The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons

by Amanda Barratt, Susanne Dietze, Cynthia Hickey, Shannon McNear, Gabrielle Meyer, Connie Stevens, Erica Vetsch, Gina Welborn

  Daniel’s gut churned. He hated that she’d been tricked. That she could have been hurt. That a seemingly decent sort of person like Olive would stoop to sabotage because of Wilson’s joke. A sick feeling of helplessness twined with his anger. “You should have told me.”

  A disappointed furrow creased her brow. “I promised myself I wouldn’t. I don’t want you to think less of Olive.” Of course she didn’t. “She wouldn’t do something like this under normal circumstances, I’m sure. She must think I’m a threat to her in this fake competition Wilson created, which is ridiculous. And if you like her, I shall never mention it again.”

  “This is funnier than the opera.” Wilson swiped a tear of laughter from his cheek.

  Nora stared at her husband. “What are they talking about?”

  “End the tasteless joke, Wilson.” Daniel’s tone was low but clear.

  “It’s no joke. I’m good for the money,” he said, all but admitting he’d placed the ad.

  Nora covered her eyes. “Oh, Wilson.”

  “Just a bit of competition, is all.” Wilson shrugged.

  Daniel shook his head. “You must be terrified I’ll win the Humphries Competition, to stoop to this.”

  Wilson had the gall to clap his shoulder. “Not a fair competition between us if you didn’t have a bit of female diversion, too. Besides, most men would clamor to be in your position, with ladies batting their lashes at you. High time you married, too. You should be thanking me.”

  As if this were a game where no one was hurt or heartbroken or willing to marry a stranger for a roof over her head. Red tinged Daniel’s vision. “We’ll speak tomorrow.”

  “Can’t. Busy day.” Wilson led Nora away. “But you’ll be at the finalist’s dinner at the Humphries’s estate next Saturday? See you then.”

  As if they could resolve things there. Coward.

  “Intermission’s over.” Josie sighed.

  “I didn’t get your punch.”

  It was too late for refreshment, but he stepped away anyway. He needed a moment to collect himself. God, I am not sure how to handle this—

  “Mr. Blair?” Goldie Addis was at his elbow, licking her rosy lips. “Father wondered if you could join us for a post-opera supper.”

  Her father wondered, eh? Then again, her architect father was also a finalist in the Humphries Competition. Perhaps he wanted to compare plans.

  Or perhaps Goldie was yet another female wanting Wilson’s prize. After all, the reward was for Daniel’s heart, not marriage. All a woman had to do was make Daniel fall in love with her, and then she could take the money and run.

  When he married—if he married—he wanted his wife’s love and fidelity. He never wanted to question her intentions toward him, nor his toward her.

  Best to end this now. He looked her in the eye. “I cannot, but thank you and your father for your kind invitation. And thank you for the cinnamon muffins. They were delicious. I’ll have my secretary return your basket to you.”

  She blinked. “I see.”

  “I wish you well, Miss Addis. Pardon me.”

  Josie waited, her expression unreadable. When he offered her his arm, she took it, her grip firmer than usual as they followed Pablo and Fannie back into the theater.

  “That was a glass of punch, indeed.” Josie’s tone teased, but it sounded off. Her anger at Wilson must not be abating, either.

  He held her back so they wouldn’t be overheard. “I have a proposal for you.”

  Her eyes widened, as if he meant the other sort of proposal.

  “An offer, rather,” he said in a rush. “I’ll design the Mothers’ Home.”

  How he’d make the time, he couldn’t guess. Could a body live on an hour’s sleep?

  Josie grinned, though, and her hands clutched over her chest. It was a becoming sight. “I knew you’d help. You have the kindest heart, Daniel.”

  She shouldn’t say things like that. It made him think she might come to care for him someday. “Kindness doesn’t have a thing to do with it. It’s a trade. I’ll design it, hire a crew, all of that, but I want something from you in return. And I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  Chapter 4

  Daniel had said she wouldn’t like this. But, oh, was he wrong.

  The tightness of Josie’s corset challenged the wisdom of partaking yet another dinner course, but her mouth watered anyway. Soufflé à l’orange, fragrant with citrus and cream, sat before her, waiting to be tasted. She sighed, fingers fidgeting on her lap since she dared not touch her spoon. Instead she fixed her gaze on the plump woman in black lace at the table’s head.

