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

by Diane Darcy

  Rachel gasped and jerked out of his arms.

  They both stood looking at the reverend, who looked back at them in turn.

  “I believe I forgot something inside, I’d better go fetch it.” He ducked back inside and shut the door.

  Rachel looked at Thomas accusingly. “Now what is he going to think?”

  He wasn’t sure about the reverend, but all Thomas could think about was the fact that she was breathing heavily, and held a hand as if to calm her pounding heart. Surely that meant she felt something for him, too.

  Elation whirled within him. If she felt something for him, even if it was only physical at this point, he had something he could work with.

  “He’s going to think I’m courting you.”

  She shook her head, then chuckled. “By grabbing me and kissing me for the world to see? Is that how men court in New Hampshire?”

  “Yes. It’s all the rage here.” He smiled. “And don’t you worry, there’s more where that came from.”

  With a noise of disgust, she turned and walked up the stairs. She stopped just before she reached the front door. “All right. Perhaps we could try courting for a while. Mind you, I consider myself a free woman at this point, and under no obligation. If it doesn’t work out between us, we’ll each go our separate ways with no hard feelings. Agreed?”

  “Agreed.” He said solemnly.

  When she went inside, he stared at the door for a long while. He’d figure this out, even if that meant getting advice to do so. He’d received advice when he’d started his business, hadn’t he? He’d do the same here.

  As far as he was concerned, she’d as good as agreed to marry him.

  ~~~

  The next night they were back in the same place, Rachel feeling hesitant and shy, and Thomas looking hopeful as he walked her home. They hadn’t even passed the second house before Thomas stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “Are you available tomorrow night?”

  This was it. She’d been thinking about their conversation, and frankly, their kiss, since this time last night. She hadn’t been able to focus on anything the entire day. There was a part of her that was high with anticipation, wondering why he asked, what he had planned.

  There was another part of her that was scared to death.

  She could see the determination in his gaze, and knew he hadn’t changed his mind one whit from the evening before.

  Had she? It was time to decide.

  She looked into his challenging gaze, and didn’t have the slightest desire to turn him down. “As it happens, I am free tomorrow night.”

  When he released a breath, she realized he’d been holding it. Her acceptance obviously mattered to him, and that reaction sort of made her melt.

  He smiled approvingly. “Wonderful. I thought perhaps after work tomorrow, instead of having supper here, we could go to a restaurant in town. Mrs. Polanski might be able to stay with Cassie and my mother. If not, I’ll find someone else.”

  A little thrill went through her. Because she hadn’t been to a restaurant since she was fifteen? Or because he was asking her? “I would love to have supper with you tomorrow night, Mr. Buchanan.”

  “Please, I told you to call me Thomas.”

  “Thomas,” she said, and was surprised by how much more intimate it made the situation.

  He smiled at her, and though he’d been perfectly easy to resist in the past, he wasn’t anymore. Was it because of the way he looked at her? His gaze was no longer cold or condemning the way it had been when she’d first arrived. Now it was warm, friendly, admiring.

  They were almost to the Gentrys' and this time she didn’t stop before climbing the stairs. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

  “Yes, I’ll see you.” He stepped up two stairs, bringing their faces even.

  He was thinking about kissing her. She could see it in his face, in the way his eyes flicked to her lips. He was too close and, flustered, she moved back and opened the door. “Goodnight.”

  “Good night.” His deep voice had her drawing a breath, shivering as she closed the door.

  Mrs. Gentry polished the table by the front window. The woman was a darling, but she didn’t have a subtle bone in her body. Perhaps Rachel should have let Thomas kiss her again. Beyond thrilling Rachel, it certainly would have delighted Mrs. Gentry.

  “Did you have a nice day at work today, dear?”

  “Oh, yes. I quite enjoy the Buchanan household.”

  “I saw Mrs. Polanski today down at the bakery. It seems you’ve made quite a difference in that home. Thomas should have married you.”

  “He’s asked to court me. We’re going out to supper tomorrow night.”

  “That’s wonderful! Where is he taking you?”

  Rachel shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if you ended up marrying him, after all?”

  “I don’t know yet. Maybe?”

  Mrs. Gentry looked thrilled, giddy. “What will you wear?”

  “I almost have a second dress finished. I think if I work on it tonight, I just might be able to get it done before tomorrow night.”

  “And you must let me loan you a shawl, my dear.”

  Rachel wanted to protest. But if she was going to a restaurant she didn’t want to stand out in any way. Besides, her pride had already been abandoned. If Mrs. Gentry hadn’t provided material, she wouldn’t have anything nice to wear. “I’d appreciate that, Mrs. Gentry. I promise I’ll take care of it.”

  “Let me help you with your dress tonight; two of us can get it done much faster than one.”

  Rachel looked at the older woman gratefully. “I’ll gladly accept your kind offer.”

  Chapter Twelve

  When they arrived at the restaurant the next evening, the nicest in town, Rachel’s expression was animated, and her pleasure excited his own. This courting business might not be as hard as he’d thought.

  He removed her cloak—not a new one, in fact he thought he might have seen it on Mrs. Gentry before—and handed it to the girl waiting by the coat closet.

  Deeply satisfied at taking care of her, of causing her pleasure, he was glad he’d decided to do this. Not that it had exactly been his idea. He’d only received courting advice from Mrs. Gentry, Mrs. Polanski, Franklin, and two men who'd delivered products from the train earlier today.

  Looking at Rachel now, her eyes shining, he thought perhaps he should simply take her to a restaurant every night until she agreed to marry him.

  Frankly, he would do whatever it took.

  But he had other plans, as well. All right, they weren’t his ideas, but he’d written them down, and also planned to observe, ask around, and collect more opinions on courting. He was going to charm and win this lady.

  Some of the advice he’d received was valuable. Take Rachel on a drive to see the leaves, and have a picnic. Alone. He’d added that last part.

  Take Rachel to the park and push her on the swing. And have the freedom to touch her as he did so. That last part had, again, been his.

  Take Rachel to the upcoming church musical, and hold her hand.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t have a few thoughts of his own. Kiss Rachel at every opportunity. Kiss her lips, her neck, the freckles on her nose, pull her close against him whenever the opportunity arose. No one told him any of these things, but from what he’d seen a couple of nights before, that worked for both of them.

  They were seated in the restaurant near the fireplace and Rachel clasped her hands in her lap, looked across the table at him, and smiled. “The candlelight is a nice touch. I’ve seen that done before. Mr. and Mrs. Brenchley, the family I worked for in New York, had two candelabras. They lit them every night at supper. The effect was beautiful.”

  “If you’d like candles on our table at home, I’m amenable.”

  She blushed, but didn’t shy away from the conversation. “If we had candles on our table every night, I’m sure you’d soon regret the expense.”

  �
��If they made you happy, and your eyes shine like they are right now, I’d consider the money well spent.”

  She blushed and looked down, and he realized that for all his intention of charming her tonight, he was the one being charmed.

  That wouldn’t do. The last thing he wanted was to fall in love alone, then have her decide she wanted someone else. Not again. He was going to romance this lady, give it his all, but while he did so, he’d better protect his own heart.

  Not that he was giving up already. In fact, he was just getting started.

