Rachel: Bride of New Hampshire (American Mail-Order Brides 9)

by Diane Darcy

  “I’m afraid so. None of the young ladies who have looked for a husband felt they matched Mr. Buchanan’s particular requirements. Nor do you, my dear. I suppose it’s not too harsh to admit he even offended a few ladies. He is a rather outspoken gentleman if I do say so.”

  Rachel wasn’t offended. She just wondered why it was a deal breaker. “Perhaps he lacks in that department himself? Maybe he doesn’t want a bride who will be disappointed in his own appearance?”

  “Perhaps.” Miss Miller looked worried. “But surely, after waiting all this time, he’d simply be grateful for a response and forget all about that particular requirement? His letter has remained unclaimed for the past six weeks.”

  Rachel sipped her tea. He wanted his daughter educated in social niceties, which was admirable. He wanted some help with his mother—again that seemed to show a loving disposition. As long as he was lovely on the inside, she should be able to live with his looks, even if he resembled a gargoyle. In fact, it was simply a non-issue to her. This was not to be a love match.

  No doubt he’d want more children. At the thought, something sweet seemed to pierce her heart. She hadn’t thought about children in a long while. Since she had no desire to raise a family in poverty, she’d pushed thoughts of babies to the back of her mind.

  Miss Miller looked curious. “What are you thinking?”

  Rachel set her teacup down on the short table in front of her. “I’ve been told, on quite a few occasions mind you, that my red hair is unmanageable, and a very ugly color indeed.”

  “Oh, no,” Miss Miller disagreed. “It’s a beautiful shade of titian. I can’t imagine anyone not admiring such a color.”

  “Well, I assure you, it’s true. And then there are my freckles. Most unattractive.”

  “Not at all.” But the woman smiled, catching on. “But I suppose some might think so.”

  Violet was smiling now too.

  “Well, my dear.” Miss Miller slid a paper and pen toward her. “Would you care to respond to Mr. Buchanan’s letter?”

  Rachel didn’t allow herself to think about it. She moved her teacup, pulled the paper into place, and wrote an acceptance letter to Mr. Buchanan.

  She felt slightly sick to her stomach.

  She quickly finished the letter, and added a small sketch of herself in one corner, something she’d done for a few of the other girls, including Violet.

  Violet glanced at the drawing. “You don’t exactly look like that.”

  “I’d say I look exactly like that. Worn down, penniless, and without prospects.” And that’s exactly how she felt. She couldn’t believe she just agreed to be a stranger’s bride.

  “Not at all, but that will do just fine.” Miss Miller collected the letter and put it in an envelope. “I’ll post this letter today, and as New Hampshire is so close, you should expect a letter within a week or two.”

  They all stood.

  “Just you wait and see. I’ve done this many times, and it usually works out just fine.”

  Rachel certainly hoped so. Not just for herself, but for her friends as well.

  Chapter Two

  Keene, New Hampshire

  October, 1890

  Thomas Buchanan could hear the train whistle, still a distance away, and he paced across the platform once more. Waiting impatiently, dressed in his best clothes, he pulled the letter out and read it for about the twentieth time or so. He didn’t know why he bothered, as he practically had the page memorized.

  Dear Mr. Buchanan,

  I am responding to your letter requesting a mail-order bride. As you are so honest and blunt in your own letter, I can only be the same in my response. My father was a gentleman, and I was raised in favorable circumstances. After his death, our family fell upon hard times. I have worked as a governess where I had the care of two young girls. I am perfectly qualified to help you with your young daughter, and would be very glad to do so. I have also had some experience with dementia, as the family I worked for had a grandfather who suffered the illness. Patience and kindness seemed to work best. As of late, I’ve worked in a sewing factory. I am five-foot, five-inches tall, age twenty, skinny, and I have red hair and freckles. I am hopeful the situation would be beneficial to the both of us.

