Reluctant Brides Collection

by Cathy Marie Hake

  Carter hung up his coat and gave his mother a wry look. “I scarcely think the women would consider England a heathen country. Why would my trip there be germane to mission work?”

  Her smile drooped, and it caused him a pang. She’d endured months of grief alone, waiting for word to reach him and for him to return home. Even now, she permitted herself only very limited social connections. Carter crossed the floor with a few long strides and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But for you, I’ll do it.”

  Wednesday, Carter plastered on a smile and accepted a third cup of tea as he juggled his fork and a plate loaded with a mountain of tea cakes and silly looking confections. If the Atherton girls didn’t drown him in tea, Blanche Smythe might well bury him under desserts. Every last mama and eligible daughter in town filled the main floor of the Steadman home. “Excuse me, ladies,” he murmured as he swam through a sea of skirts that swirled like the colored glass shards of a kaleidoscope.

  “Carter,” Mrs. Henly gushed just before he reached the door, “your talk positively inspired us—didn’t it, Elizabeth?”

  Elizabeth’s fat sausage curls bounced as she emphatically nodded her head and hastily swallowed something. The years of Carter’s absence hadn’t treated Elizabeth kindly. Gawky and gap-toothed, she didn’t shine among the butterfly set of Massachusetts society.

  Carter wanted nothing to do with this after-speech parade of prospective wives, but he’d always held a rather tender spot in his heart for Elizabeth. He forced himself to remain long enough to exchange a few inane pleasantries, and the look of sheer gratitude on her face tugged at his heart.

  “Oh, Mr. Steadman!” Blanche Smythe headed toward him with another plate of food.

  Elizabeth deftly swiped the first plate from Carter and handed it to her mother, then snatched his teacup and emptied it in the potted palm. Though she hid her smile behind her fan, the twinkle in her eyes let him know their childhood friendship had endured.

  Carter tilted his head back, let out a full-throated laugh, and barely waited for Blanche to reach them. “Ladies, you must excuse me for leaving you, but I have matters I must attend at the mill.” He nodded at Elizabeth. “It was especially nice to see you again, Miss Henly.”

  He made his escape and headed for the mill. That whole morning might have been a fiasco, but Elizabeth’s assistance made it worth the lost time. It did him good to see her sense of humor was just as sharp as it had been when they were children. He chuckled to himself, then sobered again at the blatant truth: Mother wanted him wed, and she’d no doubt make it a crusade. He’d gotten an updated look at the girls she fancied as candidates, and not a one appealed to him. When the time came for him to marry, he didn’t care for silks, pearls, and curls. He wanted a woman with heart.

  A woman like Isabel Shaw.

  Snow started to fall, and he lengthened his stride. Isabel. He’d been enchanted with her from their first meeting. She’d been so embarrassed when she discovered his identity, he knew full well she had no designs on him. Indeed, she’d about died ten deaths when he sat on the settee next to her at the orphanage. He walked past the buildings and headed into the office. After closing the door, he prayed, “Father, make Your will known to me regarding a wife. Give me a wife who delights in the Word and adorns herself with love and humility instead of braids and pearls.”

  Just then, a knock interrupted him. “Sir? Mr. Steadman—are you there?”

  “Yes.” He turned as the door opened. Isabel Shaw stood in the opening.

  Chapter 8

  Your cousin’s ship docked early,” Isabel announced as she looked down at her employer, sitting behind his desk.

  “Which one?”

  “Maxwell.” As soon as she identified which cousin, Isabel realized he wanted to know which ship. She hastily added, “This time, it’s the Resolute. The Reliant isn’t due for almost two weeks.”

  Carter nodded. “That makes sense. Last I heard, the Steadfast was bound for Europe. Did you come just to tell me Maxwell is here?”

  Embarrassed she’d been so caught up in his presence that she failed to give the full message, Isabel blurted out, “Kathleen’s busy with a jammed shuttle, so Mr. Jefford sent me. He wants permission to speed up the looms and keep us late so we can meet the order.”

  Isabel watched as her employer rose from behind his desk. She’d always been self-conscious about her height, but around him, she felt almost dainty.

  He reached for his greatcoat and hat, then frowned. “Where is your wrap?”

