Alice: Bride of Rhode Island (American Mail-Order Bride 13)

by Kristy McCaffrey

  James drank sparingly, not wanting to cloud his judgment. He’d entered the party under the name of Marsh, and Endicott registered no recognition upon their brief introduction. The Martel boys all favored their father, but apparently Endicott didn’t grasp any connection. Any exchanges between James and the man since the death of James’ parents had been via correspondence.

  It was just as well.

  Daniel Endicott was known for his opulent parties, and he didn’t disappoint.

  Like a ringleader at a circus, Daniel controlled the crowd. Not an imposing man, he nonetheless possessed a charm that James knew had to be an act. A receding hairline and thickening middle spoke to his age and intemperance, while nothing could hide his beady eyes, not even the occasional boisterous laugh.

  Glancing around, James took in the plush furnishings—a carved mahogany sofa along one wall, an intricately designed oak fireplace, parlor and lounge chairs covered in fancy brocades. Ornate candelabras supported long white candles, the flames adding to the cheer in the room. Despite James’ dark mood, it was clear that the gentlemen and ladies in attendance were enjoying themselves.

  For a brief moment, James wished that his wife was beside him. He tried to imagine a young Alice moving about these rooms, wondering what her life had been like here. Would she have hidden in her room, reading one of her novels? A smile tugged the corners of his mouth. She would no doubt have been a headstrong girl. That she’d left Endicott proved that point.

  He wondered, too, how many suitors had pursued her. Her beauty was readily apparent and would’ve been a beacon to the young men in the social circles with which Daniel so obviously loved to participate. James scanned the room, irritated by the sight of several younger men. If Alice were here, how many would crowd to gain her attention? How many would attempt to court her?

  His eyes settled on William Evans, who’d just arrived, although the man had yet to notice James. The thought of his near marriage to Alice left James cold.

  A voice echoed in his head. You’re a fool if you let her go.

  A simple twist of fate had brought Alice to him, so why was he trying so hard to be honorable in a marriage of convenience when Alice had no idea why Frank had brought her to Tiverton? While the situation was most definitely muddled with intention, one thought pricked him.

  He wanted his wife.

  He wanted her to remain his wife.

  His course of action in the matter was clear. He’d return to Alice tonight and make her his.

  To celebrate his silent promise, he downed the bourbon in one swallow, the liquid warming his insides and reinforcing the sudden wave of happiness. As he set the glass onto a table, a hush came over the room. Glancing at the foyer entrance, he froze.

  Alice stood in the archway, adorned in a magnificent ruby gown that accentuated her feminine attributes, her blonde hair swept up into curls that spilled onto the revealing skin of her shoulders. And her bosom...

  He moved forward, unable to tear his gaze from her, his body taut with the quickening of his temper.

  As he approached, shock crossed her face, a slight flush bringing out the blue in her eyes.

  “Why are you here?” she asked when he stopped before her.

  “I could ask the same of you.”

  “This was my home. And you’ve lied to me.”

  “Alice?” Daniel Endicott’s voice broke the look of fury flashing in Alice’s gaze. He stared at his step-daughter. “What are you doing here?”

  Her rigid stance didn’t escape James’ attention. “I was in Newport and thought I should return.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Irritation marred Endicott’s features. “You couldn’t have picked a more inconvenient time.”

  Alice’s cheeks colored to a deep shade of crimson. “This is my home. I believe I have a right to be here.”

  Endicott considered her words, then slowly nodded. His gaze shifted to James. “Who are you and why are you hovering over my daughter?”

  “I could ask why you’re hovering over my wife.”

  “Your what?”

  William Evans entered the conversation. “I was going to tell you, Daniel. I met him yesterday, and he claims he and Alice are married.”

  James coolly assessed Evans. “I don’t claim it. We are married.”

  “That remains to be seen,” Alice said.

  James’ gaze shifted to hers and her openly defiant countenance. Dread settled into his bones. What had happened?

  “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced,” Endicott said, but there was nothing cordial in his comment.

  Reluctantly, James shifted his attention to Endicott. “James Martel.”

  Endicott visibly paled, and while James took satisfaction in the man’s reaction, a knot began to form in his stomach. Just when he’d accepted that he wanted a forever with Alice, it appeared that she’d changed her mind.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Alice sat in one of the uncomfortable armchairs her stepfather used for conducting business in his study. Memories of the frequent lectures she received from him as a girl skirted her thoughts; the twinge of a phantom pain flared beneath her shoulder blade, a remnant of when her slouched spine had pushed against the open slatted back in an effort to recoil from him.

  Tonight, the bustle of her gown kept her on the edge of her seat, and she willed herself to sit taller.

  I can handle this.

  From the corner of her eye, she saw James enter. She’d been shocked to see him here, but it only reinforced that his goal was clearly Daniel Endicott, not her.

  “Alice—”

  James was cut off as Daniel joined them and firmly shut the door. Thankfully, William Evans had been denied access to this special meeting.

  Daniel came to his desk, his expression rigid. The large stuffed leather chair creaked as he sat. He cleared his throat, and his steely gaze landed on Alice. “What exactly is going on here?”

