The Matrimony Plan (2 page)

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.”

“The words are still the same. I’m sure we can piece it together.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” Indeed it didn’t. She’d found her Mr. Blevins, and he was smiling at her. He might be a little less than elegantly attired, but he liked her. Surely he could love her. And she could clean him up. With a little effort, a decent suit and a haircut, he might pass as quite stylish. Yes, she could do this. In two months, maybe less, she’d be Mrs. Robert Blevins.

“Thank you,” she breathed, holding his gaze a bit longer than respectable.

His smile curled around her heart. “I’ll see you again?”

She nodded, and for a moment she thought he would take her hand, but then a motorcar horn honked. Not just any motorcar. Daddy’s Packard. After a backfire and a cloud of blue smoke, the car stopped and Daddy sprang out.

“Sorry I’m late, Pastor Gabriel.”

Pastor? Felicity reeled. This man she’d let take her hand, the one she’d promised to see again, was Reverend Meeks? He was supposed to be old and gaunt and ugly, not handsome and charming.

Her head whirled. She gulped the tepid air. Her ears rang. A minister. She’d agreed to see the new minister,
her
new minister, but her plan was to attract Mr. Blevins. Pastor Gabriel wouldn’t get her out of Pearlman; he’d tie her to the town—and Mother—forever. Her plan was ruined before it had even begun.

She stifled a sob, and then, as the world around her blurred, she did what any woman in such circumstances would do.

She fainted.

G
abriel Meeks caught Ms. Kensington a moment after her eyes fluttered shut. She’d paled, and he rushed to her side, knowing she was about to faint.

Time paused the instant he touched her. Such beauty. Delicate veins laced her eyelids. Her ebony hair glistened, its tendrils like spring vines. The artist Alphonse Mucha could not have drawn a more beautiful woman.

The heady scent of roses overwhelmed his ordinarily good sense, leaving him gaping at her as seconds ticked away. From the moment he first saw her in the general store, he longed to know her better. Never did he imagine he’d hold this beauty in his arms. How perfectly she fit the cup of his shoulder and crook of his arm, as if God had made them two halves of the one whole.

“Lay her down,” barked her father, head of the Church Council, as he stripped off his jacket. “Get the blood flowing to her head.”

Though Gabriel wished he could hold her forever, he did as instructed, placing her head on the folded jacket. Spying the chewed envelope, he snatched it up and began fanning her face.

Still, she showed no sign of coming to.

“Do you have smelling salts?” he inquired.

Mr. Kensington shook his head and squatted beside him.

Gabriel fanned harder. Ms. Kensington hadn’t moved, and her color hadn’t improved.

“What if she doesn’t wake?”

“Don’t worry, son. She’ll come around in a moment. They always do. I’ve seen my share of ladies dropping off. Why I remember one dance where…”

Mr. Kensington’s story brought back a painful memory. Years ago, a girl who Gabriel had escorted to a dance claimed to feel faint. He left her on a sofa and went to fetch water. Upon his return, he spied her escaping to the garden with another man. His older brothers laughingly informed him that he’d just been initiated into high society. According to them, girls used this trick all the time, and he’d fallen for it. The humiliation still stung.

He hoped Ms. Kensington wasn’t that type of woman, but her expensive clothing and snobbish attitude put her squarely with the rest of the upper class. He’d been hoodwinked once. Never again.

“Perhaps we should fetch a doctor,” he said brusquely.

“Nonsense.” Kensington grabbed her handbag. “Let’s see if Felicity has some smelling salts with her.”

So her name was Felicity, meaning great happiness or bliss. Never had a name flowed so beautifully nor fit so poorly. This Felicity looked anything but happy. The only time she’d shown a glimpse of joy was when she chased the dog. Too bad it had vanished so quickly. Beautiful yet unhappy—how often Gabriel had seen that painful combination. He brushed a strand of silken hair from her eyes.

Kensington cleared his throat. “Pastor?”

He shouldn’t have done that. “I, uh, did you find any smelling salts?”

Kensington grinned beneath his mustache. “No, but she’s coming to, just like I said she would.”

The man was right. Felicity’s face had regained some color, and her eyelids opened, revealing splendid green eyes.

She flinched as if alarmed to see him and looked around. “Daddy? Wh-what happened?”

Disappointment knifed through Gabriel.

“You fainted, little one.” Kensington knelt beside his daughter, gently helping her to a sitting position.

His love for her was evident. She was cherished, the prize of his life, and completely spoiled. Such women brought nothing but trouble. Gabriel was better off without her.

“Can you stand?” Kensington asked her. “We need to get the pastor to the Ladies’ Aid Society meeting.”

