Bride by Arrangement

by Karen Kirst

  “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” She turned to look at him, her complexion drained of all color. “You are taking me to my aunt’s home, aren’t you? I warn you, I can kick hard, so don’t try anything untoward with me, sir.”

  He wasn’t sure if he should laugh or groan. “I was going to let your aunt have a talk with you.” He would take himself out of the picture until things had settled down a bit. A man’s place was nowhere near an angry woman.

  “I would prefer not to wait,” she replied crisply. “After all, you say we are betrothed. Why should I hear that only from you? Unless, of course, you are quite mad and this entire scenario is a figment of your imagination.”

  He slowed the horses. “I’m not crazy.”

  “Well, then.” She settled herself against the back of the seat. “Tell me.”

  He sighed. This was not his strong suit. Confession didn’t come easily to him; nor did asking for help. Telling Miss Westmore that he needed her in order to win his daughter back from his autocratic father-in-law was humiliating and humbling. There was no way to beg her assistance nicely, which was why he’d depended on Pearl to do it for him. Even when he had married for love, as he’d done with Emily, he was not the type to say flowery things to a lady. When he was a green young man, he would have at least tried to court a lady. But he was twenty-six and, thanks to his life experiences, jaded beyond his years. If only they could already be married, with him out working the ranch and Miss Westmore at home making things cozy. Laura would be there, his sweet little girl. She was the only reason he had agreed to this outlandish scheme.

  “It’s like this,” he began, hesitantly. “I need a wife.”

  “Well, I don’t need a husband,” she shot back. “I can function quite well without one, thank you.”

  “I’ve known your aunt for many years,” he went on, ignoring her. “When she got your letter, she came over and talked to me. I have the ranch next to hers. Anyway, she said that your family was pretty nigh desperate...” He trailed off. It was true that Mrs. Colgan had revealed that, but not, perhaps, the nicest thing to say aloud.

  “So my aunt agreed to sell me into servitude, like a mail-order bride?” Miss Westmore’s voice had grown dangerously high, and two bright spots of color appeared on her cheeks. He gazed at her. Mrs. Colgan had been right. She was a very pretty girl, even if she was a termagant. “I don’t want to hear another word, Mr. Burnett.”

  “Well, all right, but you do deserve an explanation,” he began. He’d be angry, too, come to think of it, if he came out to a new place and his whole life had been rearranged for him. “Sounds like Mrs. Colgan’s letter never did reach you.”

  “Not another word,” she breathed, her eyes snapping. “I need to speak to my aunt.”

  “I understand,” he replied. “The justice of the peace is likely to be waiting there, anyway.”

  She shot him a look of pure loathing, and he was hard-pressed to keep from smiling. She certainly wasn’t dull, and that was refreshing. Emily would have sweetly gone along with the plan and then gotten little digs in here and there. He preferred a woman who was direct. A man knew where he stood with someone like Miss Westmore.

  He whipped up the horses with a click of his tongue and a flick of the reins. Anyone would have a hard time adjusting to life in Texas after a life of comfort back east. To come to Texas so quickly—and after such tough times—would be even more difficult. Miss Westmore had shown gumption, and that was a prized commodity out here. Besides which, she was very pretty. He had a marked weakness for large blue eyes ringed with long dark lashes.

  As he adjusted in his seat, the letter in his pocket crackled. When he’d arrived at the station, a note from Laura had been waiting for him. She was now ten years old, and her handwriting had improved to the point that she had been allowed to write the address on the outside of the envelope. That was good. Her boarding school was all right for the time being, but soon enough he would bring her home and he’d have a family again, once he was married to Miss Westmore.

  If she would agree to it.

  Mrs. Colgan would surely help with that, wouldn’t she?

  He was so close to having his daughter home. What if Miss Westmore refused? She was really the perfect candidate for the job—wellborn, educated, cultured and refined. Without her help, everything would be just as it had been, with his wife’s father controlling everything regarding his daughter from the St. Clair estate in Charleston. It didn’t matter that Emily had died, or that the last few years of their marriage had been a sham. The St. Clairs were such an autocratic bunch. What a shame he’d married into them. At least he had gotten Laura out of the deal.

