Because of You Read online

  Funny she should notice that at this particular moment, but then, any other man would look ridiculous wearing nothing but a sheet.

  She faced Squire Biggers. “How dare you walk into my home, confront a sick man, and order him to marry me!”

  There was a rustle of murmurs from the villagers. The squire was known for his quick, irrational temper. Few people dared question him.

  Squire Biggers’s eyebrows practically rose to where his hairline used to be and he pulled himself up to every inch of his short stature. “I dare,” he drawled in his best patrician voice, “because you have no one else to speak for you, Miss Northrup. Because we have standards in our community, and we will not have some ne’er-do-well taking advantage of our dear departed vicar’s daughter, God rest his soul.”

  “Mr. Browne has done nothing to take advantage of me,” Samantha shot back. “None of this is his fault. He’s been very ill. Since he wasn’t conscious when we moved him from the inn, he didn’t know where he was. Furthermore, I burned his clothes to prevent the spread of disease. The man had nothing to wear, he woke up in a strange place, and he didn’t know the kitchen was full of women.”

  “What? He couldn’t hear them?” Mr. Porter demanded. “I’ve never seen the lot of you get together without making a good deal of chatter.”

  “Mr. Porter, he did not know where he was,” Samantha reiterated. These people were going to drive her to madness. “He’d been so sick, he didn’t even know I’d undressed him.”

  “You undressed him?” the squire said, raising an eyebrow.

  “Well, how do you think he got undressed?” she snapped. She glanced at Mr. Browne. He didn’t appear to be attending the conversation but stared ahead, as if concentrating on something only he could hear or see.

  “You know, you could be helpful in explaining all this,” she told him.

  “If they won’t listen to you, what makes you think they’ll listen to me?”

  She hated his logic.

  “It doesn’t matter what either of you says,” Squire Biggers insisted. “We are not questioning whether what you did saved this man’s life or not. It did, we all agree. But now we expect him to do what is decent and marry you.”

  Samantha wanted to stamp her feet in frustration. “But he doesn’t have to marry me. We did nothing wrong!” She spied a thin farmer hovering by the kitchen door in the back of the ever-growing crowd outside her house. “You, Mr. Hatfield. I helped you with the croup when it had left you so weakened you feared you would die. No one expected you to marry me, did they?”

  “I am already married, Miss Northrup,” the farmer answered.

  She blinked and then cried out, “That’s right!” seeing a new way out of this silliness. “And how do you know Mr. Browne isn’t already married, Squire Biggers?”

  “Because he told me he was not,” Mrs. Sadler said. “When he signed the innkeeper’s book, I asked him. I said, ‘Do you have family in the area, Mr. Browne?’ And he said, ‘No.’ And I said, ‘Well, it is hard to travel away from one’s family.’ And he said, ‘I have no family at all.’ Just like that. Quick and short: ‘I have no family at all.’” She looked to her friends gathered around her. “It is always good to know these things about your guests.”

  Her lady friends nodded agreement.

  The squire smiled benevolently down at Samantha. “Then it appears the two of you can be married.”

  “No, it doesn’t!” she argued.

  But he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “Your father would understand the need for urgency. I believe a special license can be arranged. I’ll send a lad on my fastest horse to the bishop. We should have it before dark.”

  Samantha watched the heads of her friends and neighbors agree with him. “This is lunacy. I will not marry this man. I don’t know him. Besides, he is a drunkard,” she added, in a flash of inspiration.

  “Thank you,” was Mr. Browne’s dry response behind her.

  “And he is sarcastic,” Samantha finished without missing a beat.

  Suddenly Mrs. Biggers charged forward, the pheasant feathers on her hat quivering. “This is outrageous,” she told her husband. “Why are you indulging the girl?” She confronted Samantha. “You are the most ungrateful woman imaginable. Do you not see what we are doing for you? Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie do not want you to live with them. They were only being kind, but now that they know you don’t even blush over naked men, they are not even interested…are you, ladies?”

  Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie stood side-by-side next to Mrs. Porter. When Mrs. Biggers had turned her attention to them, their eyes grew round.

  “Well, no, we should not, should we, Mrs. Biggers?” Miss Mabel said.

  “Of course not,” Miss Hattie said. “Not if Mrs. Biggers says it is so.” The sisters huddled together.

  “Our village needs a new vicar, Miss Northrup,” Mrs. Biggers said. “My nephew and his new wife deserve the benefice. Since your father’s death, he has made the trek from Morpeth and back to say the Sunday service. It is past time for you to get out of the vicarage. No one wants to tell you this, but it is time for someone new to live here. And yet you, in your selfishness, stand in their way. Marry this man. Leave! You are a thorn in our side.”

  Samantha stared at the woman, stunned by her cruel words and yet hearing the truth in them.

  For her part, Mrs. Biggers looked equally surprised that she’d said them. She burst out in loud, noisy sobs and was quickly surrounded by comforting friends.

  Samantha stood alone.

  Had she really believed that she’d been part of this small village? Every hope, every dream, even the reality she had assumed about her life melted away with nothing in their place.

  Then a pair of strong hands came down on her shoulders. “I will marry her,” Mr. Browne said.

  The import of his words was slow to sink in. Samantha almost believed she’d misheard him—and then, when she realized she hadn’t, the full circle of her shame was complete.

  “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want—!”

  The pressure of his hands on her shoulder warned her to silence.

  Her protest wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. The women squealed with excitement and the men grinned and made approving sounds.

  Squire Biggers even offered to shake Mr. Browne’s hand, but Mr. Browne made no move to take it. The squire withdrew his, pretending to straighten the coat cuff of his hand holding the blunderbuss. “I’ll make the arrangements for the license.”

  “I expect you to,” Mr. Browne said.

  “Oh. Well, I guess we are done here,” the squire said to his wife.

  Her face tear-stained, Mrs. Biggers moved to give Samantha a hug. But Samantha pulled back, finding herself in the protective embrace of Mr. Browne.

  “Come, Mrs. Biggers,” the squire said. “You must help the women make plans. We would not want it said that Sproule did not take care of Miss Northrup.” Now as gentle and meek as a lamb, his wife followed him out the door.

  Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Sadler came forward. “We are happy for you, Miss Northrup,” Mrs. Porter said. “Everything will work out fine.”

  “I don’t think we should leave her here, though,” Mrs. Sadler said. “Why don’t you come back to the inn with us?”

  Samantha shook her head. She was too angry, too hurt.

  “Later,” Mr. Browne said. “Why don’t you two help plan the wedding and you can come back and fetch Miss Northrup later?”

  “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Porter said. “Come, Birdie.” She paused. “We’ll also bring clothes for you when we come back.”

  “I would appreciate that,” Mr. Browne said. “I have no desire to walk into a church wearing a bed sheet.”

  A few others came up and offered congratulations, but the majority of the villagers slipped away without speaking. Samantha waited until the last villager had gone out the door before crossing to it and putting down the lock bar.

  She was alone wit
h Mr. Browne. The kitchen was cold from having the door open for so long. She crossed to the hearth and added more kindling. Once it had caught fire, she added a log and watched as the strong flame lapped at the hard wood.

  “I don’t care what they think or what they wish. I will not marry you.” She rose and turned to face him, uncertain of his reaction to her words.

  “Neither of us has a choice.”

  Not exactly a romantic reaction. She shrugged. “Forcing you to marry me makes a mockery of the sacrament.”

  He drew a chair up in front of the fire and sat. “Miss Northrup, no one is forcing me to marry you.”

  She laughed. “You can’t mean you wish to do this?”

  “Aye. I’m willing.” He pulled another chair toward the fire and gestured for her to sit in it.

  Samantha didn’t. She didn’t feel like sitting. She took off her cape and hung it on the peg on the wall and then paced the perimeter of the room, conscious of his patient presence.

  “You can leave,” she said. “Once we have clothes for you, you can sneak out of the house and escape.”

