The Bride Lottery: A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance (Prosperity's Mail Order Brides Book 1)

by Kristin Holt

  Contents

  A Peek Inside

  Title Page

  Blurb

  Definition

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Dear Reader

  Books by Kristin Holt

  About the Author

  Dedication

  Copyright

  A rush of panic flooded Evelyn’s chest, seemed to swamp her limbs. “Excuse me?”

  She opened the paper, her hands trembling. She halted in a patch of sunlight to read, the wash of light glaring off the yellow Western Union paper.

  Daughter missing. Twenty years of age. Did not arrive in San Francisco on Southern Pacific. Strawberry-blonde hair, blue eyes. Uncommonly tall.

  With every word she read, her stomach seemed to cramp tighter.

  Name: Evelyn Brandt. Any word, please respond. Allan Brandt.

  Evelyn closed her eyes against the sudden shift of the earth, spinning and causing her to doubt her bearings. Naturally, Father knew she’d disembarked. Uncle Joseph would’ve sent a wire, notifying him she hadn’t arrived as scheduled.

  Beside her, Sam waited with remarkable patience. He didn’t rush her, even as his gentle, warm grasp took her elbow in hand.

  His fingertips seemed to caress the tender flesh at the inside of her elbow, despite the layers of fabric. She felt that touch all the way down her spine.

  “Mrs. Brandt?” He cleared his throat. “Evelyn?”

  He cupped her elbows in his hands. Those remarkable, long-lashed hazel eyes held genuine concern. “What are you running from? Do you need help?”

  A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance

  (Rated PG)

  Prosperity’s Mail Order Brides, Book 1

  by

  USA Today Bestselling Author

  www.KristinHolt.com

  A Sweet Historical Mail Order Bride Romance (Rated PG)

  Prosperity’s Mail Order Brides, Book 1

  Forty Bachelors.

  Fifteen Brides.

  What could go wrong?

  Evelyn is in a pickle.

  In less than five months, Evelyn Brandt will be an unwed mother. Her parents discover her secret and send her away on the next west-bound train. They insist she deliver the child on the other side of the continent where the disgrace won’t harm her father’s business empire and the family’s social standing. She’ll be allowed to return home after the child is adopted by decent people and her corset fits properly once more.

  Sam’s in charge of the Bride Lottery, and the competition’s fierce.

  It’s too bad the mail order bride agency failed to round up even half their order, ‘cause every man on the mountain wants a bride—except Sam Kochler—so he’s saddled with enforcing the rules. He received bios of each lady the agency sent, so when Evelyn steps off the train, he’s a tad curious and a mite too interested.

  The tougher the competition becomes, the worse some fellas behave, and it’s not long before Sam finds himself courting Evelyn—only to protect her while she makes up her mind. He won’t allow himself to fall in love and still doesn’t want a wife…or so he keeps telling himself.

  1. A means of raising money

  by selling numbered tickets

  and giving prizes to the holders

  of numbers drawn at random.

  2. A process or thing

  whose success or outcome

  is governed by chance.

  ~Oxford Dictionaries

  Chapter One

  New York City

  May 1881

  “Who is responsible for this travesty?”

  Father’s tone of voice, low and menacing, sent a hot wash of panic through Evelyn.

  She perched on the edge of a leather stiff-backed chair across the grand mahogany desk from him. Nausea curdled her stomach. Her corset, laced far too tightly, allowed only the shallowest of breaths.

  Mother sat in the tufted wingback near the hearth. Both radiated displeasure and hostility.

  Evelyn concentrated on breathing in. Out. In.

  Five months along, the doctor had just verified, with child.

  Daughters of New Money did not give birth and raise a child without benefit of marriage. To buck convention meant certain social suicide.

  “Answer me. I will know who is to blame.” Allan Brandt was well-known for many things, but patience? Certainly not.

  “Who is to blame? I am.” She’d been there, too, a willing participant. “I am to blame.”

  “Do not sass me, Evelyn.” Bracing his forearms on the expansive malachite desktop, he pinned her with a steel-gray gaze. “His…name.”

  It was almost a relief, now that her parents knew her dreaded secret. Father would summon Daniel with a trans-Atlantic telegram and see them wed posthaste. He wouldn’t be happy with her choice, as he approached the marriages of his daughters as business mergers designed with exacting care.

  They’d all have to make the best of it.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze. “Daniel Tracy.”

  Mother made a little sound of disapproval.

  He must have not recognized the visiting artist’s name, for Father immediately demanded, “Who?”

  “A guest violinist—”

  “With the Philharmonic Society,” Mama interrupted smoothly. “He sailed for Europe and a performance tour last January.” Sharp disapproval colored her tone. “This certainly changes things.”

  “Not a musician.” Very few professions ranked highly in Father’s esteem.

  Evelyn focused on her knotted hands. She’d known her parents would not approve of Daniel Tracy, virtuoso or not, but now that they had a baby on the way, surely—

  “Daniel Tracy,” Mama declared with icy staccato, “is a married man.”

