by Ruby Hill
Finding Hope
Mail Order Bride
Ruby Hill
Contents
Finding Hope
Regency Romances
Historical Western & Mail Order Bride Romances
Finding Hope
Brides and Promises
Text Copyright © 2018 by Ruby Hill
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
First printing, 2018
Publisher
Love Light Faith, LLC
400 NW 7th Avenue, Unit 825
Fort Lauderdale, FL 33311
Created with Vellum
Finding Hope
Prologue
Miss Grace Thackery smiled softly, as her dear friend Clara stepped out from the church arm in arm with her new husband. All around her came cheers and whistles from the townsfolk. Grace tried her best to join in, but tears ran quietly down her cheeks as her stomach clenched. She knew that Clara and Mark were soon to be leaving their quiet town of Northwood, and that meant leaving Grace far behind. Nothing would be the same again.
“This is not about you,” she told herself under her breath, as Clara came towards her. “Stop it, Grace.”
Clara’s eyes were bright, her cheeks a dusky pink, and wildflowers adorned her blonde locks. She looked absolutely beautiful.
“Oh, Grace!” Clara whispered, throwing her arms around her. “Soon it will be you stepping out from this church, your husband by your side.”
Grace could find nothing to say—other than whispering, “Congratulations.”
Clara held her for a moment longer before releasing her, grasping her hands and placing the wildflower bouquet into her hands before hurrying back to her new husband.
Grace’s vision blurred with tears, as she looked down at the bouquet in her hands, the happy sounds from those around her fading into nothing. This would never be her. Not here. Not in this town. There were too few men and none of them wanted a plain-looking woman like her on their arm.
Wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand, Grace drew in a breath and tried to focus on Clara’s happiness. This day was not a day to reflect on her own melancholy, even though Clara’s marriage meant that their friendship was to come to something of an abrupt end. She was truly happy for Clara, knowing that her friend had long hoped for a husband and family of her own. Now she would have it, albeit far away from her hometown—and from Grace.
“Chin up,” said a kindly, old woman, rubbing Grace’s arm. “Where they’re going ain’t too far away.”
The lump in Grace’s throat didn’t allow her to speak, but she managed a wobbly smile in return. The lady moved away, following the other townsfolk and leaving Grace standing alone by the church.
Drawing in a long breath, Grace looked down at the wildflowers in her hands. As much as she loved that Clara had blessed her with them, she didn’t want to keep them. They would sit in a vase on her kitchen table, growing dry and brittle—just as she was.
Hurrying after the rest of the crowd, she spotted a mother and four children straggling at the back. “Here,” she murmured, bending down to hand the wildflowers to a girl of around ten years old. “I would like you to have these. They’re very special. They came from the bride herself!”
The girl squealed with delight and thanked her profusely, encouraged by her mother to do so. Grace smiled and nodded, quickly stepping away to hurry back to her quiet home, knowing she had food to prepare for this evening’s dance.
She could not help but glance back, seeing the girl dancing around with the wildflowers in her hands. The mother was smiling, holding the youngest child on her hip, as the other two children ran around chasing each other. Grace felt her heart split open, aching in pain as she turned away.
The truth was, she would most likely never have what Clara had. Clara was beautiful in both face and character, whereas Grace was plain and quiet. Dull, really. There was nothing exciting about her. Clara had brought life and light into everything she did, whereas Grace was always the one hidden in the shadows, unnoticed and unobserved by almost everyone. There could not have been a more unlikely friendship, yet the bond between them was so strong that it was an almost-physical pain at their impending separation.
“I shall just have to get on as is,” she murmured to herself, pushing open her front door and stepping inside. The silence rose like an old friend to greet her, and Grace allowed herself to be embraced by it. It filled her soul, filled her very bones—an acceptance of what she would be.
Alone.
1
Six Months Later
“Letter for you!”
Grace smiled, as she recognized Clara’s handwriting, and took the letter from the postmaster.
“Thank you,” she murmured, resisting the urge to read it right there in the local mercantile.
“And this came with it.”
Frowning, Grace took the small, wrapped parcel, seeing Clara’s writing on the front. This was unusual. She had no idea what it was that Clara could have sent her, and from the feel of it, it felt very much like paper of some kind. More intrigued than ever, Grace finished up the rest of her errands, paid for her purchases, and hurried from the shop.
Once home, Grace did not even stop to put her purchases away. Instead, she sat down at the kitchen table, opened up the letter, and kept one hand on the wrapped parcel. Clara’s letter began quite normal, keeping her up to date with her news and all that was going on with her and her husband—but it was the final paragraph that caught Grace’s attention.