Gabriel gulped. The Ladies’ Aid Society? He’d never been privy to that sacred enclave, but he’d heard tales. If the stories were correct, the ladies would have his entire life laid out for public display before the end of the afternoon. With any luck, that dissection would not include Felicity Kensington.

Felicity convinced Daddy to take her home. She couldn’t face Mother and the Ladies’ Aid Society, not in front of Gabriel.

Gabriel. Why did he have to be so handsome? She pressed into the dark corner of the Packard’s rear seat and watched him talk to Daddy. If he was nervous, he didn’t show it. She could grudgingly admire that quality. Most men cowered before her father.

But why had she agreed to see him again? She’d never be able to explain that to Mother, and it would ruin everything with Mr. Blevins.

Daddy stopped the car at the front door, and she scurried into the house before Gabriel could set a date. She slammed
the solid oak door shut and leaned against its cool surface, but mere wood couldn’t quench the fire inside. Before Smithson or the cook or one of the other servants appeared, she retreated to the sanctity of her room and prepared a cold compress. She pressed it to her blazing cheeks, but even icy water couldn’t suppress the wild emotions.

A minister—she had been attracted to a minister. Not to say that there was anything wrong with the ministry but it just wasn’t for her. She had to marry wealth and privilege. She had to find a man who lived far from Pearlman if she ever hoped to escape Mother.

She unpinned the useless chignon and let her hair fall free. How could she have been so mistaken? He clearly wasn’t socially prominent—the dusty shoes, the rolled-up sleeves. But what pastor walked around so informally dressed? And with a Ladies’ Aid Society meeting to attend? Mother would tear him to pieces.

For a minute, she felt sorry for him. The ladies would gasp when he walked in, and Mother…well, no one should have to face that icy stare. Oh, Mother would speak with artificial politeness, but behind every word would be a barb, and at the next Church Council meeting, she’d petition for his removal. Poor Gabriel.

Poor Gabriel? What was she thinking? She’d promised to see him. Mother would have a conniption when she found out.

Felicity gnawed on her nails. Why had the church council hired a minister just out of school? There must have been older, better qualified pastors available, but no, they’d hired someone young and inexperienced and, well, handsome. Those curls, the twinkle in his eye, the hint of mischief… just thinking about him made her cheeks heat.

She dipped the compress in cold water, squeezed and re-applied.

His face had been the first thing she saw when she opened her eyes, and his concern had nearly melted her to the spot. She had to look away.

At first she’d been confused. How had she gotten on the ground? She didn’t feel any bruises or bumps, so someone must have caught her when she fainted. She prayed it was Daddy. Just the thought of Gabriel holding her sent hot shivers from her head to her toes.

There’d be no escaping the man or the rumors that would connect them. Practically the whole town had seen them together today including the Billingsley boy who clerked at the mercantile and Mrs. Evans. Felicity sucked in her breath. Mrs. Evans would tell everyone. All of Pearlman would know by tomorrow.

The trail of witnesses didn’t stop at the mercantile. Anyone at the businesses between the store and the train depot could have spotted them together, not to mention people on the street. And then there was the depot.

Her stomach flip-flopped. Maybe she was ill. Typhoid, influenza or scarlet fever would be better than facing the ridicule. Even Eloise Grattan, whose parents couldn’t buy her a beau, would snicker. And Sally Neidecker would lord it over her.

She groaned and sandwiched her head between two pillows. She could hear her childhood schoolmates now.
Felicity and Gabriel, sweet as can be.
Every childhood rhyme taunted her, each worse than the other. She needed to marry but not someone who would keep her in Pearlman the rest of her life.

What would Mother do when she found out? Felicity tossed the compress in her sink and paced back and forth across the room. Her mother would lecture and impose restrictions: no unsupervised walks, no unsupervised anything. How could Felicity meet the real Robert Blevins with
Mother hounding her every move? It was terrible, horrible, the worst possible thing that could have happened.

She wrung out the compress, plopped on the bed again and pressed the cloth tight to her eyes. She needed a plan. A new plan, a better plan, one that could not fail.

The front door slammed. Mother. When that was followed by the strident ringing of the bell, she popped out of bed and re-pinned her chignon.
A lady never has a hair out of place
.

“Felicity,” Mother called out. “We need to talk.”

She knew. Daddy must have told her what had happened at the train station. Maybe Gabriel had spilled the whole story at the meeting. They’d doubtless had a jolly laugh over her while they sipped tea and downed Mrs. Simmons’s shortbread cookies.

Felicity tucked the last loose strand in place as Mother climbed the stairs.
Thump. Thump
. For such a small woman, Mother had a heavy step.

How could Felicity explain her reaction to Gabriel?

