The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity
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“And?” Paul prompted, repeating the last word she’d spoken aloud. “And … Is that all?”
Virginia folded the letter, replacing it inside the envelope. “And she asks if I’m doing well away from the city.”
“What will your answer be?”
“Well,” she began slowly, carefully, “I’ll tell her I miss my clients. I do like making bonnets, but they’re easier to design when I have a specific face in mind.”
“So you’re eager, then, to go back? Perhaps in time to escape a brutal country winter.”
She said nothing, because in fact she did not know how to answer. She’d been more than comfortable here. Mrs. Higgins and even Tim were already dear to her, and she suspected if she didn’t have to sneak around to avoid positioning herself in Paul’s company she might know the happiness Sarah hinted she might find. It would be a huge change from city life, and she had yet to experience the harsh winter even Paul himself seemed not to like, but there was something peaceful about living out here. She’d found most of her happiness in her work, just as she suspected Paul did. And that she could do under any roof, as long as she imagined for whom she was making her next bonnet.
They finished their meal, and she might have excused herself as usual but was in no hurry to do so. She had something else on her mind.
“Paul, I wonder if you might tell me sometime—whenever you feel like it, if you want to, that is—about your bees? I know nothing about them except they sting and produce honey, and other than liking the one thing and being terrified of the other, I imagine there is quite a bit more to know.”
He eyed her as if trying to decipher whether or not she was just being polite or was in earnest about wanting him to answer a question he could likely have enough material to share that would take days to fully explore.
At that moment, she realized she wanted exactly that, to listen to him talk freely about something he was interested in.
She knew her request violated every intention of achieving invisibility, but she couldn’t bear not to take the risk by asking anyway. She was tired of being so careful around him. If he rebuffed her, she vowed to suffer through the rejection and return to her room. But if he didn’t, she knew his companionship could make this remote farmhouse a home—even through the worst of Wisconsin winters.
Paul eyed her, managing to keep his pulse steady only with extreme caution. “Do you really want to hear about it? I’ve been studying bees for quite some time. I could find any number of ways to bore you with worker bees, drones, and queens.”
She smiled. “How do you know I would find it boring? It already sounds a bit medieval, with workers and queens.”
Just then Mrs. Higgins emerged again from the kitchen, carrying two plates of pastry puffs. But instead of delivering them to the table, she walked right past and entered the parlor.
Paul watched her then turned to Virginia, who appeared as surprised as he was.
“Mrs. Higgins?” he inquired, seeing her place the two plates on the table next to the bookshelf. There, she turned the lamp down a bit, lending a cozier feel to the room connected to the dining room.
“If you must know, I can easily hear each and every word spoken in that dining room, and up until this evening it’s been downright boring. Now you’re going to sit in here and share this treat, maybe have a cup of tea or coffee, and talk until one of you—or both—falls asleep. You’ve got some time to catch up on together.”
Paul was nearly afraid to look at Virginia for fear of her being aghast at the idea of spending an entire evening with him. But she was already pushing away from the table, and so once again he escorted her into a room on his arm.
Whether or not she enjoyed hearing about how queen bees achieve their reign—as brutally accomplished at times as the worst human reign—Paul didn’t think he was fooling himself to believe she was actually interested. She asked questions, gasped and laughed at the right times, and if she wasn’t fascinated by some of the same things he was, she made a very good show of it.
The pastry and the tea were long since gone, and not a sound had come from the kitchen ever since Mrs. Higgins told them she was retiring for the evening. Paul hadn’t shared everything he knew of the bees, or some of the tales he had from working with a university only by mail, but there was another topic he needed to address before Virginia—rightly so—excused herself out of pure exhaustion.
“Virginia,” he said quietly, looking at the base of the lamp on the small table between them instead of at her, “why is it that you’ve so diligently avoided my company ever since I brought you here?”
It was the question he’d most wanted answered for some time now, but he’d been too cowardly to ask.
She hesitated so long he forced himself to look at her, hoping to read whatever it was she couldn’t put into words. Her face beguiled him. In her eyes he found only welcome, but something else, too. Confusion.
“I–I’ve tried to be unnoticeable. I know your solitude is important, because you’re dedicated to work not only in the fields, with the hives, or in the forests, but here, too.” She tapped her temple. “The thinking that must go with formulating your reports for your research’s sake takes time. Your work is important to you, and you were more than happy living here without anyone underfoot.”
“Underfoot? That’s what you think you are?”
“I’ve been trying not to be.”
He leaned back in his chair, never so tempted to laugh loud and hard. But he settled for a grin. “So it isn’t because you miss the city so much you’re miserable here, that you cannot tolerate my company, that you find me every bit as dull as countless other people do, my own brother included?”
To his astonishment, the glimmer of a tear shone in one of her eyes, and he had the audacity to welcome it if it meant he could take her into his arms again and comfort her. He really ought to find a way to do so minus the tears.
“I wonder,” he began then cleared his throat and started again. “Virginia, if I promise to respect whatever decision you make, whether or not you can live so far from the faces you need to inspire your bonnets, will you allow me to court you? Properly?”
