Page 46 of The Baroness of Sin
Martha was baffled how this man could know of a situation that only transpired moments ago in private, but James was quick to correct. “I am Lord Barristen, and this is my betrothed Lady Carrington.” Martha’s heart beat happily at being referred to as James’ betrothed. “As of now, there is no Lady Barristen.”
The priest looked even more confused than before and reached into his robes to pull forth a letter addressed to him.
“That cannot be, for I received this letter from a Lady Barristen requesting my presence on a matter of dire religious importance. Normally, I would have written back about the vagueness of the matter, but when I heard about the nearby fire, I was worried the two might have been related and decided to come in person to evaluate the seriousness of the situation. Though, it appears I may have come in error.” He seemed befuddled by the uncertainty of goings-on and was searching for answers, none of which either of them could provide.
“Well, there was a fire,” Martha mused, “but I don’t see what that has to do with-”
“You came!” a voice cried from behind them, and a moment later Amanda was sprinting across the room. “You came, Father Jacob.”
“Yes, I did,” the old man’s confused response was offset by his delight and the energy from the young lady, “but I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, my dear. You know me, but I don’t know you.”
“Don’t be silly, Father Jacob. You were the one who baptized me,” Amanda tutted the priest.
Father Jacob seemed to pull the memory from a faraway place. “Little Amanda Williams, of course. Silly of me to forget the daughter of the Lord of Barristen.”
At this James quietly gasped. “Of course, Father Jacob. Forgive me for not recognizing you! It's been years.”
“Yes, I had changed parish’s many years ago, but the summons, that I now must assume was directed a little closer, still found its way to me in Bolton.”
James sighed, “Of course, you were summoned by Lady Barristen.” He turned to look at his daughter, not mad as of yet but bemused. “Little one, why did you send a letter to Father Jacob?”
“Well, don’t you need a priest to get married?” Amanda asked matter-of-factly.
Martha knew there was no way Amanda could have known. “But, Amanda, sweetie, for a letter to reach Bolton would take at least two weeks, one way. So, you would to have sent that letter…?”
Amanda nodded astutely, “Mhm, I wrote him a while ago. I was worried he wouldn’t come.”
“But that was before Martha and I had even discussed… getting married. We weren’t courting. Why would you send the letter then?” James asked, absolutely bewildered.
“You and Lady Carrington were in love,” Amanda said as if she were confused by the obviousness of the question. “People who are in love get married. Oh! Now that Father Jacob is here, will the two of you get married?”
James and Martha shared uncertain looks.
“I’m sure Father Jacob didn’t come here to perform a wedding, Amanda,” Martha deflected.
The priest cleared his throat. “The exact nature of the situation was not made clear to me, so it seemed sensible to me to bring supplies to deal with a wide array of situations. I believe I could officiate a marriage if the demand was there.” He shook his head and scoffed as if he were being foolish. “Of course, you two are betrothed; I am sure you have a wedding planned. No need to change plans on my account,” he assured them.
“Actually,” James said, “we hadn’t gotten around to any of that.” He turned to look at Martha. ‘Do you want to get married?”
* * *
“I know it didn’t start off on purpose, but at some point, the two of you conspiratorially agreed to make your courtship as inconvenient as possible, I swear,” Emma griped as the two of them sorted through their combined wardrobes to pick the best possible outfits.
“I have waited too long to marry a man who truly loved me. I say this with my utmost love, Emma, but I am unconcerned with how it inconveniences others.” Martha’s face was bright with excitement as she picked up her nicest dress.
“That's the dress you married Antony in,” Emma remarked flatly about the grey piece. It was elegant but foreboding like a storm.
“It is,” Martha sighed, “that's why it is the nicest dress to survive the fire. I tucked it away in storage. I suppose I should wear it. It was so expensive, and I could... I’m not sure. I could reclaim this dress for me. That day for me. Do marriage right this time.”
Emma mused for a moment. “I may not be an expert about love, but I don’t think you need to do that.”
“No?” Martha asked.
Emma shook her head. “You love James, and I don’t think you would define that love as existing because of your late husband. This isn’t a second love, Martha; it's just love. No need to put all that on top of it, when it doesn’t belong there to begin with.”
“Yes, yes I believe you are right, Emma,” Martha agreed, tucking the dress back in the paper wrapping she had retrieved it from.
“Now I know I saw it somewhere around here,” Emma murmured to herself. “Ah, here it is!” She picked up a different mass of paper. “Don’t you think this would be appropriate?” She asked, unfolding it for Martha to see.