  Their hostess, Theodora Humphries, had rapped her crystal wineglass in a single melodious chink. “What a privilege it is to welcome the local finalists of the International Competition for California University to my home.”

  Josie stifled a chuckle. Home sounded so modest, but Mrs. Humphries’s enormous manse, with its three-story foyer and mullioned windows, was no cozy dwelling. It neighbored the mansions of railroad barons and those who’d made fortunes in precious metals, including Daniel’s father. Josie didn’t live too far down the street, true, but her house was not as grand.

  Mrs. Humphries nodded at the group, including Daniel, his partner Harvey, and Harvey’s widowed sister Jane Faraday, a slender woman who served as Josie’s chaperone tonight.

  Then Mrs. Humphries’s gaze passed over Nora and Wilson, the lone imperfection in Josie’s otherwise fine evening. Brows must have lifted when she arrived apart from Wilson, who was a natural chaperone for her as her brother and, as a finalist, also invited. Seeing as he wouldn’t receive her when she called today—no doubt to avoid further discussion of his wretched ad—she couldn’t ask him to accompany her and Daniel. Even if she’d wanted to.

  Which she didn’t. If she’d had to ride here in Wilson’s carriage tonight, she would be hoarse from lecturing him.

  You’ve got to forgive him sometime.

  Her fingers played with the hem of her serviette. How to forgive when he was unrepentant? Just looking at his smirk made her ears buzz.

  Mrs. Humphries’s voice recalled Josie’s attention. “The committee in Brussels awaits your expanded plans. I am relieved I do not have to make the final selection myself, for I am so impressed by all of your designs that I could not possibly pick a favorite. If I did, I’d be forced to don a blindfold and point to a submission at random.” Mrs. Humphries chortled, inspiring the room to follow suit. Except for Daniel, seated to her left.

  He was such a serious fellow. Dedicated, driven, thoughtful, all admirable qualities. She’d accompanied him tonight to allow him to focus on his hostess rather than any women who might have designs on his heart.

  But Josie wanted Mrs. Humphries to see the true Daniel, too. Not the congressman’s son or even the architect, but a clever gentleman whose ideas would see the university prosper. Mrs. Humphries couldn’t help but be amazed by Daniel, if she spent a mere minute with him.

  But he didn’t smile, and he looked so handsome when he smiled.

  Under the table, Josie jostled his leg with her knee. Unladylike, but effective.

  He looked at her from the corner of his eye. Then, yes. There it was. A dazzling smile.

  Mrs. Humphries’s gaze lingered on Daniel a second too long before she blinked. Then she lifted her spoon. “Please,” she said, turning her attention to the soufflé. At last.

  Josie chuckled as she took up her spoon. Their hostess might be over sixty, but she knew a fine-looking fellow when she saw one. And Daniel was indeed attractive, with his square jaw and broad shoulders. His tuxedo fit him to perfection, and his dark hair and eyes made a striking contrast to the crisp white of his collar and tie. Then there was the way candlelight made his already long eyelashes appear even lengthier.

  “Care to share the amusement?” he whispered.

  She bit her lip, stifling her giggle. “Just that this is delightful.” Her second bite of soufflé tasted sweeter than the f
irst.

  “I’ll say.” But he hadn’t yet tried his dessert.

  When they adjourned to the salon, Josie took Daniel’s arm. The fabric of his tuxedo jacket was crisp against her bare arm, and the hairs on her nape lifted. Mercy, it was like she’d never been near a man in a tuxedo before. Perhaps her nerves were jumbled at seeing Wilson, or by the curious stares of a few architects’ daughters. Or by what she was about to do.

  Once they reached the salon, Daniel patted her forearm. “Go ahead. I’ll pray for you.”

  Josie hesitated. “Are you certain I should?” It didn’t seem the best idea now.

  “It’s your best chance.” He looked down at her, and the nerves in her legs joined the jumble, leaving her entire body shaky. With as steady steps as she could manage, she made her way to the midnight blue couch where her hostess and a few other ladies made themselves comfortable. The redheaded miss from the theater, Goldie Addis, scowled.

  But this was no different than inviting Mrs. Beake to tea. God, help me assist the women who need shelter. If this is Your way, make it easy. “Good evening, ladies.”

