Bartered Bride Romance Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  “Absolutely.” Libby nodded. “Gregory has been coming to my father’s house for many months and has always been a perfect gentleman. And no gentleman deserves to be thrown over on his wedding day.” She leaned forward, encouraged by her mother-in-law’s comments. “I don’t blame him for needing a bit of time to himself after the … upset.”

  “You’re a wise woman, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Royce settled back as though ready for a long chat. “And, though I know Gregory fancied himself in love with Tabitha, I warned him she was a flighty chit who wouldn’t be a match for him.”

  “I am fully aware of the repercussions of my sister’s actions,” Libby spoke more stiffly now, “but she is my sister and will make a fine wife.”

  “I didn’t say she wouldn’t, m’dear.” Mrs. Royce patted her knee consolingly. “Simply that she wouldn’t have made Gregory happy. Now, now, don’t say anything at all. It’s good that you’re loyal to your sister, but Gregory needs more from a wife than a pretty smile and girlish charm.”

  Libby sat in silence, unsure how to respond to this pronouncement. It didn’t seem to matter, as Gregory’s mother plunged ahead.

  “You see, Elizabeth, I’m of the opinion that this will be a much better marriage than the other would have been. After Gregory gets over his wounded pride and realizes it, you’ll do well together.”

  At this, Libby was so shocked—and pleased—she couldn’t do more than gape at her new mother-in-law.

  “Do close your mouth, Elizabeth.” Mrs. Royce smiled and removed her gloves. “I’ve come to help you.”

  Gregory stood at the helm of his largest paddleboat the day after his wedding, looking out across the mighty Mississippi River. Usually the majestic sight soothed his nerves, reaffirmed his faith, and made him give thanks for the wonders God created. Today, glutted with the water from plentiful spring rain, the glorious river showed her less favorable side as the current did its best to push his vessel off course.

  Bits of flotsam dotted the water, proving to be much larger and more threatening than they initially seemed, lurking beneath the hidden depths of the river’s face. The mighty Mississippi, long his friend, had turned her power against him on this voyage. She, like his mother’s hastily scribbled response to his notice, urged him to return to his unwanted bride.

  “Women,” Gregory growled to the breeze, “always contrary.” And formidable, he added silently as the Riverrider narrowly avoided a large, mostly submerged patch of jagged rocks.

  All the same. The river, with her smooth-flowing surface, turns to a churning threat at a moment’s notice. Tabitha fits the pattern, with her guileless gaze, showing only at the last moment her ruthless determination to leave. Ma, with her calm demeanor and steely resolve, hides her true strength until it is absolutely necessary to unleash it.

  Leaving charge of the boat to his first mate, Gregory made his way to his cabin. The more he thought about it, the more he knew he’d made the right decision. Better to have time to sort out the way he wanted to handle things than be blind-sided by Elizabeth. There was no telling what she’d want to do.

  As he sat at his desk to overlook the cargo log, Gregory couldn’t concentrate as he pondered the mystery that was Woman.

  No wonder Adam was undone by Eve—women always have the element of surprise!

  “Help me with what, exactly?” Libby chose the words carefully, uncertain how this woman could help her make her marriage work but somehow believing something wonderful lay ahead.

  “Adjust to your new life, of course.” Mrs. Royce beamed and gave a tiny wink before adding, “And show you how to make the adjustment easier for Gregory, too.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Royce—”

  “Sarah, please call me Sarah.”

  “Thank you, Sarah,” Libby started again only to realize she’d forgotten what, precisely, she’d meant to say. “And friends and family call me Libby.”

  “Libby.” The older woman tested it out and nodded. “That suits you far better. Fits your warmth and sparkle.”

  “Sparkle?” she echoed faintly. Tabitha was the one who sparkled.

  “No one ever told you that?” Mrs. Roy—Sarah harrumphed. “That’s what comes from losing your mother at such a young age. Men, my dear, tend to have difficulty looking beyond the superficial. However”—she pondered for a moment—“I think you’ll find Gregory to be an exception, when given time enough. He always was a thinker—like his father.”

  “Oh.” Libby had the feeling the conversation had moved along without her, since she was still marveling over being told she had sparkle.

