Mail Order Bride Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 16)

by Stacy Henrie

  “Where shall we play chess?” Georgie asked him when she’d finished her ice cream. She couldn’t even say what flavor it had been.

  Clay glanced her way, his expression full of chagrin. “Don’t you think we ought to forgo our game, Georgie? We shouldn’t leave your guests to fend for themselves.”

  His subtle reprimand made Georgie wince inside. She was still learning how to play hostess in her mother’s absence Clay knew that.

  “Oh, I would enjoy watching you play, Mr. Riley,” Marian cooed.

  Georgie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The thought of playing chess with Clay while Marian hovered nearby sounded as fun as a toothache.

  “It’s all right,” Georgie said, standing. “I think I’ll go read.” Guests or not, she wasn’t about to stay on the porch and watch Clay bask in Marian’s presence. She walked away from the group toward the front lawn, her chin up, willing back tears of hurt.

  Clay would never see her as anything more than the fifteen-year-old girl he’d met two years ago. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. Though she might not be able to compete with Marian in age or beauty, Georgie was still a woman herself— with a heart that yearned for the one man she feared would never return her love.

  Chapter Five

  For a second time, Georgie read through the two letters Clay had selected— one from a Mr. Strauss and the other from a Mr. Harris. She liked Mr. Harris’s open, humorous style of writing. And while she could tell Mr. Strauss was educated, he had admitted to being thirty-six, even though her advertisement had asked for someone no older than thirty-five. She did appreciate his frank manner, and yet, she also sensed a measure of loneliness behind his words.

  “What do you think?” Clay asked, folding his arms over his chest with an air of self-satisfaction.

  “I like them both,” Georgie said, lifting a reply in each hand. “Mr. Strauss sounds intelligent and polite. And Mr. Harris strikes me as witty and friendly.” She threw a smile at Clay. “You chose well. Thank you.”

  He nodded, though his triumphant manner of a moment ago quickly vanished. “So, with whom will you correspond?” He directed the question to the piles of papers on his desk.

  Georgie studied the two letters again, thinking. Each man possessed qualities she liked. But which one would make a good husband, someone she could be happy with? To know for certain, she would need more time and correspondence with both men. Her gaze snagged on a line in Mr. Harris’s letter. He’d mentioned having a close relationship with his grandfather, the man who’d taught him everything about life and love.

  “This Harris fellow sounds a bit like you, Clay.”

  “What?” The word sounded strained. “What gave you that idea?”

  “No need to get grumpy,” she countered, setting the letter on the desk beside the one from Mr. Strauss. “I only meant he was close to his grandfather like you were.”

  Clay cleared his throat. “Ah. Well, surely many people are close to their grandparents.”

  “Do you miss him? Your grandfather, I mean?” She hadn’t thought to ask him this question in some time. “I miss my mother and father… very much.” A sadness she hadn’t felt in months swept through her. She was every bit as orphaned as the children she wanted to help. But then, so was Clay.

  “I miss all three of them,” Clay said, setting down his pen. “Your parents were kind enough to allow me to feel like more than an employee.”

  “They loved you like a son,” Georgie murmured. Both her parents had said so, although she had loved him as something more than a brother.

  How strange her days would be when Clay was no longer a significant part of them. Was she ready for such a permanent separation from the life she’d known for the last seven years? An unsettling feeling crept into her stomach.

  I’m doing the right thing, aren’t I, Lord?

  She wanted the peace and excitement she’d felt the other week, when she’d first concocted her plan. And yet, she also wanted to put off saying goodbye to Clay, the man she’d once loved and who’d become her dearest friend.

  “I’m going to write to them both.” Georgie pushed aside the letters and removed two blank sheets of paper from the desk drawer.

  “Both?” Clay echoed, his eyebrows shooting upward.

  She gave him a decisive nod. “I want to get to know each one a little better before making any decisions.” And before you have to leave, she thought, throwing one more look at his handsome face. Then, ignoring a twinge of regret, she began writing.

