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The Virgin Bride
“Are you going to try to get me into bed afterward?”
“No,” Jason said with what he hoped was an honest-sounding conviction. “No, I wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not?” she posed in a puzzled tone. “You said you found me pretty and desirable. You also asked me to marry you. I imagined you fancied me, at least a little.”
“I do fancy you. And more than a little, Emma.”
“It’s perfectly all right, Jason. I’ve been brought up in a country town, not a convent. I just didn’t want to give you false hopes if I agreed to go out to dinner with you. You’re a very attractive, experienced man, and I’m sure you know how to get a girl. But I have no intention of sleeping with you, not this side of a wedding ring, anyway.”
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The Virgin Bride
Miranda Lee
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER ONE
WHAT a glorious day, Jason thought as he stepped outside. Spring had finally come, and with it that delicious sunshine which encompassed just the right amount of warmth. The town had never looked better, nestled at the base of now lush green hills. The sky was clear and blue. Birds twittered happily in a nearby tree.
Impossible to feel discontent on such a day, Jason decided as he walked down the front path and out onto the pavement.
And yet…
You can’t have everything in life, son, he heard his mother say.
How right she was, that wise old mum of his.
His heart turned over at the thought of her, and of her wretched life: married at eighteen to a no-good drinker and gambler, the mother of seven boys by the time she was thirty, a deserted wife by thirty-one, worn out and white-haired by fifty, dead five years ago of a stroke.
She’d only been fifty-five.
He was her youngest, a bright and affectionate boy who’d grown into a discontented and fiercely ambitious teenager, determined to be rich one day. He’d gone to medical school not because of a love of medicine, but because of the love of money. His mother had worried about this, he knew. She’d argued that money wasn’t the right reason to become a doctor.
How he would like the opportunity to tell her that he’d finally become a good doctor, and that he was quite happy, despite not being rich at all.
Not perfectly happy, of course. He no longer expected that.
‘Morning, Dr Steel. Nice day, isn’t it?’
‘It surely is, Florrie.’ Florrie was one of his patients. She was around seventy and popped into the surgery practically every week to discuss one of her wide range of ailments.
‘Muriel’s having a busy morning, I see,’ Florrie said, pointing to the bakery across the street. A bus was parked outside, and people were streaming out from the shop’s door, their arms full.
Tindley’s bakery was famous for miles. It had almost single-handedly put the little country town back on the map a few years ago, when it had won first prize for the best meat pie in Australia. Travellers and tourists on their way from Sydney to Canberra had begun taking the turn-off from the main highway, just to buy a Tindley pie.
In response to the sudden influx of visitors, the once deserted shops which fronted the narrow and winding main street had thrown open their creaking doors to sell all sorts of arts and crafts.
The area surrounding Tindley had always been a haunt for artists because of its peaceful beauty. But before this new local market had become available they’d had to sell their wares to shopkeepers situated in the more popular tourist towns over on the coast. Suddenly, it wasn’t just pies which attracted visitors, but unique items of pottery and leather goods, wood and home crafts.
In further response to this popularity, even more businesses had opened, offering Devonshire teas and take-away food. Tindley now also boasted a couple of quite good restaurants, and a guest house filled most weekends with Sydney escapees who liked horse-riding and bush walks as well as just sitting on a wide verandah, soaking up the valley views.
Over a period of five years Tindley had been resurrected from being almost a ghost town into a thriving little community with a bustling economy. Enough to support two doctors. Jason had bought into old Doc Brandewilde’s general practice five months ago, and hadn’t regretted it for a moment.
Admittedly, he’d taken a while to settle to the slower pace after working twelve-hour days in a gung-ho bulk-billing surgery in Sydney. He’d found it difficult at first to resist the automatic impulse to hurry consultations. Old habits did die hard.
Now, he could hardly imagine spending less than fifteen minutes to treat and diagnose a patient. They were no longer nameless faces, but people he knew and liked, people like Florrie, here. Having a warm, friendly chat was a large part of being a family doctor in the country.
