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

Whoever let this woman travel alone should be hung up by his toes and shot. Yes, that was it. She had a husband somewhere, and they’d parted company. That would certainly account for her jumpiness.

  “Ma’am,” he said, as gently as he could, “you seem like the nice sort, so I’m sure whatever trouble you and your husband have run into is something you can patch up. I’d be happy to put you on a train headed to home so you can have the opportunity to do just that.”

  He waited for the tears. Or the protest. Or something. Instead, she stared blankly back at him.

  “Husband?” she finally said.

  “Well, yes. Isn’t that who you were traveling with?”

  She began to giggle. “Hardly,” she managed a moment later. “The last thing I need is a husband, though my father would disagree. In fact, it is our dispute on that point that caused me to decide I was in need of an adventure.”

  An odd and unwelcome relief washed over him at the thought that the green-eyed beauty had no husband. Not that he was looking to fill the position.

  “And what’s so bad about being married?”

  Soon as the words were out of his mouth, the irony hit him. How many times had he been asked that same question since his father died? He was about to withdraw the question when the gal started talking.

  “Oh, I don’t know if there’s anything wrong with it in general, but I’m certainly not interested. Any man who would marry me would certainly not marry me for love.”

  A couple more questions occurred to him. He kept his mouth shut.

  “I came here on the train from Houston with my… well, with Bridget. Her mother is ill, so she traveled on to Biloxi. So,” she said as she placed her gloved hands in her lap and once again looked up expectantly, “since Bridget is generally the one who handles things, I am at a slight disadvantage at this moment.” Again that backbone straightened. “However, rest assured this is merely a temporary setback. I am nothing if not resilient.”

  “Resilient,” he echoed as he looked at the kid gloves, the expensive Louis Vuitton trunks, and the posture that could only be learned at the finest of finishing schools. He had to wonder what kind of temporary setback a gal like her could possibly have.

  So he decided to ask.

  “So you and your daddy had a falling out, and now you’re having an adventure. My guess is your setback involves Daddy’s money and the lack of it.”

  Those pretty eyes widened. “How did you know? I worked so hard to look… well, average.”

  “Darlin’, you can work at looking average from now until the cows come home, but I can’t see how you’ll ever manage it.”

  Her shoulders fell. “Oh. Well, that’s troublesome.”

  Rit shook his head. “Women! Here I am trying to give you a compliment, and you don’t want it any more than you want these callas.” He reached down and grabbed one of the pastries and took a bite. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” he said as he finished off the callas and grasped the reins. “Hang on there. I’ll have you to the Monteleone in no time.”

  He eased the carriage onto Canal Street, barely missing a wagon loaded with crates heading for the wharf. He couldn’t help but notice the markings on the side indicated they were headed for Baker Shipping.

  Traffic was heavy this time of day, so they moved at a crawl down the wide boulevard. Up ahead he spied the reason. A tangle-up between a wagon and the interurban had produce and chickens covering the width of Canal Street.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Rit spied his companion reaching for one of the two remaining callas. He waited until she had a mouthful of pastry, then he leaned over toward her. “This may take awhile. What say we get acquainted?”

  She finished the pastry, looking slightly confused. “Acquainted? With the help?”

  The help. His brothers would never believe this.

  His brothers.

  “First names only,” he hurried to say as he realized he might have just opened himself to the kind of trouble he did not want.

  “Why not?” The little lady stuck out her hand. “I am Octavia. Pleased to meet you.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Octavia,” he responded as his big paw enveloped her hand. “You can call me Merritt.”

  “Merritt is a very nice name.”

  “My mother thought so,” he said.

  “Apparently,” she responded, with what he thought just might be the beginnings of a giggle. “You know, these pastries are very good. What do you call them?”

  “Callas.” He nodded to the remaining one. “Go ahead. I’ve had my fill.”

  Unlike Octavia, he’d been traveling by private railcar. And Mama always insisted the Baker railcar be staffed with the best chef and all the food anyone could want. And more.