  Yours truly,

  Miss Rachel West

  Looking at the sketch again, he couldn’t help thinking, that though he’d specified he didn’t want a pretty woman, he’d been hoping for someone not quite as unattractive as this. She might be ugly, but she certainly had the qualifications he’d asked for, and she was the only one to reply to his letter. Without choices, he’d sent her train fare and money for expenses. He was quite sure he’d grow fond of her in short order, and mutual respect would blossom into affection.

  Filled with a mixture of dread and anticipation—an interesting combination of emotions he’d never experienced at the same time—Thomas folded the letter once more. His bride, Rachel, would be arriving soon. They’d start a new life together this very day.

  He hoped she didn’t hear the gossip before she came to know him. He wanted her to judge him on his own merits, and not by the left over gossip some of the ladies in this town still believed.

  The train finally pulled in and slowly came to a full stop. Within minutes people began to disembark.

  One after another he ignored the gentlemen and watched ladies step onto the platform. A mother and two children. He straightened for a moment, wondering if the lady neglected to mention children, then realized she was a brunette. Two well-dressed gentlemen, a cowboy, and finally another female—too young, only fifteen or so. A matron and her servant were next. Then a beautiful young woman stepped down, carrying the ugliest cat he’d ever seen, petting and cooing to it. Too pretty, so not his bride.

  He waited, and a few more men disembarked, but no more ladies.

  He looked to the people departing, and all the ladies but one had disappeared. The lady with the cat. She was looking around, as if searching for someone. She had red hair, hard to miss that gleaming mass actually, but again, there was no way she could be his bride.

  Could Miss West have changed her mind?

  It wouldn’t surprise him if she had. Experience taught him women rarely kept their word. He waited, and several of the workers jumped off the train, chatting as they headed to a nearby cafe.

  There was no one else then.

  The young lady who’d been looking around started toward him and the closer she came the more attractive she was. He turned away, wondering what to do, but from the corner of his eye, he could see her moving nearer still.

  He faced her. She was studying the revolver strapped to his hip and she hugged the ugly beast closer. Its tongue hung out of its mouth, giving it a demented look, but the animal was purring like mad. “Are you Mr. Thomas Buchanan?”

  He finally turned to look at her head on. She was stunning. “Yes, I am.”

  She hitched the cat upon her shoulder as if it was a newborn babe and he noted her green dress was patched and worn in places. “I’m Miss Rachel West.”

  Everything within him stilled for a moment, then anger shot through him.

  “You’d better not be.”

  Two perfectly arched eyebrows rose. “I assure you that I am.”

  Blast! This was the last thing he needed right now. A beautiful, lying bride. “Miss Rachel West?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  He opened up a letter, showed it to her, and pointed to the sketch at the bottom. “That is you?”

  She bit her lip, and nodded.

  “That doesn’t look anything like you.”

  She shrugged. “Perhaps I’m not the best artist in the world, but I assure you it is me.”

  “I requested a homely bride.”

  “And here I am. Red hair, freckles and all.”

  “You said you were skinny.”

  “I am.”

  Granted she had a tiny waist, but her curves were in all the right places. Not one man of his
acquaintance would call this woman skinny. Thomas looked at her glorious hair, smooth and vibrant under her black hat. He looked at the smattering of freckles across her nose. “If anyone ever told you your hair or your freckles were ugly, then I assure you they were mistaken.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But just so we’re clear, there is no way I am marrying you.”

  Chapter Three

  Thomas released a long breath. He wanted to turn and walk away, but couldn’t very well leave the lady. Her mouth gaped and fear tightened her expression as she hugged the ugly beast close. The vulnerability on display touched his heart. Blast it, again! She’d lied, but he still felt responsible for her. “Come on. Let’s go get your baggage.”

  He led her to where the luggage was stored off to one side, and picked up the lone case she indicated. Brown and battered, it looked like it had once been quality, but had seen much better days.

  “Mr. Buchanan, we need to talk about this. I’ve left everything I know to marry you.”

