage, Florence had attempted to show her the different tasks the mistress of the parsonage carried out. The more she showed her, the more ignorant Lindsay felt. Florence had not been able to repress several deep sighs as she toured her through the account books, the herbal garden, the stillroom, where all her medicinal distillations were kept.
“What do they teach young ladies of the ton?” she’d muttered one evening when Lindsay had not been able to darn a sock in the heaping basket.
“I’ve only learned fine embroidery at Miss Pinkard’s Academy,” she answered quietly.
Florence pressed her lips together in that way that showed more clearly than any words her disapproval.
But she would have been able to endure all this and more—including the funny looks of the parishioners after Damien had introduced her formally on Sunday last and announced their impending nuptials—if her marriage were a real marriage.
Ever since Damien had spelled out so clearly the parameters of their marriage to her, despair had lodged around her heart and wouldn’t budge. If she had felt fear and agony before, thinking she must marry Mr. Stokes, how much more desolate Damien’s gently spoken words about an annulment had made her.
She was about to speak age-old words that joined her to him and he to her, and yet he was to be no husband to her. How she’d wanted to tell him the day would never come when she’d want to turn her back on him and return to her old life. How could she, when she loved him?
But how could she ever say that when clearly he didn’t love her and was only marrying her as a means to help her? It was pity that motivated him. Pride prevented her from throwing herself at him. Once again shame flooded her as she recalled how she’d left him no choice that night with her awful lies. He’d never reproached her, yet every kind word and gesture reproached her a hundredfold.
“Into this holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined…”
The words smote her, making a mockery of the union she would enjoy with the man standing beside her, and she felt anew the conviction that she had done something dreadful.
“If any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully join together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold his peace.” Lindsay tensed, still expecting her father to appear at the rear of the small church and denounce their wedding.
But the only sounds in the old stone building were a few rustlings of the people standing directly behind her—the church clerk and Jonah and Florence, their two witnesses.
It had been a harrowing week, as Damien and Jonah had gone back and forth to her father’s house and then to the offices of his solicitors, trying to obtain her father’s permission. Damien had finally even had to hire his own solicitor before her father had at last consented.
She felt doubly ashamed, as they’d had to continue the charade of her loss of virtue. She knew from Florence that there was the awful question of disciplinary action toward Damien from the church for his supposed conduct toward her. But he’d reassured her that everything was going to be all right, and she’d preferred to accept his words than to go back and confess the truth to her father.
“Ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, ye do now confess it.”
Once again the clergyman’s words struck fear and dread into her heart for the awful lie she was perpetuating.
But nothing happened, and she continued to stand in her ivory muslin beside Damien and the other witnesses. The minister turned to Damien and began, “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Damien turned his eyes on her. As he said the words “I will,” she had the sense he was truly pledging his troth to her. That all those things the curate had stated—forsaking all others, keeping himself only unto her—he was actually promising to do for her.
Before she could read anything more in his beautiful blue eyes, the minister turned to her and began listing the same vows. She tried to concentrate on the words, but could not take her gaze off Damien.
“Wilt thou have this man to be thy wedded husband, to live together…”
She swallowed then, lifting her chin a notch, her eyes never wavering from Damien’s, and repeated, “I will.” Once again, she felt a tangible connection between the two of them, as if they were the only people present and God Himself were witnessing their vows.
“Who giveth this woman to be married to this man?”
Her father did not step out to take her hand, but Jonah, who had offered to give her away, came to stand on her other side and took her right hand in his large one. She could have wept when he gave her a quick wink and squeezed her hand. He’d been nothing but kindness to her in the past few days, seeming to guess her every fear and guilt, and reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.
The minister took her hand from Jonah’s and offered it to Damien. He took it in his right hand. His slim fingers enfolded her hand and she drew strength from them.
“I, Damien Ashton Hathaway, take thee Lindsay Catherine Phillips, to be my wedded wife, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part, according to God’s holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth.”