  “Oh.” She let out a small laugh as she brushed a few errant snowflakes from her sleeve. “I just dashed over. Since Mr. Jefford, himself, tripped the levers to stop my looms, I presumed I’d best make haste.”

  “Going from the heat of the weaving room to the cold of a snowstorm is liable to cause you a nasty chill.” He draped his heavy coat about her. “Let’s go see what Maxwell and Jefford want.”

  Though she could have demurred and refused the coat, Isabel relished its warmth. She grabbed the lapels and held it shut as Mr. Steadman walked by her side, across the courtyard, and into the weaving room. Once there, she started to shed the coat; but Mr. Steadman rested his huge hands on her shoulders and kept it in place as he looked for Jefford. He dipped his head so his lips almost brushed her ear as he half-shouted, “Did he mention where we should meet?”

  “No, sir. Your cousin—the Shipping Steadman—”

  Even over the clatter and roar of machinery, she could hear him laugh. “The Shipping Steadman?”

  Isabel nodded and amusement threaded through her. “They’ve named each of you Steadmans, you know. You’re the Cotton Steadman, Mr. Maxwell is the Shipping Steadman, and his brother is Little Steadman.”

  “Lucas wouldn’t appreciate that. He’ll be out of medical school soon. I rather doubt he’ll want to be considered as anything other than Dr. Steadman.”

  Just then, Mr. Jefford and Maxwell Steadman came over. Isabel tried to ignore the odd, assessing looks in their eyes as they spied Carter’s hands upon her shoulders and her still burrowed in the folds of his wondrously warm coat. She shed the greatcoat at once.

  Before she could slip back to her machines, the Shipping Steadman bellowed above the din, “So you’re Isabel. Aunt Vivian told me to send you home to her. The carriage is out by the west entrance for you.”

  “What’s this?” Carter asked.

  Maxwell shrugged. A rapscallion’s smile tilted his mouth. “At sea, everyone follows my orders; on land, everyone follows your mother’s.”

  Isabel cast a baffled glance at both cousins, then looked at Mr. Jefford. “My looms—”

  “Go,” he barked.

  “Get your coat and bonnet first,” Carter ordered.

  “Yes, Sir.” She scurried away, confused by this odd turn of events.

  Isabel nestled the doll in her arms as she stood on a splendid Turkish carpet in the ornate Steadman parlor. Large gilt-framed portraits, elegant chandeliers, and russet velvet draperies made this place look more like a palace than a home. A handful of servants quietly set the mansion to rights in the aftermath of some sort of party, but one of the maids had shown her here. Isabel couldn’t decide whether she should sit or stand as she waited for Mrs. Steadman to arrive. She’d never spoken to Mrs. Steadman other than that Sunday when they’d chanced to meet at the orphanage. Why did she send for me, and why did the driver stop off at the boardinghouse and make me go get this doll?

  “Isabel, how lovely to see you.”

  Isabel spun at the sound of the dulcet voice and saw Mrs. Steadman entering the room. Isabel smiled. “Mrs. Steadman, I–I…”

  “Do have a seat.” Mrs. Steadman gestured toward an elegant floral tapestry chair by the marble fireplace and took the matching chair, which sat at a close angle. “I’ve asked for tea to warm us.”

  “How gracious of you.”

  Mrs. Steadman leaned a bit closer. The whisper of her black silk mourning gown and scent of her expensive French perfume unde
rscored her social standing, yet she almost greedily reached for the doll. “May I, please?”

  “Of course.” Isabel handed over the little doll she’d finished making only the night before. Designed to resemble Patty, it bore blue eyes and carroty hair. “We’re making them for the little girls at Kindred Hearts.”

  “Ohhh,” Mrs. Steadman breathed, “she’s adorable. Simply adorable.” She played with the yarn braids, examined the embroidered features, and admired the ruffled little dress. “You sew magnificently.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “When Carter told me what you were doing, I hoped I might have finally found someone to help me.” Mrs. Steadman carefully propped the doll beside her as if she were a treasured friend instead of a bit of yarn and remnant cloth. Then she lifted a basket from beside her chair. “I have the dolls that belonged to my grandmother and mother, as well as my own. I fear they were more loved than cared for.”

