The Preacher's Bride (21 page)

Chapter
26

Let us come to a consensus, Brothers.” Vicar Burton thumped his hands against the table, and the men seated around it fell to silence.

John’s stomach gurgled with nervous bile.

“What shall we say, then?” Vicar Burton glanced around at those who remained for their impromptu meeting—the elders and Brother Whitbread. “Are we agreed that God has given us a sign?”

John wanted to speak out, to add to the discussion that had been ongoing since Willie’s proclamation earlier in the evening. But he forced himself to lean against the bakehouse wall, cross his arms behind his head, and pretend he was amiable—when really he just wanted to stand up and tell everyone he didn’t care what they thought, that he was marrying Elizabeth.

For a long moment none of the elders spoke.

Finally Brother Whitbread sat forward. “Ye men are much wiser than I. But I’m inclined to agree with all that Willie said—that God has a special purpose for my Elizabeth. He’s saved her from the bowels of death more times than most. After preserving her life these many times, God must have greater plans for her than most women.”

Several of the others nodded. But Elder Harrington, at the far end of the table, folded his hands, a frown upon his face.

John’s muscles tensed. What more could they say to convince Elder Harrington to release him from their agreement with his daughter? If he appeared overly eager to free himself, the man might grow more insistent. But if he did nothing, he might lose this heaven-sent opportunity to have Elizabeth.

He’d thrown away his chances with her once before, and he couldn’t let it happen again.

John’s stomach roiled with sickening steadiness, the same as it had done when neighbors had brought him news of the fire. Thankfully, Mary had managed to alert the neighbors, who had then sent word to him. Panic had overwhelmed him, and he’d sprinted from the rectory of St. John’s all the way home. When he’d seen the chain on the door, he’d wanted to kill Foster. The intensity of his emotion, the force with which he had beaten the sledgehammer against the door, the anxiety he’d felt looking for her—he could remember thinking he would rather die than lose her.

That same feeling haunted him still.

“It appears to me,” Vicar Burton said, “God has indeed saved Elizabeth Whitbread for a special purpose.”

“What better purpose than marrying John and assisting him in his ministry?” Brother Whitbread asked.

“She would be dead if not for you, John,” another said.

“It’s true.” Brother Whitbread banged his cane against the floor to emphasize his words. “As I said once and say again, I’m indebted to ye, John. I will do anything ye ask.”

John had already tried to convince Elizabeth’s father he didn’t owe him anything, but he couldn’t sway the man.

“What say ye? What will it be?” The baker held up his hands, as if surrendering the few possessions he claimed. “Ask what ye will. Shall it be my daughter Elizabeth in marriage? I would gladly give ye her along with her portion. Not a big portion. But I’ll make it sufficient, especially for ye, John.”

John wanted to tell the old man to keep his worldly wealth, that he only needed Elizabeth. Instead, he looked at Elder Harrington. The deepening creases in the man’s frown stirred the panic rustling in the pit of his stomach.

“Who am I to deny the hand of God at work?” John sat forward. He must speak now or chance losing her once and for all. He took a deep breath and called forth all the powers of persuasion his tongue held.

“My dear Brothers.” He pushed his palms against the table and made a show of rising to his feet.

Their eyes followed his move.

“This is indeed a difficult decision.” He straightened to his full height and forced a gravity to his tone that belied the tremor that threatened to weaken him. “Elder Harrington has done me a great honor by offering his daughter in marriage. Any man would find himself fortunate to become a part of such a godly and esteemed family.”

He stopped. Surely he could persuade them all. God had indeed gifted him with a skilled tongue. But . . . could he live with himself knowing he’d manipulated his way out of a binding agreement?

“No one could ever spurn such a privilege, least of all me.” He paused and glanced to the other faces focused on him, and suddenly he knew what he needed to do, even if it came with great loss and heartache.

He swallowed the smooth convincing words that begged for release. “As much as we may all feel God has ordained Elizabeth to be my wife, I can do nothing less than honor my commitment to Brother Harrington.”

The words burned his throat and threatened to cut off his breath.