  Alice summoned her anger, the only friend she had at the moment. “I believe it’s time you told me what you took from my father.”

  “What are talking about?”

  “When my father died, he had vast holdings. You took control of many of those assets. As his daughter, I’m entitled to them.”

  Daniel flicked a glance at James, who now stood behind her, his hand resting on the back of the chair in which she sat. “It’s a bit more complicated than that, Alice.”

  “I’ll get a lawyer.” She swallowed her nervousness over the bluff.

  Daniel raised an eyebrow. “I’m not here to fight you. I never was. I know that you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. I’ve never denied you a slice of what I have. And, to be clear, it is all mine now.” He sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes. “You ran off, Alice. I knew where you’d gone, of course, but I decided to let you work through this rebellion on your own.” He gave a derisive laugh. “However, I had no idea you’d run off and marry a Martel.”

  “Martel is a finer name than Endicott,” James said, the edge in his voice causing a chill to run down Alice’s spine.

  Daniel considered James. “That’s a matter of opinion.”

  “Despite all the finery, Endicott, a skunk is still a skunk,” James rebutted.

  “I will not be insulted in my own home.” Daniel shifted his gaze to Alice. “I can see now that letting you flee was a mistake. A young woman can’t possibly know how to make good decisions about her life.” He shook his head, disappointment all but dripping from his lips.

  James swore under his breath.

  Alice wavered from the chastisement, her confidence plummeting.

  “How long have you been married?” Daniel asked.

  “Approximately six weeks,” Alice replied, squeezing the words out as her throat closed in humiliation.

  Under the bright light of Daniel’s scrutiny, she could see the grave error she’d made. She’d entered this marriage blindly, believing that love would find its way past any obstacle. But James didn’t love
her and had made little effort to try.

  “Marriages can be undone,” Daniel said.

  “It’s not up to you,” James responded.

  “You seem rather desperate, Mr. Martel. Alice, you’re welcome to stay here until we can sort this all out.”

  “No.” James’ voice was firm.

  When James continued to speak, Alice spoke over him. “I’ll stay.”

  Both men stared at her.

  “Then I stay, too,” James said.

  “I offer no hospitality to a Martel.”

  “Believe me, I take no joy in living under your roof, but I won’t leave my wife. Like it or not, she’s now a Martel.”

  Daniel stood. “Fine. I’ll send a housekeeper to see to your needs. Now, I really must return to my party.”

  Alice remained sitting as he left.

  James began to pace behind her. “Alice, let me explain.”

  She stood and faced him, stopping him in his tracks. “No. I understand now what has occurred. You used me to get to my stepfather. I’m guessing that was also Frank’s plan, but Mary Jane ruined that, so you picked up where he couldn’t. How noble of you.” The depth of the hurt caught her by surprise. “You, sir, are a disappointment.” Tears formed in her eyes. She swept from the room before she embarrassed herself further by weeping.

  “Alice...”

  She refused to acknowledge what sounded like torment in his voice. Daniel Endicott might not have her best interests at heart, but neither, apparently, did her husband.

  * * * *

  Alice stared out the huge windows of her childhood room. It was a grand view, overlooking the harbor. She had often settled onto the veranda and dreamt of all the places the anchored trade ships visited. They traveled along the eastern coast of the United States, but some went as far as Europe and even China. There had been a time when she’d nursed the idea of stowing away on one and sailing away for an adventure, where no one could tell her what to do.

  She wished she could escape to the sea, the way men had done for ages. The bold wind would caress her cheeks, the frothy waves would beckon her onward, and the whales and dolphins would speak to her in a language only a special few could understand...

  Except for her bags that had been brought over from the hotel, her bedroom remained the same; Daniel hadn’t changed a thing. The same four-poster bed, the same sofa where she’d spent hours reading, the quilted coverlet gifted from her mother when she turned thirteen. Should she be touched by the fact that Daniel hadn’t erased all traces of her presence? Despite her angst over James and facing the dread of returning to Daniel Endicott, an overwhelming sense of homecoming embraced her. Perhaps the life she and her mother had spent with Daniel hadn’t been the happiest, but it was nonetheless stitched into the fabric of her life.

  She still wore the ornate burgundy gown. When one of the housemaids had offered to help—a girl she didn’t recognize; much of the staff was new—she’d refused. She wanted to be alone.

  James was in a room down the hall, at her request. Shaken by the evening’s events, her toughness had dissolved once she was alone. She didn’t want to face her husband in this state.

  She hoped she had the tenacity to follow through on salvaging her dignity and regaining control of her father’s legacy. She hoped she had the strength to deal with James.

  I should divorce him.

  She closed her eyes. Despite all evidence to the contrary, she didn’t want to end her marriage. A tiny part of her still wished that James might come to love her. But could she trust him?

  Her eyes were drawn to a painting on the far wall—a teapot, cup and saucer were arranged pleasingly around a lavender kerchief. Hazel Endicott had made it many years ago.

  Her body stiffened at the sound of muffled voices in the hall—the baritone in particular. James. Kicking off her slippers, she left her room and moved quietly down the corridor, careful to keep her gown and petticoats from swishing too much.

