wicked that he could think to marry their
Emma only out of some benighted sense of duty or propriety, when his heart held
no tenderness for her. It did not surprise Chloe that her plea for him to
release Emma had fallen on deaf ears. Of course the captain would account love
of no importance. He didn't even know what it was.
Chloe observed as much of this excruciatingly polite
courtship as she could bear, then excused herself. She retired to bed earlier
than she had any Christmas Eve since her childhood.
The next day, she dreaded attending services, seeing poor
Mr. Henry's face when he obtained his first glimpse of Captain Trent. It was a
cold, frost-hardened Christmas morning, with a chill wind whistling through the
crevices of St. Andrew's Church.
Situated on their family's pew, Chloe huddled between Lucy
and Agnes for warmth, Mr. Lathrop, Emma, and the captain seated at the other
end. One would have thought so many bodies packed together would have generated
some heat. The church was quite crowded, from the humblest villager to the
squire and his lady sporting a new velvet bonnet.
Even Mr. Henry shivered a little as he mounted the pulpit to
read out his lesson. He was better at it now than when he had first arrived two
years ago. He didn't stammer nearly as much. Perhaps he would never be gifted
with eloquence, but Chloe thought the earnestness radiating from his face more
than made up for any faltering, his eyes shining with a humble faith, a great
love for the story he related, the birth of the Christ child with His message
of hope and peace.
Despite the cold, Chloe was sorry when the services ended.
She shrank from that moment to come when greetings would be exchanged in the
vestibule. The entire parish was already buzzing about the presence of the
handsome sea captain in their midst. Although Trent had not worn his uniform to
church, Mr. Henry had to be aware of who Trent was and why he had come simply
from the way the captain offered Emma his arm.
The moment Emma approached Mr. Henry seemed so poignant,
Chloe wondered how her older sister could bear it. How wretched to be obliged
to address the man one really loved as though he were the stranger. Yet no one
could have detected any difference in Emma's cheerful smile as she complimented
Mr. Henry on his sermon. One had to have heard it in her voice, which became
just an octave softer, or noticed it in the quick way she excused herself to go
pay her respects to Squire Daniel's lady.
Agnes, Lucy, and Lathrop had managed to escape to the
waiting carriage. That left Chloe the awful task of introducing poor Mr. Henry
to his successful rival.
There could have been no more painful contrast than Mr.
Henry, in his mended robes, his face more earnest than handsome, and the
captain, with his erect military bearing and striking profile.
A moment of complete despair flashed into Mr. Henry's eyes.
But he was not the sort to slap his brow or even glower. After the barest
hesitation, he offered his hand to Trent, saying, "Welcome to Saint
Andrew's, Captain. We have all looked forward to meeting the new master of
Windhaven."
"I thank you, sir. I hope I will not prove too much of
a disappointment after Sir Phineas Waverly."
"He was a kindly soul, may God rest him. But I am sure
you will be a worthy successor. And may I offer my felicitations on your
marriage to Miss Waverly. You are a fortunate man."
Chloe thought she had never witnessed a more quiet heroism.
Anyone who did not know Mr. Henry's secret would never have guessed what such a
gallant speech must have cost him. It was obvious the captain didn't. He
accepted the clergyman's congratulations with the sort of casual thanks he
would have accorded any well-wisher.
On a sudden impulse, Chloe invited Mr. Henry to dine with
them that day.
"You know you have always shared Christmas with
us," she insisted.
"I don't know, Miss Chloe. Your sister, Miss Waverly,
is surely not expecting another guest, and—"
"Nonsense. Emma
Emma only out of some benighted sense of duty or propriety, when his heart held
no tenderness for her. It did not surprise Chloe that her plea for him to
release Emma had fallen on deaf ears. Of course the captain would account love
of no importance. He didn't even know what it was.
Chloe observed as much of this excruciatingly polite
courtship as she could bear, then excused herself. She retired to bed earlier
than she had any Christmas Eve since her childhood.
The next day, she dreaded attending services, seeing poor
Mr. Henry's face when he obtained his first glimpse of Captain Trent. It was a
cold, frost-hardened Christmas morning, with a chill wind whistling through the
crevices of St. Andrew's Church.
Situated on their family's pew, Chloe huddled between Lucy
and Agnes for warmth, Mr. Lathrop, Emma, and the captain seated at the other
end. One would have thought so many bodies packed together would have generated
some heat. The church was quite crowded, from the humblest villager to the
squire and his lady sporting a new velvet bonnet.
Even Mr. Henry shivered a little as he mounted the pulpit to
read out his lesson. He was better at it now than when he had first arrived two
years ago. He didn't stammer nearly as much. Perhaps he would never be gifted
with eloquence, but Chloe thought the earnestness radiating from his face more
than made up for any faltering, his eyes shining with a humble faith, a great
love for the story he related, the birth of the Christ child with His message
of hope and peace.
Despite the cold, Chloe was sorry when the services ended.
She shrank from that moment to come when greetings would be exchanged in the
vestibule. The entire parish was already buzzing about the presence of the
handsome sea captain in their midst. Although Trent had not worn his uniform to
church, Mr. Henry had to be aware of who Trent was and why he had come simply
from the way the captain offered Emma his arm.
The moment Emma approached Mr. Henry seemed so poignant,
Chloe wondered how her older sister could bear it. How wretched to be obliged
to address the man one really loved as though he were the stranger. Yet no one
could have detected any difference in Emma's cheerful smile as she complimented
Mr. Henry on his sermon. One had to have heard it in her voice, which became
just an octave softer, or noticed it in the quick way she excused herself to go
pay her respects to Squire Daniel's lady.
Agnes, Lucy, and Lathrop had managed to escape to the
waiting carriage. That left Chloe the awful task of introducing poor Mr. Henry
to his successful rival.
There could have been no more painful contrast than Mr.
Henry, in his mended robes, his face more earnest than handsome, and the
captain, with his erect military bearing and striking profile.
A moment of complete despair flashed into Mr. Henry's eyes.
But he was not the sort to slap his brow or even glower. After the barest
hesitation, he offered his hand to Trent, saying, "Welcome to Saint
Andrew's, Captain. We have all looked forward to meeting the new master of
Windhaven."
"I thank you, sir. I hope I will not prove too much of
a disappointment after Sir Phineas Waverly."
"He was a kindly soul, may God rest him. But I am sure
you will be a worthy successor. And may I offer my felicitations on your
marriage to Miss Waverly. You are a fortunate man."
Chloe thought she had never witnessed a more quiet heroism.
Anyone who did not know Mr. Henry's secret would never have guessed what such a
gallant speech must have cost him. It was obvious the captain didn't. He
accepted the clergyman's congratulations with the sort of casual thanks he
would have accorded any well-wisher.
On a sudden impulse, Chloe invited Mr. Henry to dine with
them that day.
"You know you have always shared Christmas with
us," she insisted.
"I don't know, Miss Chloe. Your sister, Miss Waverly,
is surely not expecting another guest, and—"
"Nonsense. Emma
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