Dacey: Bride of North Carolina (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 12)

by Shanna Hatfield

  “Please bring her to the gold parlor, George. Right away,” Braxton said in a somewhat quieter tone. He strode across the entry hall and entered an expansive room with cream furnishings and gold-flocked wallpaper.

  Gently, he placed Dacey on a settee and stepped back from her, sure he’d misheard her before she fainted.

  No doubt, his unexpected interest in her conjured such a crazy notion.

  Marriage.

  How utterly preposterous.

  She didn’t know him, didn’t know anything about him. Why on earth would she travel to his home with the intention of marrying him?

  Doubts gnawed at him as he contemplated the possible reasons. Every thought came back to his meddling mother.

  He hurried into the entry and watched as Harry set Dacey’s valise and hat inside. The driver tipped his head to Braxton before going out the front door and closing it behind him.

  “Mother!” Braxton yelled again. A moment later, the woman breezed around the corner. Her skirts swished from side to side as she rushed toward him.

  “My dear boy, whatever is the matter? You know bellowing about the house is completely unacceptable.” Beatrice Douglas squeezed her son’s hand as she looked up into his intense gray eyes.

  “There’s a young woman in the parlor, Miss Butler. She fainted right after uttering some nonsense about being here to marry me. I’d like an…” Astounded when his mother spun away from him and hastened into the parlor, he followed.

  “Oh, she’s here!” Beatrice beamed with excitement as she leaned over to study Dacey’s flushed cheeks and smooth skin. Her personal maid, Caroline, ran into the room. Beatrice turned to her and waved a hand toward the hall. “Please fetch a cool cloth for her, Caroline, and a glass of water. It might be a good idea to bring the smelling salts.”

  When the maid disappeared, Beatrice turned back to Dacey, pleased by her arrival although not her distressed state. “She’s even prettier than I imagined.”

  “Of what are you speaking, Mother? What have you done?” Braxton took his mother’s arm in his hand, tugging her to the far side of the room. “I demand an explanation.”

  Indulgently, she patted his cheek and smiled. “Brax, I realize this might seem a bit… um… unconventional, but I ordered you a bride. Isn’t she wonderful?”

  “A what?” Braxton’s voice increased in volume while his brow furrowed in anger. His mother clapped a hand over his mouth and shoved him outside onto the porch.

  Quietly shutting the door behind her, she crossed her arms over her ample bosom and glared at her son. “Your preferences on the matter of taking a wife are quite clear, but I want you to wed, son. I want you to fall in love with a sweet girl and give me some grandbabies before I depart this cold, harsh world.”

  Scornfully, he snorted. “I’m more likely to have one foot in the grave before you, Mother. Despite whatever lies you told, I won’t marry her.” Braxton paced across the porch. “How dare you turn to such manipulative measures? Did you give any thought to what would happen to that poor girl when I refused to wed her, to follow through on whatever you offered her? What will she do? You can’t send her back to Massachusetts and, from the little I learned, it’s impossible for her to return to her home in Oregon.”

  “She’s from Oregon? I just assumed she lived in that northern town with the factory that burned,” Beatrice said, taking a seat on a white wicker chair. “That would explain her rather interesting choice of attire. Regardless, we’ll make her feel at home. I’m sure once you’ve gotten to know her, you’ll change your…”

  Braxton leaned over until his face was mere inches away from his mother’s. “I won’t change my mind. I won’t marry her. In addition, I won’t have a thing to do with your schemes, Mother. I’m finished with the whole mess.”

  “But, son, I want…”

  As he straightened to his full, impressive height, fury shot in piercing spears from his eyes. “It’s not about what you want this time, Mother. I won’t tell you again — I’ll have nothing to do with Miss Dacey Butler or your notions of marriage. Do what you like with her, but don’t expect me to make good on your promises to that poor girl.”

  He spun on his heel and stalked along the length of the porch.

  “Son? Braxton! Come back here!”

  Beatrice released a sigh and rose to her feet. She took a cleansing breath then returned to the parlor to meet her future daughter-in-law. In spite of Braxton’s protests, she would see him married to the young woman or her name wasn’t Beatrice Louise Jefferson Douglas.

