A Bride Of Honor. Ruth Axtell Morren

Damien her basket, but when they began walking, she took her place beside her companion, on the farthest side away from Damien and Jonah.

      Damien slowed his steps until he was walking just behind the group. Jonah continued chatting amiably with the older woman as if nothing had happened. Damien hoped he hadn’t noticed anything.

      They reached the curb and in a few moments Jonah had procured them a hack from those waiting at a stand.

      As the lumbering vehicle inched away down the crowded street, Jonah muttered under his breath, “Couple o’ low-class wenches. Weren’t worth your time, my boy.” He nudged Damien on the elbow and they crossed the street. “That girl was as sallow as whey. Plenty more where she came from!”

      A block farther, Jonah hailed them a cab. The two climbed in and rode silently back toward the parsonage. Damien kept his eyes fixed out the window. Perhaps now his well-meaning friend would drop the subject of a wife for him.

       Chapter Five

       “L indsay, now that you have had some weeks’ acquaintance with Jerome Stokes, I want you to accept his proposal of marriage.”

      Lindsay stared at her father. She’d just come in from an outing with Beatrice when her father had summoned her to his library. “Papa, it’s so sudden.” Her voice sounded faint and her heartbeat began to thud in dread. Although she’d expected the words, hearing them spoken made her fate seem all the more dire.

      “Will you deny your father the joy of knowing you are in good hands, regardless of what happens to me?”

      Instinctively, Lindsay reached out and clasped her father’s hands, unable to bear the thought of losing her father, too. “Oh, Papa, don’t talk as if something awful is going to happen to you.” His color was a bit pale, but Lindsay knew it was the lack of sunlight from all the hours he spent in his library.

      “I have passed the age of five-and-forty. Many men never reach it. Few go many years beyond it.”

      As she listened to him in dismay, he released her hands and rose slowly from the settee. “Thankfully, I am a healthy man. I’ve suffered few illnesses in my life, so there is no reason to suppose you will not have me for many years yet.”

      He fixed his eye on her, his eyebrows drawn together. “That is not to say my time is guaranteed, my dear. Your mother would wish me to ensure that you are well provided with a good husband—”

      “But, Papa,” she began with a nervous laugh, “I need more time.” Too long she’d avoided this conversation with her father, although he’d hinted at it since introducing her to Mr. Stokes. Was this going to be her test of faith? Obedience to her father, even if it cost her her very self-respect? Would refusing him threaten her father’s health?

      “And if I can live to see a few grandchildren, I shall count myself truly a blessed man.”

      “I’m only eighteen, Papa. It’s my first season.”

      “Most young ladies with your beauty and fortune are married by the end of their first season.”

      “May I not enjoy two seasons before having to settle down?”

      “Who is to say you cannot enjoy countless seasons after you are officially betrothed? You will be a young leader of fashion then with no worries of having to escape the fortune hunters or dodge the otherwise unsuitable, or of remaining on the shelf.” He held her gaze coldly for a moment. “Of course, with your beauty, that fate would never befall you. But other young ladies, who wait too long, preferring to play coy, find themselves suddenly high and dry, the best picks of the season taken by their rivals—inferior in both looks and fortune—simply because they wanted to ‘enjoy’ their season with no thought to the future.”

      He patted her on the cheek. “I would not have that happen to you, my dear. Nor would your mother ever forgive me. If she were here—” he sighed “—she would guide you and give you the same counsel I am giving you, of that I am certain. Your cousin Beatrice is but a poor substitute.”

      “Beatrice has been very accommodating, I assure you, Papa.”

      “Oh, to be sure. But she is not someone who can counsel you as your own mother and father can. She has lived outside of London society too long, her means small, her vision limited.”

      Her father rubbed his hands together. “Yes, I believe it is now the time to announce your betrothal. In a few more weeks the season will be over. You can leave at the apex. We shall go to the country and make preparations for a sumptuous wedding in the autumn, after the hunting season, of course.”

      “W-would I have to be married so soon?” She waited to hear her father’s next words, her breath held.

      His lips thinned in the humorless smile he displayed when he was displeased with someone’s argument. “You wouldn’t have to, no, but I would know the reason you would wish to delay.”

      He had that way of waiting for her to answer. Ever since she was a little girl, and he’d tutored her in some subject from Latin to mathematics to botany, he’d explain things meticulously and then quiz her, expecting her to come to the correct conclusions as he stood over her. When she didn’t know the answer, she would feel worse and worse, her mind going blank the longer he fixed his intent stare on her.

      He lifted a brow. “Well?”

      She bit her lip and looked down at her rigidly clasped hands. Why was she required to make a decision that seemed to be ending her life just on the brink of its beginning?

      “Mr. Stokes has everything to offer a young lady of your advantages.”

      “Yes, Papa,” she whispered.

      “He has expressed his single-minded affection for you. He has pledged to me that he will do his utmost to make you happy. His fortune, coupled with yours, will ensure your comfort and protection from the fortune hunters hedging you.”

      “Yes, Papa.” Her throat closed, and she could hardly get the two words out.

      He lifted her chin with a long finger. “What say you, dearest daughter, are you ready to obey your wise father and accept his offer of matrimony? Jerome only awaits your word.”

      She moistened her lips and looked downward. Her eyes were brimming with tears. She tried to remember the Bible verses she had heard from Reverend Hathaway. My grace is sufficient for thee. My strength is made perfect in weakness. But she felt no solace. How to explain the dread that filled her heart at the thought of being betrothed to Mr. Stokes? All she could do was nod her head.

      Her father’s hands came up to clasp her briefly on the shoulders before he let her go. “That’s my girl. I knew I could be proud of you. Your mother is smiling down at you now.”

      He turned away from her, his voice already businesslike with plans. “I shall inform him of your consent, and he shall ask you formally tomorrow evening at the Clarksons’ dinner. I will see to it that you have a private moment with him. Wear your prettiest gown. Beatrice can help you in your selection. She has a good eye.”

      Lindsay stood mute, but inwardly her natural spirit began to rebel. Why couldn’t she simply explain her misgivings to her father? Why was she always so intimidated around him, struggling so to please him?

      She heard no more of her father’s plan as she turned and headed for the door, her slippers feeling as if they contained lead in their soles, her life apparently over.

      Damien looked up at the sound of a knock on his workshop door. He set down the clock he held in his hands. “Yes?”

      Florence popped her head in. “Am I interrupting?”

      He swung around in his chair. “Not at all. Come in. I’m mainly thinking of Sunday’s sermon as I sit here tinkering.”

      His sister entered and pulled up a hard-back chair to the end of the worktable.

      He smiled,