They let go of each other’s hands, and then, as she’d been instructed earlier, she took Damien’s hand in hers and repeated the same words. “I, Lindsay Catherine Phillips, take thee Damien Ashton Hathaway, to be my wedded husband, to have and to hold…”
Jonah handed Damien the ring. Lindsay held out her left hand. He slipped the slim gold band he’d told her had been his mother’s around her finger and then his fingers rested atop her hand. “With this ring, I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: in the name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”
Then everyone was bowing their heads and repeating the Lord’s Prayer. Once again, the curate was joining their right hands together and saying, “Those whom God hath joined together let no man put asunder.”
She felt a profound sense of relief that no one could come between them now. A shudder of horror went through her as she contemplated how close she had come to having the same pronouncement uttered over her and Mr. Stokes.
“You may kiss the bride.”
The minister’s words startled her. Before she knew it, Damien lifted her veil. The next second his face was drawing close to hers, and then his lips touched hers softly, almost hesitantly. She felt the earth rock beneath her. Before she could react, before she could reach up and put her arms around his neck the way she longed to, he retreated.
She still felt the imprint of his warm lips against hers as he turned to face the minister again.
The minister pronounced a blessing over them, and then it was over. Jonah offered her his hand and a wide smile. “Congratulations, dear girl. You’ve tied the knot with my good and true friend Damien.” Then he gave Damien a hearty embrace and Florence gave Lindsay a quick peck on the cheek and murmured her congratulations, as well.
They didn’t linger at the altar but went to sign the registry. Her hand shook slightly as she signed her maiden name for the last time. All the while she relived Damien’s kiss. She turned to him in wonder as he took her arm lightly and guided her down the steps into the morning sunshine.
They were well and truly married. The thing she’d most feared—that somehow her father would prevent it—had not happened. She glanced quickly up at the puffy white clouds against the blue sky and promised God to behave from now on. She would never tell such a lie again, as long as she lived. If only she could remain Damien’s wife. She would be a good wife, proving indispensable to him, so he would never want to return her to her father.
Damien helped her into the coach they had hired for the trip back to the parsonage. The Quinns rode with them. Once they were all seated, all her fears and guilt returned.
Only the crunch of the wheels on the dirt road and the clatter of the horses’ hooves broke the stillness.
Lindsay didn’t know what to say or do, her naturally friendly personality subdued in the face of Florence’s serious countenance.
“Are you all right?”
She turned with relief at Damien’s low tone and gave him a tentative smile. “Yes, thank you.”
“Beautiful morning.” Jonah’s tone was jovial.
“It is indeed,” replied Damien.
Lindsay moistened her lips. Was she expected to contribute to the conversation? But what could she say that would be welcome?
“A perfect day for your wedding.” Jonah grinned at them both, and Lindsay offered a smile.
“Yes. We were certainly blessed,” Damien said.
“We’ve been having a spate of fine weather. The plowing is coming along nicely.”
“I’m sorry you missed working on your new farm today.”
Jonah frowned at him. “And miss your wedding? I’d as lief be shut up in Newgate!” he said with another wink at Lindsay. She couldn’t help smiling back but was quickly cowed by Florence’s frown at her husband.
“How can you say such a thing?”
“I can come out and help you with the plowing on Monday,” Damien offered. Lindsay stared at him, surprised at his offer. A clergyman plowing in the fields? But Jonah’s acquiescence surprised her even more.
“We can make a day of it, if the weather holds. If you bring Miss Phillips—beg pardon—Mrs. Hathaway with you, she and Florence can spend the day together.”
“Excuse me,” Florence responded immediately, “if you wish Damien’s wife to be able to take the reins of the parsonage, I still have much to go over with her about its daily management.”
Jonah smiled at his wife, unfazed. “Very well, you continue on with your task.” His green eyes twinkled at Lindsay. “If she’s half the taskmaster she was with me, you’ll be ready to take over the entire parish in a fortnight.”
Florence sniffed and looked out the window.
