His Forgotten Fiancée (Love Inspired Historical)

by Evelyn M. Hill

  Matthew walked by her side in silence. After all they’d been through, to be able to walk together through the fields in peace felt like a blessing. She was content to wait until he was ready to speak.

  When they reached the creek, they had run out of land to walk on. Matthew would have to either turn around and walk back or talk to her. She waited for him to make the choice. He turned to her. “I am sorry that I had to leave you”

  She nodded. “It hurt—I won’t deny it.”

  “I never meant to hurt you.” He took a step closer. “I know I did, all the same. I wish—Saying I’m sorry seems so inadequate. But I am. Liza, I wish with all my heart that I could go back in time and relive all the events of last year. All I wanted to do was take care of you. Instead, I seem to have just hurt you more. I am so very sorry.”

  She did not step back. Instead, she tilted her head up to watch his face. “You said at the Baron’s that you got your memories back. Can you tell me—why did you leave me, that night on the trail?”

  “Oh, Liza, what a fool I was! You scared me with all that talk of six children. I didn’t want to think of the hardship it would mean for you. Supporting all those children with the earnings I could make by working the land and perhaps picking up the odd funds here and there from practicing law when I wasn’t breaking sod? Not even subsistence living.”

  “Oh.” Liza remembered when she had said that to him. “I never meant... I mean, I didn’t mean six children all at once. We could have worked up to it gradually. One at a time.”

  One corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, I can see that now, but at the time all I could think was that you were going to end up worn-out before your time, like my mother. And I will never let that happen.”

  She covered his hand with hers. “You cannot shelter me from everything,” she said softly. “Or yourself from all the things that could happen to you. Look at my father. You can see the toll it’s taken on him. Yet I do not think he would count it wasted effort. Nor would I, if I had arrived here with you.” Then she stopped, her cheeks heating up.

  His hands tightened on hers, and he drew her close to him. She could feel the strength of his grip, holding her safe, like an anchor. He did not move, did not speak. He merely held her hands tightly and looked at her with an intensity that sent the blood surging through her body. She had never felt more alive than she did at this moment.

  Slowly, he slid his arms around her in a loose embrace, and leaned his forehead down to rest against hers. She relaxed, a sense of contentment swelling through her that was stronger than any ocean tide. This was where she belonged. Not on any particular piece of land, no matter how lovely. Home was the circle of his arms. She understood now why her mother had followed her father so happily from one town to another. She would go anywhere with Matthew, follow him to the ends of the earth and be happy, so long as the two of them were together.

  They walked back to the cabin, arm in arm, and stopped outside for a moment. He lifted up her chin so that he could look into her eyes. “Are you able to forgive me, again? Even after all my mistakes and blundering about hurting you?”

  “Again and again,” she said. “You’re going to hurt me, I’m going to hurt you. But it will be all right in the end.”

  She had been so afraid that she would not be able to forgive him if he hurt her again. Now, everything seemed so simple. She reached up and cradled his face in her hands, savoring the feel of the rough bristles of his emerging beard under her palms. “Loving someone with all your heart doesn’t stop you—or them—from getting hurt. I’m not going to let anger keep us apart.”

  His arms circled her, drawing her toward him. He leaned down and touched his lips to hers, a brief pressure that felt like a promise. “So you’ll marry me?”

  “Of course,” she said.

  He tightened his embrace, holding her so close she could feel every breath he took, the warmth of his skin, the beat of his heart. “I’ll speak to the pastor tomorrow.” Warm lips brushed across her temple and traced a path down her cheek, butterfly-light kisses that made her feel warm and whole and accepted.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Elijah come trotting up out of the growing darkness, his tail held high and a wriggling bundle in his mouth. With obvious pride showing in every line of his body, he dropped the mouse at Matthew’s feet and looked up. The mouse promptly scampered off, and Elijah bounded happily after it.

  Matthew sighed. “We’ll work on that part,” he told Liza. “He just needs a little more time. He’ll be the best hunter in the territory. Trust me.”