The bus started up and slowly moved off, happy faces peering out of the windows.
‘I hope Muriel hasn’t sold my lunch,’ Jason said, and Florrie laughed.
‘She’d never do that, Doctor. You’re her pet customer. She was saying to me just the other day that if she were thirty years younger, you wouldn’t have to put up with Martha’s matchmaking, because she’d have snapped you up already.’
Now Jason laughed, though a little drily. Matchmaking wasn’t just Martha Brandewilde’s domain. All the ladies in Tindley seemed to have got in on the act, his arrival in town causing much speculation among its female population. Apparently, it wasn’t often that an attractive unattached bachelor under forty took up residence there. At only thirty, and better looking than average, he was considered ripe and ready for matching.
Not that they’d had any success, despite Jason being invited to several dinner parties where lo and behold, there had just happened to be a spare single girl placed right next to him. Jason suspected he’d been a severe disappointment to his various hostesses so far. Martha Brandewilde was particularly frustrated with him.
Still, he found it reassuring that, despite his apparent lack of enthusiasm for the young ladies served up to him on a platter, there had never been the remotest rumour or suggestion he might be a confirmed bachelor. This was one of the things he found so endearing about Tindley’s residents. They held simple old-fashioned views and values.
Florrie gave him a frowning look. ‘How old are you, Dr Steel?’
‘Thirty, Florrie. Why?’
‘A man shouldn’t get too old before marrying,’ she advised. ‘Otherwise he gets too set in his ways. And too selfish. Still, don’t be pressured into marrying the wrong girl, now. Marriage is a serious business. But a fine, intelligent man like you knows that. Probably why you’re being so choosy. Oh, goodness, look at the time! I must go. The Midday Show will have started and I do so hate to miss it.’
Florrie hurried off, leaving Jason to consider what she’d said.
Actually, he agreed with her wholeheartedly. About everything. His life would be complete if he could find a good woman to share it with. He might have come to Tindley disillusioned with a certain lady doctor he’d left behind, but his disillusionment hadn’t extended to the whole female race. He wanted to marry, but not just anyone.
He shook his head at how close he had come to marrying Adele. What a disaster that would have been!
Admittedly, she’d been a very exciting woman to live with. Beautiful. Brilliant. Sexy as hell. He’d been blindly in love with her, right up till that awful day when the wool had finally fallen from his eyes and he’d suddenly seen the real woman beneath the glittering façade: a coldly unfeeling creature who’d been capable of standing there and dismissing the death of a child with such chilling nonchalance, taking no blame whatsoever for her own negligence, saying that was life and it wouldn’t be the last time such an accident happened.
He’d decided to walk away from her then, as well as from his own increasingly selfish and greedy lifestyle. And it had cost him plenty. Rather than fight Adele in court for his half, he’d given her the place at Palm Beach, and the Mercedes, walking out with little in the way of material possessions. After paying Doc Brandewilde for his half of the practice, Jason had arrived in Tindley with nothing but his clothes, his video collection and a car which was as far from a red Mercedes sports as one could get. White, four-doored and Australian-made. Reliable, but not flashy. The sort of car a country doctor should drive.
Adele had thought him insane, had given him six months to come to his senses. But Jason knew he’d already done that. He wanted no more of the fast life, of the obsessive acquiring of wealth, or even the sort of wild, often kinky sex that women like Adele liked, and demanded. He wanted peace of mind and body. He wanted a family. He wanted marriage to a woman he could respect and like.
Being in love, however, he could do without.
Naturally, he wanted to want his wife. Sex was as important to Jason as any other red-blooded man. The town wasn’t the only thing being warmed up by spring, and, quite frankly, his celibate lifestyle was beginning to pall. He needed a wife and he needed one soon!
Unfortunately, his chances of marrying the only girl to seriously catch his eye since he’d come to Tindley were less than zero.
He glanced down the road to the small shop on the corner. Its doors were still firmly shut. Understandable, he supposed. Ivy Churchill’s funeral had only been last week.