“Grace, I know how much you long for a husband of your own, and I also know how few men there are around these parts! You don’t need to worry yourself about that any longer. There’s no shame in finding yourself a husband another way. I don’t think this has reached your town yet, but it’s all the rage here, printed once a month. I sent you the most recent copy. Grace, I don’t want you living your life all alone. There’s a happiness in marriage that I want for you. Promise me you’ll at least try, Grace. Don’t spend the rest of your life in that dusty, old town. Take a chance and see where life takes you!”
Blinking, Grace stared down at the letter, a trifle confused. Another way of finding herself a husband? Whatever was Clara talking about?
Shaking her head and muttering to herself, Grace turned her attention to the parcel to her left and—with only a little hesitation—began to open it. It was paper. In fact, as she unrolled it, Grace saw that it was nothing other than a newspaper.
“The Matrimonial News,” she murmured, looking at the top of the paper. “Whatever is this?” Turning the pages carefully, Grace was filled with astonishment, as she saw page after page of advertisements—each man or woman within seeking a marriage partner.
A hot flush raced over her, turning her skin a deep red. Some men were very specific in their requests, and she knew at once she could not meet their expectations. A handsome bride she was not!
“Must be able to cook well and help me with the farm duties,” she murmured aloud, running her finger down the page. She could hardly take in what she was reading, astonished to discover that people did such a thing as this.
Her little town was so far from any kind of civilization th
at it came as no surprise to Grace that she had not heard of this publication yet. Perhaps that was a good thing. There would be no shame in putting in her own advertisement, especially if she knew that no one from this town would see it. Her stomach churned with a sudden excitement, her breathing quickening just a little.
It would mean giving up everything she knew to start a new life somewhere else, with a man she had never once met. It would mean a long journey and an entirely new situation. Did she really have the courage and fortitude to go through with that?
Glancing back down at Clara’s letter, Grace reread the last paragraph, finding that Clara’s hopes for Grace’s life matched her own. She didn’t want to spend her life in this dry, dusty town that seemed to get smaller every day. She didn’t want to live alone, taking in the sewing and darning from the townsfolk so that she might have something to live on. The house, at least, was her own, handed down to her by her father before he died. If she were to up and leave, then the house would have to be sold. She’d have nothing to come back to if the whole situation went awry.
“Take a chance and see where life takes you,” Grace murmured aloud, reading Clara’s writing once more. That was not something she was known for, and Clara was obviously more than aware of that. However, the words pushed her, in her own gentle way, to seek out a different life for herself.
Rising from the table, Grace set about putting her groceries away, her eyes lingering on the paper for a brief moment. Making herself a small pot of tea, she set the table for one—as she usually did—and picking up the first item in her pile of sewing, she sat down and began to work. The needle dug through the fabric and back out again, a regular, repetitive rhythm that settled Grace’s mind. This was not something she was going to be rash about. There was thinking to be done.
Glancing up at the mirror on the wall, Grace cringed inwardly. She was not a pretty woman. She was broad shouldered and straight backed, lacking the womanly curves that were so keenly sought after by men looking for a partner. Her mousy brown hair always laid flat, no matter what she did with it, to the point that she’d been forced to simply tie it back into a bun every day. Her freckled cheeks held no color, her dark brown eyes were not particularly appealing. She believed nothing was attractive about her face or her frame.
But, then again, surely not every man was looking for such things? She was strong and could work hard; she’d had no other choice but to, given that she had to milk her own cow and—on occasion—grind her own flour. The small garden at the back of her house always provided plenty of vegetables for canning, but she’d had no help from anyone when it came to digging the manure into the soil or planting the potatoes. That was her life. A life spent alone, knowing that there was to be no other option than to carry on.
“Surely, someone must be out there who does not care much for looks,” Grace said aloud, her eyes back on the paper on the table.
Putting the sewing to one side, she looked at the paper again and—finding one advertisement from a gentleman that stated he cared neither for figure nor for beauty—smiled to herself with relief. However, when her eyes fell on the photograph below the advertisement, her heart sank to her toes. The gentleman in question did not care for figure nor for beauty because he was at an age where his eyesight was failing. Was that what she would end up with? Should she put an advertisement in the paper for herself? A man who was either old enough to be her father, or a man who wanted to use her as nothing more than an unpaid worker for his farm or his ranch?
And then there would be the matrimonial duties required of her as a wife. A slight shiver raced over her skin, her teeth clenching together. Clara had explained things well enough to her once before, but Grace had never truly thought of it with any seriousness—for she had never believed that she would wed. Now, however, it came as a stark reality. If she was to wed, then certain things would be expected of her. She could not imagine lying in the same bed as the man in the photograph. Shuddering, she turned the page and continued her search.
