Daddy Plus One: A Single Dad Secret Baby Billionaire Romance

by Brooke Valentine

  Even more than that, Daisy thought of the society of women in Charleston who would laugh at her. If word got out, Daisy Manigault would never be able to show her face in any cotillion or county fair ever again. She wouldn’t be able to bear it; the whispers behind her back and the narrowed eyes as she walked by. Daisy knew this behavior quite well, because admittedly she’d done it to other girls herself, but she never dreamed she’d ever be in the same lowly position.

  She waited for Rhett until the morning light woke her. She slept tucked away in their secret spot, an abandoned servants’ quarters, on Ashwood Plantation. The Ashwoods fled after the war retreating deeper South preferring to burrow themselves further away from the encroaching Yankees. Daisy and Rhett’s plan was to elope and escape the traditional sanctions set upon them by their families and Charleston society.

  The night before, Rhett held her face in his hands promising her he would be back before morning, and they would take a train on the Transcontinental Railway as far as the tracks would take them. Far from the restrictions of their lives and the pressure from his parents demanding he marry someone else.

  But Rhett never showed. Daisy convinced herself she misheard his instructions. She was supposed to meet him at the train station, she told herself. She hurried to the Lockwood Station and search the crowds, but Rhett wasn’t there. The porter reminded her that her trunks and bags that were sent over the day before were already packed on the train. Daisy examined the faces of the people bustling by her for Rhett’s sweet face.

  Her broken heart quickly soured into anger. “Ma’am, if you want to get on this train, you’ve got to get on now,” the porter urged her. Daisy climbed onto the train fueled with rage. Not until miles and miles away in Tennessee did Daisy’s anger simmer enough for her to realize she had no idea where she was going. She thought, “Qui n’avance pas, recule,” (“Who does not move forward, recedes.”) as the train carried her further along into her unknown future.

  Chapter 2

  Lila and Tallulah stood in opposite corners of their bedroom. Instead of sticking their noses into the crook of the joining walls as Ms. Fiona instructed, they looked at each from their respective corners giggling and throwing a ball back and forth to each other.

  They could hear Ms. Fiona and Papa talking about them in the other room. They almost felt sorry for Ms. Fiona. Almost.

  "Mr. Baker, those children are wild! A mouse! In my bed!" Fiona screeched. “And they do not listen. They are insolent spoiled brats!”

  "That's their pet, Roche. Give it some time, Ms. Fiona. My girls have been through a lot in such a short time," Henry pleaded.

  The girls devised a plan to get their mother back. Lilah, at seven, the older of the two, mostly orchestrated the schemes while Tallulah, a winsome four-year-old, followed orders obediently, not truly understanding the implications of their mischievous activities. Tallulah was an agreeable child who loved to play and make believe. She thought they were part of a big elaborate play that would end in Mama’s return.

  No matter who Papa brought to them, they would all be met with the same fate. This was what Lilah and Tallulah promised each other. Lilah dreamt up pranks to play on their new nannies that often left the young women in tears as Ms. Fiona demonstrated now in the other room.

  Their second line of offense was to exclusively speak in French despite speaking fluently in English as well. This tactic often exasperated the nannies and made lessons excruciatingly difficult. The number one goal of all this naughtiness was for their Papa to stop bringing them these strange women and bring their mother back.

  “They need a mother, Mr. Baker”, Fiona cried. “If not that, boarding school. They are impossibly ill-mannered.”

  Henry paused and then said matter-of-factly, “Marry me then, Ms. Fiona. Please do me the honor.”

  Fiona blew her nose loudly and sniffled her tears. “I appreciate your hasty offer Mr. Baker, but there isn't a woman alive who'd marry you with those wild girls of yours in tow.”

  The girls accustomed to hearing talks like this about them, as Fiona was their sixth nanny, carried on with their playing. At that point, they'd given up the ruse of following their punishment. They sat in the middle of their room with their dolls tuning out the voices in the other room. Soon, Fiona would be gone like the five other nannies before her. Lilah assured herself of this inevitability and happily played with her little sister until their Papa fetched them for supper. Mama was out there somewhere, and there was no need for any of these women to be there.