Would Emma stay on and run her aunt’s sweet shop? Jason wondered. Even if she did, where would that get him? Her heart belonged elsewhere, stolen by some local creep who’d done her wrong and left town some time back. According to her aunt, she was still madly in love with this rotter, and probably waiting for him to return.
Jason had been told these scant but dismaying details on his second home visit to the old lady, perhaps because he’d cast one too many admiring glances Emma’s way during his first visit.
Not that the girl had noticed herself. She’d seemed oblivious of his admiration as she sat by the window in her aunt’s bedroom, doing some of her much admired tapestry work.
It had been impossible, however, not to look at her. Jason’s eyes had been drawn again and again to the exquisite picture she’d made, sitting there with her long, slender neck bent in an elegant arc, her eyes downcast, long curling eyelashes resting against her pale cheeks. She’d been wearing a white ankle-length dress with a lacy bodice and a flowing skirt. The setting sun’s rays had been shining over her shoulder, turning the soft fair curls hanging around her face into spun gold. A gold chain had hung around her throat, falling slightly away from her skin, swaying with each movement of the large needle she was moving in and out of the canvas.
Jason could still recall how he’d felt as he’d watched her, how he’d ached to slide his hand up and down the delicate curve of her neck, how he’d imagined taking that chain and pulling it gently backwards till her head tipped up and back. In his mind’s eye, he’d bent his lips to her startled mouth, before something his patient said had snapped him out of his dream-like, yet highly erotic reverie.
His thoughts had aroused him then. They aroused him now.
Scowling, Jason launched himself across the road and up onto the verandah of the bakery shop. But as he reached to open the shop screen door, he swiftly replaced the scowl with a more pleasant expression.
One minor drawback to life in Tindley was that nothing went unnoticed, not even a passing scowl. He didn’t want it getting around town that poor Dr Steel was having personal problems. He also knew not to ask any questions which might be misinterpreted. He was dying to enquire about Emma’s intentions, but suspected this might raise a few eyebrows.
‘Mornin’, Dr Steel,’ Muriel chirped straight away on seeing him. ‘The usual?’
‘Yes, thanks, Muriel.’ And he threw her a smile.
By the time he’d selected an orange juice from the self-serve fridge in the corner, his ‘usual’ of a steak and mushroom pie along with two fresh bread rolls was perched in paper bags on the counter. He was about to pay for it and just go, when curiosity got the better of him.
‘I noticed the sweet shop’s still closed,’ he said, as casually as he could.
Muriel sighed. ‘Yes. Emma said she just couldn’t face it this week. I feel so sorry for that girl. Her aunt was all she had in this world and now she’s gone too. Cancer is a terrible disease. Truly terrible!’
‘That it is,’ Jason agreed, and handed over a five-dollar note.
Muriel busied herself at the cash register. ‘When I go, I’d like to pop off in my sleep with a nice heart attack. Nothing slow and lingering. Frankly, I was surprised Ivy lasted as long as she did. When Doc Brandewilde sent her up to that hospital in Sydney last year for chemotherapy, I wouldn’t have given her more than a few days. But she lingered on for over a year. In a way, I suppose it’s a relief for Emma that she’s finally gone. No one likes to see someone they love in pain. But she’s going to be awfully lonely, that girl.’
‘I suppose so,’ Jason said. ‘Er…it’s surprising that a pretty girl like Emma doesn’t have a boyfriend,’ he ventured, trying to look innocent.
Muriel shot him a sharp look. ‘Surely you’ve heard about Emma and Dean Ratchitt. I would have thought Ivy would have said something, what with your visiting her so often these last few months.’
‘I don’t recall her mentioning anyone by that name,’ Jason said truthfully. Dean Ratchitt, eh? The only Ratchitt he knew was Jim Ratchitt, a cranky old so-and-so who lived on a run-down dairy farm just out of town. ‘Is he related to Jim Ratchitt?’
