Romancing the Schoolteacher (15 page)

Love and marriage? She hadn't imagined he'd considered such things. She had thought of them often. Her cheeks heated. “Putting off is not the same as denied.” She hoped he didn't let the important subject drop.

“No, it's not.”

He had put Dora's demands off before. Was he still?

* * *

Lindley wanted to stand there and take in every feature of Bridget's face. From her green eyes and long eyelashes to her rosy lips and fair skin. Was it too soon to tell her he loved her?

Bridget glanced away.

He'd made her nervous.

She met his gaze once more. “I truly am sorry for my reaction. I had no right. It really is none of my business how you raise your children.”

He gazed at her intently for a moment longer. He spoke in a husky voice. “I'm hoping it will be.”

“Will be?” Her eyes brightened, and her breath seemed to catch.

He sensed she understood his meaning. And she appeared to be happy about it. Was this the right time and place? The schoolhouse? “Bridget…I—”

“Gabe. Dora. No.”

Lindley turned to see his children racing up the aisle.

Cilla hurried behind them. “I'm sorry. They got away from me.”

Gabe stopped at Bridget's hip and leaned against her. His son missed his mother. Bridget would make a very good mother for his children. But that was not why he was interested in her. He
loved
her. And he hadn't gotten to tell her. “You'll still go with me to the party tomorrow, won't you?”

And there it was again. That reluctance in her expression when he'd asked her the first time. She was happy one moment and then she wasn't. Did she not believe his apology? Or was her look one of apprehension, having never been to such a formal event?

Cilla spoke up. “Of course she'll go. Right, Bridget?”

A wan smile pulled at Bridget's mouth. “I would be honored to attend with you.”

* * *

The next day, Bridget sat in a kitchen chair in front of the oval mirror attached to her bureau. Cilla stood behind her, arranging Bridget's hair. The girl had arrived in the middle of the afternoon to help Bridget ready herself for the party with Lindley and the investors. She was like a lady's maid.

Bridget had convinced herself she wouldn't know anyone in attendance, except Lindley. She would focus on having the most wonderful time. She hadn't been to a party like this in years.

Cilla pinned up another curl and tucked in the comb from Lindley. “All done. Do you like it?”

Bridget twisted her head from side to side. “It's lovely. I couldn't have done this by myself.” She had wanted to plait her hair in a more elaborate style like this but had resigned herself to her usual chignon with a few extra curls around her face. “Will you help me into my dress?”

“Of course.” Cilla held the pink silk dress low to the floor.

Bridget stepped into the opening. Cilla tucked in the bottom of the petticoat and pulled the dress up so Bridget could put her arms through the sleeves. Cilla deftly buttoned up the back. So much easier than when Bridget had done so herself a week ago. It had taken her an hour and the use of her shoe buttonhook.

In a swish of fabric, Bridget faced Cilla. “Do I look all right?”

“Like a dream.”

“You don't think Lindley will mind my wearing the same dress I wore to supper last week, do you?”

“You will render him speechless with your beauty. But I have an idea.” Cilla opened the wardrobe. “My, you have a lot of clothes.”

“They are all years old. But the cloth is still in good condition. It would be a shame to waste them.”

Cilla thumbed through the dresses, skirts and shirtwaists. She came out with a black velvet sash with a matching rosette and a long black lace shawl. “Do you have black gloves?”

“Top drawer.”

Cilla retrieved those, as well. “Put these on.”

Bridget did while Cilla tied the sash around her waist and then pinned the rosette at her neckline. She draped the black shawl around Bridget's back with one end over each elbow. She turned back to the bureau, retrieved a black velvet choker with a pink cameo and fastened that around Bridget's throat. Then she stepped back and sighed. “He won't even notice that it's the same gown.”

Bridget turned to the mirror. The black accents against the pink were stunning. The fingerless black lace gloves came up to her elbows, where the sleeves ended, giving the illusion that the dress had black lace sleeves. Bridget never would have thought to accent the dress with black. The girl was a genius. “But surely he'll know it's the same.”