  The cat struggled to get down and it caught Thomas’s attention once more. He couldn’t stop glancing at the beast. The animal was as ugly as sin. His bride might not be, but her cat certainly fit the bill.

  “I was very specific in my letter, so don’t try to blame me for the situation.”

  “What situation? You sent for a bride, I’m here, and we are to be married.”

  “I won’t marry you.”

  “Why? Because you are one of the few men in the world who actually likes red hair?”

  He didn’t know if she was deliberately misleading him or not. If she’d truly been told or believed her hair was hideous, then perhaps she wasn’t outright lying. But her beauty was unmistakable. Her large blue eyes, high cheekbones, and creamy skin would capture the attention of any man.

  He wasn’t going to marry her.

  “You are beyond lovely. I specifically asked for a homely woman. I refuse to marry you and that’s the end of it.”

  He started walking and she trotted after him. “I came here in good faith expecting to wed. What would you suggest I do at this point? Are you planning to send me back to Lawrence? I thought you needed help with your daughter and mother?”

  He shot her a dirty look. “I certainly do. But from the homely woman I plan to marry, not from you.”

  She was breathless as she tried to keep up with his long strides and, taking a calming breath, he forced himself to slow. They quickly arrived at his horse and buggy and he strapped her suitcase to the back. With an almost inaudible growl, helped her into the seat.

  His hand tingled from the contact with hers, and his jaw tightened.

  “I believe myself to be deceived, as well, Mr. Buchanan. I suppose I’ll have to write a letter to Miss Miller and inform her you’ve misled us all.”

  He seated himself next to her, clicked his tongue at Samson, and the bay obediently merged onto Main Street. Finally he turned to look at her. If possible she was prettier with her cheeks flushed and fire lighting her eyes. “How do you figure?”

  “Your refusal to marry me, of course. Also, I naturally assumed you were a homely man. You are not.”

  Heat climbed his neck and he tried to shove away the uncomfortable feelings this woman drew from him. He’d need to use Miss Miller’s services again. “I’ll tell you what. I will allow you to remain as governess while I try to find a suitable bride. It took weeks of wasted time to wait for your letter and to see you here. You can stay and help me while I find a more suitable bride. At that time, I’ll be glad to send you wherever you need to go. I believe the situation will, at the very least, make up for your time wasted in coming here.”

  “Will there be pay involved?”

  He scowled. “I’ll make sure you have a place to live, and food to eat.”

  She shifted the purring cat. “What you owe me is marriage. As I am perfectly willing to fulfill my part of the contract and you are the one reneging, I feel you should certainly pay me governess wages while you are looking for your perfect bride.”

  He struggled with that. He’d spent time and money to get her here and she was willing to marry him. “All right. I’ll pay fair wages. In return, you won’t tell any tales to Miss Miller.”

  “What is the job situation like in town?”

  “For the moment? I’ve no idea. But if it’s marriage you want, I’ve no doubt there will be plenty of men in town lining up to tie the knot.”

  “Just not you.”

