Page 28 of Hearts at Home
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G wen was proud to walk into chapel on Jack’s arm, if a little apprehensive about everyone guessing where Jack had spent the night. But she was not struck by lightning as she walked in the door, and even the old matrons, who knew everything, did not point at her and berate her for licentiousness.
Not that she regretted a thing. We are as good as married , Gwen reminded herself. We have made our promises, with our words and with our bodies .
Jack showed no signs of regret or guilt. He joined in all the songs. He listened attentively to the preacher. He smiled at those who smiled at him. For the first time in months, she was happy to linger outside after the meeting, introducing Jack to her friends and neighbours.
“May I make known to you Jack Wrath?” she said, or some other variation of the words, over and over to one group after another. “Jack is my betrothed.” Each time she said it, the words warmed her heart, and so did his eyes, straying in her direction every few minutes, as if he could not look away.
At first, she was ready to leap in to deflect any criticism of her father. However, people seemed unbothered that he talked as if he was new to the town and greeted the people who came up as if they were their own parents. Jack had said people already knew her father’s condition, and it seemed he was right.
“When are you and our Miss Hughes planning to wed, Mr. Wrath?” asked one of the matrons, and it seemed that everyone wanted to know the answer, for conversations stopped as people waited for his reply.
“We are sending for a common license,” Jack said. “We will be man and wife before the end of next week, if all goes well.”
“Very good,” said Da, approvingly. “It is not good for man to be alone. I can tell you that, young man. I do not know where I would be without my Ellen.” He looked vaguely around him. “Where is Ellen?”
“I expect you will be having a lovely Sunday dinner,” one of the matrons commented.
Gwen nodded, and the matron continued, “Ellen always had the most wonderful meat on a Sunday.”
“Forge doesn’t go out, you see,” Da explained. “Ellen knows just where to set the meat and when. Vegetables, too. Ellen makes the best tatties. I’d best be off. Good day to you, Missus. Cannot keep Ellen waiting.”
He headed for the gate, and Jack and Gwen said hasty farewells to follow after him.
“They are friendly people at the chapel,” Jack said, as they walked home. “Do you go to Sunday meeting every week?”
“Every Sunday unless Da is sick,” Gwen replied. “You do not have to join us, unless you wish to.”
“I will happily come to meeting with you,” Jack assured her. “I won’t lie, Gwen. It has been a long time since I made the effort to attend anything but regimental church parades. But this was nice. It was like coming home. Better, in fact, because I was with you. And dinner to follow!”
“Just a small piece of beef, Jack. But lots of veg, and baked apple to follow.” For as long as she could remember, it had been a Sunday tradition in their family. Mama left everything prepared and ready in the pantry. It took skill and timing to cook on the forge fire (or rather near it). A lack of care and the food would be half-cooked or crisped black—or both on different sides. But Mama had the skill, and she had taught Gwen.
In less than half an hour, the meal would be cooked and on the table, especially if Jack distracted Da with another game of checkers.
* * *
They were sitting in the sun out behind the cottage, pleasantly full, when the messenger arrived—a footman from the Barlow manor with a letter for Gwen.
“I am to wait for an answer, Miss Hughes, and I was also asked to give you this note. Also, sir, may I ask if you are Captain Jack Wrath?”
Jack admitted that he was, and the footman sorted through a pile of invitations in the leather satchel he carried and handed one to Jack.
Gwen paid no further attention. She broke the seal and read the contents of the letter. An invitation to dinner at the Barlows. Tonight. She did not belong at a formal dinner with the Barlows. To be sure, she had tagged along with Evan a time or two in her youth, when Lady Barlow needed to make up numbers. Evan was friends with Ford, Lord Barlow. But since the pair of friends went away to war, the farrier’s daughter had had no further place at the lady’s table.
She opened the note, read the few lines, and read them again, though the note trembled in her hand so that she would have had trouble making out the words. Except that she had read them the first time, and they had not changed.
A warmth in the small of her back, a strength at her side. Jack was there, his hand moving in gentle circles against her spine.
“Jack, this is a note from Lady Wright.”
His nose wrinkled in confusion.
“Her sister ran off with Evan. Or, I suppose, Evan ran off with Yvette. Oh, Jack, she begs me to come to the dinner tonight. She needs to talk to me, she says. What about, I wonder? It must be Evan and Yvette, surely?”
He kept up his gentle circles on her back and said, “I have an invitation too, my love. Let us go and find out what Lady Wright wants. Would your neighbour Mrs. Carr sit with Griffith, do you think?”
Mrs. Carr agreed, so Gwen sorted through all her clothing to find something fit to wear to dinner at the Barlows’, then sat in the parlour and took in the side seams of a gown she’d worn years ago. It was well out of fashion, but the finest thing she owned.
Jack helped Da with a bath before hurrying home to Dr. Wagner’s to get cleaned up himself and changed for dinner. He and Da had been cleaning out the stable and currying the old horse, so Da was tired enough to go straight up to bed. He was sound asleep before Mrs. Carr knocked on the door.
Gwen was struggling with her buttons, and had to put a shawl around her shoulders to go down and let her neighbour in. Last time Gwen had worn this gown, she had had to ask Evan to button her up, and been so embarrassed that she’d sworn she’d never again buy a gown that buttoned at the back. The memory made her smile, now. Tonight, perhaps she would at last find out what had happened to her beloved brother.
With Mrs. Carr’s help, she was ready by the time Jack arrived with a gig he had hired at the inn. He was in full regimentals, looking magnificent. “My goodness,” Mrs. Carr said. “Look at you, Captain Wrath.”
“Look at Miss Hughes,” Jack suggested. “A prettier sight by far.”
Mrs. Carr’s eyes twinkled as she and Gwen exchanged smiles. “Just what a man in love should say,” she told him. “Now off you go to that fine manor, the pair of you. You look the part, you do. Go and make the tradespeople of this town proud.”
“I do not expect anyone will care about whether we are there or not,” Gwen said. “Jack, perhaps, because he is so handsome. But I am just Gwenillan Hughes, the farrier’s daughter, invited because one of their guests is a connection by marriage. I doubt anyone will notice me.”
“I saw Mr. Owen, the vicar, on my way to Adam’s,” Jack told Gwen. “He can do our wedding at ten o’clock on Wednesday a week and a half from now, but he wants to see you, first. I think he wants to make sure that you know what you are doing, marrying a crippled old soldier.”
Gwen gave his knee a slap, not enough to hurt but enough to express her irritation. “Do not refer to yourself that way, Jack Wrath. You are insulting the man I love; the man I have chosen.”
He turned his focus from the horses for a moment to flash an amused smile at her. “I take your point. Let’s make a deal. I won’t insult your husband, and you won’t insult my wife.”
She returned his smile. “The vicar might be there tonight,” she said. “I’ll be sure to tell him that I’m a grown woman and I am marrying a good man. A man I love.”
Dr. Owen was attending the dinner, and greeted Gwen in front of everyone with the words, “Miss Hughes. I understand you intend to marry Captain Wrath, here. Are you doing this of your own free will? Has anyone vouched for the man’s character?”
Everyone crowded around to congratulate Gwen and Jack, and Gwen’s hopes of going unnoticed disappeared.
It took some time for the hubbub to die down. When Lady Wright approached Gwen after dinner and took her to a corner for a private conversation, Gwen expected more of the same. What Lady Wright had to say left her reeling.