Romancing the Schoolteacher (20 page)

“None of them would have known. They would have accepted it as part of life.”

“I would have known.” Her father was unbelievable. She set her napkin on the table. “I've lost my appetite.”

“Running away because you don't like the way a conversation is going?” There was that soft, docile tone that challenged.

Would she be baited? “Why bother with me, Father? You got what you wanted. Once you marry me off, you'll be done with me.” She stood.

When she was halfway to the doorway, he spoke. “I am a highly intelligent man. There isn't anything I can't learn, comprehend or do. But this is one thing I can't understand, sacrificing oneself for another.”

Bridget froze at the threshold. Did her father truly desire to understand? Or was he manipulating her? Saying the words he was sure would get her to stay.

If there was even the slightest chance he was genuinely interested, she had to tell him about the love of God.

She returned to her seat.

L
indley sat in the Marches' parlor with his children, sister and Fina. Cilla and Fina were devising plans to ensure he would get to talk to Bridget that day. He doubted any of them would work. They didn't know Dr. Grayson the way he did. They didn't understand how hard-hearted and unyielding the man was.

The door knocker thudded. A few moments later, the butler entered the parlor. “Mr. Thompson, a gentleman to see you.”

Lindley stared disbelievingly at Dr. Grayson standing beside the butler.

The doctor surveyed the roomful of people. “Mr. Thompson, I have business to discuss with you.”

Lindley stood. On one hand, sitting was disrespectful to his visitor; on the other, the standing man exerted primacy over the sitting. Lindley had no desire to insult Bridget's father or allow him to dominate any discussion they might have. “What business?” He hoped it would be about Bridget but she wasn't business. She was personal. At least to Lindley.

Dr. Grayson scowled. “In private.”

Fina spoke from where she sat on the settee with Cilla. “Lindley, would you like the rest of us to leave?”

He knew he should say yes. “You don't have to.”

Fina turned a triumphant grin on Bridget's father. “State your business.”

Dora crutched over to Dr. Grayson, stood two inches in front of him and tilted her head back.

Dr. Grayson's eyebrows twitched. “I—uh— What does this child want?”

Lindley struggled not to smile. For all the doctor's self-assurance, unshakable beliefs and inflexibility, little Dora had rattled him. “Ask her.”

The doctor scowled and looked down.

“You fixed my leg,” Dora said.

“Yes. Now run along.”

Dora remained in place. “Are you Miss Greene's papa?”

He took a controlled breath in and let it out. “I am.”

“Then I love you.” Dora let her crutches fall to the floor and gripped the older man around the legs.

Dr. Grayson stiffened. “Please control your child.”

Lindley rather liked seeing the haughty doctor uncomfortable. But before he did or said something to hurt Dora, Lindley stepped across the room and picked up his daughter. “She doesn't bite.” Well, there was that time when she was two and bit Gabe, but he wouldn't mention that.

The doctor's face pulled back as though he'd eaten something rancid. “I put that cast on her leg.”

Why did that bother him? He
was
the one who had done it.

“Yes.”

Dora swung her injured leg. “It makes my other leg stronger.”

Dr. Grayson scowled. “That backwoods, incompetent doctor. He was supposed to take that off and remove the sutures.” He reached into his inside coat pocket and handed Lindley a card. “Meet me at my office in thirty minutes.” He turned abruptly and left.

Lindley stared after him.

“That was rude,” Fina said.

Cilla added, “He never stated his business.”

Apparently, medicine eclipsed everything else for the proud doctor.

An hour later, Lindley sat next to Dora in the doctor's office. Dr. Grayson had shown Dora a jar of peppermint candies and told her if she didn't cause a fuss, she could have one. He had let Dora poke his hand with the blunt-nosed scissors he'd use to cut away her cast so she could see they wouldn't hurt her. He was far better with patients than people outside his office.

Dora pointed to her leg. “Are those my soochies?”

“Sutures,” the doctor corrected. “Yes. You must keep your leg very still. The bone inside is still fragile. You will feel a little tug as I pull out the sutures. Can you count them?”

Dora nodded.

One by one, the threads were clipped and removed. Dora scrunched up her face as the first few were removed but didn't cry or fuss. “Eleven,” she declared when the last one was gone. She had a red scar down the side of her calf as well as yellowish bruises.

Lindley held his breath while Dr. Grayson probed where the break was.

Dora sucked in air between clenched teeth, and her head shook, but she didn't move the rest of her body or fuss. Once a new cast was on her leg and the doctor had told her to sit very still until it dried, she crooked her finger and her whole arm at him.

He stepped closer. “What?”

She continued to curl her finger. “Closer.”

He leaned in.

Dora tossed her arms around his neck and whispered in his ear, “I love you.” At a volume that anyone could hear.

Lindley smiled at her loud whisper, her gregarious nature and her big heart.

Were those tears in Dr. Grayson's eyes?

The man's arms moved slowly…but eventually made their way around Dora in a hug.

* * *

Bridget sat in the window seat in her room, gazing out at the back garden in full summer's bloom. She ignored the soft knock on her door just as the servants ignored her pleas for them to go away and leave her alone. But they had their orders.

The door opened, and Petunia, her lady's maid, stepped inside and gave a quick curtsy. “Miss?”

She turned to the young woman, wanting to tell the servant to go, but it wasn't her fault. Her father had sent her, no doubt.

“Your father wishes to speak with you.”

She shifted her focus back out the window. “Tell him I'm not feeling up to it.” She would never be up to speaking with him again.

His deep voice said, “You seem quite healthy to me.”

Bridget blinked thrice before swinging her gaze to her father. She couldn't remember him
ever
entering her room. People came to the great Dr. Grayson; he did not stoop to going to them. This was strange indeed.

