Amelia (The Marriage Market Book 1)

by Stevie MacFarlane

  “Mon du, this is a catastrophe! It is not to be born. You there,” she called, pointing to two men on the edge of the crowd. “Fetch me two wagons, clean ones,” she instructed with narrowed eyes. “Toot suite!” Clapping her hands, she called to the women. “Mademoiselles, come here at once.”

  Amelia was exiting the carriage when Hugh and Sam arrived. Seeing her husband’s angry expression, she quickly backed up and closed the door. Tempest stepped in front of him as he reached for the door handle.

  “What, no kiss for your ma ma?” she said sharply. “No greeting?”

  “I’m sorry, Mother.” Hugh sighed, leaning down to kiss her scented cheek. “You need to step aside. I would like a few words with my bride,” he ground out.

  Tempest held her ground, blocking his way.

  “What a naughty boy you’ve been, my son,” she scolded. “You cannot have more than one wife, not in this dismal country. You should have explained your desires to me and I would have arranged passage to Arabia. Many wives you could have had there. In Paris, you could have had any number of mistresses. It is the French way.”

  “No, Mother, you don’t understand. This is all a big mistake. I only want one wife and that is the one that belongs to me, Amelia.”

  “Then why have you issued a proposal to ten women? Explain, please. What are you going to do with them all?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know,” he sighed.

  “Would you like my help?” she asked sweetly as the other women began to close in on them.

  Hugh glared in the window of the carriage before answering. At this point he was exhausted, frustrated and didn’t see any way out of this mess.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  “Ah, you have only to ask,” she sweetly replied with a glint in her eyes. “Finally, my precious boy has need of his ma ma. Do not worry,” she continued, reaching up to rest a hand on his cheek. “I will take care of everything. Ah good, here are the wagons.

  “Samuel, take your brother to his home and give him a stiff drink. I will deal with this. Well, what are you standing here for?” she said, turning her attention to the newly arrived wagons and drivers. “Help the Mademoiselles into the wagons and be gentle. They have had a long, tiring journey. You there, gather the trunks and bring them to my home immédiatement.”

  Sam pulled Hugh away. As soon as they were out of hearing distance, Alice approached the carriage.

  “Mr. Henderson is waiting for me,” she said to Amelia. “Will you be all right?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Amelia assured her, although after seeing the look on her husband’s face she wasn’t entirely sure. For some reason, witnessing his defeat to his mother didn’t set quite right with her. His denial seemed genuine. Maybe none of this was his fault?

  “Alice, are you going to be married right away? Today?”

  “I don’t know. He wants to show Delia and me his house and then I guess we’ll go from there. Do you still want me to post the letter you gave me?”

  “Yes, please, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  “Not at all. Where are you all going?”

  “To Hugh’s parents’ house, at least until we get everything sorted out. Someone wrote those letters and if it really wasn’t Hugh, we need to find out who it was.”

  “Are you having doubts?”

  “Yes,” Amelia replied softly. “After I calmed down, I studied them carefully. Many of the same words are misspelled and the handwriting is different, as though someone obviously penned quite a few. Listen, if you and Mr. Henderson aren’t going to marry immediately, have him bring you and Delia to the Jordon house. You’ll be safe there,” she said earnestly as she reached out the window to take Alice’s hand. “There must have been nearly a hundred men waiting for the ship to reach Seattle. I have a feeling not all of them can be trusted.”

  “Mr. Henderson seems to be exactly what he claims to be,” Alice answered.

  “Yes, I know, but so did Hugh,” Amelia replied.

  “Oh my, that’s true. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful and if we’re not married before nightfall, I’m afraid I’ll have to take you up on your generous offer.”

  “Best of luck, Alice. I hope he’s everything you dreamed he’d be,” she said as her friend walked away.

  “Thank you.” Alice smiled, turning back to the carriage. Opening the door, she hugged her friend. “I’m so sorry it hasn’t turned out well for you.”

