Blackthorne's Bride

by Joan Johnston

  He dropped his palms onto the bed and leaned over far enough to kiss her on the lips.

  Her heart leapt with joy before she could stop it.

  He grinned and said, “Very satisfied. Good night, wife.”

  He strolled across the room, out the connecting door, and into his own bedroom without another word.

  Josie growled, just like the Shetland bitch that roamed Tearlach Castle had, when she’d tried to take away its dirty old bone. Blackthorne could try his best to steal her heart, but he would never succeed. Not when she was guarding it tooth and claw. The Dastardly Duke could kiss her all he wanted. He would never get past her defenses, because she would never give up the fight.

  THE EARL OF Seaton had committed a great wrong against his best friend, although he’d done it with the best of intentions. He’d kept a secret from Blackthorne for two long years: He’d known where the American girl was all along. Now that Blackthorne was married to someone else, Seaton was on his way to Northumberland, at long last, to send her home.

  Seaton had watched his friend’s fascination with the American woman he’d rescued grow into something close to obsession during the voyage across the ocean. He was relieved when, at the last possible moment, Blackthorne had asked him to take over the responsibility for keeping the girl safe while she recovered and then sending her home to America.

  He’d arranged to have the injured girl taken to an inn close to the docks and provided a doctor to oversee her care. Then he’d gone to see his sister, glad to know that the American would never become a threat to her happiness. Only to discover, to his horror, that Blackthorne had confessed everything!

  “I have a favor to ask,” Fanny had said, once Blackthorne left them alone in the sitting room of their widowed mother’s townhome.

  “Anything,” he’d replied. “You want that bloody girl shipped back to America immediately? Done. I’ll send a doctor along with her to—”

  “I don’t want the girl sent back at all.”

  His jaw had dropped to the floor. Or would have, if it hadn’t been connected at the joint. “What?”

  “I’m dying, David.”

  “You don’t know that!” he’d snapped back. He’d seen the pain in her eyes and felt his heart wrench. Without their mother’s knowledge, he’d helped her consult the best doctors in London. They’d all told her the same thing. Her consumption was irreversible. If she took care of herself, she might have a year—or two—to live. He couldn’t fathom how she could accept her fate without fighting harder against it. “You can’t die, Fanny. I won’t let you.”

  “You can’t stop what’s going to happen any more than I can.”

  “When are you going to tell Blackthorne?”

  “I…can’t tell him.”

  “He deserves to know.”

  She’d shaken her head. “You know as well as I do that he would marry me even if I told him I had only a month to live. But he would suffer terribly every day of that month. This way, he can be happy—we can be happy—for however long I have.”

  “Why are you so interested in what happens to the American?”

  “Because Marcus seems so captivated by her.”

  “I’d think that would make you want to be rid of her as quickly as possible.”

  She’d smiled mischievously. “I do want to be rid of her, at least, for the present. But I don’t want her gone permanently. If you send her back to America when she’s well, Marcus will likely never see her again. He’s going to need someone when—”

  “Don’t say it, Fanny. Don’t mention your dying to me again. I can’t bear it.”

  She’d risen from the wing chair where she was sitting and crossed to where he stood near the crackling fireplace and held him close, whispering in his ear, “The sooner you accept the inevitable, David, the easier it will be.” Then she’d looked into his eyes and said, “I want that girl to be here in England, so Marcus has someone to love when I’m gone.”

  “The girl may want nothing to do with him,” he’d protested.

  “She can’t help but love Marcus. He’s a very lovable man.”

  He’d laughed at her logic. But she’d been implacable. She would take over care of the girl from David. She would make all the arrangements for the American’s stay in England through Seaton’s solicitor, to keep Blackthorne in the dark, and Seaton was not to worry his head about the matter again.

  He’d acceded to his sister’s wishes and, to protect himself from accidentally giving away her secret to his best friend, had made it a point not to learn the girl’s name or where she’d been sent. Thus, when Blackthorne asked him about her, he could honestly say he had no idea where she was or what she was doing.