  “No!” Married? Horrified, heat flushed up her neck and certainly colored her cheeks. He never said a word, never indicated he had a wife… “You must be mistaken.”

  “I assure you, I am not.” Mother’s tone, coupled with the certainty in her expression left no room for doubt.

  Pain struck Evelyn with the brilliant force of lightning. In the brief illumination of that revelation, she glimpsed the awful truth.

  Her beloved Daniel had never intended to wed her.

  Breath came in shallow gasps and spots danced before her eyes. She braced her feet and fought for balance. She couldn’t breathe.

  Though he’d been her first, only a fool would think she’d been his. The man had been too gloriously experienced. His oh-so-talented fingers had played her body like a Stradivarius.

  And she—gullible, innocent, foolish—had gloried in his flawless seduction. She’d been so in love she’d stupidly believed a proposal of marriage sure to follow.

  “Everyone is well aware,” Mama commented, her tone detached, “his wife is a celebrated Italian soprano.”

  Evelyn’s humiliation redoubled. She hadn’t known.

  She refused to cry.

  The clock on the mantle ticked loudly, growing more and more ominous the longer Father remained silent. He leaned back in his chair, the fine-grained leather squeaking softly.

  Time stretched unbearably.

  Without the possibility of m
arrying her baby’s father, what options remained? Would Father quickly and quietly marry her to a man of his choosing, to sweep the scandal under a rug?

  Her gorge rose just thinking of the businessmen Father invited to dinner parties. Most were her father’s age or older. The very thought of a rushed marriage to an old man she barely knew made the constant nausea so much worse.

  Why had she been so stupid?

  Hot tears burned behind her eyes. She would not let them fall.

  After several anxiety-filled minutes, the clock chimed the hour in dulcet tones.

  At last he spoke. “You will go to California, to my brother’s home.”

  Relief—no mention of marriage to Father’s cohort—scarcely registered. She’d never met Uncle Joseph and from everything she’d heard she didn’t want to. Tragedy had turned him cynical and hard, without compassion.

  “There you will stay,” he stated, “until your confinement is over. The child will be adopted—”

  Give away her baby? No!

  “—by an upstanding couple.”

  A cold knot of dread lodged behind her breastbone. Adoption? The possibility had never occurred to her. Her hands pressed protectively to her middle, compressed beneath the corset.

  “Father, please—”

  He ignored her plea. “After a reasonable recovery you will return home, having been ‘abroad for educational refinement.’”

  His calm infuriated her. Return home—when her corset fit properly once more, no doubt—without her child. As if the babe never existed.

  All her life, she’d been an obedient, cooperative daughter. She had always obeyed him and he clearly expected her compliance now. If ever there were a cause worth estranging her father, this would be it.

  But what could she fight for? Giving birth here, without marriage, among the Upper 500 could not happen. It wasn’t done, and with good reason.

  If she stayed, that meant certain marriage. But to whom? Who would want her?

  Her mind raced, thoughts tumbling wildly, but she could see no other option. What choice did she have but to go to California? Maybe she could fight the adoption later. Perhaps San Francisco society would be more forgiving of an unwed mother.

  God willing, with enough repetition, she could make herself believe the lie.

  She met Father’s unforgiving stare and icy panic intensified, locking its fist about her throat.

  That fateful afternoon in Daniels’ arms had drastically altered her course, leaving her no choice.

  She would go to California.

  There was no other way.

  Without so much as a proper goodbye from her parents, Evelyn found herself on a westbound train, banished to the far side of the continent.

  Father’s punishment carried several subtle, unspoken messages, including traveling sans chaperone, without assistance and companionship of her ladies maid, in Second Class accommodations as the Brandt private rail coach remained in New York, and she’d been provided a meager stipend to see her fed until arriving at San Francisco.

  She’d received his message loud and clear. This was no holiday and his displeasure could not be more acute.

  Worse, her mother had remained at home. It seemed her grand garden party to be held in one month’s time was higher on Rose Gephard Brandt’s priority list than her daughter’s safety and wellbeing.

  To top it all off, her one remaining sister had refused to speak to her, as if the shame and disgrace were somehow contagious.

  She recognized the error of her ways, knew she’d made a terrible mistake, and she was truly sorry. She regretted the risk to the family’s name and reputation. Never had she needed her family so desperately, and never had she felt so abandoned and discarded…not even when Daniel Tracy waved goodbye and never once contacted her.

  Never, not once in all her twenty years had she been this alone. Traveling unaccompanied had her unable to sleep in the crowded Second Class passenger car for fear someone would steal her small stash of money. How would she eat if that happened?

  Her stomach rolled and threatened yet again to upend itself. Nausea had been her ever-present companion since boarding two days earlier, even between her trips to the ladies’ retiring closet to empty her stomach. She found she couldn’t so much as keep tepid tea down.

  Not a pleasant circumstance for travel.