  “I do not sneak anywhere,” he said with disgust, stretching his bare feet toward the fire. “Has it always been this cold in winter?”

  “Have you been to Sproule before?”

  He seemed to stiffen, as if she’d asked something he didn’t want to answer. But when he spoke, his voice was relaxed. “I’ve passed through here.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you.”

  “There is no reason you should have. It was years ago.”

  “Miss Mabel and Miss Hattie said the old duke of Ayleborough once had a tutor for his sons whose name was Marvin Browne, with an ‘e.’”

  “I wouldn’t know him,” came the stony reply.

  She crossed her arms. “I don’t want to marry you.”

  He turned to her then. “Because I drink?” He was teasing her. “I assure you, Miss Northrup, my drinking the other night was a momentary lapse into a bad habit I gave up years ago. You won’t have a drunkard for a husband.”

  “That’s not the reason I don’t want to marry you.”

  “What is your Christian name?”

  His change of subject was unsettling. “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because I’ve asked.” The steadfastness in his dark eyes was compelling.

  Against her better judgment, she said, “Samantha.”

  “Mine’s—” He paused. “Marvin.”

  “Yes, I know.” She couldn’t help but smile at the name. It didn’t seem to fit him.

  “Come sit here, Samantha.” He patted the chair next to him.

  Her name sounded differently on his lips than she’d ever heard it sound before. “I’m fine here.”

  “Please.”

  She hesitated, then did as he’d asked.

  They sat a moment staring into the fire, each lost in thought.

  Then he spoke. “Would you leave Sproule if I didn’t marry you?”

  “Of course not. Where would I go? Why would I want to leave it even if we did marry?”

  His jaw tensed with anger. “I will not leave you here, not with these people.”

  Samantha started pressing out one of the wrinkles in her dress with her hand. Her gaze didn’t meet his as she said, “They are not bad people.”

  “No, just expedient,” he replied with distaste. “Samantha, up until now, I haven’t always done the right thing in my life. I have sinned, as you would so quaintly put it. Worse, I’ve made terrible mistakes for no other reason than my pride. But I have never turned my back on a person who needed help.”

  “I don’t need help. It’s just that—” She stopped, uncertain if she was saying the right thing.

  “Just what?” he prompted.

  She lifted her gaze to his. “I’ve spent the majority of my life making excuses for people. You’re right. I’m deeply hurt that they want to be rid of me. But I’ve known it was coming. I’ve only managed to stay in the vicarage by my wiles. I thought that the people here valued my healing skills. They’ve always come to me and I’ve always helped, even if it was in the middle of the night, or I’d have to stay for days. I felt I was one of them, and now, they’ve let me know differently. It’s just that I can’t imagine a life beyond Sproule.”

  “There is plenty of life beyond Sproule,” he said with feeling.

  “What of you, Mr. Browne? Where did you come from?”

  Again she had the feeling she’d asked a question he would rather not answer.

  “I’ve come from here and there.”

  “But what is your profession, sir?”

  “I do a little of everything, Samantha. You need never worry. I will take good care of you.”

  “I will not marry you. Nor do I want your pity.”

  “There you are wrong. I don’t pity you, and you will marry me.”

  She smiled at the autocratic tone in his voice. “Mr. Browne—”

  “Marvin.”

  She rolled her eyes, but conceded, “Marvin. To hear you give me edicts, one would think you were a grand duke, but the truth of the matter is, it’s not right for us to enter into the holy union of marriage just so that Mrs. Biggers’s nephew can move into the vicarage.”

  “It’s also not right to hold onto the past once it is done and over.”

  His voice had been soft—gentle, even—yet his words struck her with the force of a blow.

  Samantha sat stunned.

  “Is that what I’ve been doing?” she asked at last.

  “I don’t know. Only you can answer that.”

  She stared at him. Who was this man? He was no ordinary stranger who had just wandered into Sproule. But then, she had known that since the moment he’d asked for the keys to the Ayleborough vault.

  “Who are you?” she asked once more.

