Ruth Axtell Morren - A Bride Of Honor

Damien’s gaze went to Miss Phillips. Although he’d tried to avoid looking at her during his scripture lessons, he couldn’t help being aware of her each time she came to the parsonage. In the fortnight since she’d begun attending the weekly studies with Miss Yates, turnout had gone from half a dozen earnest young men to over two dozen.

He closed his Bible as Jacob and his daughter brought in the tea things and the assembly started to break up.

“Reverend Hathaway, there is a passage in Hebrews I was pondering this week which I wanted to ask you about.”

He dragged his attention to the young man who’d approached his chair. “Of course.”

As soon as he could, Damien made his way toward the tea table, although he was waylaid once or twice more by young men eager to discuss a point he’d made earlier in the evening. He tried to answer as briefly as he could, promising to take up the questions once their lesson resumed after the tea break.

Even though he endeavored to maintain a professional distance from Miss Phillips, he always felt drawn to her. Berating himself for his weakness, he told himself he was no better than all the young pups who flocked around her chair.

She never seemed to encourage any familiarity, however. If anything, she all but ignored the young men who were clearly there because of her and stuck to her cousin’s side. Of course, he was relieved to discover she was not a flirt, nor a flighty young rattlebrain. Her questions to him during their studies indicated she grasped the scriptures and was sincere in learning.

He knew the gentlemen present were all vying for her attention, and yet he didn’t think any would ever cross the bounds of propriety. Had any of them said anything to offend Miss Phillips? Is that why she acted so timidly?

She looked too pale and serious for a young woman enjoying her introduction to society. He knew little of such things. Perhaps she was exhausted from all the dances and social engagements.

By the time he reached the tea table, he was relieved that everyone had been served. Miss Phillips had found a place on the settee between Florence and Miss Yates, as if she needed guarding from the young men.

He took the cup and saucer Florence handed him. “Thank you,” he said to his sister before turning to Miss Phillips. Her face broke into a smile as soon as his eyes met hers.

His heart never failed to be jolted by the radiance of her smile and he couldn’t help but respond. “Good evening, Miss Phillips. How have you enjoyed the discussion thus far?”

“Oh, very much. You always manage to bring out things in the scriptures which I have failed to see.”

“Don’t give me the credit. I’ve spent years studying them under very learned teachers.”

She tilted her head a fraction as she continued looking at him. “I believe God has also given you insight into them besides what you have gleaned from others.”

He bowed his head, saying nothing. “God’s grace is beyond measure.”

He read agreement in her eyes. As he scanned her face, he discerned the faint shadows under her eyes. “Are you feeling quite well?”

Her smile faded and the light in her eyes dimmed.

When she said nothing, he added, “I know you must be very busy. I appreciate all the more your attendance at the Bible study.”

“I wish I could come to services at the chapel, too, but, alas.” Her voice dropped. “My Papa…doesn’t approve. I—” She stopped as if hesitating to say more.

“I don’t wish you to incur his disapproval.”

“My cousin has asked him to allow me to accompany her, and he has reluctantly agreed…but I don’t know for how much longer.” Her voice dwindled away, and he felt alarmed at the thought of never seeing her again.

“I do hope I can attend for a while more. Miss Yates and I so enjoy your evenings.” Her voice regained some animation.

Miss Yates turned to them with a chuckle and glance about the room. “I notice your attendance has increased dramatically. I hope you’ll still have room for us.”

“Of course.” He couldn’t help the concern that they might stay away on account of overcrowding. “I’m afraid if you ceased coming, attendance here would also fall as dramatically.”

The two smiled in understanding at each other, before Miss Yates glanced sidelong at her young cousin. “Lindsay has been garnering attention wherever she goes this season. Her papa is most proud of her.”

Damien strove to keep his expression neutral. “I’m sure he must be.” His glance strayed to Miss Phillips, expecting some coy expression. Instead she looked almost distressed. He sought about for another topic. “How is Reverend Doyle?”

Miss Yates blinked. “Quite well. He was by for a visit just yesterday. Haven’t you seen him yourself?”

Damien hesitated. “Not recently. He is a very busy man.” He didn’t add that he’d never gone so long without a visit from his superior. Florence was already fretting that it did not bode well. Ever since the rector had discovered Damien’s role in Jonah’s escape, he had been notably cold toward Damien. With a nod to each lady, Damien excised himself.

He had no more reason to linger beside Miss Phillips although his brief talk with her had only increased his misgivings. Something appeared to be wrong.

He made his way back to his seat and conversed with the small core of students that were truly eager to learn more of God’s word, but his mind and attention remained fixed on Miss Phillips.

When the group dismissed for the evening, Damien stood at the front door to bid his guests goodbye. Most of the gentlemen had departed, but Miss Yates remained speaking with Florence about the prison ministry.

As he turned from bidding farewell to a couple of gentlemen, Miss Phillips approached him. She had already donned her bonnet and pelisse.

“Miss Phillips.”

“Might I…” She bit her lip.

“Yes?” He strove for a tone of reassurance, eager to know what she wanted to say.

She began again. “Might it be possible to ask you something?”

“Certainly.” When she said nothing, he said more gently, “You may ask me anything. Is something the matter?”

“No.” She wet her lips and looked away from him. “Yes.”

He reached out a hand but dropped it before it touched her sleeve. “What is it, Miss Phillips? What is wrong?”

“I…that is…I just needed to ask you something. Is there…somewhere we can meet?”

His heart began to pound unnaturally loudly. “Yes. Could you come by tomorrow with Miss Yates?”

She shook her head immediately. “Not here.” Her cheeks grew red.

His mind cast about for a suitable reply. “Would you like me to…er…come to your house?”

“No.”

He recoiled at the immediacy of her reply. Would she be embarrassed by a visit from him? Of course. He didn’t blame her, even as the pain shot through him. He stepped back.

Almost as if reading his thoughts, she said more softly, “I mean…I’d rather it not be at my house.”

He considered. She wasn’t his parishioner and even if she were, it would be unseemly to meet her alone anywhere. “Is there somewhere we could—ahem—meet, then?”

“I have a music lesson tomorrow afternoon in Marylebone—that’s not so far from here.” The words came out in a rush.

He blinked, not expecting that. At a loss, he blurted out, “Do you sing?”

“A bit, and play the pianoforte.”

How little he knew of her. “How nice.”

“I finish at three o’clock. Could…could you perhaps meet me there afterward? It’s at number four, Portman Square.”

He thought for a second, but her look of appeal made him forget all other considerations. “Very well.”