  ~~*~~

  Dreams of a handsome man with black hair and eyes the color of the sky before an autumn rainstorm flittered through Dacey’s mind. She could feel the muscles of his chest and shoulders as he held her in his arms. The deep rumble of his voice seemed oddly comforting and enticing, making her ache to know him better, draw him closer.

  A sharp, acrid smell assaulted her nose and brought her fully awake. Her eyes popped open and she looked around, disoriented.

  She stared up at an ornate ceiling. As her gaze drifted down, she took in gold flocked wallpaper on the walls, expensive paintings, and rich furnishings.

  A cool cloth brushed across her forehead.

  “Are you well, dear?” A kind voice pulled her attention to her left. Dacey looked into the smiling face of a lovely woman with stormy gray eyes, incredibly similar to the eyes of the man in her dream.

  “Where… where am I?” Dacey started to rise, but the woman pushed her back against the cushions with a gentle hand.

  “Just lie still a moment, Miss Butler. Your head will stop spinning shortly, and then we’ll discuss the particulars over a cup of tea. Do you enjoy a good cup of tea?” The woman motioned to someone behind her.

  Dacey heard the sound of footsteps receding as they left the room.

  “Let’s start at the top, shall we? You’re Miss Dacey Butler, is that correct?”

  Dacey closed her eyes and nodded her head.

  “Splendid. That’s splendid.” The woman brushed a stray curl away from Dacey’s cheek. “Oh, you’re just perfect, Dacey. Do you mind if I call you Dacey?”

  “No, ma’am. That’s fine.” Dacey opened her eyes, relieved her head had indeed cleared. Slowly, she sat up and took in the woman sitting beside her, holding a wet cloth in her hand.

  Something about her seemed familiar, yet Dacey couldn’t say what tickled her memory.

  “And you are?” She asked, feeling lost and entirely confused.

  “I’m Beatrice Douglas. Braxton is my son.”

  Dacey hadn’t been dreaming, after all. She really had travelled to North Carolina to marry a man who had already piqued her interest.

  Beatrice dropped the cloth she held into a shallow bowl on a table in front of the settee and settled back against the cushions. “I’m ever so glad you’ve arrived, Dacey. Did Braxton meet your train? What did you think of him?”

  “He seems very kind, and interesting to talk to, ma’am, but he didn’t meet my train. I stopped to admire your horses and he found me there.” Dacey glanced down at her skirt and plucked off a few stray horse hairs then worried about dropping them on the expensive carpet.

  Mindful of her concern, Beatrice brushed them off her hand to the floor then squeezed her fingers. “Oh, my dear girl. I’m so sorry. He was supposed to meet you at the train. You must be exhausted and thirsty after that long walk.”

  “I enjoyed the walk very much. It’s quite lovely here, much different from my home.” Dacey dared a glance at her hostess. “But Mr. Douglas didn’t seem to know who I was or why I came.”

  Beatrice possessed the grace to blush. “I’m afraid that’s my fault. You see, my wish is for Braxton to wed. He’s my only living child, and the one thing I want for him is to be happy. The brainless simpletons who run in his circle won’t shelter his heart and love him as he deserves. One day, I happened upon a publication with advertisements for mail-order brides. Since Braxton refuses to choose one, I decided t
o locate a wife for him. I received many replies to the advertisement I placed, but yours stood out. I knew the moment I read your letter you were the one meant for my son.”

  “But, Mrs. Douglas…”

  Beatrice patted Dacey’s hand. “Beatrice. You must call me Beatrice.”

  Reluctantly, Dacey nodded. “Beatrice, are you saying Mr. Douglas had no idea I came here to marry him?”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying.” Beatrice offered her a conspiratorial wink. “That’s why you and I must convince him it’s a brilliant plan.”

  Dacey rose to her feet, ready to leave. Then she recalled she had nowhere to go. Defeated, she plopped back down. Maybe one of her roommates would have room for her once they settled into a new life.

  She wasn’t afraid of hard work. Perhaps she could find a job in town. Maybe the nice woman at the grocer’s store would hire her.