  Chapter Six

  1880: Four years earlier

  The cold night air froze some of Clay’s irritation as he stepped out onto the veranda. Patrick Fitzgerald’s New Year’s Eve party was in full swing inside the house. Prominent citizens of Woodland, as well as wealthy guests from Sacramento and San Francisco, had come to ring in 1881 with the millionaire and his daughter, including Marian Holley and her father.

  Despite exchanging regular letters with Clay since their first meeting last year, Marian seemed to have little to say to him tonight. Instead, she’d flirted with every other man at the party.

  Clay relaxed the tight muscles of his jaw as he stared at the glittering stars above. He felt the fool, and he hated the gutted feeling that brought to his stomach. But he couldn’t let go of his admiration for Marian. She was beautiful no question— but he’d discovered a certain vulnerability about her that she didn’t show to everyone, a measure of loneliness and self-doubt, that had compelled him to be her friend. And, as he’d hoped more and more the past six months, something more than just a friend.

  He sniffed in derision. He’d convinced himself that 1881 would be the year for an engagement between them, even if he had little money to bring to the marriage. And yet, Marian’s cool behavior tonight had dashed his hopes.

  A sound from behind made him turn. Georgie had exited the house.

  “In need of some fresh air?” she said, moving toward him, her cream-colored dress rustling.

  Clay nodded. “You?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her gloved hands around the railing and leaned forward. “The stars look beautiful.”

  Instead of looking up, though, Clay found his attention caught by Georgie’s rapt expression. When had she grown from the gangly teenage girl he’d met that first day? Tonight, she looked every one of her eighteen years and quite stunning in a gown that hugged her trim figure and hinted at her feminine curves. Her hazel eyes appeared especially bright in the moonlight, her cheeks flushed slightly from the heat indoors.

  “Quite lovely,” he murmured, thinking not about the stars but of Georgie. As she turned toward him, he glanced away, fearing she’d notice his staring.

  “Are you glad that Marian will be staying the week?”

  Clay coughed. “Yes, it’s been some time since she was last here.”

  “Do you… still favor her?” Her voice sounded uncharacteristically timid.

  He wanted to deny the sentiment, especially in light of Marian’s actions tonight, but he couldn’t. “Yes, I believe I do.”

  Georgie lowered her chin. “I thought so.”

  Before he could comment further, loud voices from inside declared the hour to be nearly midnight. He and Georgie turned to face the open doors of the house, though she seemed as reluctant as he felt to return to the party. Patrick and his guests counted down to the New Year, then began toasting each other and offering perfunctory kisses on the lips or cheeks.

  Georgie met his eyes and smiled, though the gesture seemed to leak sadness. “Happy New Year, Clay.” She placed her hand alongside his jaw and offered him an innocent kiss on the cheek.

  “Happy New Year, Georgie,” he returned softly as he took her other hand in his, intent on giving it a friendly squeeze and then releasing it.

  But he didn’t.

  Perhaps it was the moonlight, caressing her pretty face, or the fact that she stood close enough that her rosewater perfume pleased his senses. Or perhaps it was her warmth in contrast t
o Marian’s coldness that made him hold her hand longer than society would deem appropriate.

  Whatever the case, he lingered. And in the next moment, Georgie leaned forward and pressed her lips to his. Her kiss, feather light but sweetly ardent, stirred a longing within him. He let go of her hand, bringing his to the nape of her neck as he returned her kiss.

  Several glorious seconds passed, her lips yielding to his. Then, from inside the house, Marian’s throaty laughter reached his ears, the sound dousing him like cold water and jerking him back to reality. He shouldn’t be kissing another woman, not if he intended to wed Marian someday.

  Another dreadful thought pushed its way forward. What would Patrick say if he discovered me kissing his eighteen-year-old daughter?