  “Yes. Now,” Sarah squinted at her and questioned, “I suppose you’ve always heard that Tabitha was the pretty one? Heard more comments than you cared to about her loveliness, swiftly followed by some statement about what a good girl you were or some such thing?” She waited for Libby’s nod then kept on. “Well, Tabitha is pretty—”

  Libby fought to keep the smile on her face. Would there be no end of comparisons between her and Tabby?

  “In an obvious sort of way.” Sarah’s tone caught Libby’s attention once more. “But I think that makes it rather … commonplace. You have a loveliness that is far more than what meets the eye. I’ve been watching you girls for a while, you see. I know that you’re the heart of your family, always putting your sister first, seeing to your father’s comfort—it’s easy to tell when one pays a moment’s attention.”

  “We’re a family,” Libby protested. “We watch out for each other.”

  “And so you should. But you do the lion’s share.” Sarah sat back, satisfied with her point. “And that, dear Libby, is how you sparkle.” She seemed to catch Libby’s disbelief because she shook her head. “Let me put it this way, m’dear. Tabitha is like crystal—full of color to catch the eye. You, on the other hand, are like a window. You let the light of love shine through you and onto others. It’s the best kind of sparkle there is!”

  “I—” Libby blinked furiously to hold back what seemed a flood of tears. “No one’s ever said anything half so wonderful to me.” She took the handkerchief the other woman held out to her and soaked it through before regaining a semblance of dignity. “Thank you.”

  “It’s nothing more than the truth.” Sarah moved to kneel before her. “And I thought now, at a time when so much seems to have happened to throw you off-kilter, you might need to hear it from someone who’s been around long enough to know.”

  “I’ll never forget it.”

  “See that you don’t, Libby. Now that you realize what it is you contribute to a household, let’s get started.”

  “Yes!” Libby exclaimed. As Sarah rose to her feet, Libby stood to join her, determined to lavish love on this woman, her son, and their house. “Let’s make this house into a home Gregory will be glad to come back to!”

  Chapter 5

  Telegram, Cap’n!” Mr. Bates thrust the paper toward him as Gregory oversaw the unloading of the cargo hold. “Thank you.” He took the message, absently tapping it against the side of his leg as two men almost dropped a crate. The telegram would wait, but it seemed his men might not be able to keep a grip on things.

  “Cap’n?” His voice now hesitant, Mr. Bates wouldn’t meet Gregory’s gaze. “Yes?” Gregory raised a brow, wondering what could be keeping the man from assisting his mates with the work at hand.

  “Not that it’s any of my concern,” he hedged, “but the telegraph operator made particular mention of the…. Wait, how did he put it? Said he’d never seen the likes of it before, and that …”

  A growing sense of unease unfurled in Gregory’s stomach. Suddenly, the innocuous sheet of paper in his hand became a forbidding trap. Only one person would have sent such a remarkable telegram.

  “Your mam sounds a lot like his,” Mr. Bates finished. “So … I thought you might like fair warning before you read the thing.” With one look at Gregory’s expression, the man scuttled away like a crab trying to outrun a vicious seagull.

  Resign
ed to finding a lecture from his mother, Gregory unsealed the message and groaned at his first glimpse. The telegraph operator hadn’t lied—who but his mother would send such a personal message through Morse code? He straightened his shoulders. Yes, he respected his mother, honored her as well he should, but he was a grown man. He’d make his own decisions, and that would be the end of it. But to decide how to respond, he’d have to read the thing.

  GREGORY ALAN ROYCE–STOP– YOUR HASTY DEPARTURE HAS REDUCED ME TO SENDING THIS TELEGRAM–STOP– YOU DIDN’T RESPOND TO MY NOTE–STOP–THINGS WENT AWRY, BUT IHAVE FAITH THAT GOD HAS PLANS FOR THIS MARRIAGE–STOP–I’VE BEEN GETTING TO KNOW YOUR NEW BRIDE–STOP– SHE IS A WONDERFUL GIRL, AND I THINK YOU’RE FAR LUCKIER THAN YOU KNOW–STOP–I UNDERSTAND YOU HAVE A BUSINESS TO MAINTAIN, BUT DON’T FORGET THE IMPORTANT BUSINESS LEFT UNFINISHED AT CRANBERRY HILL–STOP– THERE IS MUCH TO DO HERE, AND WE EAGERLY AWAIT YOUR RETURN, WHICH I‘M CERTAIN WILL BE AS SOON AS YOU CAN MANAGE–STOP– GOD BLESS YOU, SON–STOP- SARAH ROYCE–STOP

  Gregory let out a snort of laughter. The message—so proper but underlined with steel—was so typical of his mother that a smile crept across his face. She should teach politicians just what to say to make their comments unassailable but crystal clear.

