A Noble Groom (Michigan Brides #2)(20)

Certainly they didn’t think he was the groom Matthias was sending, did they? “No. No, I cannot practice them every day.”

The pastor’s eyes widened, and Annalisa sent him a sideways glance.

“I mean, I can practice them. I want to practice them. . . .” The room felt suddenly hot and stifling. He reached for his cravat and tugged it away from his heated skin.

“What are you babbling about?” Peter’s thunderous voice came from behind him.

“I think we’ve had a misunderstanding.” Carl glanced at the open door. Never before had running away sounded as pleasant as at that moment.

“There’s no misunderstanding.” Peter tripped over the word, as if it was too big for his limited peasant vocabulary. “Pastor, let’s cut out all the talk about love and get to the important part.”

The pastor’s whiskery brows furrowed together. “Love is important too, Peter.”



“Not today. Not now.” Peter’s big hand landed on Carl’s shoulder. “Not when Annalisa’s farm is at stake.”

As if sensing Carl’s desire to flee, the burly man squeezed him and held him in place. “We better do the vows, Herr Pastor. I think our guest is as ready to be done with this as I am.”

One of the pastor’s hairy brows rose. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the sight of God and in the face of this company . . .”

Inwardly Carl groaned. He had to put a stop to this charade now, before he ended up married.

“. . . to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God.”

The pastor shifted to face Carl squarely. “Wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s holy ordinance? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; forsaking all others keep thee only unto her for as long as ye both shall live?”

Carl closed his eyes. Lord, help me. What had he gotten himself into?

“Spit it out.” Peter gave him a shove.

“I’m sorry.” It was too late to run. Carl steeled himself and opened his eyes. “I cannot marry this woman.”

Annalisa’s startled gaze swung to his. In the depths of her lovely eyes he saw relief. But he also caught a glimpse of something else. Was she hurt?

Did she think he was refusing the offer because something was wrong with her?

“Why in the name of Balaam’s donkey can’t you marry my daughter?”

“I’m sure your daughter would make any man a wonderful wife.” Carl held Annalisa’s gaze, hoping he could convey his apology at causing her pain. “I can see she’s kind and gentle—and very beautiful. Any man could easily love, comfort, and honor a woman like her. . . .”

Her eyes widened.

“Then you marry her. Let’s go.” Peter twisted him back toward the pastor.

Carl wrenched free of the man’s grip. “I cannot marry Annalisa because I’m not her groom.”

The room grew silent enough to hear the lice he’d caught on the ship begin their daily symphony in his hair.

Peter scowled. “What do you mean you aren’t her groom? Did my brother Matthias send you or not?”

“Yes, Matthias sent me. But not to marry your daughter. Only to help her until one of your cousins—Dirk—is able to save money for the travel fare.” Peter stepped back and regarded him with a deepening frown. “If you aren’t the cousin sent by my brother, then who are you?”

Carl glanced around the room and his stomach churned.

The warm welcome that had been on the faces of Annalisa’s family and friends had evaporated, replaced by narrowed expressions filled with distrust.

Peter’s eyes glinted with a sharpness that reminded Carl of the edge of a sword. The man certainly seemed capable of murder.

Carl extinguished the flame burning in his conscience. He’d better follow Matthias’s advice and keep his identity a secret—at least for the time being.

Besides, he wouldn’t stay long. He’d write to Fritz Diehl and soon be on his way to Chicago. What difference would it make if they didn’t know who he really was?

“Well?” Peter asked. “Who are you? And why are you here?”

“I tried to tell you. It’s explained in the letter Matthias sent.”

“Herr Pastor, let’s read the letter then.”



Pastor Loehe pulled the letter out of his Bible, carefully unfolded the crumpled page, and began to read.

Carl had already read the letter a dozen times and knew every word Matthias had written. His faithful manservant hadn’t exactly lied. He’d shared the fact that the duke had unfairly sentenced Carl to death by the guillotine for a crime he hadn’t committed, and that Carl needed a safe place to hide until the duke forgot about him. But Matthias had been silent about the fact that Carl’s family was as powerful and wealthy as the duke.

When the pastor finished, Peter stepped forward and clamped both his large hands on Carl’s shoulders. His eyes brimmed with surprising compassion. “Anyone who’s an enemy of the duke is a friend of mine.”

“Thank you—”

“I know what it’s like to live under the injustice and tyranny of the wealthy noblemen. They don’t care about the common man like us. They would enslave us like the Egyptians did the Israelites if we let them.”