  “If you’re certain,” she said as her gloved hand inched over and snatched up the callas. “These really are very good. I believe I will like living in New Orleans.”

  Rit slid her a sideways glance. “I sure hope so, ma’am.”

  And for the first time in a very long time, he felt as if someone was really seeing him, instead of the heir to Baker Shipping. Or rather the final Baker brother to need a bride before he got his inheritance.

  Chapter 2

  The taxicab driver’s lack of insistence on any further informality offered a slight comfort, which was more than she could say about the frighteningly chaotic world through which they were currently driving. Though the awful smells that blanketed the train station had abated, here on the wide boulevard the sign said was CANAL, there were other scents that easily overpowered her.

  “I can see you may be changing your mind about your impression of New Orleans,” he commented after a few minutes.

  She dabbed at her nose with her handkerchief then tucked it into her sleeve. No longer could she smell the violets. Still, it seemed rude to complain about a fact that this fellow had no ability to change. And he had allowed her two of the delicious pastries.

  “It’s lovely. Truly.”

  Her driver slid her a sideways glance and punctuated it with a broad smile. “Liar.”

  His laughter mingled with hers. “Oh, all right,” she admitted. “I was raised on a ranch, so I am accustomed to certain pungent odors, but nothing like this.”

  “You?” He expertly guided the taxicab around a gathering of buggies and persons and then turned the corner onto a much more narrow street. “I don’t believe it.”

  Though his protest held more interest than disbelief, her ire flamed anyway. “And why is that?”

  “Well, you’re just so…” He shook his head. “No. Forget it. I’m just the taxi driver.”

  He pulled the taxicab to a stop in front of an establishment worthy of the nicest street in Denver or New York City and jumped out. The sign above the door declared it to be the HOTEL MONTELEONE.

  “You stay right here, miss, and I’ll go in and see to everything.” He stepped around to the back of the taxicab to lift a trunk as if it were light as a feather.

  Oh my. She’d never been in such close proximity to a man who was handsome and strong.

  He came alongside the buggy and stopped so close she could have reached out and easily touched him. “I don’t see any callas vendors, so you ought to be safe until I come back.” The impertinent driver punctuated the statement with a wink.

  “Oh.”

  Tavia tried—and failed—not to watch him travel the remainder of those steps to disappear inside the ornately trimmed double doors of the hotel. Still, those broad shoulders did heft a trunk with such ease. And the way he moved with such assurance, that those who were walking past gave way to allow him to pass. Then there was that smile… and he’d offered it to her, not having any idea who she was or the amount of money she was set to inherit.

  For the first time since she left Denver, Tavia felt like someone was really seeing her.

  The driver returned a few minutes later. “You’re all set, ma’am,” he said. “There’s a nice room waiting for you on the top fl
oor.” He paused to shift the trunk to his shoulder and then retrieve the final bag. “Further away from the smell,” he said with a wink. “Now you just let me get this inside and I’ll come back for you.”

  Again she watched him go. This time she caught sight of a pair of well-dressed young ladies watching her.

  “Are you with him?” one of them boldly asked as she crossed the distance between them. Several strangers ceased their conversation to openly eavesdrop.

  “Isn’t he just the most handsome man ever,” The second one said as she stepped forward. “My mama told me she’d be most happy if I were to be the one.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “I ought to warn you that I always get what I want. So if you’re staying here and thinking you’re going to have him, you really ought to just go ahead and leave New Orleans now if you know what’s good for you.”

  “Don’t you listen to her,” The other said as she elbowed her way past her friend and pointed an ivory fan in Tavia’s direction. “My daddy has already arranged it with his brother. I’m the one who’ll be the final. You just watch and see. He’s not going to be able to resist it when I—”

  “Hello ladies.”

