Lindsay stared down at the green grass turning beneath her feet. What should have been a glorious early-summer day was a pit of misery. The warm sunshine mocked her. She’d left her morning tasks, saying nothing to Betsy’s inquiry, and walked out to the garden, through the orchard, unsure where to go. She’d ended up at the beginnings of a field, and dropped into an old swing hanging from a massive oak tree.
The rope twisted above her head as she pivoted aimlessly.
She should be weeding the garden or helping Mrs. Nichols and Betsy in the kitchen, or poring over the account books at the neat little desk she’d inherited from Florence. Everything had been left up-to-date and orderly by her sister-in-law before she’d departed to her new life.
Instead, Lindsay felt no inclination to do anything but mope.
A week had gone by since the night she’d shared Damien’s bed. How happy she’d been the next morning, thinking that at last they were a real married couple. But his rejection the next morning had hurt her as nothing before.
Since then he’d been polite as usual but more aloof than ever.
What compounded her misery was the fact that Damien hadn’t taken her along on his visits to the needy. The only time she’d accompanied him to the orphanage he’d hired a hack and had it wait for them. She knew it cost him more than he was able to spare, so she’d made up some excuse not to go the next time.
But she missed the children horribly and felt as useless as ever. At least Jacob had agreed to show her some things about gardening and allowed her to spade one corner of the large kitchen garden for herself.
She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes as she contemplated her life at the parsonage. Useless. That’s what she was. She’d thought she’d be able to win Damien. Instead, she seemed to have caused him more pain. He didn’t want her.
“Hallo, what’s my favorite sister-in-law doing all the way out here?”
She started at the sound of Jonah’s greeting. She looked up to see him marching through the orchard toward her.
Hurriedly, she wiped at her damp cheeks. She must look a fright in her morning gown and apron. “Hello,” she called out, averting her eyes. “I didn’t expect you today. Is Florence with you?”
He planted himself in front of her with a broad smile. “That she is. I left her to visit with Damien a bit while I came out to fetch you.” He studied her keenly. “Now, what’s ailing my pretty young sister on such a beautiful day?”
She looked down again, half turning from him as she wiped the corner of one eye. “Nothing. I just have something in my eye.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t sound convinced. To her surprise, he suddenly squatted down and looked up at her. She couldn’t hide her face from him. She bit her lip, not knowing what to say.
“Come, what is it, lass, that’s bothering you? Is it Damien?”
She remained mute, though she could feel her cheeks warm.
“He’s a young lad, inexperienced with the ladies. Mayhap he hasn’t known the right thing to do or say to his young bride. But I know he cares for you.”
“Oh, he’s very good to me. No one could be better.”
“But?”
She couldn’t help the fresh tears that welled up in her eyes and she tried to hide her face behind her hands. “He d-doesn’t love me or w-want me. I forced myself u-upon him. I’m so ashamed!”
Jonah gently pried one hand away from her face and held it, waiting patiently until she stopped crying.
As she dabbed at her face with her handkerchief, she fixed her attention on the grass at her feet, too embarrassed with her confession to look at her new brother-in-law, a man who’d always been nice to her but was still practically a stranger.
“Are you sharing his bed, lass?”
Her eyes flew to his, astounded by the frank question.
“Forgive me if I offended you, Lindsay, I’m a plain-speaking man. You can tell me to shut up or to mind my own business, but you look so forlorn, nothing like a young lady recently wed should look.” He gazed at her so earnestly that her embarrassment died. She felt she could trust him with her shameful secret.
She knotted her hands in her apron and shook her head. “Only once,” she whispered.
“And?”
Her glance slipped away from his, finding it difficult to confess the rest. “He seemed so sorry afterward and said it mustn’t happen again. I don’t know why it’s so wrong.”
Jonah’s calloused hand squeezed hers. “It’s not, dear child. You go back to him. He’ll not turn you away, or my name’s not Jonah Quinn.”
She shook her head, but he repeated, “You just go to him, lassie.”
She stared at him. Could he possibly be right? Would she dare?
He stood and reached out his hand. “Now, let’s go on back to the parsonage. Florence will wonder what’s keeping me. She wanted to see you especially.”
