The Virgin Bride

‘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?’

‘Come in?’ she repeated, as though she could not make sense of his request. He hadn’t been to visit since her aunt’s death. He’d attended the funeral, but not the wake, an emergency having called him back to the surgery. She probably thought that their friendship—such as it was—had died with her aunt’s death.

‘There’s something I want to ask you,’ he added.

‘Oh…oh, all right.’ She stepped back and turned into the light.

Jason followed, frowning. She looked more composed than she had the day of the funeral, but still very pale, and far too thin. Her cheeks were sunken in, making her green eyes seem huge. Her dress hung on her, and her hair looked dull, not at all like the shining cap of golden curls which usually framed her delicately pretty face.

It came to him as he glanced around the spotless but bare kitchen that she probably hadn’t been eating properly since her aunt’s death. The fruit bowl in the centre of the kitchen table was empty, and so was the biscuit jar. Maybe she didn’t have much money to spend on food. Funerals and wakes did not come cheap. Had it taken all her spare cash to bury Ivy?

Damn, but he wished he’d thought of that before. He should not have stayed away. He should have offered some assistance, seen to it she was looking after herself. What kind of doctor was he? What kind of friend? What kind of man?

The kind who thought he could bowl up here out of the blue and ask this grief-stricken young woman to marry him, simply because it suited his needs. He hadn’t stopped to really consider her needs, had he? He’d arrogantly thought he could fill them, whatever they were.