Christine Johnson - The Matrimony Plan

She stared. If she shook his hand, she’d lose all control. Leave, and everyone would know he’d affected her. She chose the lesser of the two evils and dashed for the door. Unfortunately, her hip caught the corner of a table and jostled the display of canned rhubarb.

“Excuse me,” she said too loudly as she stilled the wobbling jars.

Mrs. Evans stared. Josh Billingsley snickered. She didn’t even want to know what the stranger thought.

Without a glance back, she yanked open the door and rushed out into the heat of the afternoon, glad to hear the soft shwooft of the door settling shut behind her. After looking up and down Main Street, she spotted Daddy’s Packard parked in front of the bank. She’d never had to go into the mercantile at all. If only she’d walked on. If only she’d kept her composure.

A lady always remembers her station and acts accordingly. Mother had drilled the rules for ladylike behavior into her from childhood. Yet she’d forgotten every single one when she needed them most. She should have politely excused herself. She should never have engaged in such personal conversation, but he flustered her so that she couldn’t think straight.

Oh, dear. What had she done? And Robert Blevins was due at any moment. She fanned her face with her handbag. He couldn’t see her blushing over another man.

The clock on city hall read nearly three-thirty. The train would arrive at any moment. Felicity hurried toward the depot, perspiration trickling between her shoulder blades and her head buzzing.

Soon the businesses gave way to bungalows with bare yards and unpainted fences. This was the poor part of town where people like the Simmonses lived.

“Ms.?”

She yelped as the stranger from the mercantile planted himself before her. “Why are you following me?” She ducked around him. “I don’t want to buy anything.” She hurried on, hoping he’d leave her alone.

He didn’t. “I’m sorry I startled you. I thought you heard me.” He matched her pace. “I’ve been calling out for you since you left the store.”

“Well, I’m not interested in whatever you have to sell. Good day, sir.” She strode as fast as she could, but he easily kept up.

“I’m not selling anything. I wondered if this might be yours.” He held up an envelope—an ivory vellum envelope.

She halted. The National Academy letter. She must have dropped it in the store. The man wasn’t harassing her; he was trying to return her letter.

“The National Academy has one of the finest art schools in the country,” he said. “Congratulations.”

Until that moment, she was going to apologize, but not now. He’d read the letter. The man had opened her mail and read it. She snatched the envelope from his hand. “That is private.”

“Of course it is.”

She hurried on, but he still followed her.

“You don’t think…” he said. “Believe me, I would never read a personal letter. I simply assumed, given the time of year and where it was from, that it was an acceptance letter. My apologies if I was wrong.”

She silently plodded on, eyes fixed dead ahead.

“What’s more, your father—at least I assume he’s your father—did happen to mention that his daughter would be attending the academy.”

Felicity froze in her tracks. “You know Daddy?”

“We met in New York when he offered me the position.”

Felicity gasped as she realized her horrible blunder. This man wasn’t a farm laborer; he was Robert Blevins. Of course an engineer would be dressed for the field. Daddy had hired him to construct the new airfield and flight school. Mr. Blevins would want to walk the property and take measurements. That’s why he was dressed so casually.

She’d been a fool, a complete fool.

She pressed a gloved hand to her hot cheeks. “Th-then the train already arrived.” Please say no. Please let her be wrong.

“It was early.”

Oh, no. She should have known. Dennis Allington wouldn’t be walking through town unless the train had already left.

“I—I,” she stammered, backing away, but there wasn’t any way to get past the truth. Nothing could erase such an enormous gaffe. The only thing to do was walk away with as much dignity as possible. Less than two hours into the execution of her plan, she’d failed.

“Excuse me,” she murmured and took off, not caring where she went as long as it was away from him.

Naturally he followed. “Where are you going? What did I say?”

“Nothing,” she cried out, exasperated. Why couldn’t he leave her alone?

“Whatever it was, I’m sorry.” He drew near.

She walked more briskly.

He reached her side. “Please stop. Let’s talk. I’d like to be friends.”

“Friends?” She turned from him. “But I’ve made such a fool of myself. I—I thought you were a farm worker.”

“Is that how you normally treat farm workers?”

Shame washed over her as she stilled her steps. She owed him an apology. “No, that is, I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m overwrought. The letter…” How could she explain to a mere stranger that her mother had lied and cheated to get her into art school? He wouldn’t think any better of her for having such a family. “There’s no excuse,” she said ruefully.

“Perhaps.” He surveyed her for intolerable seconds. “But it takes character to admit fault.”

Warmth rose from deep inside, sweeping through her with shocking speed. They’d barely met. She’d insulted him, and yet he forgave her. “Thank you,” she whispered.

He laughed and held out an arm. “We all make mistakes. May I escort you to wherever you’re going?”

Where was she going? Now that she’d met Mr. Blevins and had even been forgiven by him, she had no destination. Think of his needs.

She smiled at him. “You must want to look over the site. Baker’s Field is south and east of here. We could walk, but my brother, Blake, should be here with the car soon.”

“Your brother? I thought—” His brow furrowed. “I expected your father.”

“Daddy? Why?”

Instead of answering, he dropped her hand and took off at a run. What on earth? Felicity spun about and instantly saw what had caught his attention. An envelope—her envelope—bounced along the ground. She must have dropped it in her confusion.

“Oh, no,” she cried, running after both the envelope and Mr. Blevins.

Suddenly, a black dog streaked across both their paths, snatched the envelope and took off toward the depot.

“Slinky, no.” The town stray would chew the letter. He’d ruin it, and Mother would be furious. Felicity abandoned propriety and hobbled after the dog as fast as she could. “Give it back. Slinky, bring it here.”

As if he heard her, the mutt paused, head cocked and one ear flopped over, but as soon as she drew near, he took off again.

“No,” she cried in exasperation. Her head spun, and she could barely catch her breath. She’d never get the letter back.

Worse, Mr. Blevins was laughing.

“Stop it,” she cried. “It’s not funny.”

He wiped his eyes and tried his best to keep a straight face. “I’m sorry, Ms. Kensington, but that’s no way to get something from a dog. He thinks you’re playing a game.” He whistled. “Here, boy. What did you call him? Slinky? Here, Slinky.” He held out a hand, palm up, and after a little more cajoling, the dog came to him.

He patted Slinky’s head and pried the letter from his jaws. He then held it out to her.

The envelope had been chewed, bit through and was soaked in dog saliva. Gingerly, she took hold of one corner. “It’s ruined.”

“Allow me to wipe it off.” He offered his handkerchief.

She sniffled. “That won’t help the holes or the dirt.”