As he helped her up, he said, “She’s been worried about you, how you’re getting along. She’d have come sooner, but I stopped her, wanting to give you and Damien some time to yourselves.” He glanced sidelong at her as they walked back through the orchard to the house. “How are the church ladies treating you?”
She sighed. “About the same. They act as if I’ve stolen their curate from them.”
He chuckled. “I’m sure they think that. It’s jealousy, that’s all. They’re used to having the young man all to themselves and along comes a beautiful young lady and steals his heart right out from under them. I’m sure there’s more than one disappointed young miss.”
She shook her head, hardly believing his assessment. “I could bear it all much better, I think, if I knew Damien loved me.”
“Don’t you doubt it. And remember what I told you. You go to him. The good Lord will take care of the rest.”
He made it sound so easy. But what if Damien turned her away? She couldn’t bear it.
As if reading her thoughts, Jonah winked. “Don’t give up. Now, Florence has some good news to share—that is, we have some news.”
She shaded her eyes, unable to resist his smile. “Oh, goodness, what is it?”
He chuckled, picking up his pace. “She’ll never forgive me if I let it out before she’s had a chance to.”
Her heart lifted and she quickened her step to keep up with Jonah.
Florence beamed at Lindsay and Damien. “We’re expecting a child sometime midwinter.”
Lindsay’s breath caught. Was she imagining it, or did her sister-in-law’s face have a glow to it? Florence’s eyes met hers and Lindsay read a hesitancy, as if she were waiting for Lindsay to react.
Lindsay took a step forward and suddenly the two women were embracing. “That’s wonderful news.” Her words caught, and she teared up. “I’m so happy for both of you.”
When they released each other, Florence was also wiping her eyes. “Ever since I found out, it seems I’ve been weepy about everything. Not like myself at all.”
Jonah put his arm around his wife. “I always need to have a clean handkerchief at the ready.”
Florence laughed then turned to her brother. Damien leaned over and kissed her cheek. “God be praised.”
“I never thought I might be blessed with motherhood, but—” her glance met her husband’s, and Lindsay felt a stab of envy at the clear love and joy between the two of them “—the Lord is so gracious. He has blessed me with the finest of husbands, and now has looked with favor upon us to bless us with a family of our own.”
Damien held out his hand to his brother-in-law but Jonah stepped forward and grabbed him up in a bear hug. When he turned to her with a wide smile and held out his hand, she felt his joy touch her. As his large hand enfolded hers, she could not begrudge them their happiness. She’d heard how he’d lost his two children and his first wife. “I wish you both all joy.”
“Thank you, lass. No one could be happier than I at this moment.”
Lindsay had to partake of their evident satisfaction during their visit. The baby wasn’t due until early in the new year but they already spoke of their plans for a nursery.
Later, when the two men went downstairs to take a walk through the orchard and fields, Lindsay sat alone with Florence. After talking of church matters for a while, Lindsay ventured to ask her, “What is it like to be expecting?” She remembered Damien’s words to her, you could be with child. A part of her hoped and prayed it was so.
“I haven’t been stricken by any of the unpleasant things one hears so much from women—nausea, not being able to hold down any food—but I do notice a sensitivity. I seem to be crying about everything, even when I’m happy about something. I never used to cry before.” She sighed and shook her head.
Lindsay took a deep breath and forced out her next question. “What is the…first sign?”
Florence eyed her sharply but said nothing. “Loss of one’s monthly flux is the first sure sign. But one usually waits for another cycle to be sure.”
Florence cleared her throat, her hands clasped in her lap. “Now, tell me, how it is going at the orphanage?”
Lindsay swallowed her disappointment at her sister-in-law’s obvious reluctance to go further into the subject. Did she know of Damien’s vow not to touch his wife? Would she disapprove of what had happened?
She remembered Jonah’s words. Go to him…he’ll not turn you away.
A part of her quaked at such a bold suggestion.
Another realized that she was willing to risk all to be with her husband, body and soul.
That night, she sat up in her own bed, afraid she’d fall asleep before Damien came up. She was as tense as one of his clock springs. Would he make her leave? Would he spurn her? She sat there for at least an hour before she heard him in the corridor. Her insides trembled as she listened to the opening and closing of his bedroom door and her mind whirled.