  “Just not me.”

  ~~~

  Rachel felt anger, uncertainty, and fear thrumming through her as she sat beside Mr. Buchanan’s forbidding figure. So he wasn’t going to marry her. No surprise there. Men always played by their own rules.

  She hadn’t truly worried until the train ride about Mr. Buchanan’s reaction to her. At home, she’d deluded herself into believing that, once she arrived, everything would work itself out.

  She felt like an impostor, and yes, a liar as well. When she’d agreed to this, it hadn’t seemed real. Desperation had her clutching at the opportunity, and his aversion to attractive women seemed a joke.

  Unfortunately, the man wasn’t kidding.

  And now, in worrying only about her own needs, she’d placed herself in a situation where she was completely dependent on the man. What had she been thinking?

  She’d save every cent he paid her, but when his new bride arrived, Rachel would be out of work, and out of luck.

  Could she find something before then? A job in the area? Maybe even a new groom?

  She didn’t want to marry anyone. Suddenly relief flowed through her that they weren’t on their way to the church at this moment. For once in her life, maybe things were actually looking up for her. She’d have an income, a place to stay, and time to find a permanent job. She’d had none of those things in Lawrence. Gratitude washed through her.

  “I accept your offer of a job, Mr. Buchanan.”

  He shot her a hunted, angry look.

  He deserved to be angry. In her defense, desperation had made her act in a far more cavalier fashion than she usually did. She’d make it up to him. She’d be the best governess his daughter could ever have. She’d help his home run smoother while she was in it.

  As they drove through the town, she glanced around. The wide main street offered many buildings and businesses on both sides, surrounded by trees in multiple colors of greens, oranges, reds, and yellows. They passed a bank, a photography studio, a hotel, and a mercantile. Surely all promising places for employment opportunities? And that was only the beginning. Restaurants, cafes, and taverns came next. The Keene Fire Society. People walking and shopping crowded the square. They drove by a huge display of pumpkins. Two churches, one white clapboard and steepled, the other a deep red brick.

  The place was charming, and bigger than she’d realized. Italianate and colonial style homes were visible off the main street. Brick homes, stately mansions, short iron fences, and some flowers still in evidence. She spotted a park with a gazebo, with more trees and color. Fallen leaves skittered across the road, the slight breeze moving them along.

  Optimism swept through her. This could truly be a new beginning. A better place and a chance at happiness.

  Mr. Buchanan turned off the thoroughfare and finally stopped at a square brick house, similar to others along the road. A large garden, mostly spent, took up the huge side yard, and flowers wilted off the large white porch lined with fat orange pumpkins. Without a word, he helped her down, retrieved her suitcase, and headed up the walkway to climb the three steps. He knocked on the door.

  She followed behind. Not his house then.

  A woman, middle-aged, smiling, and wearing a starched apron opened the door. “Thomas Buchanan, as I live and breathe.” She glanced at Rachel and her smile widened. “Are you here with news?”

  “Mrs. Gentry. This is Miss Rachel West. She came out here to marry me, but we find we do not suit. She’s to be Cassie’s governess for a short while as I try to fi
nd another bride. I’m hoping you’ll allow her to stay while we sort the situation.”

  Mrs. Gentry was wide-eyed and gaping by the time Mr. Buchanan stopped speaking.

  Rachel could feel herself blushing, curse her fair skin. What was she? An unwanted package?

  The woman’s gaze, skittered between the two of them, and finally landed on Sir Lancelot. “Oh my. That is the ugliest cat I’ve ever laid eyes on!”

  Almost as if he knew he was being disparaged, Sir Lancelot jumped out of her arms and climbed under the porch.

  The woman sighed. “Well, come in. Come in.” She waved a hand, gesturing Rachel inside. “I’m Mrs. Gentry, by the way.”

  Rachel moved forward, and Mr. Buchanan placed the suitcase just inside the door. “Get settled. We live eight houses down. I’ll come get you at seven-thirty in the morning.” He turned and left without another word.

  Panic and distress threaded through her. She felt deserted, which was ridiculous. She barely knew the man.

  ~~~

  The two women watched him leave, and Rachel, stiff and uncomfortable, wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m truly sorry about this.”

  Mrs. Gentry smiled again. “Don’t be, my dear. I have the feeling this is going to be quite entertaining to watch and Thomas just gave me a front row seat.” She waved her forward. “Come now, I’ll show you to your room.”

  Rachel picked up her suitcase and followed Mrs. Gentry, who led her into a beautiful blue and yellow kitchen with a lovely display of copper pots hanging from the ceiling. Fresh bread rested on the counter and soup bubbled on the stove. The aroma made Rachel’s mouth water.

  A man, thin as a rail and balding, stood over the sink eating a slice of the warm bread, dripping with butter and honey. He looked startled when he spotted them.

  “Starting supper early, I see.” Mrs. Gentry chuckled. “Darling, come and meet our new guest, Miss Rachel West. Rachel, this is my husband, The Reverend Gentry.”