The Perfect Match (Blue Heron #2)(67)

She came out of the dressing room, and all three girls leaned forward. “Oh, Mrs. J.,” Honor breathed. “You’re beautiful.”

The dress was simple—a mermaid-style gown with ruching and the requisite, nonwhorish straps. It hugged Mrs. Johnson’s rather stunning figure. Her dark skin glowed against the white fabric, and her close-cropped hair made her neck look long and lovely.

“Sold,” Prudence said.

“I love it,” Faith murmured.

Mrs. Johnson frowned down at the dress and gave the bodice a tug. “This would look nice on you, Honor. Not me. I’m an old woman.”

“How old are you, anyway?” Pru asked.

“None of your business, you impudent child.”

“Hey,” Faith said. “You’re going to be our stepmother. Be nice.”

“This is my nice.” She gave them a regal scowl.

Honor got up and stood next to Mrs. Johnson. “Dad will love this dress,” she said, bending to kiss Mrs. J.’s cheek. “Come on. Take a look at yourself.”

She slid her arm around Mrs. J., and the two of them looked at the mirror.

“Shall we put on a veil and get the whole idea?” Gwen asked.

“Do I look like the type to wear a veil?” Mrs. Johnson said, though her voice was dreamier now. She couldn’t seem to take her eyes off her reflection.

“Get a veil. Here, I’ll come with you,” Pru instructed. “Faith, come with me. I don’t know a thing about this girlie stuff.” Indeed, Pru was still in her farming clothes, not that she got out of them much.

The three other women to the accessory room, and Honor just looked at Mrs. J. “I think this is the dress,” she murmured. “Don’t you?”

“I think you may be right,” Mrs. Johnson said. A smile gentled her face.

“I’m so glad you and Dad found each other,” Honor said.

“I’ve loved him for years,” Mrs. J. said. “Oh, dear, don’t tell anyone I said that. My reputation will suffer greatly.” She gave Honor a squeeze. “But it’s true.”

“You hid it well.”

Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look. “And you’re hiding something, too, aren’t you, Honor?”

Guilt over lying flashed hot and sharp. “Um, no.”

Mrs. Johnson huffed. “Please. You can’t fool me any better than when you were a little girl.”

“I was sixteen when you met me.”

“Exactly. And you’re a terrible liar. Why are you marrying this man you just met?”

“Shh! Mrs. Johnson, come on!” Honor’s face was brick red in the mirror.

“Is it for a green card?”

“Shh! That would be fraud! And I’m not exactly the law-breaking, Jesse James, Tony Soprano kind of person. Am I?”

“No. Which is why I’m so concerned.”

“It’s just...love.”

“Bah.”

“Mrs. Johnson...”

“Honor, my dear,” she said gently, “I won’t tell anyone. But do you think you should be marrying someone you don’t love? Settling for a person because he’s pleasant and needs a favor?”

Honor wiped her hands on her skirt. “Um, no. I shouldn’t. But I—” She took a shaky breath. “You can’t tell Dad,” she whispered.

“I won’t.” The housekeeper’s eyes were kind, even if her face was solemn.

Honor took a deep breath. “Not everyone gets a true love, Mrs. J.,” she whispered. “Some of us make the best with what life offers.”

“And you’ve done that ever since I’ve known you, Honor Grace! Don’t be a martyr!”

“Martyrdom is our family motto,” Honor said. “You should know that by now. And Tom’s nice. He’s a good person. I do have...feelings for him.”

“Does he have feelings for you?”

“Yes. I think so. He could, at any rate. Maybe.”

“Doesn’t that sound heartening.” Mrs. J. gave her a pointed look.

Honor sighed. “Faith and Pru are coming back.”

“If you need someone to talk to, my dear, you can always come to me.”

Her heart softened. “Thank you.”

Pru and Faith approached, a long lacy veil trailing from the hands of the consultant. “Don’t bother,” Mrs. Johnson said. “I’m not wearing it. It looks impudent. The dress, however, I’ll take.”

As they were paying for the dress, Faith leaned over the counter. “Gwen,” she said to the shop’s owner, “so long as we’re here, can we schedule an appointment for my sister?” She flashed a smile at Honor. “Is that okay? You can’t really elope or just go to city hall.”

Honor swallowed. “Sure. Why not?”

Because especially after that kiss in the cellar today, she wanted to marry Tom Barlow. Illegal or not.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

“THAT’S IT, CHARLIE. Get that hand up, mate.” Tom stood behind the heavy bag, trying not to wince. Charlie’s jab was pathetic. “Put your shoulder into it, remember?”

“I’m trying!” He wasn’t, that was the problem.