  Puzzled, Isabel sat and waited for her to continue.

  “Here.” Mrs. Steadman withdrew a porcelain-faced doll. Though the head was still in good condition, the dress needed mending, and a detached porcelain leg had been tied about the waist with some twine. “This was Grandmama’s. I was hoping maybe you could repair her.”

  Isabel examined all three dolls. She nodded confidently. “Yes, all three can be mended. They’re delightful.”

  “Oh, wonderful! You must begin as soon as we finish our tea.”

  Isabel reverently ran her finger over the belt on one of the older dolls. “My grandmother carried a ribbon similar to this in her bridal bouquet. It carried the same embossed roses, but it was gold, not silver.”

  “Oh, so she kept it?”

  “Yes. My mother used it in her bouquet, too.” Isabel forced a bright smile, though deep inside she felt a twang of sadness for the fact that for her, the ribbon would hold letters instead of a bridal bouquet. “I should be able to fix these pretty little dolls quite quickly.”

  “Oh, no. Don’t rush. I want you to take your time. Clearly, you’re deft with a needle, but I confess I’m a bit lonely these days.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Missionary Benevolence met here today, yet now that everyone has gone home, the house feels all that much more empty.”

  Isabel gave her a sad smile. “My condolences for your loss.”

  Mrs. Steadman blinked a few times and took a bracing breath. Her smile trembled a bit. “Stitch slowly, my dear. I’d count it a favor.”

  “And precisely what schemes are you up to now, Mother?”

  She laughed merrily and patted his shoulder. “Now, Carter, never let it be said I’ve ignored your preferences. I saw the way you looked at Isabel at the orphanage. I’d have to be blind to miss the way you lit up in her presence. When all of the young ladies were here for the missionary meeting, you didn’t show a speck of interest in anyone other than Elizabeth Henly, and you’ve always been like a doting brother to her.”

  He quirked a brow and stayed silent. She hadn’t wasted a moment. He’d barely escaped from that gaggle of socialites before Mother sent for Isabel.

  “I’m determined to see you happily wed and make sure that I have several grandbabies to cuddle. Clearly, you cannot court Isabel at the mill, so I’ve concocted a perfectly legitimate reason for her to be here. You’ll simply show up for supper, and after dining, we’ll visit before you escort her to the boardinghouse.”

  “Mind you, I’m not complaining in the least, but I confess, I am surprised. I have distinct recollections of Father talking about how Grandfather disowned Uncle Esau for marrying beneath him.”

  Mother sighed. “That was a shameful chapter in the family history—not on Esau’s part, but on your grandfather’s. Esau’s bride was a charming girl who came from a sound family, but your grandfather wanted him to marry to bind the Steadmans to another society family. He put money and power above his son’s happiness. More the fool, he.”

  “I don’t know Isabel well enough—”

  “Which is why I’ll arrange for you to spend plenty of time with her here. It will all be quite proper.”

  Carter bent down and brushed a kiss on his mother’s cheek. “You’ve made my life far easier. Now instead of having to divide my time between convincing you she’d make a worthy wife and courting her, I’ll have you as an ally and be free to direct my attentions on her alone.”

  His mother laughed. “You’re already so smitten, the girl hasn’t a chance.”

  Yes, the last one is finished.” Isabel set down her fork and blotted her lips with the napkin. After two days, she’d lovingly repaired all three dolls.

  “Not quite.” Mrs. Steadman shook her head. “I sent Bernice to the attic. She found Grandmama’s doll trunk. There’s another doll, and several of her little frocks are in dire need of restoration.”

  Carter chuckled. “Isabel, once Mother gets a notion in her head, it’s impossible to divert her.”

  Beneath the table, Isabel pleated her skirts with her fingers. Though the days here were far easier and Mrs. Steadman’s company quite pleasant, the best part of the arrangement was the wonderful evening meals spent with Carter. He was so interesting and easy to converse with.

  Nonetheless, this couldn’t continue. Isabel had obligations to meet. She ventured, “Perhaps I could take one piece back to the room with me and work on it each night after I’m done at the mill.”

  “Oh, I simply couldn’t bear to have those taken from under my roof.”

  Carter frowned at Isabel. “Are you unhappy here?”

