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An Inconvenient Marriage
Christina Miller
Last-Minute BrideWidowed reverend Samuel Montgomery is excited to start over with his daughter in Natchez, Mississippi—until he learns he'll lose his job if he doesn't marry. His solution: a marriage in name only to heiress Clarissa Adams, who needs a husband to win her inheritance. Though the beautiful music teacher will make a good wife, Samuel doubts he can ever truly capture her heart.Marriage satisfies only the first provision of Clarissa’s grandfather’s will, which pits her against her cousin. And fulfilling the remaining stipulations won’t be easy between caring for Samuel’s rebellious daughter and managing an orphanage. But Samuel seems determined to stand by her side…and maybe even prove their marriage could be more than just convenient.
Last-Minute Bride
Widowed reverend Samuel Montgomery is excited to start over with his daughter in Natchez, Mississippi—until he learns he’ll lose his job if he doesn’t marry. His solution: a marriage in name only to heiress Clarissa Adams, who needs a husband to win her inheritance. Though the beautiful music teacher will make a good wife, Samuel doubts he can ever truly capture her heart.
Marriage satisfies only the first provision of Clarissa’s grandfather’s will, which pits her against her cousin. And fulfilling the remaining stipulations won’t be easy between caring for Samuel’s rebellious daughter and managing an orphanage. But Samuel seems determined to stand by her side...and maybe even prove their marriage could be more than just convenient.
CHRISTINA MILLER has always lived in the past. Her passion for history began with her grandmother’s stories of 1920s rural southern Indiana. When Christina began to write fiction, she believed God was calling her to write what she knew: history. A Bethany College of Missions graduate, pastor’s wife and worship leader, Christina lives on the family’s farm with her husband of twenty-nine years and Sugar, their talking dog.
Also By Christina Miller (#ud79d726e-7a50-5679-a721-ef6bc99fd0d6)
Counterfeit Courtship
An Inconvenient Marriage
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
An Inconvenient Marriage
Christina Miller
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-08045-3
AN INCONVENIENT MARRIAGE
© 2018 Christina Miller
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
“What’s so funny?” Samuel couldn’t keep a smile from his face, enjoying the sound of her laughter.
“You are.” She smiled. “With your formality. Although Grandfather used to tell me stories of Grandmother calling him Reverend, even when they were alone.”
“And what did he call her?”
“Ducky dearest.”
He could just imagine the dowager’s response. He grinned at Clarissa. “Hmm...it has possibilities.”
The warmth in Samuel’s heart shot a grim warning, reminding him that romantic love was not for him. Sure, the dark-haired beauty before him was his wife, but only because she needed to hold on to this home, and he needed to keep his pastorate. He couldn’t treat her as if they had a real marriage, a real relationship.
She laughed again. “Let’s leave Grandfather’s terms of endearment in the past. At home, you may call me Clarissa.”
“And please call me Samuel.”
Clarissa smiled, settling this issue, if nothing else. Although the arrangement seemed too casual,
too intimate, for a wife who would never truly be
his wife.
Dear Reader (#ud79d726e-7a50-5679-a721-ef6bc99fd0d6),
Thank you for reading my second Natchez story! Since my first visit there many years ago, Natchez has been an inspiration to me. The wealthiest city in the country before the War, Natchez has since struggled to survive. But its citizens decided to give it a second chance, working hard to restore the grand old homes there. Their Garden Club Spring Pilgrimage—the inspiration for Camellia Pointe’s Spring Festival—draws droves of history lovers each year as the town opens their antebellum mansions for tours.
God offers us all a second chance—for eternal life, for love, for peace—as we place our trust in Jesus. My prayer is for you to discover that second chance as Samuel and Clarissa did, and to rest in God’s love, knowing you are restored to Him.
I’d love to hear from you! Please contact me through Love Inspired, at www.Facebook.com/christinalinstrotmiller (https://www.facebook.com/christinalinstrotmiller) or at @CLMauthor (https://twitter.com/CLMauthor).
Christina Miller
It is of the Lord’s mercies that we are not consumed, because his compassions fail not. They are new every morning: great is thy faithfulness.
—Lamentations 3:22–23
To my grandmothers:
Sweet grandma Ruby Linstrot, whose stories of long ago made me love the past.
Spunky grandma Violet Kahle, my fun and sassy inspiration for Grandmother Euphemia.
With thanks to...
The staff at Monmouth, the setting I chose for Camellia Pointe. Special thanks to Roosevelt, who served us his refreshing nonalcoholic mint juleps during our stay.
Steve Laube, my fabulous agent, for his wise counsel and ever-available listening ear.
Dina Davis, my smart, sweet, talented, hardworking editor and dear friend.
Jan, my preacher husband, who cheerfully does life with this writer girl.
