if
she’d misjudged Flemming. Was it her sense of guilt and shame that
had made her feel she had to have an excuse for her behavior? Her
dislike of the match that made her want to find fault in him? She
could not think that Flemming behaved the least bit as if he was
enamored with her, but perhaps that was only because of his
position in the community? Maybe he truly had developed an
affection for her and his pride stemmed from that?
Try though she might to be both honest and
fair, she didn’t believe it. She’d known from the beginning that he
was very like her Aunt Alma, and this was just the sort of
calculating maneuver that she would consider--blocking any chance
of retreat by the threat of public humiliation. He had very
calculatingly introduced her to half the town as his fiancé. By
bedtime not a soul in the small hamlet would be unaware of it. If
she even considered trying to back out of the engagement now, she
would be ruined, her reputation in shambles. Of course, he too
would be humiliated, but it was obviously a risk he was willing to
take to ensure she didn’t try to wiggle out of the deal he and her
aunt had hatched between them.
Perhaps a part of it had been aimed at his
parishioners themselves, to put them in their place, for it was a
well known fact that every widow for miles around had been hanging
after him for years and everyone had wondered aloud why he had not
married again. He had set out to show them that he was above their
touch, a member of the aristocracy. He might not have the breeding
or wealth to seek a wife in the highest echelons, but he would have
a genteel wife, nevertheless, not the wealthy widow of a
merchant.
She could not fault him for
having pride in his family name, nor wishing to marry into the
peerage when he was genteel himself. His first wife had been a wealthy
merchant’s daughter and she supposed it must have chafed so proud a
man to know that everyone considered that he’d been forced to marry
beneath him because his pocketbook required it.
It did not make her feel more kindly toward
him. She’d hoped, since she had no choice in the matter, that she
might find something that would appeal to her. Instead, it seemed
the more familiar she became with him, the worse her prospects of
happiness looked.
Apparently, he sensed the dislike she was
trying hard to hide, or better yet, dismiss. Once he’d finished
parading her about town, he set out to charm her. The luncheon the
three of them shared was almost pleasant, and not entirely due to
Esme’s presence, though Esme was so excited about the rare treat
that it was infectious. By the time they set out for the return
trip to Moreland Abby, Demi was almost relaxed--right up until the
moment that she realized that they had detoured by the parsonage to
drop Esme off before returning her home.
She glanced at Flemming uneasily as the door
closed behind Esme and forced a nervous smile. “I expect Aunt Alma
will begin to wonder if we have had a carriage accident we have
been gone so long.”
Flemming sent her a cool smile. “I told her
that we would most likely be late.”
“ Oh?” Demi responded a
little uneasily. “I am quite certain she will have expected us back
by now, though. We generally dine early unless we’re having guests
and Aunt Alma is a stickler for punctuality.”
Jonathan sent her a speculative glance and
flicked the reins. “Soon or late, she will have to grow accustomed
to the fact that, as your husband, I will expect to have a say in
your comings and goings. At any rate, I’m sure she’ll forgive us if
we’re a little late.”
Demi caught her bonnet with one hand and the
armrest at the edge of the seat with the other as the carriage
jolted forward. “I expect she will concede that … once we are wed,
but then there is no telling with Aunt Alma. She is very accustomed
to having her way.” She frowned as his body bumped her side and his
arm brushed along hers for the third time in less than
she’d misjudged Flemming. Was it her sense of guilt and shame that
had made her feel she had to have an excuse for her behavior? Her
dislike of the match that made her want to find fault in him? She
could not think that Flemming behaved the least bit as if he was
enamored with her, but perhaps that was only because of his
position in the community? Maybe he truly had developed an
affection for her and his pride stemmed from that?
Try though she might to be both honest and
fair, she didn’t believe it. She’d known from the beginning that he
was very like her Aunt Alma, and this was just the sort of
calculating maneuver that she would consider--blocking any chance
of retreat by the threat of public humiliation. He had very
calculatingly introduced her to half the town as his fiancé. By
bedtime not a soul in the small hamlet would be unaware of it. If
she even considered trying to back out of the engagement now, she
would be ruined, her reputation in shambles. Of course, he too
would be humiliated, but it was obviously a risk he was willing to
take to ensure she didn’t try to wiggle out of the deal he and her
aunt had hatched between them.
Perhaps a part of it had been aimed at his
parishioners themselves, to put them in their place, for it was a
well known fact that every widow for miles around had been hanging
after him for years and everyone had wondered aloud why he had not
married again. He had set out to show them that he was above their
touch, a member of the aristocracy. He might not have the breeding
or wealth to seek a wife in the highest echelons, but he would have
a genteel wife, nevertheless, not the wealthy widow of a
merchant.
She could not fault him for
having pride in his family name, nor wishing to marry into the
peerage when he was genteel himself. His first wife had been a wealthy
merchant’s daughter and she supposed it must have chafed so proud a
man to know that everyone considered that he’d been forced to marry
beneath him because his pocketbook required it.
It did not make her feel more kindly toward
him. She’d hoped, since she had no choice in the matter, that she
might find something that would appeal to her. Instead, it seemed
the more familiar she became with him, the worse her prospects of
happiness looked.
Apparently, he sensed the dislike she was
trying hard to hide, or better yet, dismiss. Once he’d finished
parading her about town, he set out to charm her. The luncheon the
three of them shared was almost pleasant, and not entirely due to
Esme’s presence, though Esme was so excited about the rare treat
that it was infectious. By the time they set out for the return
trip to Moreland Abby, Demi was almost relaxed--right up until the
moment that she realized that they had detoured by the parsonage to
drop Esme off before returning her home.
She glanced at Flemming uneasily as the door
closed behind Esme and forced a nervous smile. “I expect Aunt Alma
will begin to wonder if we have had a carriage accident we have
been gone so long.”
Flemming sent her a cool smile. “I told her
that we would most likely be late.”
“ Oh?” Demi responded a
little uneasily. “I am quite certain she will have expected us back
by now, though. We generally dine early unless we’re having guests
and Aunt Alma is a stickler for punctuality.”
Jonathan sent her a speculative glance and
flicked the reins. “Soon or late, she will have to grow accustomed
to the fact that, as your husband, I will expect to have a say in
your comings and goings. At any rate, I’m sure she’ll forgive us if
we’re a little late.”
Demi caught her bonnet with one hand and the
armrest at the edge of the seat with the other as the carriage
jolted forward. “I expect she will concede that … once we are wed,
but then there is no telling with Aunt Alma. She is very accustomed
to having her way.” She frowned as his body bumped her side and his
arm brushed along hers for the third time in less than
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