  Tavia looked over their heads to see the man in question striding her way. Immediately tongue-tied, the young ladies could barely manage a greeting from behind their furiously fluttering fans. Though that handsome smile remained in place, it did not quite meet his eyes. In fact, the man looked as if he wished he were anywhere but here.

  She knew that look, and guessed at the cause. “I was just speaking with your friends here,” she said sweetly. “A pity we cannot continue the conversation.”

  “No?” he said as he quickly moved past the love-struck ladies.

  “Well, I don’t suppose it would be out of the question if you were to insist on remaining here with your friends, but I did hope to take you up on that offer to tour your lovely city.” She held her breath, wondering if he would protest. Instead, he hurried around to the opposite side of the taxicab and climbed up into the driver’s seat.

  “My lovely city?” he said softly as he leaned toward her.

  “It was all I could think of.”

  Merritt had the audacity to wink at her. “Well done. Off we go.”

  “Do have a nice afternoon, ladies,” Tavia called as the buggy pulled away from the curb. “I know I will.” Once they had traveled a sufficient distance, she nudged her chauffeur. “All right,” she said congenially. “You can let me off here and I’ll find my way back. I doubt your admirers are still lingering at the hotel.”

  Merritt took the next turn and pulled the taxicab to a halt in a nearly deserted alley. Here the afternoon sun barely penetrated, and the pungent odor of the streets behind her was replaced by an earthy scent and the sound of gurgling water from behind lovely brickworked walls.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “You’re most welcome. Does this happen often, the women doing battle over you?” She watched him wince. “Apparently you’re quite the catch.”

  When he glanced back up at her, his eyes twinkled. “That’s what my mother says. Say, you did a great job back there. I ought to hire you to follow me around and deflect the young ladies my mother and brothers seem to think are good matches for me.”

  “Unfortunately, I am far too experienced at deflecting prospective grooms.”

  “You are most talented at diversion, ma’am,” he said. “Would you let me repay you for the favor? Say, with a tour of my city’s less odorous areas?”

  “Oh.”

  This was a stranger. This was a dark alley in a city where she knew no one. Everything she had learned from Mama, Father, and Miss Porter’s School for Young Ladies told her to make haste to the nearest exit.

  And yet he seemed quite nice. She might even say harmless, although that smile of his was quite dangerous. Tavia struck a bargain with her conscience and offered the taxicab driver a smile.

  “Yes, I would like that.”

  There was that smile again. She might have learned to love that smile.

  Under other circumstances, of course.

  Heedless to the wind tossing her hat askance or the looks she received as the taxicab wove down busy streets to stop at the magnificent cathedral, Tavia reveled in the tidbits of information Merritt tossed out as they crossed Jackson Square. Inside, the heady aroma of incense wrapped around her as the flicker of a thousand candles drew her attention.

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, mindful of the reverence of the sacred building.

  Merritt took her arm and led her across the vestibule and into the chapel, where a dozen or more women were clustered around a fellow in a dark suit. Slowly their voices rose, a choir that sounded more celestial than human.

  Overcome, Tavia settled on a seat in the back and listened while the words to “Ave Maria” floated up to dance with the cherubs and then beyond, presumably to reach heaven itself.

  Though her prayers had never been limited to the four walls of a church building, they tumbled forth now in this place. Prayers of thanksgiving for God’s blessings, petitions of forgiveness for her transgressions, and finally, for divine help in seeing her through her current plight.

  A plight that had been caused solely by her own stubborn pride.

  Tavia sighed. Whether that realization had come from the Lord or from Tavia herself, it was yet the truth. She must write Father at once and apologize. Mother, too, perhaps, if Father had told her. And then, once Bridget returned in a few weeks, she would go home.

  Another sigh. Yes, home.

  But home to what—after the apology to her father, that is? To a marriage arranged by Father, one that would be nothing more than a business contract between bride and groom?

  Tavia lifted her gaze to the beautifully painted ceiling and considered the heavenly Father who was not bound by cathedral roofs or business arrangements.