Cilla shook her head. “This is my brother we're talking about. Trust me, he won't have the slightest notion. I've got to run along. Have a good time tonight.”

“You're not staying until Lindley arrives?”

“Can't. If I don't leave, my brother won't be able to come. I have to look after the little ones.” Cilla gave her a gentle hug and dashed out the door.

Bridget looked again into the mirror. Certainly Lindley would see that it was the same dress. But she didn't care. She felt like Cinderella in
The Little Glass Slipper
going to a fancy ball.

B
efore long, Lindley knocked.

Bridget took a deep breath and opened the door.

He cut a dashing figure in his fine evening suit. “You…you look…beautiful. No. More than beautiful.”

Her breath caught at his earnest compliment. “Thank you.”

Cilla had been wonderful to fuss her hair into this fancy arrangement and decorate it with the comb he'd given her. She had been told this type of style complemented her features. And he noticed. But did he realize the dress was the same? Or had Cilla successfully camouflaged it?

“You look dapper yourself.”

He tugged at the lapels of his coat. “It is nice, but I prefer comfortable everyday clothes.” He swept his arm to motion behind him. “I brought a carriage.”

“You really didn't have to.”

“I want you to arrive in style. Besides, it could rain before the evening is over.” He escorted her to the carriage, helped her up and climbed in himself. He snapped the reins, and the horse lurched the rig forward.

“Did you rent this?”

He shook his head. “It belongs to my father-in-law.”

Her breath caught. “Is he going to be in attendance tonight?”

“Of course. He's one of the investors. Don't worry. He'll like you.”

“I'm not so sure about that.”

“Why wouldn't he?”

“Because of his daughter.”

“Doreen is gone.”

“Yes, and he might not like the idea of you and another woman. He may see me as replacing her.”

Lindley was silent a moment, no doubt contemplating her comment. “I'm sure it'll be all right.” But his tone wasn't so confident. “I'll talk to him. It'll be fine.”

Was he trying to convince her or himself? Bridget's insides twisted.
Lord, please don't let him think I'm trying to replace his daughter.

Lindley pulled up to the front of the hotel, handed off the carriage to a stable boy and helped Bridget down. “Don't worry about a thing.”

She would try. Then an unbidden thought kicked up her apprehension. What if she had met his father-in-law? She hadn't thought to ask his name.
Mercy.
Could she claim an illness and return home? This party meant a lot to Lindley. She didn't want to spoil it for him either by going or not.

After tonight, she would find a good time to tell him. She didn't want to ruin his evening.

Music and voices floated out the entrance into the cool evening air. Lindley ushered her inside, took her shawl and handed it over to the cloakroom clerk. He escorted her into the main ballroom.

She forced a deep, calming breath into her lungs.
Lord, make this evening go well.

Lindley surveyed the room. “There he is.”

She knew he meant his late wife's father. Was she ready for this?

He guided her across the room to a portly man with stark white hair, a mustache and a severe expression. “Miss Bridget Greene, this is my father-in-law, Gabriel Andrews.”

She'd never met this man. She let out a relieved breath as she bobbed a quick curtsy. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Andrews.” So, Gabe had been named after his grandfather.

He regarded her and spoke in a level voice. “So you are the Miss Greene my grandchildren speak so fondly of.”

She couldn't tell from his tone if that was good or bad. “They are sweet children.”

Mr. Andrews narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing her.

Lindley cleared his throat. “Miss Greene is their teacher.”

Mr. Andrews swung a silencing glance to Lindley and then looked back to her. “May I have this dance?” He held out his hand.

Bridget didn't know how she could refuse, so she put her hand in his. As she was being led away, she looked back at Lindley, who gave her an encouraging nod. But she could see the worry in his face.

Mr. Andrews was proficient at waltzing. But the way he studied her face unnerved her. This was the man who'd negotiated a husband for his daughter. She kept a genial smile in place as though his inspection didn't bother her. Certainly he had questions. Was he going to ask them?