‘His son. Look, you might as well know the score,’ Muriel said as she handed over the change. ‘Especially if you’re thinkin’ of casting your eye in that direction.’
‘What score do you mean, Muriel?’
Muriel gave him a dry look. ‘About Emma and Dean, of course.’
‘They were lovers?’
‘Oh, I don’t know about that. Dean liked his girls free and easy, and Emma’s not that way at all. Ivy brought her up with solid old-world standards. That girl believes in white weddings and the sanctity of marriage. Still…who knows? Dean had a way with women, there’s no doubt about that. And they were engaged, however briefly.’
‘Engaged!’ Ivy hadn’t mentioned any engagement.
‘Yes. Just before Ivy went up to Sydney last year. Took the town by surprise, I can tell you, since Dean had been squiring another girl around town the month before. Anyway, Emma was sporting his ring just before she went up to Sydney with Ivy. By the time they got back, a couple of months later, it was all over town that Dean had got the youngest Martin girl in trouble.’
‘The girl he was seeing before Emma?’
‘Oh, no, that was Lizzie Talbot. Anyway, he didn’t deny sleeping with the Martin girl, but refused to acknowledge the child, saying the girl was a slut and he wasn’t the only bloke who’d been having sex with her. Emma and he had this very public row, right outside Ivy’s shop. I heard some of it. Heck, the whole town heard some of it!’
Muriel lent on her elbows on the counter, enjoying herself relaying the gossip. ‘Dean had the hide to still ask her to marry him, you see. Emma refused and he lost his temper, claimed that everything was her fault, though how he figured that I’d like to know. I remember him yellin’ at her that if she didn’t marry him as planned, then they were finished. She yelled back that they were finished anyway. She threw his ring back in his face and said she’d marry the first decent man who asked her.’
‘Really?’ Jason said, unable to hide his elation at this last piece of news.
‘Don’t go countin’ your chickens, Doc,’ Muriel said drily. ‘She was only spoutin’ off, like women do. Pride and all. Her actions since then have been much louder than her words. It’s been a year and she hasn’t gone out on one date, despite being asked many times. No man’ll ask her to marry him when she doesn’t let them get to first base, will he? We all know she’s just waitin’ for Dean to show up on her doorstep again. If and when he does…’ Muriel shrugged resignedly, as though it was a foregone conclusion that Emma would fall readily into the arms of her long-lost lover.
And he had been her lover. Jason didn’t doubt that. Women in love were rarely sustained by old-fashioned standards.
Still, the thought of Emma falling victim to such a conscienceless stud churned his stomach. She was such a soft, sweet creature, warm and caring and loving. She deserved better.
She deserves me, Jason decided. Modesty had never been one of his virtues.
‘What happened to the girl?’ he asked. ‘The one Ratchitt got into trouble.’
‘Oh, she moved away to the city. Rumour has it she got rid of the baby.’
‘Do you think it was his?’
‘Who knows? The girl was on the loose side. If it was Dean’s child, it’s the first time he slipped up that way. Odd, since over the years he’d made out with just about every female under forty in town, married and single.’
Jason’s eyebrows lifted. ‘That’s some record. What’s he got going for him? Or dare I ask?’
Muriel laughed. ‘Can’t give a personal report, Doc, since I’m headin’ for sixty myself. But he’s a right good-lookin’ lad, is our Dean.’
‘How old is he?’
‘Oh, a few years younger than you, I would say, but a few years older than Emma.’
‘And how old’s Emma?’
Muriel straightened, her expression reproachful. ‘Doc, Doc…what have you been doin’ these past few months during your home visits? You should know these things already, if you’re serious about the girl. She’s twenty-two.’
Jason frowned. He’d thought she was older. There was a maturity and serenity in her manner which suggested a few more years’ experience in life. Hell, at twenty-two she was barely more than a girl. A girl who’d lived all her life in a country town. An inexperienced and innocent young girl.
Emma’s brief engagement to Dean Ratchitt came to mind, and Jason amended that last thought. Not so innocent, perhaps. Nor quite so inexperienced. Men like Ratchitt didn’t hang around girls who didn’t give them what they wanted.