  Here, again, was the proof of feminine trickery. Sweet words designed to elicit the desired response. Any man would have kept it short and simple: Get back here, NOW. But that wasn’t his mother’s style. Gregory shook his head ruefully.

  Lord, I know You speak through Your Word, pastors, and the wise counsel of church elders. I just wonder how often the subtler influence of our mothers is directly traced back to Your will.

  Summons or no, he already intended to return. Leaving his bride—albeit the wrong one—with no more than a note on the morning after their wedding was a knee-jerk reaction to the death of his carefully laid plans.

  “Mr. Bates!” Gregory strode toward his first mate. “I’ll be in my cabin. As soon as the cargo is exchanged, we return to Hannibal.” And Cranberry Hill.

  “Isn’t it perfect?” Libby breathed, surveying the newly renovated parlor. Her newly renovated parlor.

  “To tell the truth, I can scarce believe the difference,” her mother-in-law agreed. “Has it only been twelve days since we first sat in an empty room with bare floors and no more than a pair of settees thrown in the center?”

  “I’m certain of it.” Libby grinned. “Between this room and overseeing the main entry, I’ve needed every single minute!”

  “And you’ve done a lovely job. When you showed me the color for those wall hangings, I had my doubts, but the primrose seems just right in here.”

  “Yellow was a bold choice, but with the circular windows, the light pours in to make it bright and airy. The eggshell upholstery on the settees and new chairs softens it a little bit.”

  “Where on earth did you find this rug?” Sarah sank into the plush carpet, its muted tones of rose, gold, and cream centering the room.

  “At the emporium, tucked away in a corner. When I saw it, I just knew I had to bring it home. And as soon as it was here, I realized the throw cushions and drapes needed gold trimming to match.” Libby stepped around the room, eyeing the crystal-based lamp on an elegant end table, the porcelain mantel clock next to a vase of yellow roses. Not a thing stood out of place, all blended into a sense of inviting harmony she hoped would soon be the tone of her marriage, as well.

  “The gold trimming really ties the cream and yellow together. You’ve a wonderful eye for color, Libby!” Sarah’s approval widened Libby’s grin.

  “I thought the new marble tile in the entryway blended well.” She cast a glance through the double parlor doors, thrown proudly open, to glimpse the entry beyond.

  “Indeed. The sandy slate tiles from before were a poor choice,” Sarah mused. “The white of the marble brightens the place, turns the attention to the grand stairway, as well it should. The slight golden veins through the tiles are what make it truly blend with the parlor. You have outdone yourself, my dear!”

  “You helped pick out most of these things,” Libby reminded her new friend. “It wouldn’t have come together so quickly without the benefit of your expertise!”

  “Pfft.” Sarah waved away her gratitude. “I love shopping—any excuse will do. Though I must say”—she cast an admiring glance at her surroundings before continuing—“it’s even more of a pleasure with results such as these. Gregory will be very surprised when he returns from his business trip.”

  “I hope he likes it,” Libby fretted. “His note said I could put the house in order, and surely you would have mentioned it to me if he abhorred yellow, but it is a rather dramatic change.” She stopped, considering how to phrase her next thought without abandoning diplomacy. “And he’s had enough dramatic changes recently to last him a good long while.”

  “Ah.” Sarah drew closer and reached for Libby’s hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “But sometimes a dramatic change is precisely what’s needed to show a man what’s right in front of his nose. Speaking of which …” Her words trailed off.

  “What?” Now Libby squeezed Sarah’s hands, prodding her.