“Oh, Paul,” she whispered, “I’d like nothing better.”
Then they both stood at the very same time, and regardless of whether or not that single tear fell, Paul drew her into his arms and pressed his lips to hers. His only fear now was that he wouldn’t be able to let her go.
Chapter 15
Virginia rose early the next morning and used the writing desk in her room as it was meant to be used—for letter writing instead of working on a bonnet. Her letters took considerably longer than she expected, being careful not to reveal too much to Sarah about her own myriad, but no doubt silly and overly romantic, hopes and notions for a future with Paul—her husband. She then set about the real work of a second letter in Sarah’s care but directed to the builder. It took time to think up countless ways to complicate the rebuilding of her home in the city.
There was simply no way she planned to allow a choice any time soon of going back to the city or staying here. Not until she was convinced she was truly not a burden to Paul. There was no doubt about it. Having an option lurking for her to live elsewhere must be delayed. Only how was she to word this so not even someone as intuitive as Sarah could see through her ploy?
Paul sealed the letter he’d spent half the night composing—a night he couldn’t have wasted sleeping anyway, with thoughts of Virginia keeping him awake. He supposed he should feel a bit guilty, if manipulation was a sin. Both Virginia and his brother had seemed to think themselves guilty after they’d manipulated the wedding vows. But he felt not an ounce of compunction.
It was, after all, every financial institute’s responsibility to inspect the building process their good money worked to produce. Was he an unreasonable investor to expect someone to oversee every step of the way? So what if it delayed things? If the building was merely delayed one month or two or six, what
of it? He might need every bit of that time to convince her to stay. But if she did decide to return to the city, at least she would live and work in the safest, most well-crafted building in all of Milwaukee. Thorough oversight would see to that.
It was Sunday, and even though only Mrs. Higgins and Tim had escorted Virginia to church last week, Paul intended to accompany them, at least today. The post office was closed for the Sabbath, but he knew the postmaster and could hand him the letters personally after services, along with a coin or two to cover the postage.
He fairly skipped down the stairs that morning, happy to see neither Virginia nor Mrs. Higgins had yet stepped outside to meet Tim with the buggy.
“Ah, Mr. Paul! You’ll be delivering the tithe in person today, then?”
Holding out both arms to escort the women, he smiled. “I will indeed, Mrs. Higgins.”
Epilogue
There they are! Oh Paul, they made it after all!”
Despite the unpredictability of December Wisconsin weather, Sarah and John had promised to come for Christmas, and it was just a day away. Little did they know their visit would include a celebration besides the birth of the Savior.
By the time Virginia rushed outside to wave at them still far down the lane, another buggy soon appeared on the horizon.
“Looks like Reverend DeWeis will be as punctual for us as he expects his congregation to be on Sundays for him,” Paul said, drawing Virginia close and adding a wave of his own with his free hand. He hadn’t promised to accompany Virginia to church every Sunday, but she’d visited Paul’s cathedral in nature often enough for him to have convinced her he met God there with every bit as much reverence as she met Him at a conventional church. Paul had agreed, though, to occasionally attend church in the village with her, if only for her to claim progress on the task Pastor DeWeis had assigned to her.
“Oh Paul, it’s perfect, isn’t it? Having them here for an exchange of real wedding vows this time?”
He kissed her, and the familiar sensation of warmth and tingles spread throughout her. It had been marvelously difficult, this courtship under one roof, knowing legally and perhaps even spiritually they were already married. But Paul himself had suggested if they both wanted this marriage to be real they ought to exchange their vows for a second time. More than that, though she’d seen him fairly choke on the words, he admitted it was probably the high road to take if they waited until then before she moved into his bedroom.
They exchanged fierce hugs with Sarah and John, who were both surprised to see the reverend join them a few moments later.
“Oh Virginia! I’m so, so very happy for you! For you both!” Then Sarah beamed, smiling down at the infant in her arms. “Just wait, little Elijah, until I tell you how I arranged the marriage between your Aunt Virginia and Uncle Paul!”
The ceremony was every bit as brief but far more happily done than the first one out in the garden earlier that year, but Reverend DeWeis cheerfully repeated the vows for them to exchange.
That night, after all were abed—Sarah and John and the baby in the room Virginia had vacated only that morning—Paul held his wife and kissed her temple.
“The reverend was right, Virginia. God did use you to make this marriage a true ministry of marriage. You with your bonnets, me with my bees. After Christmas, I think we ought to go back to the city with Sarah and John. Your place will be finished sooner if we stop pestering poor Mr. O’Shea. What do you say to splitting the months between here and there? Summer here, in the peace and quiet. Winters there? Everyone hibernates in Wisconsin winters, so what will be the difference?”
She sat up, and in the dim moonlight that filtered through the window above the bed, she looked all the more lovely. “Do you mean it? You wouldn’t be too unhappy so far from the openness of life out here?”
“I’ve never liked the winter months. They’re long without my bees. And with you … home is here, or there.”
“Oh Paul, how I do love you!”
“And I you,” he whispered, pulling her back into his arms.
