The Matrimony Plan. Christine Johnson

Fingers of dread danced along Gabriel’s spine. That’s where Blevins got it. Kensington might have stockpiled a legal supply before the law took effect. Even if he hadn’t, like most rich men he would think he was above the law.

      “I don’t drink,” he said with quiet condemnation.

      Kensington held the stopper in midair and laughed. “It’s sarsaparilla, son, not alcohol.”

      But Gabriel had smelled whiskey on Blevins. Perhaps Blevins carried a flask, or maybe Kensington put the liquor away for the minister.

      “I’m not thirsty.”

      “Suit yourself.” The man rapped his knuckles on the desktop before taking his seat. “I’m a man who likes to get straight to business.” He leaned back in his chair, at ease with the world and whatever he had to tell Gabriel. “You’ve seen the town, inspected the church, met a good portion of our congregation. You’re a man of education, correct?”

      Gabriel nodded, though the question was rhetorical.

      “Then you see how things add up around here.”

      Gabriel saw nothing of the sort. “What adds up?”

      Kensington smiled paternally. “You’re a bright young man and can see how things run in this town.” He steepled his fingers. “There’s one thing I’d like you to keep in mind.”

      Gabriel’s mind raced through the hundred things Kensington could demand: silence about illicit alcohol, blinders for every indiscretion. He could even dictate the sermon topics.

      Kensington leaned forward, gaze intent. “Remember who’s in charge.”

      “What?” Gabriel backed up, not believing what he’d just heard. The man was threatening him, telling him that he had to get approval for every idea.

      “I think you know what I mean.”

      The initial shock settled in Gabriel’s belly with a dull fire that grew with each successive thought. He had ignored every slight and innuendo tonight. He’d endured Eugenia Kensington’s derogatory comments and turned a cheek to Blevins’s superior attitude, but he could not accept bullying.

      Nor could he remain silent when the evil of drink was seeping into this town. Gabriel Meeks did not bow to any man.

      “Yes, I do, sir.” He trembled beneath shackled ire, ready to fight. “I know exactly who’s in charge. God is.”

      Gabriel spun away but not before glimpsing a peculiar grin on Kensington’s face. The man thought he had Gabriel exactly where he wanted him. Well, he was wrong.

      Without a word, Gabriel left the room, the house and very likely his first pastorate.

       Chapter Four

      Day two, and Felicity’s plan was progressing on schedule. Even though Robert hadn’t asked to see her again, he would have if the rest of the dinner party hadn’t shown up at the most inopportune time. Still, she’d won his assurance that he would bid on her Founder’s Day picnic basket. A little trinket inside would assure him of her interest.

      That’s why she deliberated over the small collection of luxury goods in the mercantile’s display case. The morning sun streamed through the store window, sending a thousand sparkles off the paste jewelry. She drew her attention to those items suitable for a man of recent acquaintance. Sterling hat brush, watch or pocketknife. None of them struck her as perfect. She wondered if Blake had any stock not yet on the shelves.

      “No, Ms. Kensington,” Josh Billingsley said in answer to her query.

      “Any due in over the next week?”

      “I wouldn’t know.”

      He didn’t even look at the order book. Honestly, her brother should hire better help. She examined her options again. Perhaps a book. The slender volume of Wordsworth had a calfskin cover and ribbon place marker, but would Robert read poetry? Gabriel yes, but Robert? She imagined Robert reclining at the picnic, reading love poems to her. Though she could picture his strawberry-blond hair and outrageous mustache, the voice was always Gabriel’s rich baritone.

      Definitely not Wordsworth. Perhaps the hat brush? Too impersonal. The pocketknife? Too masculine. Besides, he’d already have one.

      She bit her lip, trying to decide, and overheard a pair of giggling voices—Sally Neidecker and Eloise Grattan, if she wasn’t mistaken. The two stood directly behind her, hidden by the tall candy display. They’d been inseparable since the first day of primary school. Whiplike Sally, whose parents’ wealth was second only to Felicity’s, stuck her nose into everyone else’s business while Eloise blundered along blindly with everything Sally suggested.

      “He looked at me,” Eloise giggled. “Did you see it?”

      “Who didn’t?” Sally whispered. “He likes you. I can tell.”

      Felicity could guess whom they were talking about. Gabriel. Good. She needed to wipe him from her mind. The image of Gabriel kissing Eloise Grattan was just the thing. She picked up the book of Wordsworth and leafed through it.

      “Do you really think so? I’m not too young?” Eloise’s voice fluttered with nervous worry.

      Too young? He couldn’t be more than a year or two older than her. She stifled a laugh, and the book accidentally knocked the glass of the display case.

      “Shh,” Sally said. “Someone’s listening.”

      “Who?” asked a panicked Eloise.

      Felicity buried her head in the book and pressed into the corner, out of their line of sight.

      “It’s only Felicity Kensington,” Sally said after a moment, “and she’s busy reading, but just to be safe, pretend you’re looking at the candy.”

      “But I am looking at the candy.”

      “To buy some, silly.”

      “I was going to get some horehound drops,” Eloise said, and for a moment Felicity felt sorry for her. Sally was sure to ridicule the choice.

      “Horehound? That’s for sore throats.”

      “Pa likes them,” Eloise said weakly.

      After that, the conversation stopped for so long that Felicity thought they’d left. She edged out of the corner and spied the two girls still at the candy counter.

      “You don’t think I’m too young?” Eloise asked again.

      “Not at all,” Sally said flippantly. “Some men like younger women.”

      Felicity rolled her eyes.

      “But my size—”

      “My brother says men like a woman with some meat.”

      Joe Neidecker might like substantial women, but Felicity doubted Gabriel did.

      “Do you think I have a chance?” Eloise whispered.

      Sally’s voice lowered, but Felicity could just make out the last bit. “…the barn after lunch.”

      They were going to the barn? Felicity nearly dropped the book. Eloise wasn’t infatuated with Gabriel. She wanted Robert. Impossible. He would never fall in love with someone like Eloise. She had no breeding or wealth. She brought nothing to a marriage.

      “Don’t worry. I’ll be with you every step of the way,” Sally said.

      Felicity’s pulse beat faster. Sally didn’t offer her assistance unless she expected to gain something, even from her sidekick. Eloise might think Sally was joining her to help, but in the end, Sally, not Eloise, would have Robert—unless Felicity got there first.

      She snapped the book shut. She couldn’t wait for the Founder’s Day picnic. If she wanted to secure Robert, she had to act now.