‘Do you think Ratchitt will come back?’
‘Who knows? If he hears about Ivy passin’ on and Emma inheritin’ the shop and all, he might.’
Jason didn’t think Emma inheriting that particular establishment would inspire even the most hard-up scoundrel to race back home. The small shop had provided the two women with a living, he supposed, but only because they didn’t have to pay rent. The shop occupied the converted front rooms of an old weatherboard house, as did most of the shops in Tindley. But it was smaller and more run-down than most. As real estate went, it wasn’t worth much.
Jason couldn’t imagine Ratchitt returning for such a poor prize. But who knew? Those who had nothing…
‘If he did come back, do you think she’d take up with him again?’ Jason asked.
Muriel pulled a face. ‘Love makes fools of the best of us.’
Jason had to agree. Just as well he wasn’t in love with the girl. He wanted to make his decisions about her with his head, not his heart.
‘See you tomorrow, Muriel,’ he said, and gathered up his lunch. He’d already tarried far too long in Tindley’s bakery. Muriel was going to have a field-day gossiping about what she’d gleaned.
Not that it would matter. Jason had made up his mind, and he would make his move this evening, after afternoon surgery. He had no intention of waiting till the dastardly Dean showed up. He had no intention of wasting time asking Emma for a date, either. He was going to go straight to the heart of the matter…with a proposal of marriage.
CHAPTER TWO
JASON was beginning to feel a bit nervous, a most unusual state for him.
But understandable, he decided as he opened the side gate which led round to the back of Emma’s house. It wasn’t every day you asked a woman to marry you, certainly not a woman you didn’t love, whom you’d never even been out with, let alone slept with. Most people would say he was mad. Adele certainly would.
Thinking of Adele’s opinion had a motivating effect on him. Anything Adele thought was insane was probably the most sensible thing in the world.
Determined not to change his mind, Jason closed the gate behind him and strode down the side path to Emma’s back door. A light was shining through the lace curtains at the back window, he noted with relief. Some music was on somewhere. She was definitely home.
There were three steps leading up to the back door, the cement worn into dips in the middle. Jason put one foot on the first step, then stopped to straighten his tie and his jacket.
Not that any straightening was strictly necessary. He was wearing one of his suavest and most expensive Italian suits, a silk blend in a dark grey which never creased and always made him feel like a million dollars. His tie was silk too, a matching grey with diagonal stripes of blue and yellow. It was smart and modern without being too loud. He’d even sprayed himself with some of the cologne he was partial to, but kept for special occasions.
Jason knew his mission tonight was a difficult one and he was leaving nothing to chance, using everything in his available armoury to present an attractive and desirable image to Emma. He wanted to be everything he was sure Dean Ratchitt wasn’t. He wanted to offer her everything Dean Ratchitt hadn’t. A solid, secure marriage to a man who would never be unfaithful to her, and whom she could be proud of.
Taking a deep, steadying breath, he stepped up, lifted his hand and knocked. In the several seconds it took for her to come to the door, a resurgence of nerves set his empty stomach churning. He should have eaten first, he thought irritably. But he hadn’t been able to settle to a meal before hearing Emma’s answer.
That she might think him mad as well suddenly occurred to him, and he was besieged by a most uncustomary lack of confidence.
She’ll turn you down, man, came the voice of reason. She’s a romantic and she doesn’t love you.
The door handle slowly turned and the door swung back, sending a rectangle of light right into his face. Emma stood, silhouetted in the doorway, her face in shadow.
‘Jason?’ came her soft and puzzled enquiry. It had taken him weeks of visiting Ivy to get her to call him Jason, he recalled. Even then, she still called him Dr Steel occasionally. He was glad she hadn’t tonight.
‘Hello, Emma,’ he returned, amazed at his cool delivery. His heart might be jumping and his stomach doing cartwheels, but he sounded his usual assured self. ‘May I come in for a few minutes?’
