Free Bound to Be a Bride by Megan Mulry Page A

the eyes of God, of course.”
    “Of course,” she replied tartly.
    She found a dress that was a little long, but the bodice tied up the front so she would be able to dress without assistance. It was made of a beautiful, very practical navy worsted bombazine of sturdy wool and silk. The proprietor of the shop, a wizened old woman who confessed she got her best items from the undertaker, handed Javier a few coins in change along with the brown wrapped parcel that contained the old rag of a dress.
    When Isabella emerged from behind the rough cloth that served as a makeshift dressing room, she felt suddenly shy in the womanly dress. She hoped Javier would think her pretty.
    Javier gave her the best courtly bow that the tight space would allow. “My lady…” He extended his arm in invitation.
    They crossed the street to the jewelers, but before they could enter, Isabella hesitated. “Perhaps I should go in by myself.”
    “Don’t be daft, Isabella. I have one or two things I’d like to have valued and I wouldn’t dream of letting you negotiate with one of these swindlers by yourself. You’d be fleeced in a matter of moments.”
    “Javier.”
    “I know.” He put up one hand. “You think I am belittling you. I am certainly not. Have you ever purchased anything in your life?”
    “Of course!” She pictured the ribbon shop in the tiny village outside of Burgos where the convent allowed them to stroll one morning each month.
    “With actual coins?”
    “Well. What difference does that make? I had an account.”
    “Of course you did,” Javier answered, as if she had made his point for him.
    “I know the meaning of thrift and value. I know it takes work to…”
    “Go on.” Javier was challenging her with those piercing amber-brown eyes of his again. “Did your father work?”
    “Yes! I mean, he was responsible for many, many people. That is work… to manage… like that…”
    Javier continued to stare at her. He could not blame her for accepting as right an entire social structure that had been in place for centuries. “Let us not argue here in the street. You may read my Spinoza on the ship. I merely want to get you the best price for your jewelry, Isabella. There is a vast and important difference between me trying to impose my will and me trying to assist you. I assure you this is the latter.”
    “I want to believe you.”
    “Then why don’t you?”
    She sighed and looked into the jewelry shop. The windows were small and did not offer a very clear view to the interior. Perhaps having Javier with her to assist in the negotiations was not such a bad idea. “Oh, all right. I suppose you are right.”
    “ Qué?! ” He yelled in a way that attracted the attention of several British seamen who happened to be walking nearby. They looked from the handsome gentleman to the pretty lady in blue, confirmed that a fight was not about to erupt, and moved on.
    “I said …” Isabella smiled and hesitated for effect. “You. Are. Right.”
    “It just sounded so… novel! And lovely, and the way it curls your lips. Perfect!”
    She gave him another coy smile and a swift slap across his upper arm. “ Basta! Let’s go in and see how much I am worth.”
    He furrowed his brow at her odd choice of words, but followed her into the shop without pursuing the subject.
    The bell above the door alerted the tall, thin German jeweler that he needed to look up from the handsome gold timepiece he was repairing.
    “ Olá ,” he said cautiously as he stretched to his full height.
    “Hello, how are you?” Javier replied in High German. The man smiled and invited them to come toward the back of the shop, gesturing toward two small stools across from his workbench.
    “Sit. Please. It is not so often I hear the language of my countrymen here. Where did you learn?”
    Isabella watched, fascinated, as her almost-husband spoke with easy grace in a language she had never heard spoken aloud. The nuns had a variety of books in their