Would he love her as his wife once more? Damien had been as tender and as passionate as she could have dreamed. Never would she regret what had happened between them. She thought of the change in Florence. She seemed softer than before. Would Lindsay be blessed in the same way, with a child as proof of the beautiful union between Damien and herself?
Finally, when she was sure he must have fallen asleep, Lindsay crept barefoot to Damien’s room. She stood outside his door, hardly daring to breathe. Surely his candle had been snuffed by now.
She opened the door, her hand gripping the knob. Good, the room was dark, the curtains drawn. Could he hear the beating of her heart? She wasn’t sure if she preferred he be asleep already or still awake.
Clutching the front of her dressing gown, she eased the door closed, then tiptoed across the room. Standing before the heavy bed curtains, she listened a moment, then, taking a deep breath, she drew them apart.
As she climbed into bed, he made a fast movement as if sitting up. “Lindsay?”
Quickly, she got under the covers. “Yes, ’tis I.”
She turned to face him, knowing the moment of truth had come. It had been so easy, listening to Jonah. Now, her pulse hammered against her eardrums and her stomach roiled in fear. What if Damien didn’t want her?
But Damien said nothing.
What was she going to do? She reached out to him but her hand landed on the empty bedding. Peering into the shadows, she saw his form. With a sinking heart, she realized he’d moved all the way to the other side. Jonah’s encouragement propelling her, she scooted over until she bumped against Damien’s arm. She dared rest her fingertips upon it. To her dismay it felt rigid under his sleeve.
“Lindsay, don’t.”
She drew her hand away immediately, feeling as if she’d been reprimanded like a child.
Jonah had been wrong.
She couldn’t go back to her room. She’d never be able to face Damien again. Even as she thought about what to do, her lower lip began to tremble.
She wouldn’t cry! But a sob escaped her and she hastened back to her own edge of the bed.
“Lindsay?”
She didn’t answer, too busy trying to muffle her sobs.
She felt him ease closer to her. “Lindsay, what’s the matter?”
“N-nothing.” She sniffed.
“Please don’t cry.” He sounded genuinely anguished.
“I—I’m not.” She wiped the tears on her cheeks.
He touched her shoulder and the dam broke. She began to sob in earnest.
“Please don’t cry, Lindsay. It’s best this way. I never meant for this to happen.”
“I’m sorry, Damien, I never meant to be a…burden to you. I’ll leave you—”
Somehow she was facing him and his arms were wrapped around her. She knew she’d have to leave, but for now, it felt so good to be held against his warm chest. “I’m sorry,” she kept repeating, and he kept shushing her, comforting her, as his hand stroked her back.
“I—I didn’t intend to disturb you,” she sobbed against his chest. “I know you don’t want me.”
“Not want you?” His voice showed amazement. “How could I not want you?” He drew away from her enough to peer into her face. “You’re the most wonderful, the most beautiful, the most perfect woman a man could ever have for a wife. Of course I want you.”
“You do?” Now it was her turn to stare at him in amazement.
“Of course I do.” His voice slowed. “But that doesn’t mean we should.”
Hope flared within her. He did want her! “Why shouldn’t we? You are my husband. I am your wife. You want me. I—I want you.” There, she’d said it aloud, bold as brass, admitted what she’d not even dared admit to herself.
Silence answered her, broken only by the thud of his heart beneath her palm. She could make out nothing of his features in the dark. As if by instinct, she reached out with her hand and touched his lips. She heard his intake of breath. Then, instead of drawing away, she felt the soft pressure of his warm lips against her fingertips.
She needed no more encouragement. A strange sort of exultation coursed through her and she closed the gap between them. She touched her lips to his, allowing him no time to push her away…not tonight…not ever…
The next morning when she came down to the dining room, Damien was already there. He looked up as soon as she entered, and they stared at each other a second. A tentative smile came to his lips, which she returned immediately. “Good morning, my dear,” he said when she drew close to his chair.
Her smile broadened and she leaned down and kissed him on the mouth, even though Betsy hovered at the other end of the table.
“Good morning. I seem to be the sleepyhead today,” she replied. As she straightened, she noticed his heightened color. She glanced toward Betsy. Was he embarrassed?