Elder Harrington squirmed. The elders turned toward the man.

“What think you, Elder Harrington?” Vicar Burton asked.

“I cannot deny I would be disappointed to lose John as a son,” Elder Harrington said hesitantly. “But I am wise enough to know I cannot interfere with God’s will.”

Hope sprang to life in John.

“Besides,” Elder Harrington continued, “I cannot in good conscience force my daughter upon a man when he has affections for another. It wouldn’t be fair to either my daughter or to John.”

Murmurs of agreement rounded the table.

The tension in John’s shoulders eased, and he wanted to drop back to the bench in relief.

“Then we’re agreed. Today’s rescue is a sign from the Lord that John and Elizabeth Whitbread are intended for each other?” Vicar Burton asked.

Again the men conveyed their assent. Even Elder Harrington nodded.

“Then what say you, John?” Vicar Burton asked.

The men turned toward John.

He forced himself to remain stoic, even though his nerves were sizzling with a new excitement. “Methinks I can do no other than take the advice of such a godly group of men. And I certainly cannot ignore so great a sign.” He lifted his hands in surrender. “I’ll accept Brother Whitbread’s offer to marry his daughter.”

Loud voices clamored with opinions.

“Let us dispense with their courtship altogether. We must not waste time.”

“They must trothplight on the morrow and post the first banns on the Sabbath.”

“The sooner married, the better.”

John shook his head and tried not to smile. “Not so fast, Brothers. Not so fast.” He was sure they didn’t want to give him any time to change his mind and back out of the plans—especially now that he was finally cooperative. He understood their concerns. They wanted him to secure the future care of his children should any danger befall him. But they need not worry. God had graciously given him a second chance to have the woman he truly desired. He wouldn’t spurn her again. “I must first speak with Sister Whitbread and gain her consent for such an arrangement.”

“She is a good girl, my Elizabeth. She will obey me and will marry ye if I tell her she must.”

“I’m sure she would, Brother Whitbread. But I’d like her to be agreeable to it nonetheless.”

“It’s reasonable enough,” Vicar Burton said.

“If she’s willing to marry me, then I’m willing to betroth as soon as we are able. But I must postpone the calling of the banns and the matrimony ceremony until I have fixed the damage to the cottage and restored order to my home.”

The men quickly came to a consensus. John would speak with Brother Whitbread’s daughter, and they would make arrangements for the repairs of his home. Then he would be married with all haste.

* * *

The patter of bare footsteps on the floor awakened John. The hearth next to him was just a smoldering of embers and provided little heat and even less light. From what remained, he assessed that he’d slept for a few hours and dawn was nearing.

He shivered and pulled a thin blanket back over his bare arms. After the rain, the air had turned chilly, and he was glad he had accepted Brother Whitbread’s invitation to sleep beside the fire, rather than in the cold, damp forge.

The footsteps crossed the room and would be upon him in a moment.

He closed his eyes and settled his back against the cold floor. If he pretended to sleep, maybe the early riser would let him rest in peace awhile longer.

But the footsteps came closer until cold bare toes tripped over his feet.

A womanly gasp filled the air above him, and in an instant he knew it was Elizabeth.

He scrambled to sit up.

But in the dim shadows, his movements only startled her more.

She gasped again louder, the beginning of a scream lacing her breath.

“Be still, Elizabeth,” he whispered. “It’s only I, John.”

“Brother Costin? I didn’t know you were here. To besure I wouldn’t have disturbed you. I’ll leave—”

“Wait.” He reached for her and locked his fingers around her wrist. “Wait, Elizabeth.”

For a moment the only sound between them was the soft rhythm of her breathing.

They were alone. This was the perfect opportunity, a rare moment of privacy in which to ask her about marriage. Who knew when he might have another chance?

“I must speak with you, Elizabeth.” He loosened his grasp of her wrist but didn’t let go.

She didn’t try to free herself, and he took that as a good sign.

“You know I must remarry?”

“Yes.” Her reply was a whisper.