  “Marvin Browne,” he replied smoothly…almost too smoothly.

  “I don’t believe you are good husband material,” she baited him, wanting to slip past his guard.

  He grinned, his teeth white and even. “You’re right. I’m not. Nor will I change. I am a loner, Samantha. I need no one in my life.” He reached for her hand and took it in his own. “But I will take care of you.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you saved my life. The least I can do is protect your reputation. So, will you do me the honor of being my bride?” He paused before adding, “And the answer is yes.”

  Samantha studied her hand so much smaller than his. She could feel his calluses, a sign he wasn’t afraid of hard work. She knew nothing about him. What she did know was a bit odd, such as his desire to visit the vault, his ravings about pirates, and his drinking.

  And yet she trusted him.

  “This is not the way it should be,” she said slowly.

  “Is anything?”

  “I don’t have a choice, do I?” she said.

  “No,” he answered.

  “Then I guess my mind is made up for me. I will marry you, Mr. Browne.”

  “Marvin.”

  “Yes, Marvin.” She tried to smile, but her lower lip trembled. This was a big step and she was very much afraid.

  He gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “You won’t be sorry. I will take care of you.”

  Something in his promise reached deep down inside of Samantha to a place she hadn’t even known existed. She wanted to believe his promise. It made her feel good that he would be there beside her in marriage. For a moment, at the thought of it, she couldn’t even breathe.

  A knock on the door brought her to her senses. She practically jumped out of the chair, pulling her hand from his.

  With a guilty start, she turned to the door, but his hand recaptured hers. “We’ve done nothing wrong. Besides, we’re betrothed.”

  She stared at him. He said that so easily, while her heart was beating as rapidly as if she’d run a great distance. She felt guilty for it and she didn’t know why…except that her feelings toward Mr. Browne—no, she corrected,
toward Marvin—were not as clear as they had been. Something had just happened between them. She didn’t know what, but she felt confused and a little giddy.

  She didn’t think he felt the same way.

  She hurried to the door. Mrs. Sadler and Mrs. Porter stood on the step. She invited them in.

  “We have clothes,” Mrs. Sadler said. “They aren’t the finest, but they’ll do.”

  Marvin took them from her. “Thank you.”

  The innkeeper’s wife slid him a glance that said she still had her reservations about him.

  Samantha stepped in. “It is very kind of Mr. Sadler to share his clothes with Marvin.”

  “We will have a wedding breakfast after the ceremony,” Mrs. Porter volunteered. “Squire Biggers has promised the license will be here before the wedding.”

  Samantha looked toward Marvin. His gaze met hers and she could see he hid a smile. She had to bow her head a moment. She knew enough about him now to know he probably had some dry, irreverent thought about the blustery squire.

  “Also,” Mrs. Sadler said, “we’ve prepared a room for you, Miss Northrup, at the inn. It’s probably best we let Mr. Browne stay here the night before the wedding.”

  “But I would rather stay here,” Samantha said.

  Mrs. Porter stepped forward and put her hands on Samantha’s arms before giving her a little hug. “We know that, dear, but tomorrow, after the wedding, Vicar Newell is moving right in. He and his wife have been living with his parents, and I understand his mother and his wife don’t get along. He can’t wait another day.”

  “Oh,” Samantha said. She should have said more, something understanding or considerate—but all she could think was that she was losing the only home she’d ever known.

  Marvin came to her rescue. “You’ll need to gather your things.”

  “Yes, I will,” she said, thankful that he had presence of mind when she felt completely numb. “It will take me a moment.”

  She walked from room to room, picking up the lace doilies her mother had tatted, the picture of the moors that hung on the parlor wall, the quilt on her parents’ bed, her brown dress, her nightdress, and the stockings and kid slippers she wore to church.

  Marvin had taken the opportunity to put on the breeches, the shirt, and the socks. She was surprised to find him in the kitchen, making small talk with the women. She’d assumed he would ignore them. Mrs. Porter was warming to him, but Mrs. Sadler was still suspicious.