  “I hope you take this in the spirit it is intended, my dear, but the house isn’t the only beautiful thing here that could benefit from some attention and color.” Her mother-in-law withdrew her hands from Libby’s grasp and cupped her cheek. “It’s time we showcased your loveliness. I daresay you’ll be surprised by what you see when you put yourself in my hands.”

  “I’ve more than enough serviceable clothing,” Libby hedged. “Though I could do with a few more aprons—getting this house into shape is surprisingly messy with all the construction!”

  “Serviceable doesn’t mean feminine,” the older woman continued ruthlessly, “or flattering. Don’t you think some lovely things, perhaps a new hairstyle, would put a spring into your step? Every woman should make the most of herself.”

  “Agreed. And I’m making the most out of my talents by making this house into the home where Gregory will want to spend his time.” I may not be able to make him want to share his life with me, but Cranberry Hill could prove an irresistible lure. Libby left the thought unspoken but was certain Sarah knew, anyway.

  “You’re doing a wonderful job, that’s true.” The other woman’s eyes gleamed with determination. “But I’ve a gift for knowing what will flatter the figure and bring a bloom to the cheeks of a young woman who never spent the time to experiment with such things before. Surely you wouldn’t deny my gift?” Her eyes were widely incredulous now. “Not your mother-in-law!”

  “It’s not that I’m denying your gift, I’m just asking that you use it to help me with Cranberry Hill.” Libby pasted on a smile.

  “I’m already doing that, Libby.” She strode—no, stalked—up to where Libby had retreated. “Behind your modesty there is a surprise waiting to be discovered. Let’s make the most of it!”

  “Now, Sarah,” Libby admonished. “You can’t turn a sow’s ear into a silk purse.” And I’ll never be the beauty Tabby is. She forced cheer into her tone. “Let’s just keep our focus on Cranberry Hill for now. Have I told you what I’m planning for the music room? With a little added elegance, it will do well as a ballroom, should we ever have need of one. Come with me.”

  Though Sarah frowned at Libby’s obvious evasion, she followed her new daughter-in-law farther into the house. Libby was simply grateful Gregory’s mother hadn’t pressed the issue of her admittedly plain appearance. Lovely dresses couldn’t conceal the fact that she wasn’t the bride Gregory had wanted.

  Chapter 6

  Good to have you home, Captain Royce.” Jenson gave an angled bow at the waist before taking Gregory’s coat. “Mm? Oh, yes.” Gregory looked up long enough to dismiss the butler before returning his attention to the floor beneath his feet.

  The slate-gray tile he’d ordered and overseen as it was installed was no more. And he couldn’t say he mourned the loss, not when its r
eplacement was fit for a palace. In place of the gray lay the finest marble tile, golden streaks threading gracefully throughout the main entry. His footsteps clicked sharply as he moved toward the grand staircase, intent on a good bath and shave before he greeted his wife. My wife. He shook his head and kept moving.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the parlor to his left. He halted, making a measured turn to verify his first impression. It was correct—she’d decorated the room in a soft butter yellow turned sweetly vibrant by the afternoon sun. He detoured into the parlor to explore farther. Gregory moved toward the center of the room, halting as a feminine voice spoke from the doorway behind him.

  “Welcome home, husband.” Libby sounded warm but hesitant. ”

  Thank you.” Gregory moved to face her. “It’s good to be home.” The platitude escaped him before he had the chance to examine it. Was it good to be in the home where he’d brought the wrong bride? More importantly, was this even his home anymore?

  He cast another glance around the room, taking in cream drapes with gold braid and fringe, settees and chairs furnished in the same eggshell, softening the yellow silk wall hangings. Even the rug beneath his feet, tempering the hardwood floors with luxurious depth, matched the décor.

  “What do you think?” His wife sounded downright nervous now, and Gregory mentally kicked himself for his long silence. She’d obviously been hard at work.

  “I like it.” He made the decision aloud, surprised to find it true. “Yellow wouldn’t have been something I would have chosen, but it’s just right in here.”

  At his nod and words of praise, she beamed. Gregory stood stock-still for a moment, transfixed by his bride’s sudden transformation. Libby’s smile lit her face, brought a sparkle to her eyes, and almost seemed to make her taller.