by Kit Morgan
The
Holiday
Mail-Order
Bride
By
Kit Morgan
ANGEL CREEK PRESS
The Holiday Mail Order Bride
(Holiday Mail Order Brides, Book Nine)
by Kit Morgan
Copyright 2014 Kit Morgan
Find other titles by Kit Morgan Including:
The Prairie Bride Series:
His Prairie Princess (Prairie Brides, Book One)
Her Prairie Knight (Prairie Brides, Book Two)
His Prairie Duchess (Prairie Brides, Book Three)
Her Prairie Viking (Prairie Brides, Book Four)
His Prairie Sweetheart (Prairie Brides Book Five)
Her Prairie Outlaw (Prairie Brides Book Six)
Christmas in Clear Creek (Prairie Brides, Book Seven)
The Holiday Mail Order Bride Series:
The Christmas Mail Order Bride (Book One)
The New Year's Bride (Book Two)
His Forever Valentine (Book Three)
Her Irish Surrender (Book Four)
The Springtime Mail Order Bride (Book Five)
Love in Independence (Book Six)
Love at Harvest Moon (Book Seven)
The Thanksgiving Mail Order Bride (Book Eight)
Coming 2015
His Mail Order Valentine (Book Ten)
Prairie Grooms:
August (Prairie Grooms, Book One)
Ryder (Prairie Grooms, Book Two)
Seth (Prairie Grooms, Book Three)
Chase (Prairie Grooms, Book Four)
Levi (Prairie Grooms, Book Five)
Bran (Prairie Grooms, Book Six)
Coming in 2015
Amon (Prairie Grooms, Book Seven)
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the publisher.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people are purely coincidental.
Cover design by Angel Creek Press, The Killion Group and Hotdamndesigns.com
License Notes
This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
People are like books. You never know what you’re going to find inside unless you take the time to open one up and read it…
Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Epilogue
One
New Orleans, November 1871
Cecil Winters ducked into an alley, pressed himself against the nearest wall, and prayed he’d lost the blackguards following him. Sensing it safe, he bent over, hands on knees, and breathed like a winded horse. He was forty-nine, almost fifty, and the last eight years spent behind a desk hadn’t equipped him to out run such men. At least Ambrosia was safe at the hotel, but it was only a matter of time before Reginald Van Cleet’s men figured out where they were hiding. “Insidious swine,” Cecil groaned as he thought on the circumstances that forced him and his daughter to leave Boston two days ago and take refuge in New Orleans. He’d been told Cyrus Van Cleet, Reginald’s younger brother, was an honest and amiable man, and so figured Reginald to be the same. Reginald Van Cleet, on the other hand, was anything but honest or amiable. Now Cecil thought of the Boston shipping mogul as the devil himself.
“I’ll see you pay for this Reginald, if it’s the last thing I do,” Cecil muttered under his breath as he pushed himself from the wall and went deeper into the alley. He was sure by now he’d lost Reginald’s men, but still needed to use caution when heading back to the hotel. He must get Ambrosia out of New Orleans and fast. Preferably within the next twenty-four hours. Yet, how he was going to manage it?
Cecil spent the next half-hour ducking and dodging his way through narrow alleys to make sure no one followed him. When he did reach the hotel, he entered his room to find Ambrosia at a small desk, writing a letter. “Dearest, what are you doing?”
She looked up at him, tears in her eyes. “I’m writing Mrs. Merkel, to tell her we’re all right.”
Cecil closed the door behind him and went to the desk. “No, no, my dearest. You mustn’t write her. It’s too dangerous.”
“What does it matter? Mr. Van Cleet’s men know where we are, don't they?”
What to say? He didn't want her frightened, but then, she needed to hear the truth. “They know we’re in the city, but haven’t discovered where, yet. To give our head housekeeper that information could put her in danger. You don't want that, do you?”
Ambrosia's eyes widened. “Danger? Surely that devil wouldn't harm a housemaid?”
“I’ve no doubt that Reginald is having her watched.”
“But father, we lost the servants when we lost everything else. They must’ve scattered by now.”
“Perhaps so, but I’ll not put any of them at risk. The best thing for us to do my dearest is to get as far away from here as possible.”
“But when we left New York in such a hurry, we didn’t have time to get any money,” she pointed out. “Where will we go? What will we do? Mr. Van Cleet has made you look like a criminal. Why did you ever go into business with him?”
“I've wondered the same thing myself. Right now we’ve more important matters to attend to, such as getting you out of here.”
“I can't leave you behind.”
“Ammy,” he said, calling her by her nickname. “We’ve enough money to get one of us out west. It has to be you. The thought of you being forced to marry that swine turns my stomach. I won't let you!”
“You'll lose everything,” she said as her tears fell. “If I marry him, he’ll drop those false charges against you.”
“Yes, but you’ll lose your happiness. I’ll not hold on to my wealth at the cost of your heart. What would your mother say?”