  All around her, a gaggle of excited young ladies from various counties in Connecticut enjoyed this trip far more than she. But they were here by choice.

  Mail order brides, each and every one, headed for a mining town called Prosperity in the Rocky Mountains of Colorado. She’d taken note of the group of young women traveling together in a coach reserved for their exclusive use. When they’d invited her to join them, she’d eagerly accepted. Their offer of friendship had been a godsend.

  Evelyn had caught bits and pieces of the fascinating story. A mining town with a severe shortage of women had banded together to bring a whole passel of mail order brides west.

  An agency had contracted with fourteen young women. Apparently they enjoyed such spacious accommodations in this private rail car because the men of Prosperity had requested far more young ladies than the Agency had been able to send.

  The women were unbearably excited, incredibly happy about the prospects. It seemed there were far more men than brides, assuring each woman a choice. Far better than the one-bride-for-one-man standard, where a woman might be sorely disappointed.

  Evelyn sighed with wistful longing. How would it be to have a choice in her own future? Her dismal, unerring path lay before her with permanent separation from her baby at its end.

  The women chattered about the Bride Quarters, a frame structure the miners had built to house the influx of young ladies until they’d paired off and weddings could take place. From what Evelyn gathered, this two-story structure had been built in anticipation of the women’s arrival. It offered a dozen bedrooms, dining room, kitchen, and large formal parlor. After it had served its intended purpose, it would be turned into a hotel of sorts.

  The men had done a lot of construction. Most had new frame houses built for their brides with the finest amenities deliverable by rail.

  Listening to their happy chatter had helped mediate the doom she felt with every mile that carried her closer and closer to California.

  Why had she been so easily swayed by the charm and allure of a handsome face, a cocky, self-assured man who plied the strings of a violin with a master’s touch? That fateful afternoon hadn’t just irrevocably changed the course of her life, it had sealed her fate.

  One palm spread protectively over her corset-constricted belly. Her child, for now. A person she should’ve been able to mother, care for, and call her own. The impending loss of this babe into the waiting arms of another woman brought the catastrophe into sharp focus.

  Her precious baby raised by adoptive parents on the west coast. Once the transaction took place, she’d never see the babe again. Grief swamped her, sharp and ever so much more suffocating than the sadness she’d experienced when Grandmama passed away. The impending separation was too painful to think about it all the time.

  In her plush seat on the shady north side of the coach, Evelyn sat beside her new friend, Miss Caroline Grayson, determined to distract herself with the lively conversation.

  “What will you wear upon arrival?” one of the young ladies, Miss Lily Vincot, asked of Caroline. “I have a cream dress from Madame DuBois I cannot wait to display.” She giggled. “Very bridal.”

  Cream would look perfect with the younger woman’s bright red hair, brown eyes, and pale skin.

  Caroline laughed, a sunny chuckle of youthful happiness, with limitless choices ahead. “I haven’t decided.”

  “You?” Lily asked Hannah Heinz, a lovely brunette whose bent posture and callused hands spoke of years of hard work. Her day dress, made of simple cotton, was nice enough but years out of date. Apparently Lily hadn’t realized Hannah wasn’t of the same well-to-do background
as herself, and this lack of judgment endeared Lily to Evelyn.

  She’d been on the receiving end of far too much judgment of late.

  Hannah’s cheeks pinked and her gaze skittered away, lingering for a moment on her hands in her lap before darting to the passing scenery beyond the window. “I believe I’ll wear this one.”

  Lily sobered. Caroline touched Hannah’s hand with the kind of inclusive kindness Evelyn had come to expect from her friend, and found she adored her even more for it.

  “It’s a lovely dress,” Caroline said. “I sincerely doubt our miners will care much what we wear. I understand they outnumber us more than two-to-one, and will no doubt be eager to capture our attention.”

  “I can’t wait to get there.” Lily sighed with happiness.

  Evelyn could not relate. A handful of months and she’d say goodbye to her babe forever. The pain of separation was already too great, too overwhelming. Why hadn’t she thought of this eventuality when she’d given in to Daniel’s seduction?

  Caroline’s expression softened as she looked more closely at Evelyn. “You still look miserable, my dear.”

  Evelyn merely nodded. She tried to banish thoughts of pregnancy, Daniel, and all that awaited her in California from her mind.

  “I thought the window would ease your motion sickness.”

  Evelyn’s stomach rolled all the way over. She didn’t want to return to the ladies’ room this soon, and it was probably safe to remain seated as her empty stomach had nothing left to lose.

  While the other ladies prattled on about dresses and the arrangements coming up in the first week of their time in Prosperity, Evelyn caught bits and pieces of talk about a talent show, a dance, and more efforts to pair the brides with suitors.

  Caroline leaned back in her seat and took Evelyn’s hand in her own. The gesture was soothing, friendly. “What can I do to help?”

  Evelyn squeezed her friend’s fingers. “I wish there was something you could do.”