  “I believe you,” Liza said. “It just takes time. And faith.”

  Epilogue

  The distance between the main doors and the altar stretched out longer than the trail that had led her across the continent to this little church. Or so it seemed to Liza as she and Pa started the walk down the aisle.

  Every pew in the church was decorated. Mavis Boone had scoured the countryside for autumn wildflowers and greenery. Granny Whitlow had supervised the decoration. Mr. Keller was planning to write a description of the wedding in his paper. Mrs. Martin’s daughter-in-law had donated pink roses for Liza’s bouquet. Mrs. Graham had donated more roses, white and sunshine yellow, to decorate the altar.

  Liza was aware of all the smiling faces on either side of her as she and her father paced slowly down the aisle. But she did not look at anyone but the tall man waiting by the altar. He was dressed in the same clothes he’d worn the night she’d met him, but with a rosebud in his lapel. She wore her best pink calico dress, the one decorated with sprigs of greenery and tiny roses. After the ceremony, they were going to board a steamship and travel down to the ocean for their honeymoon.

  Once they reached the altar, Pa gripped her hands tightly for a moment. She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. His eyes were suspiciously bright, but he was smiling when he went to take his seat.

  Matthew stepped into place next to her. She took a moment to look up at him, studying him intently, as if seeing him for the first time, standing tall and proud by her side. The high cheekbones, the deep-set dark eyes, the bushy eyebrows, that one lock of hair that always fell across his forehead. Her friend, her partner, her love.

  He gave her a small smile, a secret shared only with her. Leaning over, he said in a low voice that held a hint of laughter, “Well, then? Do you know who I am?”

  “Yes,” she replied softly. “You are the man I am going to marry.”

  And taking his hand in hers, she turned to face the pastor.

  * * * * *

  If you enjoyed this book,

  try these other stories about the Oregon Trail:

  WAGON TRAIN REUNION by Linda Ford

  WAGON TRAIN SWEETHEART by Lacy Williams

  WAGON TRAIN PROPOSAL by Renee Ryan

  Available now from Love Inspired Historical!

  Find more great reads at www.LoveInspired.com

  Keep reading for an excerpt from A MOTHER FOR HIS FAMILY by Susanne Dietze.

  Get rewarded every time you buy a Harlequin ebook!

  Click here to Join Harlequin My Rewards

  http://www.harlequin.com/myrewards.html?mt=loyalty&cmpid=EBOOBPBPA201602010003

  Dear Reader,

  I am so glad you shared Matthew and Liza’s journey with me, a journey that started with the Love Inspired Historical Manuscript Matchmakers contest. This is my first published story. Writing a novel all the way from the first line to the end requires a whole lot of faith, hope and love. And a very patient editor.

  Since I live in the Pacific Northwest, I could travel to the sites where the story took place, stand where Matthew and Liza stood, and hear the muted thunder of Willamette Falls. I even got to try using a scythe! Thankfully, my kitten and I both survived. (Though my lawn is another story.)

  The kind docents at the Newell Pioneer Village in Champoeg
helped me with details of daily life for Oregon pioneers. The people of the past dressed differently than we do, but the problems they faced are similar to our challenges today. Faith, hope and love are as necessary now as they were to Matthew and Liza on their journey.

  I wish you all the best on your own journey. I love hearing from readers. You can contact me through my website, evelynhillauthor.com.

  Evelyn

  We hope you enjoyed this Harlequin Love Inspired Historical title.

  You find illumination in days gone by. Love Inspired Historical stories lift the spirit as heroines tackle the challenges of life in another era with hope, faith and a focus on family.

  Enjoy four new stories from Love Inspired Historical every month!

  Connect with us on Harlequin.com for info on our new releases, access to exclusive offers, free online reads and much more!

  Other ways to keep in touch:

  Harlequin.com/newsletters

  Facebook.com/HarlequinBooks

  Twitter.com/HarlequinBooks

  HarlequinBlog.com

  Join Harlequin My Rewards and reward the book lover in you!