Ambrosia closed her eyes. “The same thing you just said.”
“Of course. She would never let you go through with it either. Don't worry, we’ll find a way. If I must stay here then I’m prepared to do it. At least you’ll be safe.”
“Father, he’ll put you in jail.”
“Maybe so, but only until I can prove I was framed.”
“But how? He's framed you for stealing from his shipping company. I still don't understand why a man would go to such lengths to get something he can't have.”
Cecil gazed upon his daughter in admiration. She was a lovely girl with dark hair and hazel eyes. Her skin was flawless, her lips a natural pink. At twenty she was a true beauty. What man wouldn't want her? Cecil didn’t wonder if the only reason Reginald proposed they merge their two companies, was to get his hands on Ambrosia from the start. “Don't worry, my dearest, we’ll find a way. I just need time to think.”
“Father, are you sure you won’t reconsider?”
He shook his head. “I'm sure, child.” He reached down, tucked a finger under her chin, and tilted her head back so he could look at her. “You’ve no idea wha
t kind of sacrifice you’d be making. I cannot let you marry him, and I will not let him bully me into doing so. Blackmail or no blackmail, framed for a crime I didn't commit or not. You’ll not suffer at his hands. He’s an evil, evil man, Ammy. We must find another way.” He brushed a stray wisp of hair out of her face and smiled.
She crumpled up the letter and tossed the paper into a wastebasket. “Poor Mrs. Merkel, I hope she’s not too worried about us.”
Cecil smiled again. “I'm sure she's fretting like she usually does. I do hope she found decent employment.”
“Yes, with a kindly couple.” She set the pen she’d been holding near the inkwell, and let out a light chuckle. “I always dreamed I’d inherit her as my head housemaid once I married. Mrs. Merkel and I used to talk about it.” She let out a heavy sigh. “How I miss her.”
Cecil stepped to the window and studied the street for any sign of Reginald’s henchmen. Thankfully, there was none. He turned to Ambrosia. “What did you say?”
“I said, Mrs. Merkel and I talked about her becoming my head housemaid.”
“No, before that…”
“About being married?”
“Married…” Cecil whispered, “Yes, yes of course!”
“What?” Ambrosia said as she stood. “Father, what are you talking about?”
“You need to get married,” he told her.
She gaped at him. “Married? I thought we were doing this so I wouldn't get married!”
“No, no; not to Reginald, to someone else. If you’re already married, he can’t touch you, and then he'll drop this whole vendetta of his.”
Ambrosia stared at him a moment as his words sunk in. “How am I going to get married? I don't even have a beau.”
Cecil paced back and forth a few times, then snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Ambrosia, my dear, you're going to become a mail order bride.”
“A mail-order bride!”
“It's perfect!” Cecil said as he went to her and pulled her into his arms. He gave her a hug and kissed the top of her head. “Don’t you see? If you're married to someone else, Reginald has nothing to strive for anymore. He'll drop this whole thing.”
“Does that mean we'll go back to Boston and pick up where we left off?”
“No, no I'm afraid too much as happened. Out of anger he’ll still take everything, and I doubt he'll drop his false accusations of me stealing from his company.”
“Even though you own nearly half of it?”
“Only a quarter, my dear, but Reginald made sure I can’t get my hands on it, nor my own business anymore. I'm now a poor man, but at least I’ve a bright, beautiful, healthy daughter. Now I must keep you that way, even if it means giving you to another man to do it. However, the decision is yours.”
Ambrosia sat on the bed and stared at him. “A mail-order bride? I haven’t the slightest notion on how to become one.”
“New Orleans is a big town, I'm sure we can find a mail-order bride service somewhere. In the morning we’ll search for one and see about getting you a husband. I realize the idea sounds far-fetched, but it's the only thing I can think of to keep you safe and away from Reginald Van Cleet.”
“Too bad he isn’t like his brother Cyrus. I've heard nothing but good things about him.”
“Yes, but Cyrus Van Cleet left Boston years ago to head out west, and Reginald hardly hears anything from him anymore. That’s probably one of the reasons he got so greedy. His brother wasn’t here to keep him accountable.”
“I wonder if Cyrus knows what his brother is doing with the Van Cleet Shipping Company, or how he's cheating men like you. Honest men who’ve worked hard for what they have.”
“I built my export business from the ground up once, and I can do it again. Or, get into some other line of work.”
Ambrosia met his eyes and stood again. “I can't bear the thought of leaving you behind. Couldn’t you find a way to come with me if I go? Maybe you could start a new business wherever I end up.”
Cecil's eyes widened. “What a wonderful idea. As I understand it, the groom pays for his bride’s tickets to get to where she's going. That means your tickets would be taken care of. That leaves me with enough money for my own ticket.”
“Father! Really? You'd be able to come with me?”
“My dear, sweet daughter,” he said as he put his hands on her shoulders and gave them a light squeeze. “I’ll not leave your side.”