Damien turned to Lindsay, concern in his eyes. “You needn’t do anything more than you wish. I didn’t marry you to take on all the duties of a clergyman’s wife, I assure you.”
“That’s all right,” she said immediately, then an awkward silence ensued once again as she thought about the reason he had married her.
As if sensing the awkwardness, Jonah spoke up. “I promised Jacob we’d finish up your fields this coming week.”
“As soon as you finish your own,” Damien told him. “I’ll assist Jacob, as well.”
After a few moments of more silence, Jonah slapped his knees. “Yes, it was a fine service.”
Suddenly, the coach leaned to one side as a wheel fell into a rut in the road. Jonah put a steadying hand on his wife’s arm. “Easy there, love.” Lindsay felt a pang at the note of tenderness in his voice and the look that passed between the two as she murmured her thanks.
When they’d regained an even pace, Jonah addressed Damien again. “Have you invited the minister to the wedding breakfast?”
“I did, but he excused himself. It’s a bit far for him to come. Only Jacob and Elizabeth—and Betsy—will be there.” Damien glanced at her. “And your cousin, of course.”
Dear Beatrice. Her only ally. None of her schoolgirl friends had responded to her invitations.
She still found it strange that the only other wedding guests were to be servants. Never in her life, no matter that she’d known her father’s servants since childhood, would she have shared social events with a servant.
After a few more attempts at friendly conversation, Jonah lapsed into silence and the party rode the rest of the way without exchanging a word.
Lindsay spent the intervening time reliving Damien’s kiss and thinking that this day had changed her life forever.
She couldn’t help comparing her wedding day with the one she’d witnessed a scant few weeks ago. Even though Damien had announced his impending marriage to his congregation, eliciting shocked murmurs, he had not specifically invited anyone to the nuptials. Whereas the entire congregation had seemed to be present at the Quinns’ wedding ceremony, no one had come to theirs. Undoubtedly few would care to travel to the village outside London, Lindsay told herself.
Just as she was beginning to feel sick from the coach’s swaying, due to her empty stomach and tense nerves, they finally arrived back at the parsonage.
Damien helped her down from the old coach, then went to pay the driver as Lindsay waited for the others to descend. She didn’t even feel she could precede them into the house, no matter how many times Florence had told her she was now mistress of the parsonage.
She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw the other coach, carrying Mr. and Mrs. Nichols, their daughter and Beatrice, arrive. Lindsay hurried over to receive her cousin.
“You looked so beautiful, my dear,” her cousin said as soon as she’d been helped down by Mr. Nichols. “I couldn’t help shedding a tear. It was a beautiful wedding.”
Lindsay felt a lump grow in her throat and couldn’t speak. The two women looked at each other and Beatrice squeezed her hand as if she understood all that was going through Lindsay’s mind.
“Come along, everyone, refreshment awaits,” Jonah’s friendly voice boomed out.
They entered the dining room on the ground floor. Lindsay stood with her cousin, unsure where to be seated. Until today, Florence had sat at the foot of the table as mistress of the house.
Lindsay didn’t have long to wait. As soon as Florence entered from a quick inspection of the kitchen, she approached Lindsay. “Please take your proper place,” she said, indicating with a nod of her head.
Lindsay walked toward the end of the table, feeling with every step that she was unworthy of the place of honor. Damien joined her almost at once and held the chair out for her, giving her a smile.
Lindsay listened to the conversation around her and nibbled on the selection on her plate: fresh bread and farm butter; cold meats and slices of cheese and stewed fruits. She joined in the toast for their future. Beatrice and Jonah kept up most of the conversation, with Damien and his sister joining in occasionally.
Lindsay was the outsider. What would she do when Beatrice left? She sighed, praying for the strength to carry out the charade she’d begun.
After lunch, Beatrice bade them farewell.
“You don’t have to leave so soon, do you?” Lindsay asked at once.
“Yes, my dear. I have a long way to go and must start my journey immediately.”
“Go? Where are you going?”
“Your father has requested I return to my home.”
“Oh, no!” Another thing Lindsay was responsible for.
