The Convenient Bride Collection: 9 Romances Grow from Marriage Partnerships Formed Out of Necessity

by Erica Vetsch, Amanda Barratt, Andrea Boeshaar, Mona Hodgson, Melissa Jagears, Maureen Lang, Gabrielle Meyer, Jennifer Uhlarik, Renee Yancy

  “How long?”

  “Dr. Buchanan didna say. But I’ve a wee feelin’ it won’t be long.”

  Anna swallowed hard. “What shall I do without you?” She searched the pockets of her tea gown for a hankie, to no avail.

  “As usual, lassie.” He shook his finger at her and pulled a starched handkerchief from his vest pocket. She blew her nose and then put her arms around him.

  The guests arrived at Longmeadow the next afternoon on the train.

  Nora arrived first, and Anna and her father greeted her in the octagonal solarium, along with Mortimer, the head housekeeper Mrs. Ludley, and most of the servants.

  “Och, lassie,” said Philip MacDougall as he welcomed Nora with open arms. “Ye’re a sight to see. Bonnie as ever.” He embraced her and gave her a hearty kiss on the cheek.

  “Darling,” said Nora, “I’m reinvigorated already. This country air.” She wore a royal-blue traveling suit, with a pert hat trimmed in snowy egret plumes and a tiny bluebird, the breast of which matched the rose of her blouse.

  “You’re looking very chic,” said Anna, returning the hug. “We’ll speak later.”

  Nora nodded and followed Mrs. Ludley up the grand staircase to her guest bedroom on the second floor, followed by a parade of footmen bearing trunks, hatboxes, and even a tiny yellow canary in a round brass cage.

  When the gateman notified the house two hours later that their remaining guests had arrived, Anna put on a gracious smile as she joined her father in the solarium.

  “It would have been wonderful to have you to myself this visit,” she murmured under her breath as they stood side by side in front of the staff.

  “Too boring with just your old da for company.” He smiled as the great front door opened to admit their guests. “Dinna fash yerself, lassie—it will be fine.”

  Anna smiled. “If you say so, Papa.”

  Mr. Radclyfe entered first, followed by his friend. Anna choked when the man pulled off his hat and stepped forward. A tall, tawny blond, with a neat mustache and a rakish expression, he looked so much like Stuart Maxwell Gordon it took her breath away.

  Mr. Radclyfe shot her a concerned look, and she smiled quickly to cover her gaffe. Her father held out his hand to Robert. “Mr. Radclyfe, welcome to Longmeadow.”

  Mr. Radclyfe doffed his top hat and bowed. “May I introduce my good friend, James George Epperson, the Baron DeVille.”

  The men shook hands with her father then turned to her.

  “Gentlemen,” she said smoothly, having recovered her composure, “I echo my father’s gracious sentiments. Welcome to Longmeadow.”

  The men bowed in return. She had forgotten how tall Mr. Radclyfe was. He topped her father by a good three inches, and his broad shoulders agreeably filled out his traveling suit.

  “Mrs. Ludley will show you to your rooms,” she said. “Aperitifs in the library at seven?”

  They nodded, and she hurriedly took her leave. The baron’s close resemblance to her former fiancé had shocked her badly. It was difficult enough to be worrying about her father’s health while entertaining guests—and now to be reminded of her failed engagement every time she looked at the baron. How would she bear it?

  But she couldn’t think about it now. She still had to choose the china and silverware, write the place cards on thick vellum edged with gilt, and do the flowers.

  In the lower-level flower room, Anna considered the pink roses and delicate white lilies heaped on the marble table. From the glass-lined cases against the wall she chose a silver epergne and assembled the roses and lilies asymmetrically, allowing a spike of the lilies to be the main focal point, with delicate ferns at the back and ivy trailing over the sides.

  “Lovely, Miss Anna,” said Mortimer, entering the room from the kitchens. “The table is finished. Would you care to see if all is arranged to your liking?”

  “Certainly, Mortimer. But if I know you, everything is perfect.”

  Mortimer inclined his head at the compliment. “Thank you, miss.”

  The dining room lay at the opposite end of the mansion from the guest bedrooms. The immense walnut table that could seat seventy-six guests when fully opened had had most of its leaves removed for the small dinner party of five. She had chosen an Old Crown Staffordshire pattern with green chinoiserie landscapes and twiggy handles, fitting for a country dinner on the estate.