Ambrosia smiled. “What mail-order bride brings her father along?”
“This one,” he said as he patted her cheek with his hand. “Won’t your intended be surprised?”
* * *
“Mrs. Ridgley will see you now,” said a deep, warm voice.
Ambrosia looked up into the face a huge Negro man. He smiled, and motioned for her to precede him into an office. “Coming, father?”
“Yes,” said Cecil as he stood. He straightened his waistcoat, and brushed some dust from it. They left Boston in such a hurry they’d barely escaped with the clothes on their backs.
Ambrosia and Cecil followed the big man into Mrs. Ridgley’s office, and each took a seat where the man indicated. “Mrs. Ridgley will join you in a moment,” he told them, then quietly left the room.
Ambrosia studied her surroundings, her eyes settling on a wanted poster of all things. “Why would Mrs. Ridgley have something like that on her desk?” she asked and pointed.
Cecil leaned forward and peered at the drawing of a man who had a long scar going down the left side of his face. “I have no idea. Maybe it’s someone lurking around here and the sheriff’s been telling folks to watch out for him.”
Curious, Ambrosia picked up the wanted poster and studied it. “T.J. Slade,” she read. “Whoever he is, he's wanted for kidnapping.” She set the poster down, and then folded her hands primly in her lap.
“Yes,” Cecil agreed. “I wouldn't put it past Reginald to do the same. All the more reason we need to leave as soon as possible.”
“Good morning.”
Ambrosia and her father turned to see a woman enter the office. “Good morning,” Cecil greeted. “You must be Mrs. Ridgley.”
“That I am,” she said as she went around the desk and sat. She looked at Ambrosia. “Samson, my assistant, tells me you’re interested in becoming a mail-order bride.”
“That's right.”
Mrs. Ridgley then looked at Cecil. “And you are?”
“I'm her father,” he offered.
“My, this is a first for me,” said Mrs. Ridgley. “I've never had a bride's father come with her to my office before. I trust you’re behind your daughter's decision to become a mail-order bride?”
“Wholeheartedly,” said Cecil with a smile.
“Is it safe for me to assume that you're here to help her make a selection?” asked Mrs. Ridgley.
“Well, I wouldn't mind having a hand in it,” he said as he patted Ambrosia on the shoulder. “Ammy is my only daughter.”
“Ammy? What an unusual name,” commented Mrs. Ridgley.
“It's short for Ambrosia,” Cecil explained.
Mrs. Ridgley smiled. “What would you like me to call you?”
“Ammy would be fine. Thank you for asking.”
“Ammy it is then. Now, I have several applicants that might suit you,” said Mrs. Ridgley as she rifled through a sheaf of papers on her desk. Ammy watched as she nonchalantly shoved the wanted poster underneath the pile before extracting several sheets. “Does distance matter?” Mrs. Ridgley asked.
Ammy glanced at her father. Cecil took the cue. Ammy always was the adventurous sort, and fancies a husband out west. I'm sure you've no shortage of those.”
“How far west are you willing to go?” asked Mrs. Ridgley.
Ammy opened her mouth to speak, then glanced at her father again. His eyes were full of worry. “As far west as I can.”
Mrs. Ridgley studied her a moment. “But what if the applicant you like best is only a few hundred miles away?”
; “That won't do,” Ammy said. “I want to go west. Which gentleman is the furthest from here?”
Mrs. Ridgley's eyes widened, before she sifted through the papers in her hands. “This one,” she said and handed her an application.
“Where does the gentleman live?” asked Cecil.
“About as far west as you can go,” said Mrs. Ridgley. “Oregon.”
“Oregon, you say?” said Cecil with a smile. “Well now, that is far away. How does Oregon sound to you, Ammy?”
“Just as you say, father. It's far away.”
“Where in Oregon does the gentleman live?” he asked.
Ammy glanced at the application in her hands, stifled a gasp, then looked at her father. “Independence,” she said with a smile.
“Independence?” Cecil laughed. “How fitting.” He looked at Mrs. Ridgley. “She'll take this one.”
“But sir, you haven't given her a chance to read the gentleman's application.”
“Oh, yes, you're quite right. Go ahead, Ammy, read it. What's his name?”
“Garrett Eugene Vander.”
“My, my, but that sounds like the name of a fine, upstanding citizen. What else does it say?”
“He lives in Independence, is twenty-six years old, and he's looking for a wife that can cook, keep house, and who wants lots of children.” She looked at her father, eyes wide.
“Children, eh?”
“Lots of children,” she corrected.
He patted her on the back. “It's all a part of marriage, now, isn't it?”
Ammy swallowed hard. “Yes, father. I just hadn’t thought of it until now.”
“No, why would you?” he said. “What else does it say?”
“Just that he's looking forward to meeting his future bride… oh, wait a minute. It also says he has dark blonde hair and green eyes.”
“Does it say what he does for a living?”