  “Miss Price, join us.” Mrs. Humphries indicated a vacant chair. Josie sat, draping the folds of her watered silk gown in the manner she’d been taught at finishing school. She may have a reputation for wearing bloomers, but she knew how to manage as well in a gown from the House of Worth. Mrs. Humphries offered an approving lift of one graying brow.

  The gesture increased Josie’s confidence. “How benevolent of you to sponsor the contest, ma’am. It will do our city well to boast such a fine university.”

  A guarded look shuttered Mrs. Humphries’s eyes. “I am certain you wish your brother and your friend, Mr. Blair, well with their entries.”

  Oh dear. Her hostess had it all wrong. “Their causes have no need of my promotion, ma’am. On the contrary, the ones whose cause I plead have no platform to speak for themselves.”

  One of the ladies sighed. Mrs. Addis nudged Goldie, who slunk away. But Mrs. Humphries’s single brow lowered. “Pray tell, what do you mean?”

  “It’s this Ladies’ Aid Society business,” Mrs. Addis said.

  This was not going at all well. “I wished to invite you to our next luncheon, ma’am. All of you are welcome.”

  Mrs. Addis blanched. “Christian duty is well and good, but a home for unwed mothers is a questionable project. At least for maidens.”

  Heat engulfed Josie’s cheeks. “My unmarried state doesn’t—”

  “She is past first blush,” a hawk-nosed woman whispered to Mrs. Addis. “And her mother sculpts.” As if that explained something.

  “And paints,” Josie added, a bit too tart, perhaps. But if they inferred Mother was morally lax, she would not tolerate it. Josie had little parental oversight, it was true. Mother stayed in her studio at the expense of all else. Father’s devotion to his shipping business kept him away for weeks. But that had nothing to do with Josie’s scruples. Or the city’s need for a Mothers’ Home.

  However, this wasn’t the time or place to argue. It wouldn’t do her cause, or Daniel’s, or even Wilson’s, any good. And she loved Wilson, despite it all.

  “Pardon me.” Josie gathered her gown, preparing to stand.

  Mrs. Humphries lifted a hand. “I own one of your mother’s landscapes. A peaceful view of the Golden Gate. Most of my art is European, but it touched my heart, and now it hangs in my New York apartment so I have a glimpse of the Pacific when I’m back east.”

  Bless her. “Thank you, ma’am. She will be pleased.”

  A flash of movement caught her eye. Daniel stood near the fireplace with Goldie Addis, his expression serious but kind. Josie’s dinner clumped in her stomach, although at the opera Daniel had assured her he had no interest in Goldie.

  She should intervene. It was part of their trade. She’d protect him from females; he’d build the Mothers’ Home. But something beyond the bargain made her want to be near him. Something that had to do with the hairs lifting at the back of her neck when he smiled at her.

  The thought was as unsettling as it was thrilling.

  A bony finger tapped her shoulder. Her chaperone, Jane Faraday, loomed over her with a fretful expression. “Forgive me, but I have formed a dreadful headache.” She flashed an apologetic look at Mrs. Humphries.

  “Poor dear.” Josie rose. “We must beg your pardon, ma’am.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Humphries stood. “And do send ‘round an invitation to the next Ladies’ Aid luncheon. I should like to attend.”

  “’Twould be my honor.” Josie grinned.

  She kissed Nora farewell, offered Wilson a grudging nod, and departed with her small party. The carriage ride home was just long enough to tell Daniel, Mrs. Faraday, and Harvey of her successful invitation to Mrs. Humphries.

  “Congratulations,” Mrs. Faraday said, rubbing her temples as they reached Josie’s house. “I should like to attend as well. Remind me when the time comes.”

  “I shall. I hope you feel better soon.”

  Daniel assisted Josie from the carriage and escorted her to the porch.

  Josie trembled when they stopped at the door. She and Daniel were in full view of their friends and the breadth of the door away from her parents. But for some reason, the moment felt different, standing in the darkness with him on a night when she realized just how much she liked being with him. The air felt changed, charged, as if a storm had begun and lightning was far off. But coming closer.

  “The fog will give you a chill.” Daniel leaned close to adjust her wrap around her neck. The heat of his breath grazed her ear. “Your night has been a triumph, Jo.”

  At first, her words wouldn’t form. “You mean, you weren’t barraged by misses?”