“All of my friends have counseled me on this matter, and I know they’re right.”

“ ’Twill be for the best, I’m sure.” Her tone was uncertain. “Especially for the children.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I suppose the fire will delay your plans?”

“Not too much.” He didn’t doubt the elders would do their best to get the cottage repaired as rapidly as possible.

“Good. Then I shall let Sister Norton and Sister Spencer know ’twill not be long till I’m available to help them. What think you? Perchance one month longer?”

He shook his head. The conversation had somehow taken a turn he hadn’t intended. “No. Not one. Not any.” He pushed himself up onto his elbows.

“You’re releasing me of my duties now? ’Tis so soon. Will the children be staying with your brother?”

He shook his head, attempting to slow down her rush of words.

“Are you sure that is the best plan?” she asked. “Surely they will miss you and their home and . . . I would keep them here with me. My father would not object. Just for a little while longer.”

“No, Elizabeth.” His tongue, usually as smooth as butter, stuck like dry bread to the roof of his mouth.

She gave a deep sigh.

A small measure of relief whispered through him. Mayhap she would agree to his proposal—if he could get her to listen.

“Will you take them to your brother’s this day?”

“Stop, Elizabeth.” He rose to his knees and pulled her closer. Part of him wanted to draw her into his arms and hold her the way he had after he’d rescued her from the fire.

He’d only scare her away if he did that. She was a devout Puritan maiden in every way.

“I only have the best interest of the children in mind,” she started. “ ’Twill be hardest on Thomas and certainly inconvenient for you if the children aren’t in Bedford . . .”

Through the darkness he reached for her lips and touched them lightly with the tips of his fingers, cutting off her argument. She gave a short burst of breath before catching it. The warmth spread over his rough skin, and the soft roundness of her lips beckoned him.

What he wouldn’t give for just a small taste of the sweetness of her lips. The intensity of his longing flared out and heated the space between them. For a long agonizing moment, he could think of nothing but pulling her into his arms.

She trembled. From fear or desire, he knew not. He knew only that her youth and her naïveté formed an aura around her that drew him in further. He couldn’t help relishing the thought that she was untouched, that as her husband he would be the first to savor her blushes and innocence.

“I would marry you, Elizabeth,” he whispered, his fingers lingering, tracing the soft curves of her mouth.

“What?” she asked breathlessly.

“I want to marry you.”

She gasped and moved away from his touch.

His hand hung in midair.

For a moment she said nothing.

Would she refuse him? He wished he could see her face through the darkness to read her emotions. She’d been chaste in all of her dealings with him, had never crossed the boundaries of familiarity to flirt with him as many young maidens had. Her behavior had always been above reproach. But surely he had sensed something there, an attraction of some kind.

“What of the Lizzie Harrington?” she asked hesitantly. “I thought you would troth—”

“Elder Harrington has released me from our agreement, and the elders and your father agree I should marry you.”

“They do?”

“They have agreed with Willie’s declaration—that my rescuing you from the fire is a sign from God that we are meant to be together.”

“What do you think?”

“Methinks the providence of God has indeed been at work.”

“Oh.”

Did he sense gladness in her tone, or was he just imagining it? “The elders would like us to dispense with courtship and make haste to trothplight.”

“They would?”

“I told them I would only do so if you were agreeable.”

Again she was silent.

“The children would be excited,” he continued, “Mary especially. After all, you said you have their best interests in mind. Wouldn’t they fare best to have you, whom they love and know, as mother?”

“Yes. ’Twould indeed make life easier for the children.”

He took a deep breath, willing himself to finish saying what he must. “You are indeed a godly young woman, Elizabeth. I have seen your kindness and compassion these many months. I’ve seen your strength and your determination.”

Her hand shook.

He grasped it tighter. “I could find no one more suited for me and for my children, even if I were to search through all of the shires and cities of England.”

“Truly?”

“Truly. I have been miserable these past weeks, thinking I could not marry the woman I cared for most.”

Her breath hitched.

“Then what say you? Are you agreeable to marrying me?”

She was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” came her breathless reply.