Damien had been listening to their conversation and he approached. “You are welcome to make your home with us, Cousin Beatrice.”
Beatrice turned to him with a warm smile. “Thank you, dear boy. You don’t know how your kind invitation warms me. But I am returning to my sister’s home. I was residing with her before Lindsay’s father summoned me to help in her coming out. My sister depends on me for help with her numerous family.” She turned back to Lindsay. “I shall be fine, although I shall miss you dreadfully. You have been like a daughter to me in these short months.”
Lindsay felt herself tearing up again. “I hope you can visit us.”
“Yes,” Damien said immediately. “You are welcome here anytime.”
Amidst more promises, Beatrice made her departure. Outside, Lindsay hugged her tightly, feeling as if her last lifeline was leaving.
“There, there, dear girl, I know I leave you in good hands.” Beatrice eased away from her and took her hands. “Although this union began in a somewhat unorthodox fashion, I feel in my heart everything will work out fine.”
Lindsay pressed her lips together. “I…I’m frightened.”
“Everything new is frightening. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to go to Reverend Hathaway. He looks to be a good, compassionate man. I know he’d do anything to help you adjust.”
Lindsay looked down. She could not burden Damien with more than she’d given him already. How would she ever live up to the woman he deserved? “Pray for me,” she said to her cousin.
Beatrice gave her hands a final pat. “I will, my dear, be assured of that. Now, go on in to that handsome young husband of yours and let me be on my way.”
“Write to me,” Lindsay said as her cousin leaned out the carriage window.
“I will. And I want to hear all about the doings here at the parsonage.”
Lindsay waved until the carriage disappeared in the dust of the road. When would she ever see a familiar face again? She turned and looked southward toward Hyde Park. Mayfair and the world she had known since birth were closed to her now. The reception her friends had shown her to news of her wedding made that clear.
She slowly pivoted and faced the parsonage door. A new life awaited her. A world she’d forced herself into by way of deception. Would God ever forgive her for it and bless it?
When she reentered the parsonage, it was so quiet she wanted to run back outside to the sunshine and sound of birdsong and carriage traffic. But she squared her shoulders and made her way down the corridor. No one was left in the dining room and all signs of the breakfast had been cleared away. She heard voices coming from behind the kitchen door. But she wanted to find Damien first. She needed to be reassured by his kindly face. She ascended the stairs and looked in the drawing room but it was empty. Back downstairs, she faced both his study and his workroom, but both doors were shut and she didn’t have the courage to knock. What would she say? Finally, with a sigh, she entered the kitchen.
Florence, Mrs. Nichols and Betsy turned to look at her. They were drying the dishes and putting away the remaining food. “I w-wanted to see if you needed my help.”
“Thank you, my dear, but I wouldn’t have you doing any chores today. It’s your wedding day.” Florence shooed her out the door when Lindsay hesitated, wanting to tell her she had nowhere to go and nothing else to do.
Back in the silent corridor, she decided to take a walk. Yes, the fresh air might do her good. She went toward the coatrack to fetch her spencer and parasol.
After an hour of exploring the back orchards and fields beyond, she returned, tired but feeling better for the walk. A quick search of the open rooms showed no one. Finally, with another sigh, she headed for her room. She would take a nap. Perhaps Damien would be about when she woke up.
Lindsay woke with a start, her room dim, feeling disoriented. She put a hand to her disheveled locks, trying to place herself. The next second she looked down at her hand on the coverlet. The thin gold band glinted up at her. She was a married woman.
After a few moments, thinking about all the events of the morning, she rose. She made her way to her dressing table and sat down. Her cheeks were rosy from sleep, her hair cascading down her shoulders, her eyes large and frightened. Slowly, she took out the remaining pins from her hair and brushed it. After coiling it back round again and arranging the locks about her face, she straightened her dress and rose.
Once again, the house presented a daunting silence. This time, not even sounds from the kitchen could be heard. Finally, she settled down in the drawing room with a novel from the pile Beatrice had left her from the lending library.