  Chapter 3

  In Arkansas, Sally, a young woman with kind eyes, boarded the train. Daisy, starved for companionship after so many hours in solitude, offered the girl Mamie’s butter cookies wrapped in a linen napkin. Sally just as eager for a friend on the train journey accepted.

  Sally had traveled a long way from Massachusetts stopping along the way picking up odd jobs in hotels or saloons for money. She was determined to not return home, just as much as Daisy was. Daisy, against her normal behavior, poured her heart out to Sally and lamented her current vagrant status. Daisy, trusting this girl’s kind eyes, told her about Rhett and how she’d given herself to him for absolutely nothing in return. She had nowhere to go and knew not a soul in hundreds of miles. She just couldn’t go back home to Charleston. She had been disgraced.

  “Come with me!” Sally offered. “There is a boarding house in Oklahoma for women who want to become mail order brides.” Sally assured her that she knew of several women from her hometown in Massachusetts who used the service and are now happily married.

  Sick of the cold and dreariness of New England winters, Sally set out for adventure in the new frontier. With her bright red hair and freckles crowding her nose and cheeks, Sally doubted her chances of finding a man in her town, but in the West, men were starving for women. A lonely man with few options was more likely to overlook her fiery hair and speckled face.

  “You are so beautiful!” Sally said. “You will find a husband right away.”

  “That’s what I hope. I’d love to have children one day,” Sally beamed.

  Daisy thought on Sally’s confession. “Children? I just want to be free of being under my parents’ roof and to be allowed to do as I please.”

  “Then come with me!” Sally urged.

  Daisy considered the offer. She knew of girls journeying West after the war to find husbands. The war had dwindled the supply of eligible men, making competition for husbands fierce. Girls of wealthy families were able to put up hefty dowries to entice men to take their daughters off their hands. Daisy faced the prospect of returning to Charleston to battle girls for the leftover men while Rhett, her love, took another girl with parents willing to offer much more money than her parents were willing to part with. Her father did not believe in inopportune business deals and felt fervently high dowries were nonsensical. Rather than deal with competition in a lopsided marital market, she replied, “I’ll go with you.”

  The boarding house was run by an old woman, Ms. Beechtree. She was a round stout creature who wore her white hair up in a tight bun. Ms. Beechtree believed in good business and strict rules. As soon as they arrived, Sally, Daisy, and other girls like them were lined up like cattle. They were examined meticulously and then photographed if they passed Ms. Beechtree’s stringent inspection.

  The rules were simple and clear: Ms. Beechtree arranged the marriages. If a girl was not inclined to marry the chosen gentleman or if no gentleman had offered to take the girl off Ms. Beechtree’s hands in one month’s time, the girl would be relocated to the Ms. Beechtree’s brothel on the outskirts of town. “Merde!” Daisy thought. What have I gotten myself into?

  After a few days of expectantly waiting for something to happen, Ms. Beechtree asked the girls if anyone spoke French. Daisy exclaimed that she did. Ms. Beechtree handed Daisy a letter from a man named Henry Baker. Daisy set to writing him back right away. Her fear of being relocated to the brothel strummed her every word. Henry had written simply
to Ms. Beechtree: “Moneyed rancher gentleman looking to share his wealth and life with a proper lady in California. French speaking highly desired. Education a must.”

  Daisy wrote:

  Bonjour Mr. Baker,

  I am pleased to answer your request. I am a Southern lady from Charleston who has benefitted from etiquette training and education in literature, mathematics, needlepoint, and piano. I speak French fluently as my family are Huguenots. I am able to entertain guests delightfully with conversation and my singing. I can accompany you to social gatherings and organize beautiful receptions and brunches for you and your friends. Further, I have perfect posture from countless hours with a book on my head.

  A la prochaine, Mr. Baker.

