Ruth Axtell Morren - A Bride Of Honor

“Thank you, my dear.” Miss Hathaway glanced up at Mr. Quinn, and he looked at her at the same moment. Lindsay could see the silent understanding being communicated between the two, before Miss Hathaway turned back to her. “I hope you will know the same kind of joy.”

Lindsay’s mouth attempted a smile, but her lips felt wobbly as all she wanted to do was cry. Quickly she murmured her thanks and moved away, feeling as if her own world were ending when another’s was beginning.

On the way home with Beatrice, her cousin, said “How happy Mr. Quinn and Miss Hathaway appeared. It was so nice of them to invite us to their wedding.”

“Yes.”

“I wonder what we should get them for a wedding gift. Miss Hathaway told me they will eventually be moving to a nice farm a few miles up the road from the chapel. Mr. Quinn is an experienced farmer, although he has never owned his own farm.”

Lindsay turned to her in surprise. “They won’t be living at the parsonage with Reverend Hathaway?”

“Well, it won’t be for a while yet, she gave me to understand. Still, when they do leave, I wonder what the curate will do by himself? A parson needs a wife to help him with his duties.”

“Does—” She cleared her throat, glad for the darkness in the carriage. “Is there anyone…?” Her voice trailed off.

“In Reverend Hathaway’s life? I couldn’t say. He is a very handsome man. I’m sure there are a dozen young ladies in his congregation who would be honored to be his wife.”

For some reason the information did not cheer her. Of course there must be someone special. Reverend Hathaway was such a dear, kind man. The most noble man she’d ever met.

“It’s a pity about his leg,” Beatrice went on, “but I shouldn’t think that would matter to a good Christian woman.”

“Of course not.”

“You seemed very quiet tonight.” After a few moments, Beatrice added, “I’m surprised you didn’t mention your own good news.”

“What news?”

She could feel her cousin’s stare in the dark. “What news, indeed! Why, your betrothal, of course.”

Her eyes widened in alarm. “Oh no!”

“Why ever not, my dear? A young lady is usually very proud to announce such an event.”

“I didn’t feel it appropriate. Miss Hathaway seemed so happy. I didn’t want to take away any of the attention from her this evening.” Lindsay looked down at her lap, amazed at how one could feel such utter despair on one hand and sound so matter-of-fact on the other.

“That was thoughtful of you.” Her cousin turned to peer out the window. “You are such a modest young lady. Most would be showing off her ring to all and sundry. Apropos of that, has Mr. Stokes given you a ring yet?”

“No. I told him there was no rush, that…we could pick it out together,” she added hastily before her cousin could show her amazement again.

“Oh, well, that makes sense. You might as well sport something to your liking. I’m sure Mr. Stokes won’t stint with jewelry. And once you are a married lady, your father will begin giving you your mother’s diamonds and all the most valuable jewelry that has been in both families for generations.”

Why did the thought give her no pleasure? She pictured herself, jewels draped about her neck. The imaginary weight suddenly felt like chains.

Her cousin continued talking, unaware of the turmoil in Lindsay. “Of course, someone at the Bible study has probably read about Mr. Stokes’s marked attention to you in the papers. It has certainly captured the attention of the ton this season. You have made a brilliant match.”

When Lindsay said nothing, her cousin asked, “Are you all right?”

“I’m just tired, I suppose.”

“Yes, with so many parties you’ve been attending, I’m surprised you have been so diligent in going to the Bible study. I commend you for it. I’m sure the curate does, too.”

“I don’t do it to be thought good.”

“I assure you, my dear, that is not what I meant.” She reached over and patted Lindsay’s hand. “I do commend you all the same. It’s not many young ladies of the ton who spend any thought on the things of the spirit. Their charitable works usually don’t begin until they are gray haired like me,” she added with a chuckle.

Would that be all Lindsay had to look forward to? Doing good works in her old age? Would she then enjoy a relative freedom, a freedom from her husband’s un-appreciated physical desire for her?

Her only hope for the future seemed to be that one day he would no longer find her attractive.

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