  He clenched his jaw reflexively, as he always did when thinking about his daughter. He knew to the second when he’d last seen her. It was this past Christmas when he’d made the trip to St. Louis.

  Miss Westmore was still stubbornly silent, staring fixedly at a point just in front of them. Pearl had said she would write to her niece and make the necessary arrangements. Either Pearl had failed to do so, which was unlikely, or her letter had somehow missed Miss Westmore. There was nothing to do now but wait until everything could be sorted out. It was a mighty strange ride, all told. At last, the large iron gates of the Colgan ranch loomed ahead. He let the horses bound through and then slowed them to a respectable pace as they neared the ranch house.

  Sure enough, the justice of the peace’s carriage was parked out front.

  Miss Westmore gasped as they drew close enough that she could read the lettering on the carriage door.

  “See? I told you.” He couldn’t resist reminding her. “They are probably ready to start the ceremony right now. Still think I’ve gone ’round the bend?”

  She glowered at him and jumped down from the carriage, without waiting for help. Then she flounced inside the house, slamming the door shut behind her.

  He stared after her. Maybe it would be better to leave her alone with her aunt for a while. He drove the horses around to Mrs. Colgan’s stable, where they would be more sheltered from the wind and sun. He unhitched them and took a seat on a nearby bale of hay. Then he took Laura’s letter out of his pocket.

  “Thank you for the hair riben, Pa.” It was written in her large, childish handwriting. Then Pa had been crossed out, and Father scribbled over it. For some strange reason, that hurt. Now, away from home, she was learning to call him Father, when all he could remember was her tiny, sweet voice saying “Pa.” He had insisted that his daughter would call him Pa, which had made Emily roll her eyes. “I suppose she’ll use suitable Western slang,” she’d said, as soon as Laura’s infant burbling had matured to recognizable speech. “But I prefer to be known as ‘Mother’ to her.”

  He folded the letter back up. No sense in going on until he knew whether or not he’d get to bring her home soon. It was painful to read, wondering if he would hear her call him anything again.

  If he was a praying man, this would be a good time to raise his voice in prayer. But he had finished with the Lord a long time ago when his marriage had soured, and then his wife died and his only child was taken away.

  There was nothing to do but wait a little longer and see if his betrothed would agree to be his bride.

  * * *

  Ada stared at Aunt Pearl. She had not seen her aunt since childhood, and those memories had long ago blurred to almost nothing. The tall, stern woman before her bore a strong resemblance to Father, especially in the way her every glance was a challenge. “So what Mr. Burnett said is true. You did sell me into servitude.”

  Aunt Pearl threw back her head and laughed, a hearty sound that made one feel utterly ridiculous. “I doubt Jack said that. Come, now. Have a little common sense. He needs a wife in order for his daughter to come home. You need a livelihood. The arrangement is simple. A marriage in name only, and you would be paid to make the
kind of home that suits his in-laws. I’m sorry my letter didn’t reach you in time, but there it is. Sometimes our best-laid plans get derailed.”

  Ada sank into a tufted velvet chair that had been recently—and hastily—vacated by the justice of the peace the moment she had hurtled into her aunt’s parlor. Her head ached, pounding in her ears. Her breath came in short gasps. She was thousands of miles away from the only home she’d ever known and from her sisters. She had come out here specifically to raise the money needed to finance the rest of their education. Failing that, she would create a home for them, and they would come live with her.

  Marriage to Jack Burnett, though distasteful, would solve both problems. She would earn money and create a home.

  When her father died and his business affairs had collapsed, she had accepted her role as head of the family, even though she was just twenty years old. It was her duty to come out to Texas and create a life for herself and for her sisters so that they could all be together again someday. They were only a few years behind her, but she was miles ahead of them both in terms of maturity and a sense of duty. She had envisioned being her aunt’s helpmate on her sprawling ranch. She had not planned on marrying and certainly never thought of marrying a stranger. Yet, by doing just that she could solve her problems immediately.