  Daisy Manigault

  Daisy was unsure if these were attributes she should describe to Mr. Baker, but these were the attributes: posture, congeniality, and charm, her mother pressed on her from an early age. The difference between a good wife and an excellent one was how well she can throw a party, her mother always said. And mother put on the most marvelous social engagements.

  While she waited for a response, Daisy passed her time at the boardinghouse talking with Sally and the other girls. Each girl was in her own personal frenzy to be chosen by a man and be whisked away from their current situations.

  Sally bemoaned, “Ms. Beechtree hasn’t offered me any men to choose from. What if I don’t get matched!” Sally was an easily excitable girl, prone to getting caught up swiftly in her emotions.

  “You will!” Daisy assured her.

  In a few days, Mr. Henry Baker wrote her back. The letter arrived by a special express messenger. When Ms. Beechtree gave Daisy the letter, it was already opened, but Daisy didn’t care.

  “You’ve been matched!” Ms. Beechtree snorted happily. Every successful match meant Beechtree received a substantial finder’s fee.

  Dear Daisy,

  Your photograph in your last letter was breathtaking. Your eloquence and charm reach out to me from your handwritten words shaking me with longing to meet you. Your letter was thoughtful and endearing. You have won my heart.

  I live on 40 acres of land in California. I promise you the luxury and decadence you are well accustomed to being a prized Southern belle that you are.

  I want to share my wealth and happiness with you. Please make me your dutiful and joyful husband.

  With Love,

  Henry

  In the envelope, Henry enclosed a photograph of himself. Daisy carefully took it out. Henry looked every bit of what Daisy imagined a cowboy to look like. He had a proper Stetson cowboy hat on. The glorious ranch estate that Daisy would soon live on sprawled behind him. She looked closely at the house: different from the plantation mansion she grew up in, but splendid as a bucolic symbol of Wild West opulence. Henry had a wooly mustache above his lip. Daisy softly rubbed her upper lip absently wondering what it was like to kiss a man with facial hair.

  Sally squealed looking at the photograph, “He’s handsome!” The other girls agreed full of giggles and congratulations. Sally swept her up into an embrace.

  Daisy thought of Rhett and his smooth supple face uninhabited of unruly hair. She tried to imagine herself in Henry’s arms instead of Rhett’s. Daisy wrapped her arms tighter around Sally. She closed her eyes resigned to performing wifely duties with a man she did not love, only comforted with the prospect of his wealth to provide, if not a happy life, a luxurious and stable one.

  Quand on a pas ce que l’on aime, il faut aimer ce que l’on a. (When one doesn’t have the things that one loves, one must love what one has.)

  Chapter 4

  It was an impulsive thing to do, but Daisy had to do it. She couldn’t stop herself. Before she left for California, she wrote Rhett a letter. All she wrote was “Sonora, California.” She didn’t sign her name or greet him in any way. Just those two words. She sent the letter away hoping those two words would strike Rhett hard into his chest.

  On the train, she thought of that letter wondering if it reached him yet. The letter was ambiguous enough that if Mrs. Calhoun found it, she wouldn’t know who it was from. Mrs. Calhoun found Daisy unfit for her son. She preferred their first born son to marry a girl not of Huguenot heritage believing a Southern Baptist girl would be better suited for their family.

  “Laisse tomber, elle ne sait rien faire de ses dix doigts, celui-là,” Daisy thought to herself about Mrs. Calhoun. (Forget her, she is completely useless.) The rumor was the Calhouns were looking for a more profitable marriage to dig themselves out of bad investments. Daisy never asked Rhett about his family’s affairs. They had plans to elope and live out West without either of their families to stop them from being together, but those plans never came true. Daisy knew that another girl, Nelly Hampton, vied for Rhett’s affections and had her family’s wealth to back her.

  At Sonora station, Daisy disembarked from the train. Her stomach was in cramped knots as she searched the crowd for Henry. The porter graciously unloaded her things. Daisy’s anxiety quelled into disappointment when the crowd thinned leaving her standing alone with her trunks and bags. Fear of humiliation all the way out here hundreds of miles away from home erupted inside of her. She thought of Rhett, his family, her family, Charleston, and even Ms. Beechtree, who Daisy feared would somehow find her and force her to work in the brothel if Henry never came for her.