  Conversation came from the room adjacent to hers—her mother’s sewing room. The door stood slightly ajar, so Alice paused, not wishing to be seen. She inched closer to peek inside.

  James. And a woman!

  Alice jerked back.

  The woman looked familiar.

  Where have I seen her?

  Dressed in a peach taffeta gown with puffed sleeves, she was clearly here for the party.

  “You should’ve told me you’d be here,” James said.

  “You’re not my husband,” the woman replied. “I can take care of myself. I’m sorry I missed our meeting today, but I left you a message that we could reschedule tomorrow.”

  Alice’s heart landed with a thud inside her chest. She returned to her room and let the tears pour forth, a veritable hurricane of humiliation and hurt.

  Not only had James not told her the truth of their marriage, he also had another woman.

  James had married her only because her last name was Endicott.

  Sliding to the floor in a heap, she succumbed to the pity and despair.

  She hadn’t even wanted the name of Endicott. She was a Harrington, but Daniel had insisted on adopting her after he and her mother married. Alice had been unable to stop it.

  If she had simply been Alice Harrington, would James have come to love her? Of course, she would never have returned to Rhode Island in the first place. Instead, she’d likely be married to Mr. Hughes and living in Iowa, herding sheep or whatever a farmer’s wife did.

  She wondered if Beth or Lottie were having such a hideous experience as a mail-order bride. If neither of them had married yet, Alice should warn them now.

  Don’t do it. Your husband might not ever love you.

  Chapter Sixteen

  James left his meeting with Lillie Jenkins. He’d returned to the party in search of a drink to cool his panic over the sudden turn of events between him and Alice, only to be shocked further when he found Lillie at Endicott’s little soiree. From the solicitous way that Daniel Endicott had hung on Lillie’s every word, it was clear that the man was once again mixing business with pleasure.

  Stephen Jenkins had been James’ good friend, and when he’d died the previous year from a sudden illness, it had devastated James. Stephen’s wife, Lillie, had been shaken as well. James had tried to be there for her, to ease her grief as well as to help with Stephen’s businesses, which overlapped with Martel Fishing. In fact, James had offered to buy out her holdings—consisting of three very profitable fish oil factories—although he didn’t have enough capital for it at the time. In truth, a partnership between his company and Lillie’s made the most sense, but he was having trouble convincing her.

  Now he knew why.

  Endicott was laying the charm on, and to James’ utter disbelief, she appeared to be falling for it. The man had stolen everything from Gavin Harrington, then Jean Martel, and now Stephen Jenkins. It made James’ blood boil.

  He stopped outside Alice’s bedroom door and knocked. After several long minutes, it opened a crack. Alice looked disheveled.

  “Let me in, Alice.”

  “No. I don’t want to see you.”

  She tried to close the door but his hand braced it open. “Please. We need to talk.”

  “About what?”

  “I know you’re upset.”

  “I’m not upset. I’m perfectly fine.” Her pinched face and reddened eyes told a different story.

  Frustration taxed his patience. “Let me in.”

  She turned, leaving the door cracked, and was across the room by the time he entered, still wearing the crimson gown that distracted him far too much.

  He closed the door. “I should’ve told you about my connection to your stepfather.”

  The light of only one lamp illuminated the room, leaving much of it in shadows. Alice stood beyond, cloaked in darkness, but he could make out her face, and the anguish was like a punch in the gut.

  “I imagine you want a divorce,” she said, her voice low.

  That had been
the plan all along...until tonight. “I don’t.”

  Her eyes snapped to his, then welled up with tears.

  He crossed the room. “Don’t cry, Alice.”

  Bringing a hand to her cheek, he nudged her chin up to look at him. Seeking to strengthen the tenuous bond with his wife in the only way he knew, he carefully brought his mouth to hers. At first, she didn’t respond, but neither did she withdraw.

  He slid a hand to her waist and drew her closer, keeping his lips upon hers. She trembled.

  Deepening the kiss, a fierce hunger took hold of him. During the last two kisses with his wife—at their wedding and in the hotel room—he’d held himself in check. Releasing his control, he gave in to the need he’d tried his damnedest to ignore.

  He covered her mouth fully with his, and she yielded at last. James crushed her against him. He laid a trail of kisses down her neck, intoxicated by the underlying scent of lemons on her skin and the soft moan that escaped her lips. Inch by inch, she ceded territory. Covering her mouth once more with his, he nudged her toward the bed.

  “I want to make this marriage real,” he murmured against her lips.

  She froze, no longer responding to him.

  “Alice, I want you to be my wife.”

  She stepped back, but he refused to release her completely.

  “Are you not certain anymore?” he asked.

  “No, I’m not. It seems a tad too convenient that you’re ready to bed me now that my stepfather has learned of our union.”

  “I know how it appears, but I won’t hurt you.”

  She raised her face, locking her gaze to his. “You already have.”

  He sensed the change in her—the resolve and the cynicism. In only one day, his wife had transformed into a creature he’d never anticipated. He knew now that he’d played this all wrong.

  “Give me a chance, Alice.”

  She put more distance between them, and he was forced to let her go. “You have much to overcome, James. I’m not sure you can do it.”