  Anna clapped her hands as the French revolving clock in the solarium chimed six thirty. “As I said, Mortimer, it’s perfect. Thank you. And now I need to get upstairs.”

  “Yes, miss.”

  She ran up to her room and paused on the threshold, out of breath.

  Winnie turned away from the wardrobe and tsked. “Now you know better than to run in the house, Miss Anna.”

  “I do, Winnie,” she gasped, holding her side, “but I’m going to be late if we don’t begin soon. And I absolutely must take my corset off.”

  “We don’t have time for that.”

  Anna made a face. “It’s pinching me like the dickens.”

  Mumbling under her breath about the lateness of the hour, Winnie obligingly came and undid the bodice of the day dress, helped her out of the skirt and petticoats, then unlaced the corset.

  “Ohhh, that’s heavenly,” said Anna as the restrictive garment fell away and she could take a deep restorative breath.

  “Don’t you be getting too happy, Miss Anna. You know you’re going to have to put it right back on.”

  Anna scowled at Winnie. “Don’t remind me.”

  “Come here. I’ll take your hair down and brush it good.”

  “Anything to delay putting that horrible thing back on.”

  Anna relaxed against the padded bench as Winnie took the pins out of her hair and let the long coils and braids down.

  Anna closed her eyes and let the hypnotic rhythm of the brush take over. “Mmm. Oh Winnie, that’s wonderful. One of those pins was stuck into my head all day, and I was so busy I never had the time to fix it.”

  “I guess I know you pretty well after all these years, Miss Anna. And I s’pose you’re going to take me along with you when you get married, too.”

  “Humph.” Anna sniffed. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

  “Then why are two handsome men in the house?” Winnie held her arms akimbo and glared at Anna in the mirror. “Surely they aren’t merely decorative?”

  Anna shook a finger at her maid. “Winnie, have you been spying?”

  Winnie smiled slyly. “I did stand upstairs and watch as the gentlemen came in.”

  “And what did you think of them?”

  “I liked the dark-haired mannie.”

  “Why?”

  Winnie snorted and flapped her apron at Anna. “A blind man could see he only has eyes for you.”

  “Indeed.” Anna frowned. “Heavens,” she said, getting to her feet. “Look at the time.”

  White tie and tails. Rob checked his appearance in the mirror.

  “You’re looking well, sir. Fits you like a glove.” His valet, Jackson, stood back to admire him then flicked one microscopic piece of dust off his lapel. “Top-notch, sir.”

  “Thank you, Jackson.” Rob hoped Miss MacDougall would think so. Could he persuade her not to look at him as a fortune hunter? He had to try. None of the other American women he’d met held half the attraction for him that Miss MacDougall did.

  He left the bedroom and made his way down the grand staircase, admiring the marble busts in the wall niches and pausing to examine a tapestry over the hall table. The Medici coat of arms. Probably priceless. It would be wonderful to see Donalee restored to its previous grandeur like this amazing house.

  The library lay off the solarium hall, filled with thousands of leather-bound books in glass-fronted bookcases. Carved wooden ribs ran along the vaulted ceiling and met at the center brass medallion in an elaborate crystal chandelier.

  Philip MacDougal stood near the fireplace in the necessary white tie and tails,
but Miss MacDougall was nowhere to be seen. “She’ll be down in a wee moment,” MacDougall said.

  Was it that obvious? Rob cleared his throat. “Is that an elk over the fireplace, sir?”

  “Caribou.”

  Self-conscious, he examined a collection of guns on the wall opposite the fireplace.

  “Antique Swiss wheel locks,” said MacDougall. “Do ye hunt?”

  “Of course. But I prefer fishing. Don’t tell anyone.” It was considered unmanly not to love hunting.

  “Aye.” A gleam sparkled in MacDougall’s eye. “I havena forgotten, lad. Ye brought your rods?”

  “Of course—” he started to say, when Miss MacDougal swept into the room.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Papa.” Then she caught sight of him, and the initial look of pleased surprise transformed into a cool and watchful demeanor.

  “Good evening, Miss MacDougall,” he managed to say, surprised at the coolness of his own voice, and bowed.