  ~~~

  For goodness sakes.

  Rachel almost couldn’t breathe.

  Now that the man had decided to court her, his personality seemed to have done a turnabout.

  Which was the real man? The critical, cold-eyed man or the charming suitor?

  A waitress approached the table to take their order. Rachel had applied for many waitressing jobs in Lawrence, and hadn’t acquired any of them. She wondered if the girl was grateful for her employment, and whether she enjoyed it.

  Thomas studied the menu. “What would you like to order?”

  She wished she knew.

  The waitress told them the specials of the evening, and Rachel chose the chicken artichoke meal. When she was a child, it had been a favorite dish of her father’s. They’d served it in their home on occasion, but she turned her nose up at the unfamiliar vegetable.

  She’d lived to regret it.

  As they waited for the meal, he laid his arm across the table and offered his hand.

  Did she want to hold his hand? Suddenly, she truly did, and placed hers inside his larger one. The sensation zipping through her seemed to affect her entire body, leaving her very aware of him.

  Attraction?

  She didn’t have enough experience to be able to tell.

  Would she feel the same sensations if she held another man’s hand?

  Again, she didn’t know. She frantically tried to think of a good conversation starter. “Thomas.” She felt her cheeks warm as she used his given name. “Have you lived here your entire life?”

  “I have. My father was a gunsmith, though he worked for a company and traveled a lot. It’s what fostered my own interest in guns. When I was young, I wasn’t allowed to touch them, and it only made the fascination all the more difficult to resist.”

  “It must have been a challenge to start your own business.”

  “When I started my business it was one of the happiest days of my life. I’d wanted to do it for years and I worked some menial jobs in order to save the money I needed to get there.”

  “So the business wasn’t inherited?”

  “No, not at all. My friend Mr. Franklin Ford and I both worked very hard in order to save the money we needed to start up.”

  “Were you married during this time?”

  “I was. Muriel didn’t like the long hours, that was for sure. I won’t say it didn’t cause some friction in our home. But I knew what I wanted, and I knew that ultimately owning my own business would be better for our family.”

  “That’s very admirable, Mr. Buchanan. Thomas.”

  He squeezed her hand, sending more sensations rioting through her. “I’m glad to hear you say that. Your good opinion means a lot to me.”

  Heat warmed her cheeks. One date and they almost felt like a couple. She drew her hand away and nonchalantly studied the beautiful restaurant with its mirrors, flowers, chandeliers, and polished wood tables.

  She didn’t know how to feel about his turnabout. When she’d first arrived in town, he’d been unkind. Cold. She could understand his distress. She’d felt the same herself. Was this, Thomas’s sudden change of mind, really about her? Or was it about the fact that he needed someone to help with his daughter and mother? Did he simply decide she had good character and didn’t want to go to the trouble of finding a new wife?