It seemed ages later—she’d finally been able to settle her thoughts on the story after plowing through the first few chapters with little understanding—that the door opened and she looked up startled. A deep feeling of relief engulfed her when she saw Damien standing in the doorway.
He looked surprised. “Hello. I didn’t know you were here.”
Had he wanted the room to himself? “Yes. I—I’ve been here some time now.”
“Oh. I didn’t know if you were awake. Florence told me you had gone up for a nap.”
She felt herself blushing. “Yes. Just for a little while, when I didn’t see you—anyone—around. I…I went out for a walk earlier.”
He approached her chair in the bow window overlooking Hyde Park. “You went for a walk on your own?”
“Yes. Is that all right? I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“It’s quite all right, and you needn’t have feared disturbing me. I was just tinkering with tomorrow’s sermon.” He seemed to blush, as well. “I went for a walk too, so you see, we could have walked together.”
She felt her own cheeks redden and she looked down at her book.
“What are you reading?”
“Oh, just a book Beatrice left me…to while away the time.”
“I’m sorry if you were bored.”
“Oh, no, that is, your sister insisted I could do nothing to help today, so I—” She splayed her fingers in a shrug. “I felt a little at loose ends is all. Where is everyone, anyway?”
His eyes didn’t meet hers. “Jonah and Florence have left.”
“Left?” Her voice rose in surprise.
“Yes. Jonah decided to move into their new farmhouse. It took me quite by surprise as well, since I didn’t expect them to move until next week or the following.” He began fiddling with his watch chain as if nervous. “But Jonah decided this afternoon—at least that’s when he told me—that he and Flo would go there temporarily. But Florence will be back tomorrow morning. She wants to continue helping you settle in.” He coughed, his discomfort apparent. “You don’t mind, do you? You needn’t do anything you don’t wish to. My sister just wants to be helpful, but she can be a little direct at times. If she makes you feel uncomfortable, just say the word, and I’ll talk to her.”
“Oh, no!” She almost reached out to grab his arm in alarm. “No, please don’t,” she said more calmly. “I appreciate all the time and patience she is taking with me.” She smoothed down her skirt over her knees, feeling exceedingly awkward now that she was actually alone with him. It was the first time since the night she’d come to him, and since that awful interview with him the next morning. Her eyes widened in sudden concern. “They haven’t moved out because of me, have they?”
“No, of course not,” he hastened, but then his eyes slid away from her again. “I mean, Jonah’s notion of a newly married couple needing some time alone together probably had something to do with it. Please don’t take it amiss—he meant no harm by it. We both tried to dissuade him, my sister and I, but he can be a stubborn fellow sometimes.”
“I see.” Dear Jonah, trying to help out. She dared not look at Damien now. So, both he and his sister had not wanted her to be left alone with him. The thought lowered her spirits even more. Of course her wedding was a sham. She had done nothing but incommode poor Damien.
She’d taken vows today, which were unwanted.
His voice interrupted her. “Are you hungry?”
Her gaze flew up to him. “What? Oh, I…don’t know.” It had been hours since the little she’d eaten.
“I had just been looking for you to see if you cared for some supper. Mrs. Nichols laid some out before she left. There’s tea if you’d care for a cup.”
She stood immediately. “Oh, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
His hand came up to touch her arm. “You didn’t. I had just now come to look for you, and I’m sorry I kept you by yourself so long.”
She swallowed, looking at his hand, feeling its light touch, longing to be held by him, to be reassured that all was truly going to work out. But instead, he let her arm go and continued talking, unaware of her thoughts. “We usually eat a light supper, as you’ve seen. I had nothing planned for this evening. I shall probably just sit here and read. If you’d like, we can pray together and read the scriptures afterward.”
“Yes, I should like that very much,” she said softly, the beginnings of a smile forming on her lips. Maybe, if nothing else, she could still turn to him as to the man of God who had so drawn her since the first day she’d heard him preach.
He returned her smile.
