4. Chapter 4
Chapter 4
Jethro gazed at Miss Vincent’s retreating form. He hoped she wasn’t having second thoughts. It would be most embarrassing.
He waited for the rest of the congregation to disperse before approaching Mr Barnes.
“I wish to arrange a marriage.”
“Follow me,” the curate said, in the same even tone he used to preach a sermon. He betrayed no emotion at Jethro’s abrupt request. No surprise. No indication of interest at all. Conducting marriages was just one of his duties.
He led the way into the vestry and sat down at his desk. He asked Jethro for his full name, age and residence, and wrote them down. “And your bride?”
“Cassandra Vincent.”
Mr Barnes’s indifference vanished. His quill hovered in the air, and he raised his eyes from the page. “Miss Vincent?”
“Yes. She is of full age and has consented to be my wife. Obviously, she is of this parish, too.”
“I confess myself surprised. I talked with Miss Vincent less than a week ago, and she mentioned nothing of her impending marriage. She was distressed at her change in circumstances.”
“Our engagement is recent. ”
“And when do you wish to be married? The banns need to be read three times—”
“Tomorrow.”
The curate raised his eyebrows and stared at him. “Do you have a licence?”
Jethro reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the paper bearing the Bishop’s seal.
Mr Barnes examined it and laid it on the table in front of him. “All is in order. Would ten o’clock suit?”
Jethro nodded. He rose from his chair and held out his hand. Mr Barnes shook it and kept hold of it as he looked Jethro in the eyes.
“You will forgive me for asking, but is your attachment to Miss Vincent of long standing?”
“No.”
“And she has given her consent freely?”
Jethro yanked his hand from the man’s grasp. “I find your comments impertinent, Mr Barnes. Would I ask you to marry me to an unwilling bride?”
The curate turned a fiery shade of red. “I apologise. It is just that with her father so recently deceased and her brother at sea—”
“You seem to know a lot about Miss Vincent.”
“It’s natural that I should. I was her father’s curate.”
With difficulty, Jethro brought his temper under control. “Hmm. I take it you mean well. It is impossible to wait for the banns to be read. We need to be wed tomorrow, so she keeps a roof over her head. I assume you do not expect me to delay for propriety’s sake and leave her homeless?”
“Of course not. If you have secured Miss Vincent’s affections, I am pleased for her. To see her well provided for is of the first importance to me.”
Another wave of irritation flooded Jethro’s being. Of first importance? What right had this man to feel so strongly about Miss Vincent’s welfare? “You take too much upon yourself. It was her father’s duty, or her brother’s, to provide for her, not yours.”
“Yes, of course. But I am still glad she has captured your regard.”
Every mention of affection threatened to light the fire of Jethro’s temper. Why did everyone assume that love had to be involved? What was wrong with a marriage of convenience? He was tempted to say as much to this nosy curate, but the words caught in his throat.
It bothered him that the man was so concerned about Miss Vincent’s future. Did he wish he were in a position to marry her himself ?
Jethro didn’t know, but the sooner they were married, the better. Then it would be too late for Mr Barnes, whatever his feelings for the rector’s daughter.