  When Fanny’s health had begun failing, she’d sent a note asking him to come visit her at a time when Blackthorne wasn’t at home. She’d looked so frail carrying Blackthorne’s child it had made his heart ache. She’d laid her cold, dying hand in his and said, “The American is at Tearlach Castle.”

  “Isn’t that where Blackthorne’s nephews are staying?”

  “It is. It hasn’t been easy keeping him away. I’ve made several excuses for us not to visit Spencer and Clay—primarily the effect such a long journey would have on my health, and my desire to have him nearby during my confinement—but I’ve been assured by the governess I hired that the boys are well and happy. It won’t be long before they’ll be back in Marcus’s care.”

  Seaton winced at the reference to her failing health. She’d been radiantly happy when she’d discovered she was pregnant, but he could see the toll the baby was taking on her body. He only hoped she would live long enough to hold her child in her arms.

  “I needed to keep the girl somewhere I could be sure Marcus wouldn’t accidentally run into her,” she’d explained. “Tearlach is so far away, it isn’t easy to visit.”

  Blackthorne had mentioned he missed his nephews, but Seaton hadn’t realized his sister was the one keeping his friend from visiting them—or them from visiting him. But Seaton could easily understand why his sister had chosen Tearlach Castle as the place to hide the girl, since it was so far from London, just a few miles from the Scottish border. “How is the American faring?”

  “She’s completely recovered.”

  “How did you get her to stay, once she was well?”

  She’d smiled that very same mischievous smile he’d seen more than a year before, when she’d talked about her plans for the injured girl, and admitted, “I made sure she didn’t have the wherewithal to leave. I’ve also intercepted her correspondence, both to Marcus and to her family in America.”

  “I had no idea you could be so devious.”

  “I know I haven’t been fair to her, but it won’t be long, no time at all, really, before I’m gone. Then she can make the choice to stay in England with Marcus…or go home.”

  He’d opened his mouth to beg her not to speak of how little time she had left to live and shut it again when he saw the tears brimming in her eyes, biting his tongue to keep from saying what he really thought of her silly machinations.

  What Fanny had done seemed not only unfair, but unkind, which wasn’t at all like her. She seemed to think the result justified the means. His sister’s illness must have left her feeling very desperate to be so unscrupulous toward another human being.

  Seaton doubted whether Blackthorne or the girl either one would be willing, when the time came, to fall in with Fanny’s plan for them to meet, fall in love, and live together happily ever after—Blackthorne because he’d be grieving, and the girl because she’d be celebrating her freedom to return from whence she’d come. It was absolute fantasy, a preposterous plot from one of the romance novels his sister devoured. But he was willing to do anything that gave his dying sister peace of mind in what he was coming to accept were the last few months of her life.

  Fanny continued, “I understand, from the governess I hired to take care of Marcus’s nephews, that the American has become very attached to the b
oys. In fact, Miss Sharpe said she’s become a bit of a nuisance, interfering in their care. That’s a good sign, don’t you think? It must mean she has a generous heart. Marcus will need that when I’m gone.”

  He’d shaken his head, unable to believe his sister could be so matter-of-fact about the end of her life, and so naïve about the girl’s willingness to forgive and forget. “What you’ve done won’t endear Blackthorne to her. He promised he would send her home.”

  “It’s up to you to explain the truth,” she said. “I expect you to make it clear that I was the one who made the arrangements to keep her in England.”

  “What if she demands to be sent home at once? What do I do then?”

  “Use your best judgment. Hopefully, she’ll at least want to speak with Marcus, to thank him for rescuing her.” She smiled and said, “I trust Marcus to take things from there. I would be very surprised if that girl ever returns to America.”

  He’d been too sunk in grief to think about the American immediately after Fanny’s death. Before he could comply with Fanny’s wishes and reveal what she’d done, Blackthorne had confided, on a night when they’d both drunk too much, the dire nature of his financial circumstances.