Sitting back heavily, Grace chewed on her bottom lip as she thought. She could not simply turn her back on this idea from Clara. It was time to act. Time to make for herself a better future than the current bleak one that lay, slowly unraveling, before her.
With a deep breath, Grace put her sewing away and rose in search of a pen and paper. There had to be at least one man in the paper worth corresponding with, so she could hope for a better future. After all, a letter or two did not bind her to a particular man in any way. She did not have to agree to matrimony without knowing a little more about him, and he about her.
Putting all her writing things down on the table, Grace picked up her pen, and leaning over The Matrimonial News, she began to read each advertisement in earnest. She was not looking for anything too particular, although she avoided the men whose age was close to twice her own. She did not care particularly for looks, but a man who was elderly would not be a wise choice for her. To be a young widow with very little to call her own would not be a good path. Slowly running her eyes down the page, Grace smiled to herself as she spotted two advertisements which interested her. They both sought a hard-working wife, one who could cook and clean and take on the duties of the home so that they might focus on their own responsibilities. One had a ranch, the other just starting out on his own small farm. The only difference was that one man had children to speak of, whilst the other did not.
Children. Grace sighed to herself. She had no experience with them, and being an only child, hadn’t even had the pleasure of growing up with a sibling. Would that prevent the man in question from even considering her? Should she even bother writing to him?
“Stop it, Grace,” she told herself firmly, looking back at her blank sheet of paper. She was going to write to him regardless of whether or not she had any experience with children. It would be up to him to decide if she was a suitable candidate, and if he did not, then at least she had this other advertisement to respond to.
“And I shall get my hands on the next edition of The Matrimonial News if I have to,” Grace muttered to herself, pushing one or two strands of hair out of her face as she drew in a deep breath, steeling her resolve. Looking down at the advertisement once more, she settled her shoulders and began to write, making her letter short and to the point.
It took her three attempts before she was finally happy with what she had written, discarding the other two pieces of paper and holding up the third one to the light.
She was filled with a swift sense of excitement, something that had not been a part of her life for a good many years. Instead of the dim, cloudy future she’d known was waiting for her, she was suddenly surrounded by bright lights and sunny skies. As she walked to post her letter, she felt altogether lighter—as though a heavy weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Everything seemed a little more colorful, a little more joyful, and Grace couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across her lips.
There was no hesitation as she handed over her letter, no worry that she had made a mistake in sending it. Instead, there was an almost childish glee in what she had done, and it took every bit of control for Grace not to clap her hands together and twirl around in excitement, right there in the middle of the street.
Thank you, Clara, she thought, as she walked back home, lightness infusing every step. She would have to write to Clara as well, to thank her for what she had done and to let her friend know that she had done as she’d encouraged.
“Although maybe I will wait until I have a response from George,” Grace mumbled to herself, as she settled back into her work. She could hardly think of anything else, The Matrimonial News still catching her eye as she began to sew once more. It would be a few weeks until she got a response – if she got one at all – but even if she did not hear back from George, Grace was determined to do whatever it took to find herself a husband and a new situation. Her life was not going to be lonely and cold any longer. It would take a little time, but things were going to change and cha
nge for the better.
“I’m just going to have to be patient,” Grace said aloud, her voice filling the empty room. “Sooner or later, I’ll leave this town. I won’t be lonesome any longer.”
2
The next few weeks were long and difficult, and Grace was surprised at just how hard she found it to wait. She would walk through town doing her errands and picking up her groceries, always hoping that there would be a letter waiting for her, but day after day, nothing came.
Her heart began to sink as the days dragged on, her mind clouding with thoughts, but Grace refused to allow herself become bogged down in disappointment. After all, George was only the first man she’d written to, and there were plenty more men out there looking for a wife. She didn’t need to get herself all tangled up over one particular man.
Lifting her chin, Grace tried to focus on what she needed to buy today instead of letting her thoughts drift back towards George and his lack of response. She needed more white thread and her flour was getting low. Thankfully, she’d had a great deal of sewing to finish over the last few weeks, so she didn’t need to be too careful with her money.
“Hello, Miss Grace!” the shopkeeper smiled, as Grace brought her purchases to the front desk. “And how are you this fine day?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Grace replied, smiling softly. “Just these things, please.”
The shopkeeper nodded, pulling out the short stumpy pencil from behind his ear and beginning to write down her purchases on the small notepad he always carried. Grace waited patiently, hearing the buzz of conversation going on behind her from the other customers. She’d been coming to the same shop and buying the same things for years. She could even tell the shopkeeper just how much she owed him, but he always insisted on writing everything down carefully.