  “I never considered getting married.” She stated it slowly and firmly.

  “Oh, you’re just saying that because you’re a suffragette,” Aunt Pearl replied with a laugh. She settled into the chair opposite Ada and regarded her frankly.

  “I prefer the term suffragist. Adding a diminutive suffix, such as-ette, to the noble cause of suffrage demeans our work, I feel.” They were going off on a tangent, but at the same time, she had to take every opportunity, however untimely, to educate others about the cause. “But, no, that is not the reason, Aunt Pearl. I saw what happened in my parents’ marriage. Father took Mother’s fortune and ran through it like water. Mother was powerless to stop it. Once she married, all she had belonged to him.” She shuddered. “That’s why I campaign for the right to vote. Women should demand equality in all things. I refuse to suffer the same fate as my mother.”

  Aunt Pearl looked at her, silent for a moment. She resembled Father so closely. She had the same blue eyes and the same steel-gray hair. Even the way she folded her hands in her lap was a familiar gesture. It was strange, being around someone who looked so much like her parent and yet wasn’t. The comparison between the two made a lump rise in her throat. Yes, she was angry at Father and had despaired of his wastefulness, but she did miss him all the same.

  “I know Augustus was a poor businessman,” Aunt Pearl finally admitted. “Even way out here, we heard of his goings-on. The big fancy house in New York, the debutante balls, the jewels...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Then he started dabbling in politics. Gus always got in over his head with stuff like that. Did he really try to rig that election?”

  Ada shrugged. “I don’t know. I never had the chance to ask him. He died the day the scandal broke. I’ve been too busy trying to arrange things since then to even stop and wonder if he was guilty.”

  Aunt Pearl nodded. “Tell me, Ada, do you have faith?”

  What a surprising question. Ada had never really considered the matter before. “Yes, of course. We go to church every Sunday.”

  “What I am talking about is faith, Ada, not worship. Living out here, you have to have a lot of trust in God. There isn’t any other way to make it. Do you believe that God has a plan for you?”

  “I suppose so.” Uneasiness gripped Ada. “Are you saying that He wants me to marry Jack Burnett?”

  Aunt Pearl laughed again. “Child, you are sharp. You don’t need the suffrage movement, but I could see how it might need you. I am telling you that Jack Burnett is a fine young man, with a lot of land of his own and a pretty house up on the hill. He’s handsome, to boot, but you’ve seen that for yourself. I’ve known him since he moved out here with his first wife, Emily. She was a bit hoity-toity for my tastes, and I think you’ll be a better match for him than she was. You could do a lot worse.”

  “If I marry him, it would be in name only. You said so yourself.” Ada stood her ground. She folded her arms across her chest.

  “If you’re worried that Jack Burnett will run through your money, like Gus did to your mother, just remember that you have not a cent to your name,” her aunt warned her tartly. “Only through marriage will you gain anything. Now go upstairs and freshen up. I’ll call the justice of the peace in.”

  Angry frustration rose in Ada’s chest, but the solution was before her.

  She hated being ordered around.

  She left the parlor, shaking with anger, and made her way to the bedroom upstairs. She filled the basin with tepid water from the pitcher and scrubbed her face and hands with a bar of lavender-scented soap. The water ran down to the basin in muddy rivulets. She was filthy. There was nothing for it. She must empty the basin out and put in fresh water in order for her ablutions to have any benefit at all.

  Ada heaved the basin up, dribbling some of the contents on her dress. How absolutely disgusting. She would not feel really refreshed until she’d taken a long bath in scented water and changed into a fresh dress. Until then, this would have to do.

  Ada glanced over at the window. It was open, but a screen kept her from being able to fling the water from the second story. She struggled out of the room and down the stairs. It was going to be rather difficult to keep the water from sloshing over with each step, but if she took the stairs slowly, most of the water would be contained. When she reached the bottom stair, she hoisted the basin onto her hip. Where should she throw the water? Aunt Pearl was nowhere to be seen, and there seemed to be absolutely no servants anywhere. She paused, biting her lip. Well, she couldn’t very well wander through the house with a bowl full of dirty water. She had already arrived looking ridiculous enough as it was.