“Good morning, Betsy,” she said brightly, going to her place at the table.
Betsy smiled. “Good morning, ma’am. Sleep well, did you?”
Lindsay unfolded her napkin, looking down, her face warm. “Yes, very well.” She had slept quite soundly.
As Betsy poured some hot chocolate into her cup, Lindsay glanced at Damien, who was looking at her. He quickly looked back at the paper. How handsome he was. Her heart swelled to think what a wonderful husband she had. Her hand stole to her abdomen. And maybe, by God’s grace, she would be with child soon.
Perhaps then Damien would forget about returning her to her father and her former life.
You are summoned to appear before the Bishop of London on the 21st of August, 1812, at three o’clock…
Damien stared down at the paper in his hands, foreboding weighing his spirit. The supervisor and spiritual head of the entire parish wanted to see him. Reverend Doyle had not warned him of this meeting, but surely it was a direct result of the complaint the rector had lodged against Damien.
He tapped the edge of the thick paper against his chin, pondering. Glancing out his study window, he observed Lindsay walking through the garden in a pretty frock and wide straw hat. As beautiful as the colorful array around her, she wandered among the beds, clipping flowers into a basket she held on her arm.
He pulled his gaze away, despising himself anew for his lack of willpower where his bride was concerned. Bride. The word condemned him as his unrestrained behavior had condemned her. Even though they’d been married now for over two months, he still thought of her as a bride. In that time, despite his vow, he had proved himself weak where Lindsay was concerned. He no longer tried to figure out the future, no longer dared even think of it. His days were filled with ministry work, his nights with the joys of marital bliss.
The missive in his hand crumpled and he realized he’d crushed it in his fist.
He looked at it now, a stark reminder of his failings. Perhaps the future he so feared was rearing itself up at last.
He would just have to wait until the appointed day. With a sigh, he turned back to the sermon he’d been working on. The scripture he’d jotted down jumped out at him. Yet if any man suffer as a Christian, let him not be ashamed; but let him glorify God on this behalf.
If he was called on to suffer because of his role as a brother to Jonah, he must be prepared to see it through. With renewed inspiration, he began to write, his heart lifting as the words began to flow and he pictured the sufferings Jesus had had to endure for the sake of all humanity.
A short while later, his study door opened and Lindsay came in with a vase full of flowers. “I brought you some lilies and delphinium and, let’s see,” she said, and eyed the large bouquet. “A few daisies, foxglove and roses.” She set it on a corner of his desk.
Damien couldn’t help smiling at her. She always brought brightness to his life. “Thank you,” he finally remembered to say.
Instead of moving away from his desk, she leaned over it and continued arranging the flowers. She was so close her skirt, with its tiny rows of embroidered green leaves, brushed his knee. The light muslin dress was as airy as the flower petals, revealing the contours of her slim figure. Her arms were bare, her hair mussed as if she’d just flung off her bonnet. He clutched the edge of his desk to keep from grabbing her and pulling her into his lap.
She stood back and eyed the flower arrangement. “There. That should sweeten your study.”
You are all the sweetness I need. He stopped himself from saying half the things he’d like to say to her. He’d never even told her he loved her—dared not tell her in his desperate effort to keep her heart free of him, knowing all the while that the tightest cords had already been forged by his own weakness.
What would happen when she got tired of her life at the parsonage and wanted to return to her proper station in life?
Lindsay’s smile faded. “Damien, why are you frowning so?”
He shook his head and attempted a light tone. No need to spoil the companionable moment with his troubles. “It’s nothing.” He inhaled deeply. “The flowers smell lovely.”
She pondered him, a somber look in her large brown eyes.
“What is it?” he said.
“You have had such an air of sadness about you ever since we became man and wife.” She removed a daisy from the vase and twirled it between her fingers. “Is it because of me?”
“Of course not!”
“Then what is it? Is it wrong of a husband and wife to pleasure each other?”
They’d never spoken so directly of their…relations. He hardly dared look at her. As he harnessed his thoughts, he pretended to straighten the papers on his desk.
“Is it because of your leg?”
Involuntarily, his fingers began kneading his kneecap. “Let us say this stump is symbolic of so many things,” he said in a low tone, feeling her gaze on the missing limb.