  Seaton had realized, long before Blackthorne admitted it to himself, that his friend would need to marry well to recoup the calamitous losses incurred by his father and his brother. Based on the poor quality of the American girl’s clothing, and the fact that she’d been traveling by wagon rather than by train across the prairie when she’d been captured, he was convinced that she didn’t have the resources to save his friend.

  Unfortunately, Blackthorne’s fascination with the girl had never waned. Seaton had thought it entirely possible that Blackthorne might avoid making the alliance with an heiress he needed to save his estate, if he discovered the woman he’d rescued was still in the picture. So, to save his friend from making a disastrous mistake that could lead to his financial ruin, he’d never told Blackthorne that the girl he’d rescued was still in England. That in fact, the girl Blackthorne had never been able to forget was never any farther away than Tearlach Castle.

  But Seaton hadn’t immediately sent the girl back to America, either. He’d left her exactly where she was, because sometimes miracles happened. If, by some chance, Blackthorne was able to restore his fortune, Seaton had wanted to be able to fulfill his sister’s request to reunite Blackthorne with the waif he’d rescued.

  As it turned out, his friend had married an American heiress. Seaton was now at liberty to send the American girl back where she’d come from. He’d done nothing to change Fanny’s instructions to his solicitor following his sister’s death, which meant the girl had remained exactly where Fanny had put her for safekeeping—but for a far longer period than Fanny had ever intended. It had taken three months for the girl’s back to heal sufficiently for her to leave London. In a perfect world, the girl’s subsequent stay at Tearlach Castle would only have lasted the brief six months his sister had lived after that, before she died giving birth.

  But Fanny’s plan had gone terribly awry. She hadn’t counted on Blackthorne’s grief. Or his financial woes. Consequently, what had been meant to be a short delay in returning the girl to America—assuming Blackthorne’s infatuation was merely that—had become a full two years.

  Poor girl, Seaton thought. It was past time he sent her home.

  It was still important that he know as little as possible about the American, because now, more than ever, Seaton didn’t want to slip and give away the truth. If—when—Blackthorne indulged his need to talk about her, Seaton wanted to be ignorant of her situation.

  All he had to do was show up at Tearlach Castle and ask to speak to the American who worked there as a maid. He would let her know that arrangements for her return to America were being made through his solicitor.

  Seaton planned to apologize for the delay in fulfilling the promise to send her back to America, without bringing Blackthorne into the discussion. With any luck, she would simply be happy to go back where she’d come from, and he could return home and forget any of this had ever happened.

  He was keeping his fingers crossed that everything would turn out all right, but deep down he knew, the same way he knew green apples made one sick as a dog, that something was bound to go wrong.

  THE TELEGRAM WAS dated several days earlier than the day it reached Henrietta Wentworth Norwood in the Bitterroot Valley, about as far west as you could get and still be in the Montana Territory. “Karl,” she said, clutching the missive to her chest, as she closed the door on the messenger who’d delivered it. “Miranda sent me a telegram.”

  Karl, who was serving breakfast to their eighteen-month-old twin girls, Charlene and Caroline, handed two bowls of oatmeal to his twelve-year-old stepson, Griffin, who set the food in front of two brown-haired, brown-eyed little girls, while Karl crossed to take his wife in his arms.

  He still couldn’t believe a man as plain-featured as he was could be married to a woman as stunningly beautiful as his wife. Even more amazing was the fact that she loved him as dearly as he loved her.

  “I guess Miranda finally has some news about Josie,” he said.

  “Maybe they found her.” Hetty’s blue eyes were filled with both anxiety and hope.

  “Why don’t you read the telegram and find out?” Griffin suggested with a laugh.

  Hetty shot Karl a terrified look that spoke volumes. Her greatest fear was that word would come that Josie had been found all right—found planted six feet under. The longer Josie was missing, the worse Hetty’s foreboding had grown.

  Karl caught his wife’s stricken face between his two large hands and pressed a comforting kiss on her lips. “Read it, before you weep.”

