Freedom Forever (Southern Romance 3)

“Miss Dalton, please, I never meant to upset you.”

“So you carried me tales that a man lies to me? So you mentioned my brother’s disappearance?”

“Better you should know about him,” Isaiah whispered, looing over his shoulder at the closed door of the reverend’s study. “Miss Dalton, I swear to you, the hurt you feel now is nothing to that of the woman whose husband leaves bastards all over the town. Better you know now and bind yourself to a better man, a man who more deserves your beauty and your kindness, than fall prey to a man who does not care for you.”

“How dare you say he does not care for me?” Her pride came in a roar. “He comes to see me every week, he pays me court and brings me gifts, he speaks kind words, and he desires me.” Her cheeks went pink to speak the words aloud, but she balled her fists and let the words come out like a torrent. “Do you think this is some game? That he does not truly care for me?”

“If you ask me, does he want you for a wife—then Miss Dalton, I would have to say yes, for he speaks of it openly with his father. You would make any man a fine wife, and he knows as much.” Isaiah swallowed, the continued more quietly. “But if you were to ask me whether he pursues you because he wants you for a wife, or because he likes the chase and the capture...”

He let the words hang in the air, unwilling to finish the sentence. Unwilling to end it. Like Solomon, Clara thought, and no one willing to speak the words of where he was. Another wound with no shape. Another wound that could not heal.

But Solomon was not dead, and Abraham was a good man. That much, she knew. She clung to those two truths, clenching her fingers until they creaked and she wanted to gasp with the pain. She would not stand her and listen to some other man tell her that her husband-to-be was free with his affections. She would not listen to gossip. She would be the woman her mother had raised her to be.

“You are wrong,” she said coldly, lifting her chin. She forced herself to ignore Isaiah’s look of hurt at her words. “You speak of matters you do not understand. I am courted by an honorable man, and honored, myself, by his attentions. Good day. Mr. Rourke.” And she turned on her heel and swept out, leaving him standing alone in the hallway.