“What do you mean?”
She was waiting for an answer, and she deserved to know why he held back from her. Too restless now to sit still, he stood and walked a few steps away from her. “I mean, yes, my leg, or lack thereof—” he gave an abrupt laugh “—kept me from seeking a wife early on in my life. Later it only helped remind me of the reasons for remaining unmarried.”
“Why ever should having lost part of your leg keep you from having a wife?”
He swung around to her, running a hand through his hair. How difficult it was to express things that had been part of him for so long, but which he’d never confessed to another living soul. “I’m a man devoted to God’s work. I’m single-minded in my focus. There are perhaps other clergymen to whom the church is merely a comfortable living. They make admirable husbands.”
He spread out his hands. “For me, it’s my life. It would be unfair of me to ask a woman to follow me. It is monstrous of me to ask it of a gently bred young lady—an heiress—like yourself.”
She jutted out her pretty lower lip. “And what if I wanted to share that life with you, Damien? What if it fills me to see souls being helped? You’ve hardly let me accompany you to your ministries outside the chapel—”
“A whole man could protect you,” he interrupted angrily. “A cripple is not only an object of ridicule, but can scarcely protect himself.”
Before he’d finished speaking, she was standing close to him. “The Lord protects you each time you leave this house and go out to minister to the poor. He protected us both that day. Why do you doubt He’ll continue protecting us?”
He rubbed a hand over his face, unable to answer her but knowing she didn’t understand the dangers fully. As the seconds dragged out, he couldn’t help reaching to take a ringlet of her hair between his fingertips, smiling sadly. “You are very noble and kind, and I know you are very brave in wanting to share in my life. I never meant to know you as a husband when I agreed to marry you. I fully meant to return you to your father and your old life.” He swallowed. “Each time we know each other as man and wife, I feel I’m digging a hole deeper for you, a hole you’ll never be able to climb out of. And it’s all my fault.”
She shook her head vigorously. “I never want to go back to my father’s house, to my old life.”
“You may say that now, but you are very young.” He returned to his desk. “You don’t realize how grueling this path of mine is. I can never forgive myself for robbing you of the life you were meant to enjoy…nor can I afford to become double-minded in my work, fretting every time I think of how I ruined your life, when all I meant was to protect you from your father’s wrath.”
She touched his elbow. “How can I ever convince you you haven’t ruined my life but made it complete?”
He looked down at her and felt himself go weak in the knees. What love and trust he saw written in her eyes. However, that only deepened his guilt. “I have robbed you of your rightful future. You have become my wife through my own fleshly weakness without having a chance to discover what your future truly held.”
Her hand tightened on his arm, and his gaze dropped to her just-parted lips. He bent his head and gently kissed them. “You are my temptress and I have no idea how this will end.” His eyes fell on the letter from the bishop and he felt a further weight.
She put her arms around him. “Don’t sound so sad. You make me feel I have wronged you.”
“No, absolutely not. It is I who have wronged you.”
He stepped back reluctantly. How easily he could have continued kissing her right here in his study.
She turned to his desk as if she, too, had to get her thoughts under control. When she noticed his papers, she touched the bishop’s letter. “What is this? It looks very formal.”
“It’s from the Bishop of London. He wants me to call upon him.”
She turned to look at him. “Is it about hiding Jonah here this past spring?”
He nodded, then shrugged, trying to make light of it. “Most likely it is.”
She frowned, still studying the paper. “I thought that had all blown over by now.”
“The wheels in the church move slowly and it has probably taken the bishop this long to assemble all the facts in the case.”
She turned worried eyes to him. “You can’t still be held responsible for that, can you? Not when the prince regent himself issued Jonah a pardon.”
He smiled, making his voice as reassuring as possible. “I’m sure you’re right. In any case, I shall soon discover what the reason is.”
“Will he—the bishop—also question you about your hasty marriage?” Her gaze was directed back at the letter and her tone sounded offhand.
Damien hesitated, not fooled by her tone. “I believe my written statement will have more than adequately answered any questions he might have regarding my conduct. I don’t anticipate any more questions in that area.”
She nodded and said nothing more, but the memory of her false accusations hung between them and Damien wondered if they would come back to haunt them at this late date.