  Stepping back, he released Georgie. “I’m sorry,” he said, running a hand over his face and trying to catch his breath. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  She crossed her arms and looked away, cloaking her thoughts from him.

  “Look, Georgie…” He put a reassuring hand on her arm as he tried to get his jumbled mind working again. What could he say that wouldn’t further hurt her feelings?

  “I’m fine.” She shrugged off his hold and tipped her chin upward. “Don’t trouble yourself on my behalf. It won’t happen again.” Turning away, she stepped toward the house, but Clay caught the rare glimpse of unshed tears in her eyes just before she disappeared among the guests.

  The rawness in his gut intensified. He’d suspected for some time that Georgie felt more than friendship for him, and tonight, he’d spurned those feelings. Worse, he’d let her believe, if only for a moment, that he might share such feelings.

  He turned back to the darkened yard, his hands strangling the railing. He didn’t want to hurt Georgie; she was his best friend. But there couldn’t be anything more between them. Not when she was still so young and her father was still his employer.

  Hopefully, she can forgive me, Clay thought, stepping back toward the noisy house. Hopefully, tomorrow, everything will be back to normal between us.

  Chapter Seven

  Clay leaned back against his headboard, reading Georgie’s latest letter to “Mr. Harris.” Harris was his mother’s maiden name, one of the few facts about his life that he hadn’t discussed with Georgie over the years. Only here, in his room at the boarding house, after work, did he dare read her replies.

  Over the last few weeks, she’d kept up regular correspondence with him and Mr. Strauss. Thankfully, she simply handed Clay the letters, leaving it to him to address and mail them. Those for Mr. Strauss went to the post office, while those for Clay were stowed beneath his mattress to keep the boarding house matron from discovering them when she cleaned.

  He hadn’t read any of Georgie’s replies to Mr. Strauss, though he’d very much wanted to. But he wouldn’t add insult to injury by prying into all her personal affairs.

  In her last letter to Mr. Harris, she had asked his opinion on love and whether he’d ever been in love before. Knowing her, Clay guessed that she’d likely asked Mr. Strauss the same question. She’d even followed up the inquiry with an answer of her own:

  I once fancied myself very much in love with a young man of close acquaintance, but time and wisdom eventually cured me of such girlish fantasies. Now, I feel only affection in that regard, and my heart is free to love another.

  I don’t pretend to believe that love will automatically come from a union of strangers— or near strangers, since I’ve come to know you better with each letter— but I can’t help but hope that love will someday make itself present. I hope you don’t find this notion silly, for I will move ahead as my heart and God dictate, even in the absence of such love.

  Raking a hand through his hair, Clay read through her haunting words a second time. Georgie had admitted to loving him in the past, but he’d been too blind at the time to see it. Could he still convince her to give him a second chance?

  Sooner or later, she would learn the truth about the letters from Mr. Harris. Would she be grateful or angry at him for attempting to win her heart? Either way, he’d never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

  He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and stood. Then, crossing to the small desk, he sat to write his reply. Sometime later, he knocked on his neighbor’s door. Peter had agreed, for a small fee, to rewrite Clay’s letters.

  “Come in,” Peter said, after opening the door. Clay thrust the letter at him as he entered. He hated having his friend read the personal lines, but he couldn’t risk having Georgie recognize his handwriting.

  “Let me know if there’s anything you can’t decipher.” Clay sank onto the unmade bed, while Peter took a seat in the only chair.

  His friend read the letter through. “Looks fine,” he said, glancing up. “But why not just confess to the girl? Why the secrecy?”

  “Because it’s the only way I know to make her believe that I’ve changed that my feelings for her… have changed.” Clay glanced down at his hands, the weight of his unknown future pressing down on him. “I only hope it’ll be enough,” he added, “to convince her that my intentions are sincere.”

  Chapter Eight

  1881: Three years earlier

  Nineteen-year-old Georgie glanced up from her book at the sound of Clay crumpling a piece of paper. He tossed the paper ball onto the rug, where it landed near her chair. It was just the two of them in the drawing room tonight. Her father had gone for a walk, leaving her and Clay to entertain themselves after dinner.

