Total pages in book: 119
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112133 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 561(@200wpm)___ 449(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“Meredith Maddox.”
She jolted awake. Was that her name she’d just heard? Surely this curate hadn’t developed the habit of chastising sleepy congregants from the pulpit.
“And Rhys St. Maur,” the curate went on, “both of Buckleigh-in-the-Moor. If any of you know of any cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined together in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it. This is the first time of asking.”
Chapter Eleven
The entire assembly went dead silent. No one was sleeping now. And Meredith had never been more awake. Banns. He’d told the curate to read the banns, announcing their intent to marry in front of the entire village. In front of her father. In front of Gideon Myles. Of all the presumptuous …
With a loud harrumph, the curate turned the page of his liturgy and began to intone the psalm in a low, sonorous voice. No one stood. No one sang. When the curate paused, no one joined the response.
And since they were all so clearly waiting for her to make a scene, Meredith decided to oblige them. She rose in her pew and confronted Rhys across the aisle. “You had him read the banns? What on earth would possess you to do that?”
Did he mean to simply circumvent her? Persistence in a suitor was one thing. Complete disregard for a lady’s willing acceptance was another.
“They have to be read three times,” Rhys said, as if it should be obvious. “He only comes here once a month. If we’re to be married with any sort of reasonable speed, I thought …”
“What are you on about? We aren’t engaged!”
“Perhaps not,” he said calmly. “But we will be married. Call it faith.”
“You …” Her hands balled into fists at her sides. “You are impossible.”
He pointed to his prayer book and read with beatific calm, “‘With God, nothing shall be impossible.’”
Meredith turned into the aisle. She couldn’t remain there a moment longer without profaning the place.
She stormed straight out of the chapel, and the entire congregation followed in a thunder of footsteps. Not surprising. Church service happened once a month, but melodramas like these were the stuff of the annual fair.
“Meredith!” Rhys called to her as she hurried down the church steps and turned into the road. Unfortunately, his strides were worth three of hers. He caught her arm and wheeled her to face him. “You can’t run away from this.”
“What’s he talking about?” Gideon appeared at her side, breathless. “Have you agreed to marry this man?”
“No,” she insisted, snatching her hand from Rhys’s grasp.
“Do you want me to kill him for you?”
“No!” Once she’d mastered her voice, she repeated. “No, there is no violence necessary. And no, I have not agreed to marry him.”
“Ah, but she will,” Rhys said with a saintly expression. “So it has been written.” He looked down at the open prayer book he still carried in his hand and flipped a page.
“Quote to me one more time from that book,” Meredith said, leveling a finger at him, “and you invite its desecration.”
His mouth snapped shut. So did the book.
By now the entire village—churchgoers and the rest—had assembled in the road to watch the commotion.
“La!” exclaimed Cora, watching from a few paces away. “This is so romantic!”
“This is nothing,” Darryl whispered to her. “Just wait until I take you on a tour of the moors. We’ve ancient burial cairns and haunted ruins … It’s a mystical journey through time.”
The girl cooed softly. “You don’t say.”
“Nothing about this is romantic!” Meredith cried, running a hand through her hair. “It’s oafish, and … and overbearing. Not to mention, insulting.”
“Insulting?” Rhys echoed. “How so?”
“To be proposed marriage as some sort of eventuality of fate, regardless of how I might feel about the idea? Simply because the man in question has nothing better to do with his time?” She turned to Cora. “Perhaps that meets your definition of romance, but it doesn’t square with mine.”
Rhys cocked his head. “So that’s the problem,” he said wonderingly. “You’re holding out for romance.”
“That is not what I said.”
“It’s what you meant. You want romance. You want to be wooed.” He looked to the horizon, whistled softly, and muttered an oath that surely wouldn’t be found in the pages of his prayer book. “I’m no good at that.”
Gideon arched a brow. “Too bad for you.”
Thoroughly exasperated, she looked from one man to the other. “Listen, the both of you. I don’t intend to marry anyone. That inn across the road is the heart of this village. And my heart is in that inn.”
“I know it,” Rhys said. “That’s why I’ve pledged to fund improvements to the Three Hounds. A new wing of guest rooms, no less. And in time, a stable of posting horses.”
A murmur of interest swept the crowd.
Rhys continued in a voice for all to hear, “There’ll be work to be done, wages to be earned. With Mrs. Maddox’s help, I plan to ensure the well-being of the inn, and of the village.”