  If I am to marry, might I find a husband who sees me for who I am and loves me? And would You allow me to prove that I am capable of taking care of myself? As the prayer winged heavenward, peace settled like a warm blanket around her.

  Gradually Tavia became aware of Merritt seated a respectful distance away. He remained still and quiet until she rose. They filed out of the cathedral and into the early afternoon sunshine.

  With a firm grip on her elbow, he guided her around the vendors, shielded her from the beggars, and finally delivered her back to the taxicab. When he climbed up beside her, he hesitated before grasping the reins.

  “Yes,” he said softly. “It is beautiful. One of my favorite places in New Orleans.”

  Tavia reached over to touch his sleeve and then thought better of it and moved her hand back into her lap. “Thank you for bringing me here. It is magnificent.”

  Her comment was rewarded with a smile. “I think so, too. But there’s so much more to see. Now hang on, young lady. We have much to cover before you turn into a pumpkin.”

  Her heart jolted. “What did you say?”

  Merritt offered a confused look. “I said we have much to cover before you turn into a pumpkin. It’s just something my governess used to say. I believe it’s from ‘Cinderella.’”

  Governess? A taxicab driver? Tavia longed to ask but knew she would not.

  “Yes, I recognize the quote. It’s something my father used to say when I was a little girl.”

  “So we have Cinderella and a love for the cathedral in common,” he said as he snapped the reins. “Shall we see what else?”

  Tavia grinned. “Yes, let’s.”

  Hours later, Tavia’s feet felt like they were floating as Merritt handed her to the ground in front of her hotel. The sun had long ago set over the backs of the closely clustered buildings, but she’d barely noticed the passage of time.

  She’d lost count of the number of places her new friend had taken her. Each stop on her tour of New Orleans had erased more of her doubts as to whether she might enjoy spending time in this city.

  Merritt had been the
consummate guide and gentleman. Not once had he asked her anything further about herself, nor had she inquired as to his story, either. Rather, she spent the day playing tourist and trying to ignore the fact she did so on the arm of a very handsome and apparently very desirable taxi driver.

  For on more than one occasion, she’d noticed women watching them openly. The barbed stares of the bride brigade had been impossible to miss. Not that she blamed them.

  A clock began to chime as Tavia reached for the rail behind her. Moonlight slanted across her escort’s handsome features and puddled between them on the wooden planks of the sidewalk Merritt had called a banquette. Her balance suddenly felt off-kilter, and she reached behind her to steady herself against the iron railing.

  “Thank you, Merritt,” she said. “I had a wonderful day.”

  “So did I, Octavia.” He nodded toward the end of the street as the chimes continued. “Say, are you hungry? I know this great place over on Magazine Street that serves gumbo better than I can get at home. And that’s saying something.”

  Hungry? She was starving. Why hadn’t she noticed? She could easily spend another few hours being entertained by the taxi driver’s easy banter. And yet this ruse had gone on long enough.

  “Thank you, no,” she managed. “I really must say good night now.”

  He looked as reluctant as she still felt. “Yes, of course. Good night, Octavia.”

  Tavia watched him hesitate a moment longer and then turn to walk back toward the taxicab. Today had been perfect. Magical, almost—if she believed in magic, which she did not. When Merritt disappeared around the back of the taxicab, she let out the breath she did not realize she had been holding and headed up the stairs toward the hotel’s front doors.

  “Octavia, wait!”

  She halted at the now-familiar voice and turned to see him sprinting toward her. “I just wondered if…” Merritt stopped at the bottom step, putting them eye to eye. He looked away then swiftly returned his attention to her. “New Orleans is no place for a woman alone. What will you do until your friend returns?”

  She would be a typist at Baker Shipping, of course. That had been part and parcel of the reason she’d abandoned Denver and her comfortable life. She needed to know that she could take care of herself without her father’s money or influence. Surely God would hear her prayers and allow her to know.