  She crossed the front entry and opened the screen door. Then, without pausing, she flung the water in the general direction of the yard.

  A deep, decidedly male voice exclaimed, “Whoa, there.”

  Ada gasped, dropping the bowl in her surprise. It smashed, sending ceramic bits and pieces scattering over the length of the front porch. Horrified, she surveyed the damage and then raised her eyes to behold Jack Burnett, his face and the front of his shirt both dripping wet. If only the ground would open up and swallow her.

  “I am so sorry, Mr. Burnett.” She tugged inside her sleeve, pulling out her handkerchief. “Here. Take this.”

  He motioned the handkerchief away, his expression dark and unreadable. “No, thank you. I’ve got one of my own. I wouldn’t want to ruin yours.” He mopped his brow. “I suppose you and your aunt have had a chance to talk?”

  “We have,” she replied, with as much dignity as she could muster.

  He tucked the bandanna back in his pocket, and a surge of some strange feeling grabbed hold of Ada. Surely she wasn’t attracted to this man? He was no better than any other man of her acquaintance, arrogant and smug. No, she must be exhausted from the journey and from the emotional upheaval she had endured.

  “Will you marry me?”

  “For a price?” She couldn’t keep her voice from trembling. She cleared her throat.

  “Well, out here we would say we are killing two birds with one stone.” His eyes gentled, and he gave her a smile. “You see, we need each other, and marriage would fix both of our problems. If you make me a nice home, then I get my daughter. I pay you for your trouble, and you can keep your sisters in school. What do you think?”

  “Aunt Pearl makes it sound as though I have no choice in the matter.” She admitted it grudgingly. Life had been constant humiliation for months now, and everywhere she turned, doors had closed in her face.

  “Of course, you have a choice.” He leaned up
against the porch column, eyeing her squarely. “The only reason I acted the way I did is because, well, I thought you had come to an understanding already with your aunt. I thought you two had corresponded and she had explained matters. But maybe that was the wrong way to handle things. You see, there’s a reason why I want to marry you. As I said before, I need a wife.”

  “Surely there’s someone around here you know better than me.” For the first time since their meeting, a real curiosity seized her. Why on earth did this man want to marry her, after all? It didn’t really make sense.

  “It’s not that simple.” He glanced down at his boots, his jaw tightening. “My first wife died eight years ago, and her father thinks that Winchester Falls is no place for his granddaughter to grow up. He placed Laura in a boarding school a few years back. I visit her during the holidays. It’s not worth bringing her to Texas for visits. My father-in-law raises such a fuss that bringing her here causes a lot of trouble. In fact, he was threatening to take Laura away for good. I can’t let that happen. She’s only ten years old, and she needs a real family. Your aunt Pearl was kind enough to offer a compromise.”

  “Why would Aunt Pearl even get involved?” None of this made much sense.

  “Your aunt has been a friend of my family since we moved out here. She became acquainted with my father-in-law and, well, people have a tendency to listen to Pearl Colgan when she speaks. So she was a good person to step in and settle matters before it got too ugly.” He gave a wry smile, but the expression in his green eyes was still dark.

  “One of the conditions my father-in-law agreed to was that if I could marry a girl from a fine family, and set up housekeeping here in Winchester Falls—proper housekeeping, not frontier living like I’ve been doing—then he will allow Laura to come live with me.” He gave her a searching glance. “You’re from an excellent family back east. My father-in-law would approve of you. Besides which, you’re related to Pearl Colgan, which makes you okay in my book.” He lifted one shoulder laconically. “If you agree to the bargain, my daughter gets to come home. I don’t even want to wait for the end of the school year—we’d go get her as soon as possible. You’ll have a nice place to call your own. I’ll pay you wages, so that you can keep your sisters in school. I’m a good provider, and I even know how to make a decent cup of coffee. What do you say? Will you marry me?”