  “That’s okay; I miss Effie and Grace dreadfully. Soon I’ll be back at home fending off rich old suitors again, except this time I won’t be worth so much. I’m damaged goods now.” She sniffed.

  “Amelia Westcott, how can you spout such rot?” Jane scolded, climbing in the other door. “What utter nonsense. Your new ma ma says I’m to ride with you. She wants all the details on the way and as I’m a ‘Madam’ and not a “mademoiselle’ she thinks I will have more information and less theatrics. You should see some of those girls sucking up her sympathy. It’s pathetic. Molly and Martha are the only ones who have a lick of sense as far as I can see.”

  “Excuse me, Alice. Delia is getting fidgety. I think she has to go,” a man whispered as he approached Alice.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quickly. “Amelia, Jane, this is Mr. Henderson. He’s been kind enough to keep an eye on Delia while I said good-bye.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Clarence said, tipping his hat.

  “It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Henderson. And Alice, it’s not good-bye, it’s au revoir.” Amelia giggled.

  “Parfiat,” Tempest said approvingly as she entered the carriage. “Au revoir, Alice, Monsieur. Home now, Francois, si’l vous plait.”

  “It’s Frank,” a voice called down from above.

  *

  Once they arrived at the massive home of Tempest and Duncan Jordon, it did not take long for Amelia’s new mother-in-law to set things in motion. Servants carried in trunks and readied bedrooms. Tempest’s chef swore in fluent French when she requested he increase the number of guests for dinner, but eventually he complied. It wasn’t until she insisted her husband pack a bag and move into his son’s house, that all hell broke loose.

  “No, absolutely not,” Duncan said calmly when his wife approached him in the parlor.

  “But you must, mon husband. The house is full of jeune filles, it is not right for a man to be in residence. You must go and stay with Hugh, it is, after all, your fault.”

  “How is it my fault?” he demanded, rising to his full height and towering over his petite wife.

  “You give your sons too much,” she cried. “Always it is their way. I have tried to teach them, ah…refinement, but they want to get their hands dirty.” She shivered in disgust. “They could have been diplomats, but they would rather cut down trees. Ah, I have never understood them,” she insisted, spinning away, her skirts swirling about her.

  “Or me,” he said quietly, his hands on his hips.

  “No, it is you who have never understood me,” she spat. “I feel like a guest in your home. You treat me like a porcelain doll, a bebe. I am a woman, worthy of respect,” she shouted, pointing at her chest. “But do I get it? Non, your sons do not even like me. They think I am foolish and annoying. They think me silly,” she said, turning her back on him and holding a hankie to her eyes.

  “Now, lassie, that’s not true. I know the boys can be a bit critical, but this is a rough country, not like France. Here men have to be strong and independent.”

  “So, they do not need a woman in their pa pa’s house?” She sniffed again. “You do not need me; you humor me as you would a child. You are like them, happy to see me go away. You never say no when I ask if it is all right, because you do not care if I am here or not,” she sobbed.

  Duncan went to her and pulled her into his arms.

  “That is not true,” he insisted. “I only want to make you happy. I built this house for you, it is your home, and I don’t try to stop you from traveling because I know you enjoy i
t so. And you always come back to me. You are making a Tempest in a teacup once again.”

  “Do not say that to me, not again. You treat my emotions as though they have no meaning,” she shouted, spinning out of his arms and pushing him away as she stormed to the fireplace. “I will make you see that I am a strong woman,” she screamed, picking up a figurine and throwing it at him. It shattered against the wall in a million pieces. Her dark eyes were flashing with fire as she picked up another one.

  “Do not throw that at me, Tempest. Do you ken?” Duncan said, finally raising his voice. As always, his accent returned when he became angry. “I’ll no be tossed out of my own home.”

  “I thought you said it was my home, built for me?” she cried, throwing a china Scottish terrier at his head.

  Duncan sidestepped and it sailed into a glass-fronted cabinet, shattering the door. Marching to her, he took her shoulders in his big hands and gave her a small shake.