  “Oh, you poor girl. I’m sorry. This all must come as quite a shock,” Beatrice said, wrapping an arm around Dacey’s shoulders and pulling her against her side.

  Unsettled by Beatrice’s kindness, tears burned the backs of Dacey’s eyes and she allowed herself to rest against the motherly woman.

  Struggling to maintain her composure, the arrival of a tea tray kept her from having to say anything as Beatrice shooed away the maid and poured the tea, stirring both cream and sugar into Dacey’s cup.

  “There’s nothing quite like a cup of tea to set things right in the world. I keep telling Braxton he needs to drink more tea. I find it a marvelous way to relax.” Beatrice filled a plate with small sandwiches and sweets, handing it to Dacey.

  As they sipped tea and Dacey enjoyed the delicious snack, she asked Beatrice about the town of Asheville and Bramble Hall.

  “Mr. Douglas said your family has lived here since the 1830s.”

  Beatrice nodded and dabbed her lips with a napkin. “That’s right. My father arrived in Asheville as a young man full of dreams. With the help of his dedicated workers, he built this place from nothing and married my mother. The land where this house stands was once a bramble thicket, that’s how it got the name Bramble Hall. My parents started out in a wonderful two-story house where our overseer now resides. As Father accumulated more wealth and purchased additional acres, he built this house. It took three years to complete.”

  Dacey looked around, admiring the beauty of her surroundings, and what she could see outside the parlor window. “So you married a man named Mr. Douglas?” she asked.

  “Yes, I did. I was an only child, pampered and spoiled by my parents. Young and foolish, I allowed a handsome face and charming manners to turn my head. Before I came to my senses, I’d married Daniel Douglas. His family was from old Southern money, but they lost most of their holdings during the war.” Beatrice sighed before continuing. “Daniel is a good man and I do love him, but Brax and I maintain control of all business dealings. Despite his many positive attributes, my husband does not possess a head for business matters. He spends his days hunting, riding, and pretending he’s a country squire while Braxton and I work with the overseer to keep this place going.”

  Dacey smiled with understanding. “What do you raise here at Bramble Hall?”

  “Other than a devilishly handsome son?” Beatrice teased, delighted by the bright spots of pink blossoming in Dacey’s cheeks.

  Dacey nodded and Beatrice laughed.

  “My father raised tobacco, but during the war years we had to diversify. We also grow wheat and sweet potatoes.”

  “I love seeing fields of wheat, golden and ripe, blowing in the breeze,” Dacey said, swamped by a wave of homesickness for the ranch in Oregon.

  Beatrice smiled knowingly. “It is a lovely sight, for certain. Braxton talked me into planting an apple orchard five years ago, and that’s been doing well, too. We also have the horses. They are Brax’s special project, although I enjoy watching him work with them.”

  “They’re beautiful animals,” Dacey said, setting down her teacup and looking at Mrs. Douglas. “The one I rode was very clever and well-trained.”

  “You rode one of the horses already?” Beatrice’s eyebrows nearly met her hairline. There was no doubt Braxton Douglas got his dark hair and stormy eyes as well as much of his charm from his mother.

  “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t plan to, it just sort of happened.”

  Beatrice bounced slightly on the seat, like a happy schoolgirl. “Tell me all about it.”

  “I noticed the horses from the main road and stopped to pet several of them. They followed me when I turned the corner and started down the road that would lead me here.” Dacey giggled. “The next thing I knew, I was riding across the pasture on the back of a beautiful chestnut mare.”

  “Polly,” Beatrice said, grinning at Dacey. “She’s a sweetheart.”

  “And so intelligent. She responded to my commands better than many horses I’ve ridden.”

  “Where did you find a bridle or saddle?” Beatrice asked, slightly perplexed.

  Dacey ducked her head. “I rode her bareback.” At Beatrice’s astonished look, she hurried to explain. “I’ve done that hundreds of time at home on our ranch. That’s why I mostly wear these skirts. It makes it easy to ride, if I take a notion to jump on the back of a horse.”

  Beatrice rose and motioned for Dacey to join her. “You may ride anytime you wish, and despite what others might say, ride however you like. Now, tell me more about your skirt.”