  She was breathtaking in deep purple silk, her neck and shoulders bare, the gown fashionably décolleté. Slim diamond straps adorned the bodice, and the fiery mass of her hair had been swept up in a heavy chignon. Amethysts sparkled in the lamplight, in her hair, and at her wrists and throat.

  “Good evening, Mr. Radclyfe,” she said and extended her arm, encased in long silk gloves.

  He kissed the back of her gloved hand, and then they stood there for an awkward moment.

  “Let’s have a sherry,” said MacDougall. He went to the silver tray near the fireplace and poured three small glasses. In the next moment, James and the other guest arrived, a striking blond, and Philip MacDougall made the introductions.

  “Good evening, all.” Leonora Singer Marlborough, Countess of Dorset, radiated warmth in an evening dress of garnet-red satin, with rubies and diamonds as her jewels and an enormous feathered aigrette in her hair that threatened to take out the eye of anyone who stood too close.

  With the entrance of the countess and DeVille, conversation flowed, and before long Mortimer appeared to announce that dinner was served. MacDougall escorted the countess, DeVille escorted Miss MacDougall, and Robert followed.

  The dining room was a grand space in a Renaissance style, with full-length casement windows. A huge antique Oriental rug covered the floor, and Flemish tapestries hung on the walls between walnut panels, and the ceiling … He tilted his head back to take in the enormous painting of cherubim.

  “From Venice,” said McDougall, noting his interest. “Seventeenth century.”

  “Amazing.” Rob gestured to the chandelier overhead. “And you have electric lights throughout the house.”

  “Yes. I constructed a hydroelectric plant on the property before we built anythin’ else.”

  “I’d like to see it.”

  “Of course. Tomorrow? And then ye must plan a day to fish with me.”

  “Whenever you say, sir,” Rob said. MacDougall was affable and easy to talk to. How could he convince the man that he was a worthy suitor, despite his lack of money?

  At dinner, Rob couldn’t keep his gaze off Miss MacDougall, by far the loveliest ornament in the glittering room. The butler gave a nod to the footmen to serve the first course, which turned out to be a delightful lobster bisque.

  MacDougall cleared his throat. “Now, gentlemen,” he said, picking up his soupspoon, “I know ye’re accustomed to dinner conversation being restricted to polite observations of the weather, but at my table, ye have leave to discuss anythin’ of interest, as long as it’s not offensive to the ladies. At Longmeadow, it’s a much greater offense to be boring.”

  DeVille spoke up. “Capital, Mr. MacDougall.”

  After the soup dishes had been removed, footmen brought in the salad course of celery and chestnuts, and DeVille spoke up. “Mr. Radclyfe and I went to see ‘The Importance of Being Earnest’ last week in the city”

  Rob narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly at DeVille, who ignored him.

  “Do tell us, Baron,” said the countess, with a languid wave of her jeweled hand. “Do you recommend it?”

  “It depends,” said DeVille.

  “On what, sir?”

  “Your thoughts on marriage.” DeVille pursed his lips and glanced around the table. “Whether marriage is a pleasant or an unpleasant undertaking is debated throughout the play.”

  “It makes a mockery of marriage,” Rob retorted.

  “Indeed,” said DeVille with a wicked grin. “Inform us of your thoughts on marriage, dear boy. Pleasant? Or unpleasant?”

  Rob glared at his friend. And then the lights in the dining room flickered and went out, plunging the room into darkness.

  “Oh!” exclaimed the countess.

  Only two candlesticks lighted the massive room now, revealing surprised faces in the tiny circle of light.

  MacDougall rose. “Dinna fash, it’s the hydro plant. I’ll go see what’s wrong.”

  Miss MacDougall put a restraining hand on her father’s arm. “No, Papa, let someone else do it.”

  DeVille plucked a chestnut from his plate with a tiny silver fork. “Don’t you have a man to do that, sir?”

  “Aye, a man during the day, but most of the time there’s no need; it runs itself.”

  Rob stood, too. “May I go with you, Mr. MacDougall? Perhaps I may be of assistance.”

  MacDougall nodded, and patted his daughter’s hand. “I’ll be fine, lassie, with such a fine braw lad to help me. Come along then, Mr. Radclyfe.”

  Miss MacDougall threw him a look of gratitude. “Thank you,” she mouthed.

  James piped up. “I’ll stay here and protect the ladies.”

