Because of You by Cathy Maxwell

it is time for someone new to live here. And yet you, in your selfishness, stand in their way. Marry this man. Leave! You are a thorn in our side.”
    Samantha stared at the woman, stunned by her cruel words and yet hearing the truth in them.
    For her part, Mrs. Biggers looked equally surprised that she’d said them. She burst out in loud, noisy sobs and was quickly surrounded by comforting friends.
    Samantha stood alone.
    Had she really believed that she’d been part of this small village? Every hope, every dream, even the reality she had assumed about her life melted away with nothing in their place.
    Then a pair of strong hands came down on her shoulders. “I will marry her,” Mr. Browne said.
    The import of his words was slow to sink in. Samantha almost believed she’d misheard him—and then, when she realized she hadn’t, the full circle of her shame was complete.
    “No,” she whispered. “I don’t want—!”
    The pressure of his hands on her shoulder warned her to silence.
    Her protest wouldn’t have made any difference anyway. The women squealed with excitement and the men grinned and made approving sounds.
    Squire Biggers even offered to shake Mr. Browne’s hand, but Mr. Browne made no move to take it. The squire withdrew his, pretending to straighten the coat cuff of his hand holding the blunderbuss. “I’ll make the arrangements for the license.”
    “I expect you to,” Mr. Browne said.
    “Oh. Well, I guess we are done here,” the squire said to his wife.
    Her face tear-stained, Mrs. Biggers moved togive Samantha a hug. But Samantha pulled back, finding herself in the protective embrace of Mr. Browne.
    “Come, Mrs. Biggers,” the squire said. “You must help the women make plans. We would not want it said that Sproule did not take care of Miss Northrup.” Now as gentle and meek as a lamb, his wife followed him out the door.
    Mrs. Porter and Mrs. Sadler came forward. “We are happy for you, Miss Northrup,” Mrs. Porter said. “Everything will work out fine.”
    “I don’t think we should leave her here, though,” Mrs. Sadler said. “Why don’t you come back to the inn with us?”
    Samantha shook her head. She was too angry, too hurt.
    “Later,” Mr. Browne said. “Why don’t you two help plan the wedding and you can come back and fetch Miss Northrup later?”
    “Yes, that’s a good idea,” Mrs. Porter said. “Come, Birdie.” She paused. “We’ll also bring clothes for you when we come back.”
    “I would appreciate that,” Mr. Browne said. “I have no desire to walk into a church wearing a bed sheet.”
    A few others came up and offered congratulations, but the majority of the villagers slipped away without speaking. Samantha waited until the last villager had gone out the door before crossing to it and putting down the lock bar.
    She was alone with Mr. Browne. The kitchen was cold from having the door open for so long.She crossed to the hearth and added more kindling. Once it had caught fire, she added a log and watched as the strong flame lapped at the hard wood.
    “I don’t care what they think or what they wish. I will not marry you.” She rose and turned to face him, uncertain of his reaction to her words.
    “Neither of us has a choice.”
    Not exactly a romantic reaction. She shrugged. “Forcing you to marry me makes a mockery of the sacrament.”
    He drew a chair up in front of the fire and sat. “Miss Northrup, no one is forcing me to marry you.”
    She laughed. “You can’t mean you wish to do this?”
    “Aye. I’m willing.” He pulled another chair toward the fire and gestured for her to sit in it.
    Samantha didn’t. She didn’t feel like sitting. She took off her cape and hung it on the peg on the wall and then paced the perimeter of the room, conscious of his patient presence.
    “You can leave,” she said. “Once we have clothes for you, you can sneak out of the house and escape.”
    “I do not sneak anywhere,” he said with disgust,