  Heat flooded her cheeks. “Oh, no, sir!” Her fingers clenched tightly together, trapping the material into a scrunched ball. I’m never happier than in your presence…. She tamped down that thought before it imprudently left her lips. She had no call to be mooning over any man—let alone her employer! Embarrassing as this was, she had to stick to business and speak up—for Mama’s sake.

  “Then what is it?”

  Isabel trained her gaze on the handsome cleft in his chin and cleared her throat. “I need to work. For my family. Mama—”

  “Just a minute.” He leaned forward and locked eyes with her. The candleglow made his hazel eyes look like molten gold. “Of course you’re to draw wages for sewing.”

  “I should have realized….” Playing with a jet button at her throat in agitation, Mrs. Steadman gave her an apologetic look. “I’ll send a note to Mr. Jefford at once. He’ll see to it, Dear.” She then turned to her son. “Our Isabel sends her wages home to her mother and three little sisters.”

  “I’ll speak with Jefford directly.” Carter must have sensed her discomfort in discussing the crass matter of finances at the table, so he mercifully changed the topic of conversation. “It occurred to me this afternoon as we reset the looms in Building Three to do toweling that if Amy’s girls needed clothing, she probably could use towels.”

  “Sheets, too, son,” Mrs. Steadman urged.

  They moved on to the parlor for a leisurely after-supper discussion, and the Steadmans asked Isabel several questions about the orphanage. Though both huge and lavishly appointed, the mansion seemed warm and comfortable. Isabel truly enjoyed retiring to the parlor with them and sitting by the fireplace, conversing for an hour or so each evening.

  Carter eventually cast a look at the window. “It’s not snowing now. Would you rather I take you back in the carriage, or would you like to walk tonight, Isabel?”

  “Oh, I can walk alone, sir.”

  “Piffle! Carter, walk her home. A bit of fresh air would do you both good. Isabel, Bernice found my mother’s pelisse when she went to the attic. It’s warmer than yours. I insist you use it. We can’t have you catch a chill. She was a stately woman, just like you—willowy and tall. It should suit you perfectly.”

  When Carter helped her into the midnight blue pelisse, Isabel felt like a princess. “Oh, this is too grand,” she whispered. “Mrs. Steadman, I don’t think you should loan it to me.”

  “I don’t think so, either.
” Mrs. Steadman smiled. “It’s not a loan. I want you to keep it.” She laughed at Isabel’s gasp. “Dear, that fits as though it were made for you. I’m so pleased it suits you so well.”

  “Please explain to her,” Isabel begged Carter.

  “There’s no one here who can wear it, Isabel.” Carter gently lifted the hood over her hair and let his fingers linger on the fabric at her temples for a moment. “Besides, a beautiful woman like you deserves pretty things.”

  Chapter 9

  As if the gift of the garment hadn’t been enough of a shock, Carter Steadman’s compliment completely overwhelmed Isabel. Before she could stammer out her thanks, Mrs. Steadman bustled between them and gave her a quick embrace. “I’ll see you in the morning. Now off with you.”

  Moments later, Isabel walked alongside her employer. The scent of chimney smoke filled the crisp air. Moonlight sparkled on the new fallen snow that crunched beneath their boots. Her new pelisse warmed her heart every bit as much as her body. “Your mother is such a kind woman.”

  “Yes, she is. How she and my father ever wed is beyond me. For every thread of kindness she wove, he unrolled a bolt of oppression.” He held aside a branch so she wouldn’t snag on it.

  “Mr. Steadman—”

  “Call me Carter, Isabel—at least away from the mill.”

  She looked at him, then nodded. Was this an invitation for her to say what was on her heart? She’d felt God pushing her to tell Carter something, but if he took it the wrong way, it could ruin the unique friendship they’d begun to forge. Not only that, he was still her employer, and if she offended him, it could threaten her job. But Carter’s not that kind of man….

  Isabel cast a glance at him. “Carter, might I say something personal?”

  He stopped and gave her a heart-melting smile. “You can say anything you’d like.”

  God, please give me the words…. “You mentioned something back at the orphanage, and it’s bothered me.”

  “What was that?”

  “You feel the sins of the father are visited upon the son. I think you’re working far too hard to try to buy your way into God’s good graces.”