  Henry gave Silas a little description of Daisy, but he didn’t need it. Silas easily found Daisy standing forlornly on the platform surrounded by a pile of luggage. The woman was dressed strangely in a bright lavender skirt that ballooned out around her. He’d never seen a woman dressed so impractically. He approached her and said, “I'm here to take you to the ranch."

  Daisy’s face washed over in relief, but asked “Where is Henry?”

  “At the ranch.” Silas answered her as he struggled with her trunks.

  On the bumpy wagon ride over, Silas was silent. Unsure of who this man was, Daisy also kept to herself. Silas, from Mexico, was equally confused to how Henry ordered himself a wife through the mail. He decided to keep these thoughts to himself until he further understood this strange custom.

  Henry’s stream of young women amazed Silas. One after the other, but none of them stayed. Henry’s little girls were like their mother, sharp like a quill and sweet like nectar. Their mother was always one or the other. The girls took after her, poking and prodding each young woman until they left. Lilah, especially, was relentless and cold. Her will could not be broken. Silas couldn’t speak French, but he could tell when Lilah was out for blood.

  When Silas and Daisy arrived, the fence was adorned with white ribbons and bows fluttering in the breeze. Daisy felt flush with delightful surprise at the small embellishment for her arrival. She patted her hair as best she could without a mirror present, suddenly conscious that in moments she would meet Henry. Silas helped Daisy down from the wagon remaining silent and in his wandering thoughts.

  Daisy’s eyes were as big as tea saucers taking in the grand house. It looked just like it did in the photograph with the majestic mountains off in the distance. The horses purred welcoming her. Daisy dawdled taking it all in, stopping to touch the ribbons on the fence with her fingertips.

  “Follow me, ma’am.” Silas broke his silence and said to Daisy.

  They walked around to the other side of the house where she saw Henry standing before a beautiful wooden trellis. An older man with white beard and cowboy hat nodded at her. Henry beckoned Daisy to him. Daisy slowly walked to Henry in a daze. The mountains framed behind the trellis was a sight to see. When she got to Henry, he took her hands into his.

  Daisy never imagined her wedding day would be like this, but it was romantic in a strange way. The abrupt swiftness of it all exhilarated Daisy. It felt like she was stepping off a plank and plunging into the unknown. Most of her life had been structured for her, and if she stayed in Charleston the predictableness of it all would persist.

  Judge Conner, also an owner of
busy saloon, needed to get back to tending bar before the evening rush. He kept the ceremony short and succinct.

  “Do you Henry Baker take…” he paused, and then asked, “What is your name, darlin’?”

  “Daisy Manigault,” Daisy responded.

  “Right,” Judge Conner nodded. “Do you Henry Baker take Daisy Manigault to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

  Henry looked into Daisy’s eyes and smiled. “Yes. I do.”

  Judge Conner turned to Daisy. “Do you Daisy Manigault take Henry Baker to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

  Daisy felt that sensation of looking down from the top of a building and said, “Yes. I do.” She felt the rush of the plunge as Henry kissed her on the lips. The mustache she feared would feel strange on her face gently brushed against her lips.

  Judge Conner shook Henry’s hand in congratulations. Suddenly, two little girls ran up to Henry. Judge Conner’s wife, Betsy, trailed behind them out of breath, “Henry, I tried to keep them away,” she said. “But, they just got away from me.”

  The girls wrapped their arms around Henry’s legs. “Qui est-ce?” the older girl said staring menacingly at Daisy.

  The little one waved at Daisy with her face half buried in Henry’s pant leg. “Bonjour,” she whispered softly. The older girl shot an irritated look. The little one covered her mouth with both hands instantly remorseful for her slipup.

  Daisy answered, “Je suis Daisy. Et vous?”

  The little one quickly chirped, “Je suis Tallulah. Elle est Lilah.”

  Lilah was unimpressed with Daisy’s French. She warily asked her father in English, “Is this our new teacher?”