  Hetty laughed nervously and pressed her forehead against Karl’s chest. “You know me too well.”

  Karl knew the unendurable guilt Hetty had suffered, as a result of the disaster that had befallen her and her two sisters on the trail. His wife blamed herself for every bad thing that had happened to the three of them since.

  Against Hannah’s advice, Hetty had flirted with two men at the same time, not realizing that in the West, jealous battles were settled in ways far more deadly than she could have imagined. In the confrontation she’d caused, both men had ended up dead. Even worse, she and Hannah and Josie, and Hannah’s husband, Mr. McMurtry, had been forced to leave the safety of the wagon train and travel on alone.

  Shortly thereafter, Mr. McMurtry had died of cholera, Josie had been stolen away by the Sioux, and Hetty had been left behind at the wagon, while Hannah went for help. It was only by the grace of God, and the ministrations of a Chinese man named Lin Bao, that Hetty had survived the arrow wound in her shoulder.

  Bao had come across Hetty’s wagon while returning to the Bitterroot Valley from Cheyenne, after picking up Karl Norwood’s mail-order bride and her two children, Grace and Griffin. When Karl’s mail-order bride was accidentally killed, Hetty discovered that Grace and Griffin weren’t really the woman’s children. In fact, it was Grace who’d written all the letters from his intended bride to Karl. The young girl been looking for a way out of the terrible life she and her brother had led in Cheyenne.

  With Bao’s help and encouragement, seventeen-year-old Hetty had stepped into the shoes of Karl’s much-older mail-order bride. They’d decided to tell Karl the children were several years younger than the thirteen and ten years old they actually were, while she would pretend to be their mother.

  Karl hadn’t been fooled. He’d known his bride wasn’t twenty-eight any more than he was a cornstalk, and the children had looked too old for their ages and neither like each other nor their supposed mother. But he’d never seen a woman as breathtakingly lovely as Henrietta Wentworth when she smiled and twin dimples appeared on her cheeks. And he liked children enough to take on the two she’d brought with her.

  So he’d married Hetty. And—except for the brief period when an endless spate of lies had come to light—never
been sorry. In fact, they’d all been amazingly happy, especially after Grace met one of Karl’s loggers, Andy Peterson. His stepdaughter and the Texan had married last summer and were living in a house he and Andy had built not far down the road. Everything would have been picture perfect, except for the shadow of guilt that hung over his wife, keeping their life under the wide-open Montana skies from being absolutely cloudless. He hoped the telegram contained good news. He wanted his wife to be as wholly happy as he was himself.

  Hetty was still holding the telegram clutched against her breasts, her eyes closed as though in prayer.

  “Why don’t you read it, Mom?” Griffin said.

  She opened her blue eyes, which looked bleak. “What if it’s bad news?”

  Karl tsked and countered, “What if the news is good?”

  At that moment, the door opened with a bang and Grace stood there with the spring breeze ruffling her red curls. Andy was only a step behind her. “I saw the messenger leaving,” she said breathlessly. “What’s happened? Has Josie been found?”

  “That’s what we’re all trying to find out,” Griffin said. “Mom hasn’t opened the telegram yet.”

  “Open it, Mom!” Grace said. “I know it’s good news. It just has to be!”

  Hetty shot another desperate look at Karl, who gave her an encouraging smile, revealing the overlapping front tooth that she’d said was one of the reasons she’d fallen in love with him.

  “All right,” she said almost angrily, tearing the telegram open and quickly perusing the contents.

  Karl felt his heart stop when he saw her face scrunch up and heard her sob. “Hetty?”

  She looked at him through eyes shiny with tears, but the wobbly smile—and the enchanting dimples that suddenly appeared in her cheeks—told a different story. “Josie’s been found! She’s on her way from England to Charleston right now. Miranda wants all of us to be there when Josie arrives at Jake’s ranch. We’re going to be together again at last!” She scanned the telegram and frowned. “This is days old! We need to leave right away, if we’re going to be there in time.”