Maureen Lang writes stories inspired by a love of history and romance. An avid reader herself, she’s figured out a way to write the stories she feels like reading. Maureen’s inspirationals have earned various writing distinctions including the Inspirational Readers Choice Contest, a HOLT Medallion, and the Selah Award, as well as being a finalist for the Rita, Christy, and Carol Awards. In addition to investigating various eras in history (such as Victorian England, the First World War, and America’s Gilded Age), Maureen loves taking research trips to get a feel for the settings of her novels. She lives in the Chicago area with her family and has been blessed to be the primary caregiver to her adult disabled son.
A GROOM FOR JOSETTE
Gabrielle Meyer
Dedication
To my hero, David. Eighteen years ago you took my hand and captured my heart. Thank you for never letting go.
Acknowledgement
I couldn’t pursue this dream without the love and sacrifice of my husband, David, and our four children, Ellis, Maryn, Judah, and Asher. Thank you for being my biggest fans and my greatest joy. My heartfelt appreciation also goes to my agent, Mary Keeley, from Books and Such Literary Management who diligently champions my work; to the wonderful editors at Barbour Publishers who have fulfilled my lifelong dream; to my amazing writing friends, Alena Tauriainen, Lindsay Harrel, and Melissa Tagg, who make me laugh and encourage me every step of the way; to my faithful beta readers, Andrea Skoglund, Angie VanRisseghem, Sarah VanRisseghem, Lindsay LeClair, Sarah Olson, Beka Swisher, and Kimberly Perry who put their lives on hold to give me feedback; and to my extended family members and friends who inspire me every day. A very special thank you goes to my parents, George and Cathy VanRisseghem, and my husband’s parents, Virgil and Carol Meyer, who have been a constant blessing and support. I’m grateful God planted this dream in my heart and is allowing me to see it come true
Chapter 1
St. Louis, June 1856
Josette LeBlanc gripped her reticule as she stared across the expansive mahogany desk. “Did you say three weeks?”
Mr. Trestle’s long mustache blew away from his mouth as he sighed. “I’m afraid so, Miss LeBlanc. Your father’s will stipulates that if you’re not married before your half brother turns twenty-one, the entire estate and business will go to him.”
“But—” Her voice caught in her throat. “I’ll be destitute.”
“Surely your brother will provide for your well-being.”
Stephen, provide for her? He could hardly provide for himself. Besides, Stephen had been poisoned against Josie years ago by her stepmother, Celeste. Josie would be turned out of the house at the stroke of midnight on Stephen’s birthday—she was sure of it. For eight years, Papa’s will had guaranteed an allowance and a place for Josie to live.
Until now.
She lifted her gloved hands to her temples and applied pressure. Sunshine poured into the wood-paneled office, illuminating the tall bookshelves and Josie’s bleak future. “I don’t understand. Why would Papa give Stephen control of his business? Stephen’s … incompetent. He spends most of his time gambling on the steamboats.”
Mr. Trestle’s face filled with regret. “Your father had always hoped Stephen would outgrow his wild ways, but …” He shook his head. “He is your father’s only son. If you were married, your husband could manage your share of the business. Since you’re not, it’s only right that your brother should manage it for you.”
Manage the business for her? Josie straightened her spine. She didn’t need Stephen’s help. She had spent hours with Papa at the office learning about LeBlanc Shipping. Papa had said she was smarter than any businessman he’d ever met.
Josie wanted to pace, but she remained in her seat and took a deep breath. “Why wasn’t I told of this stipulation before?”
Mr. Trestle shrugged. “Your father died when you were debuting into society. I’m sure he thought you’d be married by
now. He didn’t want you to marry in haste, just to secure your fortune.”
Yet now she had no choice. Josie lowered her eyes and tried to hide the pain his words induced. Papa had always said she must marry for love, just as he had married her mama—a Chippewa maiden he had met as a fur trader in Minnesota Territory. The worst mistake of Papa’s life was marrying Celeste just after arriving in St. Louis, a grieving widower with a little girl in need of a mama.
Mr. Trestle fiddled with a piece of paper and didn’t meet her eyes. “Is there a special young man who could be persuaded to marry you?”
Josie’s cheeks filled with heat. At the age of twenty-six, society considered her an old maid, forcing her to give up on the idea of marriage. After her debut, there had been many prospects, but every time a gentleman became serious, Celeste made it known that Josie was the daughter of a Chippewa Indian.
Eventually, the gentlemen stopped calling.
She swallowed. “There is no one.”
He looked as if he didn’t believe her. “No one?”
Her chest squeezed with embarrassment, but she lifted her chin. “There is not a man in St. Louis who would have me.”
Mr. Trestle cleared his throat. “I apologize, Miss LeBlanc.”
She didn’t want to bother with what she couldn’t do—she needed to know what she could. “Can I fight this?”
“I’m afraid not—the only thing you can do is find a husband before your brother’s birthday—in less than three weeks.”
Hadn’t she been searching since her debut, eight years ago? “Do you have any other ideas?”
Mr. Trestle opened his mouth and then closed it, as if he wasn’t sure he should speak.