  Earn points for every Harlequin print and ebook you buy, wherever and whenever you shop.

  Turn your points into FREE BOOKS of your choice

  OR

  EXCLUSIVE GIFTS from your favorite authors or series.

  Click here to join for FREE

  Or visit us online to register at

  www.HarlequinMyRewards.com

  Harlequin My Rewards is a free program (no fees) without any commitments or obligations.

  A Mother for His Family

  by Susanne Dietze

  Chapter One

  Perthshire, Scotland, July 1819

  With no warning, the rain-soaked ground underfoot gave way, and Lady Helena Stanhope slid backward into the mucky trench. Landing at the bottom of it, she lifted the mud-soaked shred of fabric where her snowy hem used to be and burst into laughter. What else could she do? At least she matched now, inside and out.

  Ruined gowns befitted a ruined reputation.

  “Are you injured?” Gemma Knox, Helena’s cousin by marriage, knelt at the edge of the ha-ha, some six feet up the slope from Helena. A naturalistic feature in the landscaping, the ha-ha prevented cattle and sheep from grazing too close to the house without impairing the view like a fence would—an obvious barrier to animals, but Helena had stumbled into it easily enough.

  Even sheep were smarter than she.

  “I’m well,” she called, her face upturned to the rain. She didn’t rise yet, though. Her right ankle throbbed. So did her pride, little of it though she had left.

  Two boys with ginger-blond hair scurried down into the ha-ha with her. Young Petey Lyfeld’s freckles faded into his flushing cheeks. “My fault, Lady Helena. I didn’t mean to push you.”

  “You shoved her?” Eddie, two years younger than Petey’s eight, gaped.

  “No,” Helena said with a smile. “I stood too close to the edge to see the world’s largest earthworm and I fell, that’s all.”

  Petey’s arm had bumped hers, but Helena didn’t blame the boy for knocking her off balance. Her unfortunate circumstances were her own fault—not just slipping into the ha-ha, but being banished to Scotland in the first place.

  Even being out in the rain was her doing, because she’d been the one to suggest taking a walk to escape the tension in the house. The skies opened once they’d hiked a half mile or more, and now water dripped from the brim of her cork bonnet and the hem of her once-milky-white cloak. A glance at her ensemble assured her she was now brown-speckled as a goat. “Let’s climb out before we turn to mud.”

  “Why is it called a ha-ha?” Eddie gripped Helena’s hand and tugged her upright. “It should be called a no-no.”

  A shackle of pain fettered Helena’s ankle the moment her foot bore her weight. “Thank you for your assistance, gentlemen, but I do not seem to be ready for the ascent yet.”

  “You are hurt.” Gemma’s lips pressed into a thin line.

  “My ankle twisted. A tiny bit. In a minute or two, it will be better and I shall march up the slope like one of Wellington’s men.” But she didn’t mind postponing her return to the house, where Papa no doubt paced and grumbled under his breath, as he had done since their arrival from London yesterday.

  He had much to be frustrated about. His health was declining, and his disobedient daughter caused him no small amount of grief.

  Her stomach tightened. “Go home and get out of the rain. I’ll be well enough here.” In the trench. In Scotland. Alone and a little afraid.

  Gemma’s frown revealed Helena’s trembling hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Don’t be a widgeon. Boys, fetch Uncle Tavin.”

  Muddying their nankeen pantaloons and miniature boots, the boys scrambled up the ha-ha in less time than it took Helena to envy their pain-free ankles. “Gemma, no.”

  “They’re well on their way. I would pull you out myself, but I’m not so steady on my feet these days.” Her hand rested over her protruding belly. “My husband won’t mind.”

  Helena rolled her eyes. Of course Cousin Tavin wouldn’t mind. He’d relish teasing her about it. Ever since she was a girl, he’d been merciless in his brotherly teasing—

  But she wasn’t a child anymore. Frederick Coles had changed that, too.