  Tempest felt her heart swell with hope. Maybe her big Scotsman did love her. For the first time in their married lives he appeared ready to step in when she was out of control. It frightened her when she got like this, spinning wildly and unable to stop. Always, always he let her be until she felt like she was going to suffocate. It was lonely in this barren state. Once her temper finally exhausted itself, she would cry for hours. Duncan gave her space, the last thing she needed.

  His hands tightened and he fought the urge to shake some sense into her, maybe more, but common sense won out and he released her, his mouth set in a grim line, his eyes sad.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks. There, she’d done it again. Made her husband angry, but worse than that, disappointed, defeated. Would she never learn to curb her tongue, her temper?

  Standing stiffly she looked at him.

  “Is this my house?”

  “Yes,” he sighed.

  “Then leave. Go and stay with your precious Hugh, who created this mess. I will find these girls respectable husbands. When I am done, you may come home. I will return to France, maybe for good this time.” Her throat was tight with suppressed tears and her head pounded painfully. She could not make him happy, had never made him happy. Duncan had tried, but he could never tame her restless spirit, not with appeasement, which was his way.

  He left, closing the door quietly behind him. Every woman in the house cried herself to sleep that night.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was after midnight and still the three men sat in Hugh’s study drinking whiskey.

  “It has to be Clarence,” Sam insisted. “He was the only one who had access to those letters, and he’s been acting strangely for weeks now. Today while you were trying to get near your wife, I saw Clarence greeting a blonde woman with a small child. I’m sure I’ve seen her photograph somewhere before.”

  “Why would Clarence set me up?” Hugh demanded, rising from his chair and walking to the massive fireplace. “I’ve known him for a long time and he’s always been a trusted employee.”

  “For one thing, maybe he wanted one of the women you rejected,” Duncan suggested. “He was on the wharf, obviously expecting her. And she didn’t accept your mother’s protection, so she had other plans. Maybe those plans included marrying Clarence?”

  Hugh nodded, leaning against the mantle, his arms crossed. “So Clarence decided to pull the letter of a woman he was attracted too. Alice Baker, I believe her name is. That at least makes sense. Jane Watson also looked familiar to me on the ship. I couldn’t be sure of course, and she did go with Mother, but she’s been sort of a mother hen to the others. From what I was able to overhear, Jane is here to work with Dr. Martin.”

  “Did Tom advertise for a bride?” Duncan asked.

  “Not that I know of, but it’s been two years since his wife died. He could have.”

  “Even if both those things are true, that still doesn’t explain all the other women,” Sam pointed out. “Who would propose to all those women using your name and how did they get the letters?”

  “I guess Clarence will be the one to ask about that. First thing in the morning, I’ll go see Dr. Martin.” Hugh set his drink down and rubbed his face with both hands.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. A letter came for you from back east while you were in San Francisco and I took the liberty of opening it. It turns out your wife has some very dangerous friends,” Sam said with a smile as he took the letter from his pocket and handed it to his brother.

  Hugh turned toward the fire, letting the light illuminate the fragile paper. He was quiet for several moments before he laughed and handed it back to his brother.

  “Wonderful. Now I am despised on both coasts. What did you do about this?”

  “I wrote back to her, in my own name of course, and informed Miss Effie Lane she was most welcome to visit her dear friend and my new sister-in-law to check on her welfare. However, it would be wise of her to leave her pistol at home, as I would more than likely remove it from her possession upon her arrival before she hurt herself. I may have also mentioned that little girls who issue threats may be in danger of getting their bottoms spanked.”

  “So you threatened her?”

  “I prefer to think of it as more of a promise,” Sam drawled. “In any case, I doubt we’ll be seeing Miss Lane.”

  “What are you going to do about getting your bride back?” Duncan asked, draining his glass.

  “I plan to wait a few days and let the dust settle while I get to the bottom of this. Then I will present her with the evidence of my innocence. Hopefully, she will realize it’s all been a horrible mistake and come home with her loving husband,” he said, placing his hand on his chest and giving a small bow. Picking up his glass, he drained it and slammed it down on the mantle.