Damien unfolded his napkin, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in the large dining room. Lindsay—he felt unworthy to be calling her by her Christian name—was at the far end of the table. The arrangement had never bothered him with Florence, but now he felt it would be awkward enough to carry on a conversation without feeling he’d have to raise his voice. Her tone was often so soft he had to strain to catch her few words.
He bowed his head and began his accustomed blessing. He barely heard her “amen” echoing his own when he finished. No, this wouldn’t do. He cleared his throat. “Would you like to—that is, when we’re alone together at table, would you prefer to sit closer? I don’t mean to rob you of your rightful place…”
Relief showed on her face. “I would much prefer to sit closer.” She began to rise as she spoke and carried her plate to the place at his right.
When she was settled beside him, he passed her a plate of cold chicken. “Mrs. Nichols is a fine cook, as you’ve been able to see since you came here.” Then he remembered where Lindsay came from. “Though I’m sure she cannot rival your father’s cook.”
“Mrs. Nichols is indeed a fine cook,” she said immediately. “Papa has a French chef, but I find Mrs. Nichols’s cooking both savory and wholesome. It reminds me of being at Chillingsworth. Our country seat,” she replied to his raised eyebrow.
“Of course. Did you spend much time there as a child?” How much he didn’t know of her. How would she possibly adjust to life in a small parsonage after the life she’d known? His spirits fell as her face lightened, looking happier than it had all day.
“Oh, yes! Before I went off to school, I spent much more time there with Mama than in London. It was a lovely place, up in Derbyshire. I could roam about the grounds much more freely than here in London. Of course, I haven’t spent that much time at our house in Mayfair. I was away at Miss Pinkard’s most of the year.”
“Tell me more about your time in the country.” He listened as he took an occasional bite of food, more entranced by her words than the food before him. For the first time since coming to the parsonage, she was showing some animation. Had the presence of the others, particularly Florence, constrained her natural enthusiasm so much? He felt suddenly glad Jonah had insisted they leave for the evening.
His sister meant well, but she couldn’t help showing her disapproval and worry over his decision to carry through with the marriage.
It was done now. He’d promised to love and cherish Lindsay until death parted them. He intended to honor that vow, even after Lindsay returned someday to her father’s house.
By the time supper was over, they had regained the companionableness of those times she’d sat in his Bible study. They retired to the drawing room and opened their Bibles, reading a passage together and discussing it. She had marvelous insight for one who hadn’t read the scriptures much before.
Betsy brought a tray of tea up later in the evening. “You may leave it,” he told her.
Lindsay poured the tea. As she handed him his cup with a smile, suddenly Damien couldn’t believe it was his wife doing the honors in his drawing room. He felt a wave of gratitude wash over him. Even if she were never his true wife—and she wouldn’t be, he repeated to himself—he was more thankful than he could ever say to have her sitting across from him, taking on the role.
“Thank you,” he said.
“How early will you be going over to the chapel tomorrow morning?”
It would be her first official Sunday with them. “I generally go over about half an hour before the service. You needn’t go over so early. Florence usually sees to everything the evening before—that the flowers are at the altar and the communion elements in place—but she will probably arrive early tomorrow morning.”
“That’s quite all right. I can go with her and see what needs to be done.” She looked down at her cup. Her tawny eyelashes brushed her translucent skin. “I want to be able to do everything a curate’s wife is expected to do. I should visit the members of your congregation, shouldn’t I…and act as your hostess here when you have gatherings…and I don’t know…play the organ?” She looked up, concern shadowing her large brown eyes. “I don’t play the organ, but I do play the pianoforte.”
He laughed. “It’s very nice of you to want to do everything possible, and there will be some duties, as that of hostess, that I would appreciate your help with, but I won’t overburden you with chores. You can continue your life—the one you are more accustomed to—as much as you’d like. I don’t want you to be overwhelmed by this new role.”
“It would be no burden for me, I assure you.”
