The Reluctant Bridegroom. Shannon Farrington

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СКАЧАТЬ like to interview you. It would be good to have a councilman’s perspective.”

      “I don’t know how much help I could be...”

      Listening, Rebekah marveled. Her father would never turn down an opportunity to get his name in the paper, and yet Henry Nash humbly hesitated. She was so struck by the difference that she couldn’t help but smile. When he gave her one in return, her heart quickened.

      Elizabeth pulled her aside.

      “I believe you have made a very wise match, Rebekah,” she whispered.

      “You do?”

      “Indeed. Henry Nash is a respectable, honest man. David has told me so.”

      “He knows him well?”

      “He’s met with him several times. According to him, the councilman is a committed public servant. He has a true heart for the people of Baltimore.”

      A true heart... Rebekah couldn’t explain the feeling that flittered through her own heart upon hearing those words. Yes, she was still nervous about becoming a bride, and she was still resolved to guard her heart carefully, but was it possible—might she indeed one day have the kind of marriage of which she had always dreamed, one grounded in love and mutual respect?

      It seemed almost impossible...and yet she desperately hoped so.

      * * *

      The moment he saw her smile, Henry felt as though a dagger had been run through his chest. He knew he’d given Miss Van der Geld all the indications that tenderness lay at the root of this match on his part. He had held her hand. He had smiled at her. He was slowly convincing her that he wanted her, when in reality what he truly wanted was the protection her father and his connections could offer him and his sister’s children.

      And he was more and more certain he was going to need that assistance. Detective Smith had entered the room. After circumspectly navigating the lingering crowd, he once more singled out Henry. As soon as the reporter and sketch artist bid their farewells, Smith stepped forward.

      “So this is the lovely bride,” he said.

      The detective was eyeing his fiancée in a way that any gentleman would not like. Henry protectively threaded her arm through his. Though disinclined, he introduced them.

      “May I present Miss Rebekah Van der Geld...”

      Smith nodded cordially. She very promptly thanked the man for his dedication to duty in locating John Wilkes Booth.

      “Rest assured, miss,” Smith said. “Booth and every other traitor who dared conspire against our beloved late president will soon be brought to justice.”

      Every traitor... Henry’s collar felt even tighter than before. He dared not tug at it again, however, for fear Smith would read something into the gesture.

      Theodore Van der Geld then came to them. Smith acknowledged him with a nod.

      “Rebekah, I am leaving now,” her father said. Then he turned to Henry. “Councilman, would you be so kind as to escort my daughter home?”

      A blush immediately colored her cheeks. Henry wasn’t certain if she appreciated the request or was disconcerted by it. Likely the latter. A carriage ride unchaperoned? So Van der Geld trusts my character, but she does not. Wise girl. He drew in a shallow breath. Tell her, his mind insisted. Tell her you’re doing this to save your own skin. Tell her before she gets hurt.

      Detective Smith was watching the entire exchange with a look that made Henry even more uncomfortable. What should he do? If he spilled the entire story here and now, he’d embarrass Miss Van der Geld in front of everyone. She deserves better than that.

      “Well,” her father said. “Off you go.”

      Henry was not in the habit of taking orders from others, but not knowing what else to do in the present moment, he offered Rebekah his arm. “Shall we?”

      The blush on her cheeks darkened, but she allowed him to lead her toward the building’s exit. Outside the rain had stopped, but puddles covered the cobblestone.

      “If you’ll wait here, I’ll fetch the carriage,” he said.

      “Oh, that isn’t necessary. I don’t mind walking.”

      So they started off. Henry had to resist the urge to look behind him, to see if Smith was following them.

      “I cannot help but think of Mrs. Lincoln,” Rebekah said. “Of the pain she must be suffering. Her entire world has been turned upside down.”

      Henry forced himself to focus. “I have heard she will remain in Washington for the next few weeks, until she is better able to make the journey back to Illinois.”

      “Her heart must be broken.”

      “Indeed.”

      “I wonder if she knew what she was getting herself into when she married him.”

      “I suppose not,” he said. And neither do you.

      She looked up at him. Henry saw a myriad of emotions reflected in her eyes. Uncertainty. Vulnerability. Hope. Fear. He couldn’t take it any longer. Stopping in his tracks, he looked her square in the eye.

      “Miss Van der Geld, there is something that I need to tell you—”

      A passing news boy clipped his confession short. “Extra! Extra! New conspirator named! Right here in Baltimore!” A crowd rushed to devour the details of the latest suspect’s fate. Most of them had already pronounced sentence.

      “There’s another one to hang...”

      “...and it can’t happen soon enough.”

      In his haste to grab the latest edition, a particularly bullish man was barreling down on Miss Van der Geld. Henry pulled her aside and shielded her from contact. Secure in his arms, she was close enough that he could smell the lavender water she had combed through her hair, close enough that he could feel her trembling. When she looked up at him, however, eyes wide with innocence and fear, Henry did not see her. He saw Kathleen.

      Her future and that of her sister’s is still so uncertain.

      “You were saying?” Miss Van der Geld asked.

      Henry drew in a breath, once more letting anxiety override his conviction. Steering her away from the burgeoning crowd, he said, “It isn’t important right now. The streets aren’t exactly safe. I’d best get you home.”

       Chapter Four

      Five days later, alone in his study, Henry scoured the latest edition of Harper’s Weekly. The front-page article, entitled “The Murder of the President,” featured a full formal sketch of John Wilkes Booth. He looked poised and polished, much like he had the day Henry had offered him a ride.

      Revulsion tempted him to toss the paper aside. Fearful curiosity, however, СКАЧАТЬ