  “Bad news?” she inquired as she set aside her reading material.

  Clay grunted in agreement, his gaze boring holes into the cold hearth.

  “Care to elaborate?” She didn’t like seeing him upset or his usually affable, easygoing manner disturbed.

  “Marian’s gone to England.” He pushed at the wad of paper with the toe of his shoe.

  “For how long?” Georgie asked, not trying to mask the surprise in her voice.

  “At least until the London social season is over.” His words were tinged with bitterness. “Probably longer, though. She has an aunt there, and her father is hoping to marry Marian off to some English nobleman.”

  “Is that what she wants?” Georgie prompted gently.

  He ran his hand over his jaw. “She says it’s not, but she’s acted differently ever since New Year’s Eve.”

  Georgie needed no reminder of that holiday— the one when she’d kissed Clay. Did he think of that moment at all? There’d been so many times over the last five months when she had recalled their kiss, holding it in her mind like a jewel too precious to wear. But she doubted Clay remembered it. This realization pricked at the defenses she’d built, starting that night, around her heart.

  “I’m truly sorry to hear she was unkind to you, Clay.” She picked up her book, doing her best to ignore the foolish hope attempting to sprout inside her. Would things be different between them, now that Marian was out of the way?

  It doesn’t matter, she scolded herself.

  “It’ll be all right,” Clay said, scooping up the wrinkled letter from off the floor. He stood and shoved the paper into his pants pocket. “I think I’ll take a turn around the block myself. Care to join me?”

  She glanced up, her heart beating faster. Had he changed his mind about her already? Did he see her any differently? But his blue eyes and open expression conveyed only friendship, not romantic interest.

  Reality crashed over her with the force and shock of an icy wave. Even with Marian gone, Clay still only saw her as family.

  Better to keep my heart locked tight then, instead of allowing myself to be hurt again.

  “No, you go ahead.” She forced her gaze to remain on the open page before her. “I believe I’ll stay behind.”

  Chapter Nine

  Georgie tossed Mr. Strauss’s latest reply onto her desk with a sigh. The man had been candid with his response to her questions about love: I’ve never agreed with the starry-eyed notion of love, nor have
I ever been “in love.” I much prefer the idea of mutual tolerance and affection. While she appreciated his frankness, she did find his answer rather unromantic.

  “But I’m not doing this to find romance,” she murmured out loud.

  Clay was away, so she had the study to herself. Although, it had felt particularly large and empty this afternoon without him. Was that because she knew she must reach a decision soon on which man to marry? Once she did decide, Clay would be gone, and the room would feel like this permanently.

  Pushing aside such unpleasant thoughts, she picked up her letter from Mr. Harris. She liked the relaxed style of honesty and kindness he conveyed in his replies. A funny story from his youth had her chuckling before she reached his answer to her questions regarding love:

  Like you, I thought myself to be in love once. But I’ve come to realize I was very much mistaken in that regard. Love is more than a passing fancy, in my opinion. I believe it is something born of thousands upon thousands of moments of quiet connection— a force that burns brighter over time instead of diminishing.

  Do I hope to find love still? Do I think such a thing is possible between two people who’ve only just realized such a connection? Unequivocally, yes.

  Tears swam in her eyes, blurring the penned words. If only Clay felt the same about love as she and Mr. Harris clearly did. There was no use dwelling on what might have been, though. Instead, she would continue to hope that one of these men would turn out to be as kind, dependable, and funny as Clay but with one added quality: he would return the love she came to feel for him.

  Blinking back the tears, she finished reading Mr. Harris’s letter. By the time she reached the end, she had a good idea which man she was ready to commit to. Of course, she would need to make the question of whether to marry Mr. Harris a matter of prayer first. But her heart told her that she could surely find happiness and, hopefully, love— as his wife.