He cleared his throat, not wanting to curb her enthusiasm or good intentions, but understanding better than she what the job entailed. “Being a curate or curate’s wife involves never-ending tasks that few people see or acknowledge. Florence and I have been doing this for many years and have become accustomed to the demands of the life.” Seeing her expression, he said, “I don’t mean to discourage you. I want you to feel free to do as much or as little as you feel inclined to do. I just want you to break into it slowly until you see how much you truly care to take on. I shall never reproach you for anything you do or don’t choose to do.”
He didn’t feel he had her full agreement but didn’t know how else to make her understand how quickly she could be weighed down by the obligations of the office if she tried to do everything at once.
As they drank their tea, he felt the camaraderie they’d achieved was broken. The night stretched ahead of them, like a specter hovering in their midst. Before the wedding, Lindsay had retired to her room when Florence and Jonah went up. Now, it was just the two of them.
Finally Damien, unsure what to do, picked up his book, a treatise on Hebrews, and began to read. When he looked up, he saw that Lindsay had also picked up the novel she’d been reading earlier.
The only sounds were the ticking of the clock and the turning of a page. He was acutely conscious of Lindsay’s every move. He knew the second she closed her book. A few seconds later, she rose, laid the book on an end table and approached his chair. “Would you care for another cup of tea?”
“Yes, I think I will.” Her slim hand held the china pot over the cup he held out. “Thank you,” he said as she retreated.
The clatter of a saucer on the tray signaled she was putting her cup down. “I think I shall go up now.”
He raised his eyes to meet hers. The moment of truth had arrived. He rose but kept his place in his book with his finger. “I think I shall remain here a little longer.”
She merely nodded although she looked at him a few seconds longer without saying anything. “Very well, then. I…I shall bid you good night.”
“It must have been a tiring day for you.”
“No—yes. I suppose a little.” Still, she remained standing there without moving. He could feel his heart begin to thud, unsure what to do, willing himself to remain where he was, as if this was the way newlyweds were supposed to behave.
The pulse thudding in his ears drowned out everything else when she began to walk toward him. What was she going to do?
She stood about a foot from him, as if expecting something, but still he stood, unable to look away from her, not knowing what she wanted. He remembered the sweet feel of her lips against his those few seconds at the end of their wedding ceremony, a memory he’d shut from his mind. But now, it clamored for recognition. His gaze fell to her mouth and suddenly he ached to take her in his arms and feel her lips again.
The next second she took another step toward him, so close she was almost touching him. She rose on her tiptoes, touching him lightly on the shoulders to retain her balance. Her face neared his and he thought she was going to kiss him on the lips, but then she moved her head. He smelled the sweet scent of her as her lips brushed his cheek.
And then she was standing once more away from him. “Good night, Damien. Thank you again for everything.”
He could only nod dumbly, too shaken by the feel of her against him, the flowery scent of her so close to him.
He didn’t move until he heard the sound of the door close after her and then he fell back on his chair, the book in his hand forgotten.
The full impact of his situation hit him. He was now a married man. He had a young, beautiful wife upstairs. In another world, she’d be waiting for him, and he would be eager to share this first night with her. His head fell in his hands as despair seized him. He could not give in to this pretty, storybook fantasy. How was he going to survive living under the same roof with her? Knowing she was only a door or two away from him? Every instinct, every fiber of his body commanded him to run after her and take her to himself.
His eyes fell on the wooden leg stretched out before him and his spirits sank even further. She would soon see the awful mistake she’d made—or been forced into by her circumstances—and would come to despise him or, worse, be sickened every time she looked at his wooden leg.
He must preserve her chastity if he ever hoped to return her to her father. He must!
He picked up his worn Bible and flipped to the book of Job, to a familiar passage. His hands shook as he turned to the page. His eyes roamed down the passage until alighting upon the scripture he sought.
I made a covenant with mine eyes; why then should I think upon a maid? He clenched his hand into a fist, repeating the words, making them a promise to himself. He would not harbor impure thoughts toward Lindsay. She was under his protection. He would honor his own vow of chastity to her.