  Then again, like an infant, she needed assistance if she was to escape the ha-ha. Just like she needed help to get out of her “devastating dilemma,” as Mama called it. Helena’s shoulders slumped as she settled to wait.

  She glanced up. “You shouldn’t be out in the rain in your condition, Gemma.”

  “I’m in the family way. I’m not rheumatic.” Gemma wrapped her scarlet shawl about her.

  A steady thudding rumbled through the earth. Hoofbeats. Wincing in pain, Helena hopped forward like a one-legged bird. How had the boys reached Tavin so fast? How had he saddled a horse and—oh.

  The rider couldn’t be Tavin.

  The hoofbeats slowed as Gemma rose. Before she found her footing, a man in a tall beaver hat and deep blue coat was at Gemma’s side, supporting her by the elbow.

  Helena’s pulse battered her rib cage. No, the man was definitely not Tavin.

  The man stepped out of Helena’s sight. “You gave me a fright, Mrs. Knox, down on the ground. Are you unwell?” He said down like doon, and his yous were clipped and soft.

  Helena’s throat pinched shut. The man was a gentleman in appearance, manner and speech. And he’d been riding to the Knox house. That could mean only one thing.

  Gemma’s face reappeared at the edge of the ha-ha. “I’m in robust health. But I fear we’ve had a small accident.”

  “Ah. Which of the boys made mischief this dreich day?” He peered down, allowing Helena her first good look at him. He was a full head taller than Gemma, broad but slender. Dark blond brows scrunched in concern over light-colored eyes that widened when he saw her. He rushed down into the ha-ha, splattering mud all over his boots and buckskin breeches. “Are you injured?”

  “No.” Her cheeks heated. Surely she blushed so fiercely her wet clothes would steam.

  “Yes,” Gemma contradicted.

  His well-formed lips twitched. “Either way, let’s get you out of here, shall we?”

  The last man to touch her was Frederick. But this man was not Frederick. She had no choice but to allow his help. “Thank you.”

  There was nothing lurid in his gaze as he assessed her one-footed stance and extended his arm. “Lean on me.”

  She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow and dropped her right foot. Pain shot up her bones. “Oh!”

  “Forgive me.” His arm fell.

  “No. It is me.”

  He rubbed his square jaw with his leather-gloved hand. “I intend to carry you.” It so
unded like a warning.

  “Say yes, please.” Gemma brushed rain from the epaulettes of her spencer.

  Helena sighed and nodded. The gentleman’s arms went underneath her, swooping her from the ground. He’d carried her out of the ha-ha before she realized her face pressed against his spice-and-starch-scented lapels. A rather nice smell.

  She jerked her head back. How improper to notice such a thing.

  The gentleman peeked at her. “How did you fall down there?” There it was again. Doon. Would Helena speak like that soon, too?

  “Clumsiness, I fear.”

  “No doubt the boys were with you.” With steady steps, he marched to a black, white-socked gelding grazing a few yards distant. She might have been a sack of corn seed for all the intimacy of the act. “I’ll put you on the horse, if you dinnae mind.”

  What she minded was encountering him in this sorry state, but ah well. She’d left her pride back in London. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  With no noticeable difficulty, he adjusted her in his arms and hoisted her into the saddle. She landed square on the horse’s back, although it was an uncomfortable fit, sitting sideways on the standard saddle. It was far more suitable, however, than being carried in his arms all the way back to the house.

  Although he had been everything proper. Even now, he looked away when she adjusted her sullied gown and cloak over her legs. It proved no easy task, for the drenched muslin of her gown clung to her damp undergarments, which stuck to her limbs, revealing the curves of her legs. And her cloak did not reach her ankles.

  Mama would swoon at the sight.

  Her rescuer removed his blue coat and held it up to her. It was on her tongue to refuse, but his expression brooked no argument. His eyes were soft, though. And such a nice shade of green, like the underside of a new leaf.

  She unclasped her cloak and draped it over her legs like a blanket. Then she pulled his wool coat over her shoulders, at once enveloped in welcome warmth and his spicy smell.