The Matrimony Plan. Christine Johnson

him.

      He patted Slinky’s head and pried the letter from his jaws. He then held it out to her.

      The envelope had been chewed, bit through and was soaked in dog saliva. Gingerly, she took hold of one corner. “It’s ruined.”

      “Allow me to wipe it off.” He offered his handkerchief.

      She sniffled. “That won’t help the holes or the dirt.”

      “The words are still the same. I’m sure we can piece it together.”

      She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Indeed it didn’t. She’d found her Mr. Blevins, and he was smiling at her. He might be a little less than elegantly attired, but he liked her. Surely he could love her. And she could clean him up. With a little effort, a decent suit and a haircut, he might pass as quite stylish. Yes, she could do this. In two months, maybe less, she’d be Mrs. Robert Blevins.

      “Thank you,” she breathed, holding his gaze a bit longer than respectable.

      His smile curled around her heart. “I’ll see you again?”

      She nodded, and for a moment she thought he would take her hand, but then a motorcar horn honked. Not just any motorcar. Daddy’s Packard. After a backfire and a cloud of blue smoke, the car stopped and Daddy sprang out.

      “Sorry I’m late, Pastor Gabriel.”

      Pastor? Felicity reeled. This man she’d let take her hand, the one she’d promised to see again, was Reverend Meeks? He was supposed to be old and gaunt and ugly, not handsome and charming.

      Her head whirled. She gulped the tepid air. Her ears rang. A minister. She’d agreed to see the new minister, her new minister, but her plan was to attract Mr. Blevins. Pastor Gabriel wouldn’t get her out of Pearlman; he’d tie her to the town—and Mother—forever. Her plan was ruined before it had even begun.

      She stifled a sob, and then, as the world around her blurred, she did what any woman in such circumstances would do.

      She fainted.

       Chapter Two

      Gabriel Meeks caught Ms. Kensington a moment after her eyes fluttered shut. She’d paled, and he rushed to her side, knowing she was about to faint.

      Time paused the instant he touched her. Such beauty. Delicate veins laced her eyelids. Her ebony hair glistened, its tendrils like spring vines. The artist Alphonse Mucha could not have drawn a more beautiful woman.

      The heady scent of roses overwhelmed his ordinarily good sense, leaving him gaping at her as seconds ticked away. From the moment he first saw her in the general store, he longed to know her better. Never did he imagine he’d hold this beauty in his arms. How perfectly she fit the cup of his shoulder and crook of his arm, as if God had made them two halves of the one whole.

      “Lay her down,” barked her father, head of the Church Council, as he stripped off his jacket. “Get the blood flowing to her head.”

      Though Gabriel wished he could hold her forever, he did as instructed, placing her head on the folded jacket. Spying the chewed envelope, he snatched it up and began fanning her face.

      Still, she showed no sign of coming to.

      “Do you have smelling salts?” he inquired.

      Mr. Kensington shook his head and squatted beside him.

      Gabriel fanned harder. Ms. Kensington hadn’t moved, and her color hadn’t improved.

      “What if she doesn’t wake?”

      “Don’t worry, son. She’ll come around in a moment. They always do. I’ve seen my share of ladies dropping off. Why I remember one dance where…”

      Mr. Kensington’s story brought back a painful memory. Years ago, a girl who Gabriel had escorted to a dance claimed to feel faint. He left her on a sofa and went to fetch water. Upon his return, he spied her escaping to the garden with another man. His older brothers laughingly informed him that he’d just been initiated into high society. According to them, girls used this trick all the time, and he’d fallen for it. The humiliation still stung.

      He hoped Ms. Kensington wasn’t that type of woman, but her expensive clothing and snobbish attitude put her squarely with the rest of the upper class. He’d been hoodwinked once. Never again.

      “Perhaps we should fetch a doctor,” he said brusquely.

      “Nonsense.” Kensington grabbed her handbag. “Let’s see if Felicity has some smelling salts with her.”

      So her name was Felicity, meaning great happiness or bliss. Never had a name flowed so beautifully nor fit so poorly. This Felicity looked anything but happy. The only time she’d shown a glimpse of joy was when she chased the dog. Too bad it had vanished so quickly. Beautiful yet unhappy—how often Gabriel had seen that painful combination. He brushed a strand of silken hair from her eyes.

      Kensington cleared his throat. “Pastor?”

      He shouldn’t have done that. “I, uh, did you find any smelling salts?”

      Kensington grinned beneath his mustache. “No, but she’s coming to, just like I said she would.”

      The man was right. Felicity’s face had regained some color, and her eyelids opened, revealing splendid green eyes.

      She flinched as if alarmed to see him and looked around. “Daddy? Wh-what happened?”

      Disappointment knifed through Gabriel.

      “You fainted, little one.” Kensington knelt beside his daughter, gently helping her to a sitting position.

      His love for her was evident. She was cherished, the prize of his life, and completely spoiled. Such women brought nothing but trouble. Gabriel was better off without her.

      “Can you stand?” Kensington asked her. “We need to get the pastor to the Ladies’ Aid Society meeting.”

      Gabriel gulped. The Ladies’ Aid Society? He’d never been privy to that sacred enclave, but he’d heard tales. If the stories were correct, the ladies would have his entire life laid out for public display before the end of the afternoon. With any luck, that dissection would not include Felicity Kensington.

      Felicity convinced Daddy to take her home. She couldn’t face Mother and the Ladies’ Aid Society, not in front of Gabriel.

      Gabriel. Why did he have to be so handsome? She pressed into the dark corner of the Packard’s rear seat and watched him talk to Daddy. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. She could grudgingly admire that quality. Most men cowered before her father.

      But why had she agreed to see him again? She’d never be able to explain that to Mother, and it would ruin everything with Mr. Blevins.

      Daddy stopped the car at the front door, and she scurried into the house before Gabriel could set a date. She slammed the solid oak door shut and leaned against its cool surface, but mere wood couldn’t quench the fire inside. Before Smithson or the cook or one of the other servants appeared, she retreated to the sanctity of her room and prepared a cold compress. She pressed it to her blazing cheeks, but even icy water couldn’t suppress the wild emotions.

      A minister—she had been attracted to a minister. Not to say that there was anything wrong with the ministry but it just wasn’t for her. She had to marry wealth and privilege. She had to find a man who lived far from Pearlman if she ever hoped to escape Mother.

      She unpinned the useless chignon and let her hair fall free. How could she have been so mistaken? He clearly wasn’t socially prominent—the dusty shoes, the rolled-up sleeves. But what pastor walked around so informally dressed? And with a Ladies’ Aid Society meeting to attend? Mother would tear him to pieces.

      For a minute, she felt sorry for him. The ladies would gasp when he walked in, and Mother…well, no one should have to face