  “Aye, ye do that,” said MacDougall. “I’m off to find a hand torch.”

  Mortimer met them at the door with two flashlights. Footmen had kerosene lamps already lit in the solarium as Rob and MacDougall exited the mansion. The moon hadn’t risen yet, and it was as dark as pitch as they walked to the powerhouse a quarter mile south—a fieldstone building with a slate roof, a deep porch, and leaded glass windows.

  “There’s a battery room and a pump room,” said MacDougall as he unlocked the door and set the kerosene lantern down. “Wait a moment.” He pulled a small vial from his waistcoat. “Just a precaution. All this excitement, ye ken.” He put the pill under his tongue and motioned for Rob to follow him. “Bring your light in here,” he said, opening another door. The smell of dampness and wet wood enveloped them like a cloud. In the yellow light of the torch, the waterwheel loomed large in the semidarkness. “How big is it?” Rob held his lantern high to scrutinize the huge wheel.

  “Eleven feet, “said MacDougall, “on a twenty-five-foot head.”

  “Overshot or undershot?”

  MacDougall threw him a keen glance. “Under.” He arched a silver eyebrow. “It’s surprised I am, laddie, that ye ken the difference.”

  “We’ve a waterwheel on the estate at home.” Rob shrugged off his frock coat and removed his tie. Rolling up his shirtsleeves, he approached the massive wheel. “Looks like the buckets are worn.” He tapped the nearest one. “Need to be replaced soon.”

  “Ye’ve a sharp eye.”

  Rob knelt by the side of the pool, strained his arm as far as it could go, and scooped up some standing water. “Here you go,” he said, offering his hand. “Sediment.” He rolled up his trouser legs and pulled off his shoes. “No help for it. I’ve got to go under. Hold the lantern close.”

  MacDougall scrutinized him. “No need for this tonight, lad. I’ll send for my pump man in the morning.”

  “What? Deprive James and the ladies of their hot baths? I wouldn’t think of it.” He hesitated a moment. “If the truth be known, sir, I’m far more comfortable fixing something and getting my hands dirty than trying to make witty conversation.”

  He slipped off his shirt, sat at the edge of the sluice gate, and took a deep breath before he dove underneath the wheel. The icy water hit him like a thousand painful needles, and he exhaled a hard stream of
bubbles to the surface. MacDougall’s lantern light barely pierced the murky water, forcing him to use his hands to check the buckets at the bottom of the wheel. He resurfaced with a gasp and refilled his lungs with oxygen.

  “I have to clean out the buckets,” he said. “Do you have a bag or another pail to empty them into?”

  MacDougall smiled and fetched a stout bucket. Rob went down again, holding on to the wheel rim with one hand and scooping the detritus out with the other. With repeated returns to the surface for air, he cleaned the buckets one by one until the wheel lurched then lumbered forward, slowly at first, and then more rapidly. The wire-covered lights on the ceiling flickered back to life. By then Rob’s fingers and toes were numb, and a glacial finger of ice had settled between his temples

  “B–b–back in b–b–business, s–sir,” he said. “Whew! That water’s c–colder than an iceberg in the A–Arctic.”

  MacDougall hauled him out of the freezing water and covered him with the frock coat as Rob’s teeth chattered. “Ye’re a fine strong laddie, that’s certain,” he shouted over the roar of the wheel and the splashing water. “Well done.”

  “Th–thank you, s–sir.”

  “You see a problem and tackle it like a man.”

  “G–glad to be of service, sir.”

  “Let’s go back. Can’t have ye freeze now, can I?”

  MacDougall supported him as they loped back to the house, where light glowed warmly from every window. By the time they arrived, Rob was shaking so hard he couldn’t speak.

  “Oh my goodness!” shrilled the countess. “What happened?”

  “He repaired the waterwheel for you ladies. And nearly froze in the process.” He turned to Mortimer. “Get a hot bath started, and bring some tea immediately.”

  DeVille and MacDougall lugged Rob upstairs and into his bathroom, where the tub was nearly full. Together with his valet, the men stripped him of his wet clothing and got him into the tub. It was pure bliss to sink into the hot water and relax his cramped muscles.

  The tea arrived, and MacDougall pressed the hot mug into Rob’s hand. “Drink this, laddie,” he said. “’Twill warm ye. Then come to the library when you’re ready.”