Jesus, giver of gifts and fulfiller of dreams.
Contents
Cover (#u359ee3d3-0272-5f38-8eb8-7c15e600de61)
Back Cover Text (#u60c6f709-5444-555f-a567-187b9a674d52)
About the Author (#uccf6729b-46f5-574f-96b5-35fe1eee6cd4)
Booklist (#u51c3a4df-b073-5bed-be39-44b02c0736a0)
Title Page (#u8509cc17-c062-5296-808e-b6f59b1d06c8)
Copyright (#u904d4bc0-3828-5988-8be2-b75a76e85097)
Introduction (#u80baf572-d092-53ab-acec-605f1f0cca7b)
Dear Reader (#uaba7976d-7a00-51f4-8d64-a3f5adeb58b0)
Bible Verse (#u9334f2e1-fae8-5d1b-a5e3-fdf4728589d7)
Dedication (#u8bf41363-cdbe-5649-8be1-2927d4f20d56)
Chapter One (#ua4292315-1106-5409-b469-e050a47fdfe1)
Chapter Two (#u4e744359-b5bb-5471-b28a-bafeae2ee49f)
Chapter Three (#u00f4741e-18e7-5f9b-8df9-b2c7d2c4a2fd)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ud79d726e-7a50-5679-a721-ef6bc99fd0d6)
Natchez, Mississippi
February, 1866
The cry piercing the damp winter air chilled the Reverend Samuel Montgomery’s bones even more than the wind blowing up from the Mississippi. He hadn’t heard a sound like that since Chickamauga—a cross between a rebel yell and the shriek of an anguished soul.
He raced up the muddy brick walk and toward the ghastly sound, dropping his Bible in his haste. As always, when he’d heard similar screams of agony on the battlefield or in an army hospital, he breathed a hasty prayer for the suffering one. What could have ignited a sound like the strident voice calling through the stucco walls?
“Help me...”
Nearing the white-columned structure, Samuel reached into his frock coat pocket and checked his vial of anointing oil and his portable communion set, issued by the Confederate Army’s Chaplain Corps.
His mind sped as fast as his booted feet while he prepared himself to anoint the sick or administer the Lord’s Supper to the dying. Judging from the hair-raising voice, he might be called upon to deliver either sacrament—or both—this windy winter day.
And they were the last tasks he would have expected to perform as he took his first steps into his new church, Christ Church of Natchez.
Samuel crashed through the doorway and crossed the vestibule at a run, the sweet tones of an unfamiliar song grating against his nerves. He snatched off his hat and pitched it toward the nearest corner. As he burst into the chilly, high-ceilinged sanctuary, voices and organ strains blended into a maddening refrain from the choir gathered near the pulpit.
Did none of them understand someone was in trouble? Barreling down the sloped center aisle, he scanned the massive room, from pulpit to vestibule, from balcony to white-paneled box pew doors. No one lay suffering on the carpet. No one sat propped in a pew, gasping for air...
“Help me—”
“Stop the music!” Samuel shouted over the choir and waved his arms to get their attention. “Someone here is ill, or injured or—”
“Who? Someone with you?” In the sudden silence, a dark-haired woman turned from leading the musicians and rushed toward him, her deep green skirts rustling. Perhaps she could help him discover the person in need.
Although stunning with her ivory skin and delicate features, she looked but a mere five or so years older than his Emma—twenty years of age at most.
He turned from her and crossed to the pulpit, then glanced upward. “It was someone inside. I heard it from out on the lawn. Perhaps we should search the balconies.”
Her light, fast footfalls followed close behind. “Wait a moment—let’s think this through. What did you hear? Was it a man or a woman?”
The compassion in her voice would have moved him under different circumstances. He turned to look into gold-flecked green eyes, sparkling in the light of the overhead gasolier. Those soft, gentle eyes could easily have diverted him from his task—if they belonged to a more mature lady. If he would ever again allow a woman to distract him. And if some poor soul didn’t need his help. “A woman is in trouble, and we don’t have time to stand around and chat about it. Did you not hear the cries for help? She screamed in agony and—”
The twitters from the sopranos and altos interrupted his words, along with his train of thought.
Had he imagined the sounds? Surely not, but he’d heard of men suffering such maladies after experiencing the terrors of war.
“Father, please...”
His daughter’s whisper jarred him back to the present. He turned to Emma, who held his hat and muddy Bible. To his shame, he’d forgotten she was there. Her reddened cheeks cut through him, slicing yet another piece from his heart. Seemed he spent more time embarrassing his fourteen-year-old than he did in any other occupation these days. His daughter stood at a distance, more than arm’s length, as she had since he’d fetched her from her Kentucky boarding school two weeks ago.