Thump. Thump.
Mother’s steps matched Felicity’s heartbeat.

Heels clattered down the hallway.

Think.

“Felicity?” Mother threw open the door, her expression grim.

Too late. Felicity tried to swallow but her throat was dry. “What?” The word was barely audible.

“I told you not to walk to the meeting. I told you it would make you light-headed, and look what happened. You missed the most important meeting of the year. You left me alone. Why, if I hadn’t had Mrs. Williams’s support, you wouldn’t be chairwoman of the Beautification Committee. There wouldn’t even be a Beautification Committee. And the new minister. Felicity Anne Kensington. A lady always keeps her commitments.”

Felicity bore the lecture with bated breath, waiting for the worst to fall, but when Mother failed to mention anything about the train station or Daddy finding her with Gabriel Meeks, she relaxed.

“Thank goodness you have me to look out for your best interests,” Mother sniffed. “Change out of that filthy gown and try to make yourself presentable. We’re having a guest for dinner.”

A little knot formed in Felicity’s stomach. “A guest?” It had to be the new minister. Oh, how could she endure an evening with Gabriel Meeks? Daddy was bound to make a joke about finding them together. Mother would be horrified when she found out. Somehow she had to stop this dinner party. “Who’s coming?”

Mother ignored her question. “I wonder if he has Newport connections.”

“Newport?” Felicity gasped. “That’s not possible.” He was dressed too plainly to come from money, especially that kind of money. If only he didn’t have such a welcoming smile and warm brown eyes. The mere thought of him sent that peculiar hot and cold shiver through her again.

“Of course it’s possible. A man with his status could easily summer amongst the social elite. Hmm.” Mother surveyed her closet. “Nothing too fine in case he isn’t from proper society yet expensive enough to impress him if he is. Wear the pale green organdy.” She tossed the gown on the bed. “Traditional. You can’t go wrong with that.”

“Yes Mother.” It was always best to agree with Mother, especially when a greater concession was needed. “In fact, let’s put off the dinner until we know for certain.”

“Put it off?” Eugenia Kensington glared at her. “You can’t withdraw an invitation.” She pulled a pearl necklace from Felicity’s jewelry box and draped it around the neck of the dress. “Pearls will do quite nicely. I expect you downstairs
by six o’clock. Try to display some of the social graces we paid for so dearly. Mr. Blevins might prove worth the effort.”

“M-Mr. Blevins?” Felicity stammered.

“Of course, Mr. Blevins. Who did you think I was talking about?”

Felicity averted her gaze, not wanting her mother to see that she’d been thinking about Gabriel.

Robert Blevins was coming to dinner. After such a disastrous day, she just might be able to salvage her plan. With any luck, she’d capture his affection before he learned about this afternoon’s fiasco.

Nothing about this first day had gone the way Gabriel anticipated. He came to Pearlman expecting a country church filled with salt of the earth, hardworking folk who would appreciate a down-to-earth sermon and a pastor who worked alongside them. The inequities and misery of the city wouldn’t exist here—no divide between rich and poor, colored and white, immigrant and citizen, and no stifling poverty or raging crime. The stains of abuse, liquor and hunger wouldn’t exist. In Pearlman, he could lead a church that would reach out to the sick and poor, taking them in and nurturing them into strong God-fearing people. It was the mission of his friend Mr. Isaacs’s Orphaned Children’s Society, and Gabriel planned to make it his own.

Today that idyllic image went right out the window.

The ladies at the meeting had pushed daughter after hapless daughter before him, but the only woman who’d touched his heart was proud and rich.

Then there was the parsonage. Instead of simplicity, he stood in a huge, two-story house large enough for a family of eight. The gleaming cherry Chippendale-style dining set and electric lighting looked to be recent installments, whereas the indoor plumbing had been in place for years judging by
the mineral stains on the porcelain. The marble-topped sideboard and brocade-upholstered wingback chairs reeked of money. This was not a parsonage; it was a palace.

“Had my man put your trunk upstairs,” Branford Kensington said as he opened yet another door. This one led to a handsome library and study. “Encyclopedia, concordance and the Bible in the proper translation.” The man blustered around the room like a bull moose. “Of course there’s room for your books—” he patted the one empty shelf “—though judging by the size of your trunk, you won’t need all this space.” He laughed at his own joke.

Gabriel swallowed his irritation. “I guess you’re correct there.” He’d only brought the necessities, not wanting to put off any of the congregation with his upper-class background.

“I’ll give you until six o’clock and then send Smithson down. Come on up to the big house for dinner. Consider it a standing invitation until your housekeeper arrives.”

“Housekeeper? I don’t—” Gabriel started to correct him, but Kensington had already moved on.