“So, my granddaughter talked her way into your classroom.”

That was not the first thing she'd expected him to say. “Yes. She arrived during recess. I couldn't send her off on her own. She behaved herself well enough.”

“Yes, when she wants something, she can be as sweet as sugared molasses.”

“Isn't molasses sweet enough without sugaring it?”

“My Dora is even sweeter.”

Ah, his Dora.
He obviously loved his grandchildren very much.

“Doreen was my only child. So Gabe and Dora are my only grandchildren. They deserve…”

“Mr. Andrews, I'm not trying to replace your daughter.”

His expression softened. “That's not what I was getting at. My Francesca passed away soon after we lost Doreen. My grandchildren deserve a lady's touch in their lives. Oh, they have Lindley's sisters and mother, but it is not the same as having a woman in their home, caring for them day after day.”

She didn't know what to say to that. Was he giving her and Lindley his blessing? Not that Lindley had proposed.

“Don't get me wrong. Lindley does a fine job with them. But a mother's love is different. Gentler, softer, nurturing. Wouldn't you agree?”

She couldn't really say. Her own mother hadn't the time for her. Although not all that nurturing, Mother had been gentler and softer, Bridget supposed. But she had seen it with the mothers of her students. “I suppose they are.”

He deftly guided her around another couple. “I nearly lost Doreen when she was ten. Lindley saved her from being run down by a charging freight wagon. Poor boy was injured.”

“Lindley told me. Then you and his father arranged their marriage.” Oh, dear. She shouldn't have said that. She just didn't understand what kind of father could do that. And Mr. Andrews seemed to adore his daughter.

“Oh, I was against it at first. With Doreen being deaf, I was going to keep her under my wing for the rest of her life to protect her. My wife convinced me that would not be good for any of us. So Warren and I came to an agreement with the stipulation that when they grew up, if either of them were in love with someone else or they really didn't like each other, they didn't have to marry. Though we didn't tell them that.”

So he wasn't coldhearted. He was actually looking out for his daughter's well-being.

“Lindley treated Doreen well. He took good care of her. And she loved him so very much. If I'd had my way, she never would have gotten married and had the pleasure of having children she loved as much as any mother could. And she was good for him. He was a bit awkward and shy with girls. Don't know why, growing up in a house full of them. Or maybe that's why.”

The waltz ended, but Mr. Andrews didn't release her or walk her off the dance floor. Instead, he said, “Another.”

That went against good etiquette.

“Please.” He flashed Dora's smile.

She relaxed. “I'd love to.”

The next waltz started up, and he led her around the floor. “Tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell. I teach at the school.”

“Have you always lived on the islands?”

Her stomach tightened. She didn't like this line of questions. “No.”

“Where's your family from?”

“My grandparents lived in Illinois.” Truth but not all of it.

“I visited Illinois once. I rather liked it there.”

Bridget managed to keep the conversation away from her background except where it pertained to the children and school.

At the end of the tune, Mr. Andrews escorted her off the floor. He bowed over her hand. “Thank you for the delightful waltz.”

“The pleasure was mine, Mr. Andrews.” She accepted the offered cup of punch from Lindley and sipped.

“Please call me Gabriel.”

“Certainly. And you may call me Bridget.”

Gabriel turned to Lindley. “You have a lovely lady here.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Gabriel motioned with his hand. “Come with me. There is someone I want you to meet.” He led the way.

Bridget was going to remain put, but Lindley took her arm and guided her around the room with him. Lindley kept his voice low. “So, you won over my father-in-law.”

“I really didn't do much. He seems like a sweet man.”

“I knew he would be taken with you.”

Gabriel stopped near a tall, black-haired man who was talking with another man.

Bridget sipped her punch. She had been so focused on getting ready for tonight, she had forgotten to drink much water today.

The men finished their conversation, and the tall man shifted his attention to Gabriel and thrust out his hand. “Gabriel, good to see you.”