  He shook his head. “You gained an ally in Theodora Humphries. I wouldn’t be surprised if she makes a hefty donation toward the Mothers’ Home, thanks to you. You’re amazing.”

  A jolt ran up her arms at his words, lifting the hairs from her wrist to her nape. Whether it came from his congratulations or the way his soft words felt along her skin, she couldn’t tell.

  So when he leaned in and pressed a brotherly good-night kiss against her brow, something most unsisterly stirred in her chest.

  The little black paw thudded Daniel’s chest, no doubt smudging his lapel. No matter. He knew when he squatted in the entrance hall of the Prices’ home he’d be licked or worse. He ruffled the wiry hair of the Scottish terrier’s sturdy neck. “You want up? Is that it, Tilly?”

  “She wants to know if you brought a biscuit. Or a turkey dinner.” Josie leaned against the scarlet-papered wall, her eyes sparkling. “That’s her hungry face.”

  Tilly’s black beard tickled Daniel’s wrists as she peered up at him with soulful eyes. “She’s always looked like this.”

  “Because she’s always ravenous.” Josie laughed then nodded away the gray-haired butler, Finch, who’d admitted Daniel a moment ago. “Come in.”

  With a final pat, Daniel rose and followed Josie while Tilly scurried alongside, her claws tapping the parquet floor. They strode into the small parlor, a cozy chamber with dark wood paneling and padded furniture as creamy in hue as warm butter. A Gainsborough portrait hung alongside one of Mrs. Price’s landscapes, just two of the intriguing objets d’art that filled the room. Daniel smiled. He’d always liked how the chamber seemed both elegant and comfortable.

  “Mother,” Josie announced, “Daniel’s here.”

  Mrs. Price rose from one of the chairs that encircled a coffee table near the Carrarra marble mantelpiece, a stunning architectural feature. “Welcome back, dear boy. We haven’t seen much of you since Wilson set up his own house.”

  Ah, Wilson. He’d proven to be unavailable when Daniel daily dropped by his home or office. It was impossible to confront someone when he was so adept at avoidance.

  “Mother, I told you. Daniel is designing the Mothers’ Home. He’s here to see me.” Roses bloomed in Josie’s cheeks. “Please sit, Danie
l.”

  He’d been up half the night on the renderings for Josie, since he’d had no daylight hours to spare from the Humphries Competition. With weary bones, he lowered himself into a chair across from his hostess, but she lunged at him. “Stop!”

  “Sorry?” Daniel straightened.

  “You almost crushed Thisbe.” She scooped a white bundle from the padded cushion.

  “I’d never want to hurt her.” Or explain to Estelle York he’d sat on her cat. He shrugged at Josie. Her hand covered her mouth, but her eyes were crinkled with laughter.

  Thisbe hopped from Mrs. Price’s arms and marched toward Tilly, who stretched before the fire. Thisbe’s tiny paw swiped the terrier’s nose.

  “I love that little thing,” Mrs. Price said as Thisbe swiped Tilly again. Tilly shuffled to Josie’s side, as if desiring protection. “Even though she made a mess of my brushes.”

  “Thisbe belongs to Daniel, Mother, so we mustn’t get too attached.”

  “On the contrary, I have no home for her.” Daniel’s words eased the pucker of Mrs. Price’s lips. “Speaking of homes…” He handed a cylinder to Josie. “Would you like to see these now or later?”

  “Now, you goose.” She knelt before the coffee table and laid out the tube’s contents. The pencil renderings depicted various views of a Queen Anne–style house suitable for sheltering a dozen women and their children. “Oh my.”

  “I can change anything you like. The floor plan, the size. And of course, this is all for show.” He pointed to the overhanging eaves and gingerbread decorating the wraparound porch. Underneath the ornamentation, it was a simple house, designed for function. It needn’t look this fancy, if that was what she and the Ladies’ Aid Society preferred. But he’d intended to design a true home, a place of rest, hope, and beauty.

  Josie shook her head. “Don’t I always say you have the kindest heart? I should have known you would create something so beautiful. You are an artist.”

  Daniel warmed. He felt known, understood. If only Father viewed him the way Josie did.

  “Indeed.” Mrs. Price studied the renderings. “You’ve added dignity to a place some see as a home of shame.”