A Reluctant Bride
Chapters (41)
- Cover
- Books by Jody Hedlund
- Title Page
- Epigraph
- one
- two
- three
- four
- five
- six
- seven
- eight
- nine
- ten
- eleven
- twelve
- thirteen
- fourteen
- fifteen
- sixteen
- seventeen
- eighteen
- nineteen
- twenty
- twenty-one
- twenty-two
- twenty-three
- twenty-four
- twenty-five
- twenty-six
- twenty-seven
- twenty-eight
- twenty-nine
- thirty
- thirty-one
- thirty-two
- thirty-three
- Author’s Note
- About the Author
- Back Ad
- Back Cover
Cover
Books by Jody Hedlund
The Preacher’s Bride
The Doctor’s Lady
Unending Devotion
A Noble Groom
Rebellious Heart
Captured by Love
BEACONS OF HOPE
Out of the Storm: A BEACONS OF HOPE Novella
Love Unexpected
Hearts Made Whole
Undaunted Hope
ORPHAN TRAIN
An Awakened Heart: An ORPHAN TRAIN Novella
With You Always
Together Forever
Searching for You
THE BRIDE SHIPS
A Reluctant Bride
Title Page
Epigraph
one
LONDON, ENGLAND
MAY 1862
Hang on a little longer, my lamb.” Mercy Wilkins shifted the listless infant in her arms without slowing her pace.
Clara had stopped responding on Chilton Street, but the slightly warm breath coming from between the little girl’s colorless lips told Mercy she wasn’t too late . . . so long as the Shoreditch Dispensary wasn’t crowded and so long as Dr. Bates was available. He’d treat the infant even though Mercy had no way to pay for his services.
“Don’t you fret,” she murmured. “If Dr. Bates isn’t there, I’ll sell my shoes to pay the fee.”
Mercy ignored the cold dampness between her toes, the puckered skin on feet that hadn’t been dry since spring had chased away the chill of winter and invited a familiar tormentor in its place—rain.
The frequent showers not only soaked her half boots but also turned the streets into swamps of mud and horse manure. The mixture oozed through the holes where her toes had worn through the leather and threatened to suck the shoes off her feet.
She’d tied the frayed laces tight, causing them to break and forcing her to knot them yet again. Though the strings didn’t reach the tops of her boots anymore, she was lucky to have them, lucky to have boots at all when so many wore nothing on their feet but rags.
“I’ll gladly trade my boots for you to be seen to by a doctor, my sweet one.” She brushed a kiss against Clara’s cheek. The infant’s face was as pale as the fog that hung over the rooftops, and as thin and hollow as the terraced houses that lined either side of the street.
Several boys bumped against Mercy, jostling her. Fingers darted in and out of her skirt pocket with the nimbleness of an expert thief. She had nothing for the boys to steal. The looks of her should have told them that. Except that with the sick infant, maybe they supposed she had a halfpenny tucked away to pay the doctor.
She caught sight of the face of one of the boys, recognizing him in spite of the layer of soot and filth. “Mr. Martins is looking for another boy to clean the streets. Go talk to him and earn your bread the honest way. D’ye hear me?”
The boy didn’t acknowledge her comment except to hunch further into his man-sized greatcoat and tip his round cap down to shield his face.