  Originally, that had been the deal. She’d understood and accepted it. But now, with Thomas actually courting her, drawing feelings from her, she wasn’t sure she could trust his motivation.

  She preferred upright and honest. If he didn't actually have feelings for her, if this was simply a ruse to get her back so he’d have a caretaker in his home, she’d rather he didn’t go to this effort and just told her outright. She might still choose him, regardless.

  In the meantime, she probably needed to guard her heart a bit longer, and make sure this was real.

  Chapter Thirteen

  A month later Rachel walked Cassie to school. She stood back by the side of the road while the girl ran up the stone stairs, then turned at the front door of the large schoolhouse and waved.

  Rachael waved back.

  She was truly growing to love the girl and her father, as well.

  She wasn’t ready to admit it to him, but his efforts to spend time with her and to win her over were working.

  The early November weather had definitely taken on a chill, and they’d even had one snow day so far. Thomas had insisted upon buying Rachel warm gloves and a coat. When she’d tried to refuse the gifts, he’d threatened to throw them into the trash. She’d had to accept, hadn’t she? And every time she wore them, her heart was also warmed.

  She walked back to the Buchanans’ house, and wondered when she’d be ready to give Thomas the answer he wanted.

  She was enjoying the courtship. He seemed to be, as well.

  Was she truly ready to take on marriage, and the responsibilities that came with it?

  And the pleasures, she reminded herself.

  She did love the way Thomas kissed, and some evenings, when he left her at the Gentrys' porch, it was difficult to leave him.

  The Gentrys didn’t seem to mind her staying with them. They claimed they enjoyed her company. She was active in their church, and helped Mrs. Gentry with her charities whenever possible.

  And every night, she couldn’t wait for Thomas to come home. The question now: when did she tell him she was willing to marry him?

  He’d claimed he would only ask her once a week going forward, but so far, he continued to ask at least once a day.

  It had become a matter of humor between them.

  Most nights, she ate supper with the Buchanans. She had to admit she was happy and content.

  Violet had written, and was experiencing some troubles, but was vague about the circumstances. Rachel was worried, regardless of the fact that Violet had told her not to. She waited anxiously for her next letter.

  She rubbed along quite well with Mrs. Polanski now. The cook had mellowed, and seemed to quite enjoy cooking for them. Though she still claimed to miss the casseroles.

  Life was so good, that sometimes it made her a little nervous.

  Could her good fortune be trusted? Could Thomas?

  He was certainly weakening her defenses, but things didn’t always work out for the best, she knew that better than anyone.

  Case in point, her mother had written and Grace seemed to have disappeared. The family her sister worked for, the wealthy Carmichaels, said she was away, but refused to give the details of her departure.

  So for all intents and purposes, her book-loving, common-sense sister was missing.

  So she had both Violet and her sister to worry about.

  She arrived back at the Buchanans’ house, collected the mail, and went inside. Mrs. Gentry had supplied her with yarn, and they were all making blankets for war veterans at the moment. She needed to get another one done.

  Later, she might take Thomas some dessert to go with his lunch. She couldn’t help smiling at that. She didn’t visit him every day, but only because she stopped herself from doing so.

  She went inside and set the mail on Thomas’s desk. The decor in his office reminded her of him. Dark, masculine, and built for work.

  If she did marry him, she’d decorate the place to make it more welcoming, and maybe add a few touches that would remind him of her.

  She noticed some opened correspondence on his desk and The Miller Agenc
y jumped out at her.

  As in Miss Miller and her mail-order bride agency?

  Rachel sank into Thomas’s chair, and looked at that opened letter. She shouldn’t read it. It was his personal correspondence. She knew better than to delve into other people’s business. She’d hate it if someone did the same to her.

  Even knowing this, she couldn’t resist. What if it had something to do with her? She picked up the letter and pulled out the single sheet of paper.

  Dear Mr. Buchanan,

  I am writing to you about your desire to marry. I also find myself in such a position, and would very much consider becoming your wife. I’ve never had any children, nor have much contact with them, but I do like them, and am willing to learn.

  My name is Abigail Folsom, I am five-foot-three-inches, have brown hair and eyes, and am twenty-three years of age. I am healthy and have lived with my parents until very recently. As for your requirements for a homely bride, although I am no great beauty, I have to say I do not consider myself as ugly either. Just an average type of woman. If you find I meet your requirements, then please let me know. Expecting to hear from you soon, either way.

  Abigail Folsom

  Rachel’s heart thundered in her chest as she read the letter twice.

  She found she was breathing in harsh gasps, like there wasn’t enough air in the room. That dirty dealing scoundrel. The entire time he’d been courting her, he’d still been trying to contract for another wife.

  Just in case he needed a backup?

  Angry tears filled her eyes, and she wished she could believe it was all anger, but her heart was aching. He’d hurt her, too.

  He’d been courting her, trying to capture her heart, and succeeding apparently if the pain she was feeling was anything to go by.

  She could not believe he’d been romancing her while waiting for a response from another woman.

  She should have known better than to trust him. The cool-eyed stranger she’d met at the train station that first day, that was who he was. Hard, uncompromising, and certain.