  Dacey showed the older woman how the skirt’s front placket unbuttoned to allow her to straddle a horse. As they walked into the entry hall, Beatrice noticed Dacey’s bag and hat on the floor.

  “Where is your trunk, dear? Did Harry forget to carry it inside?”

  “No, ma’am. It seems my trunk jumped off the train back in Raleigh. Mr. Jones at the depot said he’d make sure it arrived tomorrow.”

  “I see,” Beatrice said, while her mind plotted ways to dress Dacey like a living doll. She assumed most of the girl’s clothes would be far too plain and simple for her social circles. A visit to the dressmaker would be essential, particularly with the annual Harvest Ball taking place at Bramble Hall in a few weeks.

  Determined to aid Dacey in adjusting to her new surroundings, Beatrice would do everything in her power to help the young woman not only fit in, but turn Braxton’s stubborn head.

  Beatrice picked up Dacey’s hat while the girl grasped the handles of her valise. “Let’s get you settled into your room, darling.” The older woman led the way up a curving staircase to the third floor.

  Overwhelmed by the grandeur of the home, Dacey tried not to gawk. Her gaze took in the elaborate tapestries hanging on the walls and the sparkling chandeliers overhead as she followed Beatrice up the plush carpeted steps.

  At the top of the stairs, they took a few steps down a hall before Beatrice opened a door to her left. She ushered Dacey into a room that was nearly as big as the house where she grew up.

  A huge four-poster bed with rich cream-colored damask coverings dominated one wall. A marble fireplace, writing desk, side chairs, fainting couch, and a bookshelf rounded out the room’s furnishings.

  Awed, Dacey stepped inside, admiring the soothing pale green tones of the walls and draperies. She set her valise down near the door and walked over to a window. Gently, she pushed back the lace covering the glass, admiring a sight that showcased the river meandering through the property. A long, thin door opened onto a balcony that offered additional spectacular views.

  Intrigued by the landscape below her that included an elaborate flower garden with a fountain and walking paths, she jumped when Beatrice settled a hand on her back.

  “You’re welcome to explore the grounds all you like. Just be careful if you go wandering. We do have some poisonous snakes in the area.”

  A shiver of dread slithered down her spine. She could deal with vermin of all types. Spiders didn’t make her flinch. She’d even faced down a bear that wandered out of the mountains onto the ranch one summer, but sh
e couldn’t abide snakes.

  “It’s okay, darling. Most often, they stay in the wooded areas, near rocks, or along the water.” Beatrice hugged her shoulders. “No need to fret.”

  The woman spun her around and led her back inside. They crossed to a far wall where Beatrice led her across the room and to a space that made Dacey’s mouth hang open in surprise.

  “We added these to most of the bedrooms in the last few years,” Beatrice said, motioning to a large bathtub in the private bathroom. “You might like to take a hot bath before we dine this evening.”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I surely would.” Dacey considered how good it would feel to sink into a tub of hot water and soak her weary body.

  When she’d responded to the advertisement for a mail-order bride in North Carolina, she never imagined she’d find herself in a place of such luxury. In her mind, she’d agreed to marry a simple farmer, not the only child of a family with a prosperous plantation.

  She refused to dwell on the fact Braxton Douglas had no interest in marrying her. Instead, she focused her attention on making the most of her time at Bramble Hall. If she had a few minutes before dinner, she’d write letters to her roommates Josephine and Chevonne, letting them know she’d safely arrived.

  “Please, Dacey, make yourself at home. I want you to feel welcome here at Bramble Hall.” Beatrice hugged her again then moved to the door. “I’ll send someone up to help you while I find a dress suitable for you to wear this evening.”

  “Thank you, kindly, ma’am.”

  Beatrice grasped her chin in her hand and smiled. “None of that, now. Call me Beatrice.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Dacey grinned when Beatrice winked at her and exited the room in rustle of silk.

  With no idea what she’d gotten herself into, part of her thrilled at the plethora of possibilities awaiting her.

  Chapter Four

  Dacey stood on a rug in the bathroom, drying herself with a soft towel that smelled of flowers and sunshine when she heard someone in her room.