“Well, I'm feeling quite peaked.” She wanted to say that with all his education, a seasoned doctor should be able to see that for himself. But that would be impudent. And he could figure out her meaning.

“That dress is ghastly.” He commented every day on the inappropriateness of her dress.

She didn't care. Her simple black frock had few adornments. The ugliest gown in her wardrobe. “I like it. It suits me.”

“It won't do to receive your future husband.”

Her insides tightened. So he had finally chosen. She wanted to argue and plead with him but knew it would do no good. Tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away.

This was exactly what she would wear to greet her intended. Maybe the man would change his mind when he saw her. She rose from the sill as regal as a queen heading off to her execution.

“Petunia.” Her father flicked his wrist. “Find something suitable in her dressing room. Something with a little color to it.”

The servant darted into the adjoining room.

“Don't bother, Father. I'll wear what I have on.”

He lowered his voice but not to the usual commanding tone. Still, it left little room for arguing. “You will change your gown if I have to dress you myself.”

He would never do that, but he might get the maids to team up and wrangle her out of her present attire. He was acting strange. She couldn't put her finger on it, but there was something unusual about his behavior. Even the way he stood.

Bridget was still locked in a visual conflict with the man who sired her when Petunia returned with her arms loaded. Bridget supposed this was a battle her father would ultimately win.

She shifted her gaze to the three gowns Petunia laid out on her bed. One mint green, another in bright blue and the third in the palest of pinks. All exquisitely pleasing, gorgeous, beautiful.

If she must change, she would wear the beige one hanging in the back of her closet. The second-ugliest dress she owned, with frayed cuffs and collar. She headed for her dressing-room door.

“One of these, Bridget. The green one makes your eyes come alive. I expect to see you downstairs in ten minutes in one of those gowns.” He pointed toward her bed and then strode out of the room.

She wanted to scream, stamp her feet and throw something breakable at the closed door. How strange for him to suggest a dress choice.

“Miss? The green would look lovely. You would steal his heart with one look for sure.”

That was the last thing she wanted. She would definitely
not
wear the green one. If she made herself as undesirable as possible, maybe her father's choice would decline the betrothal. She tamped down her anger and shifted her gaze to the offensive dresses. Each one beautiful and among her favorites at one time. Petunia had obeyed her master's orders well in these choices.

The blue was bold and commanding. But the pink one, being so pale, would likely wash out her complexion and make her look sickly. The thought of being forced to marry did nauseate her. So the question was, did she want to be commanding or appear pallid?

A few minutes later, she exited her bedroom to find her father in the hallway. Had he waited to make sure she indeed had followed his orders? He gave a nod of approval. His behavior was getting stranger and stranger.

“Miss Greene!” Dora hobbled over on stubby crutches.

Bridget instinctively scooped up the little girl. The crutches fell to the carpeted floor. She drank in the scent of the child's innocence. This meant Lindley was here.

Was her father telling her he had chosen Lindley? Or was this some new cruel trick to make her face her betrothed in Lindley's presence?

He picked up the crutches and motioned toward the staircase for her to go first. “The blue suits you.”

She had chosen commanding over ill. Strength over weakness. She would not cower before her fate. She lifted her chin and headed toward her future, whatever that might be. Excitement and hope warred with dread.

From behind her, he said, “I understand.”

Understand what? Her trepidation? She doubted that.

Uncharacteristically, Dora remained silent and laid her head on Bridget's shoulder, content to be in her arms.

Each step she took a little faster. She stopped at the threshold to the parlor.

Fina and Cilla smiled up at her from the settee with Gabe wedged between them.

Lindley stood near the hearth, looking as handsome as ever.

Bridget surveyed the room. No one else was present. She glanced at her father.

“I finally understand sacrifice. Yours and God's.” He took Dora from her arms.

“Oh, Father. Really?”

He nodded.

That was what was behind the strangeness and his atypical behavior. He'd been changed. There was a softness to his gaze. A tenderness that had never been there before.

He tilted his head toward the room. “He's waiting.”

She turned back to find Lindley standing right in front of her. He took her hand and lowered to one knee, holding out a diamond ring. “Will you marry me?”

Simple and to the point. That was one of the things she loved about him. No extra words to confuse things. No false vibrato. No fancy musings. “Yes. Very much yes.”

He bolted to his feet and kissed her.

She wanted to linger in his embrace, but Gabe said, “Eeeeew.”

Everyone in the room laughed, including Bridget and Lindley.

Lindley said, “When can we marry?”

“Anytime you want to.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Today.”

“What about your parents?”

Before Lindley could answer, Cilla jumped up. “They won't mind. They will be happy for him.”

Then Lindley said, “How much time do you need to plan the wedding?”

“I don't need anything elaborate. Just you and me and a preacher.” She didn't want to give her father time to change his mind.

Surprisingly, her father said, “Then today it is. Orvin, send for a clergyman.”

He really had changed. Bridget couldn't believe this amazing transformation. She had prayed for this but never thought it would really happen.

Her father tilted his head. “You're staring. It's very unladylike.”

“What brought about this change?”

“I saw the difference in you. Then my son-in-law-to-be was quite persistent.” He shifted his focus to Dora still in his arms. “And this little one has a heart full of love. I found I lost all desire to resist.”

Dora kissed him on the cheek.

Sweet little Dora.

An hour later, the minister said, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

Lindley wasted no time.

A giddiness tingled all over her at the touch of his lips on hers.

He kissed her far longer than was appropriate in the midst of others, especially her father and the children. But she didn't care.

She was Mrs. Lindley Thompson, just who she was meant to be. A daughter held in respect. A wife cherished with love. A mother blessed by two adorable children and the possibility of more.

* * * * *