A Bride Of Honor. Ruth Axtell Morren

my duty to aid her in that way and no more. I am not even her proper pastor—that is Reverend Doyle’s purview. I must respect his office.”

      Jonah mulled on that a moment, then dug in his pocket for some coins. “I beg your pardon, then. I didn’t quite see it in that light. I just see you as a good-looking young gent. Don’t you ever fancy yourself in need of a wife o’ your own?”

      Damien was momentarily saved from replying when the vendor handed Jonah his change and packet of fish. But as they resumed walking, Jonah quirked an eyebrow at him. “Well?”

      Damien jabbed his walking stick into the cobbled stones. “I realized long ago my calling was to serve God, and it is a full-time occupation as you have come to observe in the time you’ve been residing with us.” He tried not to sound as testy as he was now feeling.

      Jonah remained silent, seeming to examine the other stalls they passed. Damien felt compelled to add, “The Apostle Paul put it very well. When a person is married, he becomes concerned with the needs of his spouse to the detriment of the business of the Lord.”

      Jonah grunted. “How is it then that most vicars and curates I see are married? Their wives seem to be their helpmates in the parish. Didn’t the good book also say something about it not being good for a man to be alone?”

      Damien pretended to study the display of flowers at one stall. For the first time, he regretted having taught Jonah any scripture.

      Jonah fished out a coin and indicated a posy of primroses. “These blooms have nothing over the bloom in your cheeks,” he told the vendor.

      The pretty girl’s cheeks dimpled. “Thankee, sir.”

      “Can you wrap them in a bit o’ paper for me?” As the girl complied, Jonah murmured, “That’s a good lass.” He took them from her and handed her the money.

      “And who’s the lucky lady these are for?”

      He inspected the colorful bouquet, turning it around in his large hand. “They’re for a very special lady, the one who’s promised to marry me.”

      “Ooh!”

      When the girl tried to hand him the change, he said, “Keep it and buy yourself your own posy.”

      The girl flashed him a wide smile. “Thankee kindly, sir!”

      Damien swallowed, watching the careful way Jonah placed the small bouquet atop his other purchases in his satchel. The incongruous sight of his blunt fingers handling the fragile blooms sent a curious pang through Damien. How would it feel to buy a woman flowers? He’d never know the pleasure.

      Jonah’s keen eyes met his at that moment. “Don’t you ever fancy having a lady of your own to come home to?”

      “I am content with my single state.” At Jonah’s raised eyebrow, he added, “You’ve seen my life. I’m at the beck and call of those in need anytime of the day or night.”

      Jonah shrugged. “That’s why the Lord gives a man a helpmate.”

      They inched their way forward through the crowded aisle between the stalls.

      “I must say I’m always amazed at the ease you have in talking to women,” Damien couldn’t help commenting when Jonah paused in front of a stall selling herbs and spices. The pungent aromas of cumin and cinnamon filled the air. Dried pods and seeds were heaped in large burlap sacks on the ground at their feet.

      Jonah straightened from where he’d bent to examine a sack of nutmegs. “What’s that you say?”

      Damien wished he had kept his mouth shut.

      Too late, the words seemed to register with Jonah and his lips cracked open in a grin. “Talking to lasses is the easiest thing in the world.”

      Damien shook his head, unable to keep from smiling back. “I doubt you’d find many men to agree with you.”

      Jonah draped a brawny arm across his shoulders. “All you do is look at ’em a certain way and tell ’em they’re the loveliest thing you’ve ever laid eyes on. Works about three-quarters o’ the time.”

      Damien chuckled. “And the other quarter of the time?”

      “Why, you just spend some blunt on ’em, and they’re yours.” He waved his arm. “Look around you at all the young women. I’d lay odds that any number o’ them would give their spinster eyeteeth to catch a fine parson like you.”

      The crowded market was filled with far more women than men. Women of all ages, plump and slim, well-dressed and shabby. Damien shook his head, wondering how he’d gotten into this ridiculous conversation with his future brother-in-law.

      Jonah frowned a moment, removing his arm from Damien’s shoulders and adjusting the satchel he carried. “Of course, you realize, with your sister, it was different. There was nothing I could ’a done or said to win her, if the Lord hadn’t o’ had mercy on me.”

      Damien chuckled. “I think she saw what lay beneath the surface.”

      Jonah shook his head. “That was pretty rotten, too. No, it took God’s grace to bless me the way He has with your sister’s love.”

      Before Damien could say anything more, Jonah gestured quickly with his hand. “See the ladies standing by the fruit vendor?”

      Damien’s gaze traveled to two women inspecting the fruit. One of them looked older, perhaps thirty, the other probably not more than nineteen or twenty. In their plain dark pelisses, they could have been servants out to make purchases, or young matrons doing their household shopping. “What of them?”

      “What of ’em?” Jonah mimicked in mock scorn. “They’re a pair of pretty lasses who’d probably lap you up like a plum pudding if you so much as looked their way.”

      When Damien became aware of what Jonah intended, his steps slowed, but Jonah hauled him forward by the elbow. The next thing he knew, Jonah was smiling and tipping his hat to the ladies in question. “Good day to ye, madam, miss. Have you ever seen such plump-looking grapes in all your life?”

      He snatched up one of the fat black grapes and popped it into his mouth. “Sweet as honey.” He addressed the older woman, but included both in his smile. “Of course, hothouse grapes don’t come near to the taste of those grown outside in the warm sun and refreshing rain. When I lived in the country, I used to grow my own. Muscats, Rieslings, Gamays. You’ve never tasted a sweeter grape than those I harvested.”

      “Oh, where did you cultivate grapes?” the older one asked with a simpering smile.

      “I tilled the soil on a place in Surrey.”

      Damien couldn’t help admiring how quickly Jonah had them entranced. He looked a well-set-up gentleman in his bottle-green cutaway coat and black pantaloons, nothing like the farm laborer he used to be. Although he didn’t lie, his words made the women assume he had been a landowner on some prosperous farm.

      “Oh, yes, I grew apples and pears, too. I was only just telling my young friend, the parson here, that I haven’t seen a fruit nor a vegetable in London yet that beats anything I grew myself.”

      The two women turned to notice Damien, who’d been standing slightly behind Jonah.

      “Of course, he’s city bred, so he doesn’t know what it means to pick your own apple and feel the juice on your tongue at that first, crisp bite.”

      Damien thought that was a bit much, considering the orchard in his backyard, but he kept silent, allowing Jonah to have his fun.

      “Would you ladies like me to hail you a cab? You’ve an awful lot of parcels to carry,” Jonah asked.

      “Oh, that would be most helpful,” the older said. “We live in Cheapside. It’s always hard to get a cab around here.”

      “Come along then, here, let me help you with those. The preacher can take yours,” he