  “When we get home, I will teach her a very valuable lesson regarding marriage, commitment and trusting one’s husband.”

  “And if she refuses?”

  “Oh, she can refuse at the top of her lungs; she’ll come home under her own steam or over my shoulder getting her ass swatted every step of the way. If it comes to that, I plan to take the long way home, right through the center of town.”

  Duncan scoffed. “You’ll never get her out of the house that way. Not unless you plan to do battle with your mother.”

  “I was hoping you would take care of that part,” Hugh said. “It’s time you stood up to her, Father, and you know in your heart I’m right. She’s taunted you for years; it’s almost like watching someone poking a sleeping bear. She flits here and there doing lord knows what. Now she’s tossed you out of your own damn home. Where does it end? Divorce?”

  “Never,” Duncan roared. “I’ll no give her a divorce under any circumstances!”

  “Then do something about her! She’s out of control, has been for years. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for us, or for any grandchildren we may give you. Hell, do it because you love her and it’s for her own good. She’s not getting any younger, you know, and neither are you. What are you waiting for? Isn’t nearly thirty years of her tantrums and spending frenzies enough? Think of the example she’s setting for Amelia, and if I ever get married, I certainly don’t want my wife behaving like that. How will I argue against it when my own father tolerates it?”

  “Ach, it’s a sad day when a man has to take his hand to his wife.” Duncan sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’ll think on it.”

  “Maybe it won’t come to that,” Sam said encouragingly. “Maybe the mere threat will be enough to have her rethinking her behavior. If she sees you don’t mean to put up with it any longer.”

  Duncan and Hugh both looked at him and rolled their eyes.

  “When has your mother ever been reasonable?” Duncan asked. “She takes everything to the absolute limit and frequently beyond.”

  “So you’ll help me, if it comes to that?” Hugh asked.

  “Let me get to know your little Amelia a wee bit, son. I just want to make sure it’s the right thing to do before I act. There’s a chance if I
take your mother to task, she will leave and never return, as she’s threatened many times.”

  Hugh nodded in understanding. He hadn’t considered that. While his mother tried his patience on a daily basis and he thought her the most aggravating women on the face of the earth, never seeing her again was deeply troubling.

  “Take your time, Father. As far as I know, there’s no hurry other than my own selfish need to have my wife back, in my life and in my bed,” he admitted. “Speaking of bed, Sam, are you spending the night?”

  “Yes, no sense in going home now when we have to be up in a few hours.”

  “Good night then,” Hugh replied, refilling his glass. “I’ll see you both in the morning.”

  Taking his drink, he climbed the stairs to his empty room.

  *

  Tempest had been up, bustling around for hours when Amelia made her way downstairs.

  “Oh ma petit,” she cooed. “You look so sad, like an angel with a broken wing.” She sighed as she cupped Amelia’s cheek. “And still she wears the black,” she scolded to nobody in particular. “Go upstairs, my angel, and put on something light and gay. You look like you’re in mourning. It’s too depressing.”

  Amelia watched her mother-in-law set the table with very fine china. Her dark hair was pulled back in a jeweled clip, spilling down her back. The fine linen skirt she wore was cream and trimmed with rose flowers to match her rose shirtwaist. Overall, she looked younger than Amelia felt.

  “I am in mourning, Ma Ma,” Amelia sighed dramatically as she sank onto a chair.

  Tempest smiled. “Perhaps you have fallen in love with my wicked son?” she suggested.

  “Perhaps,” Amelia replied, quietly putting her elbow on the table and resting her chin on her hand. “It’s absurd, of course. How can I love a man who would treat me this way?”

  “Has he been so cruel to you, ma petit?” Tempest asked. “Tell Ma Ma what he has done to you?”

  “He has proposed to other women,” Amelia snapped in indignation. “Isn’t that enough?”

  “Yes, yes, I know about that, but that is obviously an erreur, a mix-up,” she stated, waving her hand as though it were of no consequence. “I know you may not think so at the moment, but my son is an honorable man. How else has he hurt you, my angel, hmm? He is a good lover, yes?”