The Matrimony Plan

She involuntarily trembled, and her cheek burned where his finger had brushed it.

“Are you cold?” he breathed.

“No.” It wasn’t cold—it was much worse. That horrible hot-and-cold tingling ran through her again, but it couldn’t be. She needed to marry Robert. She couldn’t be attracted to Gabriel. That would lead nowhere and ruin everything. She stood abruptly. “I need to go.”

“Go?” He didn’t try to hold her. He let her back away, but his expression said it all. He liked her. A lot.

His intensity terrified her. She looked around wildly. The picket fence enclosed the yard, trapping her, stifling her. “I—I need to go,” she repeated, even less sure of herself. Stay another moment, and she’d never leave. “I’m sorry.”

“Felicity.”

She couldn’t look at him. The expression on his face would make her stay, and then what? She could have no future with him. She stumbled away, feet as unsure as her heart.

The Matrimony Plan

Christine Johnson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I hope you enjoyed Gabriel and Felicity’s journey. They’re bound to have a full house in coming years, the perfect way for them to share the love they’ve found in each other.

What we now call orphan trains began in the mid-nineteenth century with the Children’s Aid Society train from New York to Dowagiac, Michigan. Other organizations joined the movement, sending children by train from what people believed to be the “squalor” of the cities to “healthy” small towns. The orphan trains ran into the late 1920s and early 1930s. Several books have been written on the topic, and many articles can be found on the internet. I’ve noted a few on my website.

I dearly love hearing from readers. If Gabriel and Felicity’s story touched your heart, please send me a note in care of Love Inspired Historical or through my website at http://www.christineelizabethjohnson.com.

Thank you for joining me, and may God bless you richly.

Christine Johnson

For my parents, who raised me

in the fertile soil of love

For every one that exalteth himself shall be abased;

and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.

—Luke 18:14b

Pearlman, Michigan June 15, 1920

Today, Felicity Kensington was going to meet her future husband. He didn’t know this yet, of course, but he had a full two months to come to that conclusion.

She pinched her cheeks for color and took a deep breath for courage. The vanity mirror revealed every imperfection. Her eyes were an odd hue of green, and she was a bit too tall for most men, but Daddy’s money could overcome those deficiencies. She pinned her chignon and checked that every pleat of her skirt fell in place. Crisp, conservative, and irresistibly efficient. Mr. Robert Blevins, civil engineer, had to fall in love with her.

A hand bell tinkled downstairs. “Felicity, you’re late.”

Mother. She was the only hitch in an otherwise flawless plan. She insisted Felicity attend this afternoon’s Ladies’ Aid Society meeting to greet the new pastor, but that meant she’d miss Mr. Blevins’s train. All the other eligible girls would see him before she did. Felicity had to reach the train first.

Hopefully Mother would accept a mere engineer as a son-in-law. He did hail from New York, and Mother always espoused the social superiority of Easterners. If society mattered to Mother, distance was the key for Felicity. Robert Blevins would take her far from Mother’s manipulations.

“Felicity.” The bell ran with greater urgency. “We’re waiting.”

Felicity shooed Ms. Priss, the neighbor’s sociable cat, out the window with parting advice. “Don’t let her see you.” The cat wisely scampered across the porch roof and onto the limb of an overhanging elm.

After brushing the bed free of cat hair, which then necessitated cleaning Grandmama’s sterling hairbrush, she took a deep breath, cast a quick prayer for courage and descended the sweeping staircase with its polished mahogany rail. Little rainbows danced off the crystals of the hall chandelier and flitted across her arm, but the beauty couldn’t calm Felicity’s nerves.

“Why did you take so long?” Mother primped in front of the mirror, poking her tight dark curls into place. She looked perfect in her fawn-colored suit. She always looked perfect. “You know we need to leave early so your father can pick up Reverend Meeks.”

Reverend Meeks…what a ghastly name. He’d surely be thin and pale with pox scars, a hawkish nose and a receding hairline. He’d never smile or grant the slightest leniency. He would conduct fire and brimstone sermons. Children would cower. Congregants would scurry away, chastened.

Thankfully, she’d be gone soon, married in the wedding of the century—at least for Pearlman. Pearlman, whose cultural center was the drugstore. Pearlman, with its gravel Main Street and single cinema. Pearlman, where everyone knew everything about everyone. She could not wait to arrive in New York City as Mrs. Robert Blevins.

Mother rang the servant’s bell, and Smithson, the butler, glided from the kitchen to the front door and opened it without a word. Now was the time to act, before Mother trapped her in the motorcar.