The Matrimony Plan. Christine Johnson

Felicity, there you are. I’d like you to meet the engineer for the airfield project, Mr. Robert Blevins. Do you go by Robert or Bob?”

      “Whatever suits you, ma’am.” He bent elegantly over Felicity’s hand, kissing it lightly. His mustache scratched like Daddy’s, and she resisted the urge to giggle. “Or you, Ms. Felicity.”

      “Ah, such manners,” Eugenia crowed. “Few young people today have good manners.”

      “I can see your daughter does.” He gave Felicity a wide smile. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

      Felicity returned his pleasantries, eager to remove Mother from the conversation. “You’ll be here long?”

      “Some months, I imagine.”

      Perfect. “Then we’ll have a lot of time to get better acquainted.”

      “Come, Blevins, we’re all in the parlor,” said Daddy, clapping the man on the back. “You’ve had a look around the site, I hear. Can the project be done?”

      “Of course.”

      Blake added, “We’ll have the airfield completed by August.”

      “Under budget?” Daddy asked.

      Robert nodded. “If Mr. Hunter agrees to the smaller hangar and your figures on the cement are correct, it can be done for two thousand less than projected.”

      “Two thousand, eh?” In the blink of an eye, Daddy had ripped the man from Felicity’s grasp. The three men huddled like schoolboys on a ball diamond plotting the next pitch. How on earth was she to get Robert interested in her with Daddy and Blake monopolizing his attention?

      Another knock on the door meant the unwelcome guest had arrived. Felicity edged toward the parlor, looking for a means to recapture Robert’s attention. Let Mother greet Jack Hunter. The man was married and of no interest whatsoever.

      Smithson opened the front door, and Mother greeted the guest with decided coolness.

      “Good evening, Mrs. Kensington. Ms. Kensington.” The warm, familiar voice flowed over her like honey. That voice. His. Her heart fluttered in a most unwelcome way. It couldn’t be. “I’m glad you’ve recovered.”

      “Recovered from what?” asked Mother.

      Felicity tried without success to fan away the heat that rushed into her cheeks. Everyone was staring at her, expecting an answer, but what could she say? How could she explain away his comment? The only solution was to give a vague answer. She forced a slight smile, the kind used by the elite girls at Highbury. “Yes, I have. Thank you for asking.”

      He smiled back with such evident pleasure that Felicity half regretted treating him so coldly. He couldn’t help his birth. In fact, he’d done well to overcome it. Why tonight Gabriel looked nothing like he had earlier in the day. His hair had been combed into submission, and he wore a perfectly cut dark gray suit. By all appearances, it had been crafted by an exceptional tailor.

      “I’m so glad.” His rich baritone embraced her a little too much.

      That horrible warm and tingly feeling returned with tidal force. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Mother stared at her. Who had invited him, and why had he accepted? Surely he’d known how awkward this would be. Thoughts shot through her head quicker than swallows into a barn.

      She must look like a fool, but she couldn’t get past the difference in Gabriel. He didn’t look like a laborer, a poor man or even a minister.

      He looked like a suitor.

      Gabriel had never seen such beauty in the parlors and theaters of New York, and he’d been to plenty. Though his parents followed solid Christian values and didn’t flaunt their hard-earned income, others of their acquaintance didn’t feel the same way. He’d seen more than his share of exquisite gowns and lavish jewels, all of which, his parents pointed out, did nothing to save a person’s soul. But on Felicity, the deep green taffeta shone. Her eyes sparkled brighter than the finest jewels. Her hair, drawn exquisitely to the side, gleamed like polished ebony.

      He wanted to kiss her hand, a gesture he ordinarily found absurdly elitist, not to mention outdated. Yet such perfection demanded the highest manners. He bowed slightly and held out his hand, expecting to receive her finely tapered fingers.

      She didn’t move.

      He smiled, trying to warm away her fears.

      Her mother practically glared at him. “Felicity, have you already met Reverend Meeks?”

      Felicity stood as unmoving as a porcelain doll.

      “Reverend Meeks?” A foppish redheaded man extended his hand.

      Gabriel had seen him on the train. Though they’d shared the last leg of the journey, each man had kept to himself. Gabriel worked on his sermon while this man jotted in a little notebook like those used by reporters. Gabriel had been surprised when he got off the train in Pearlman. Why would a city newsman travel from Detroit to an ordinary small town? Gabriel certainly didn’t expect to see him here tonight.

      He shook the man’s hand. “Pleased to meet you Mr….”

      “Blevins. Robert Blevins.” The man’s idiotic grin betrayed him as a fool, more concerned with appearance than substance.

      “He’s one of the Newport Blevinses,” said Mrs. Kensington.

      “He’s an engineer here to design my new airfield and flight school,” Mr. Kensington explained.

      An engineer? Gabriel looked again. In his experience, professionals dressed modestly, but perhaps that was only in his circles. It would explain the notepad. He must have been making notes on the project.

      Kensington then quickly introduced his son, Blake, and daughter-in-law, Beatrice, a blue-eyed blonde that most men would find attractive but who paled beside Felicity. Both greeted him warmly, and he hoped they could become friends.

      Mrs. Kensington maintained an artificially bright smile throughout the introductions but did not echo the warmth of Beatrice’s greeting. “We will be a bit crowded at the table tonight,” she sniffed, darting a glance at him, as if he was somehow the cause.

      Kensington laughed, a deep guttural chortle meant to put everyone at ease while simultaneously exerting control. “The better to get to know each other, eh? I told Eugenia that you’re an easygoing fellow, Pastor, and won’t mind sharing a full table.”

      That wasn’t all Gabriel had to share, judging by the glances Felicity cast at Blevins. The engineer rewarded her with an extended arm. “May I escort you to the parlor, Ms. Kensington?”

      She eagerly accepted, and Blevins cast a look of triumph at Gabriel. “After you, Reverend.”

      “No, no.” Mrs. Kensington brought the procession to a halt. “Dinner is ready.” She took her husband’s arm and headed in the opposite direction, drawing her daughter and Blevins with her. “Mr. Blevins, you will sit in the place of honor.”

      The change in direction put all the couples in front of Gabriel. Eugenia and Branford Kensington led the way, followed by Felicity and Blevins and then Blake and Beatrice. Gabriel trailed behind, the only one without a partner.

      At the entrance to the dining salon, ostentatiously outfitted with Irish linen, gold table service and English porcelain warmed by gold chargers, Eugenia Kensington turned to Gabriel, almost as an afterthought. “You may say grace, Reverend.”

      At that moment, Gabriel saw the future stretching before him in one long, straight road through a barren desert. Gone were the camaraderie and familiar joking he’d enjoyed at dinners in the past. Gone were friendships and openness. Now he was Reverend Meeks, the pitiable wallflower, never truly welcome except in crisis. These people didn’t want a leader. They wanted to put him in a cupboard and take him out for Sunday worship and weddings, none of which would be his. Mrs. Kensington’s excessive