by Lilah Rivers
Mrs. Temple grimaced. Gemma knew that her mother had plenty of opinions as far as Gemma was concerned. But no matter how she tried to be obedient and to honor her mother, she could scarcely handle the thought of looking her best for Lord Linton.
“I think the pink,” Mrs. Temple said with finality, handing the silk to the merchant.
“A lovely choice,” he said, despite having heard Gemma’s protestations.
She watched as her mother continued to choose accenting ribbons and a purple brocade and another silk of a deep red. But all of these did not appear to be enough for her as Mrs. Temple found excuses for more and more outfits that Gemma simply did not need.
“Now, I believe that Lord Linton will be very pleased when he sees you in such a lovely gown. It will flatter your figure quite nicely,” she said.
“Mother, Lord Linton does not need to see me at all,” Gemma said quietly.
Mrs. Temple shot daggers with her eyes.
“My dear, I do not understand this selfish disinterest in a man who adores you,” her mother said.
“He does not adore me, Mother. He adores the thought of owning me,” Gemma said.
“Oh, poppycock. You know as well as I do that Lord Linton is as fine a gentleman as there has ever been,” she said.
“I have told you repeatedly that he is nothing of the sort,” Gemma said, indignant.
Her mother waved a hand in the air as if to brush away the thought. Mr. and Mrs. Temple would not believe Gemma no matter what, no matter how many examples she gave or stories she might tell.
The wedding was set for just five weeks from now and Gemma’s mother and father were determined that she would have to constantly keep her focus on maintaining Lord Linton’s affections during that season.
Her primary goal would be nothing more than indulging him at every turn so that he would not suddenly get a whiff of someone who might take his attentions away. Certainly, it was vital to Mr. and Mrs. Temple that Gemma keep his interest.
She often wondered how they could be so determined to marry her off to a man they did not even trust to be loyal to her before marriage. What was she to do? Why was it so important that she marry him?
Gemma thought back to a ball the previous year, when she had debuted in society. It had been her first awareness of Lord Linton when her dear friend Millicent Fogle had come running to Gemma with tears in her eyes as Gemma stood on the balcony.
Begging Millicent to tell her what had happened, Gemma listened and was horrified to learn that Lord Linton had cornered her and had kissed her without her consent. For an innocent young lady like Millicent, a first kiss was a truly precious thing to be given only to the man she was to marry.
It had shocked Gemma to hear, at the very next ball, that her parents had deemed him just the sort of gentleman that their daughter ought to be married to. And even as he began his pursuit of Gemma, she heard more and more stories from young ladies about their desperation to not be caught in his gaze.
The first time they had been alone together, walking the gardens and watched from afar by her mother and father, Lord Linton had told her that he wished to buy her.
“Buy?” she had asked.
“Yes, I think that you would make an ideal wife,” he had replied, apparently not understanding that he had insulted her.
“I am not a cravat. One cannot buy a woman,” she had retorted, to which he had simply laughed and moved on with his plans to make her his wife with the blessing of her parents.
“Gemma, dear,” her mother said, “I think Lord Linton is fond of green and your eyes are the loveliest shade, so what if we find a deep, dark green bonnet for you?”
“Mother, have you heard nothing that I have said?” Gemma asked.
“Oh, all of that nonsense about Lord Linton? Come and be a dear and let it all go. I would like to see how this looks on you,” Mrs. Temple said.
Gemma stood firmly, desperate to make her mother hear her.
“Mother, Lord Linton told me at our last engagement that he should always expect me to remain silent unless given express permission to speak. He said that he is not giving you and father all of the benefits of my marriage to him just so that he may end up with a willful wife.
“He even told me once that if I ever show any spirit, he will be sure to break it,” Gemma said, recounting one of the more appalling statements that her betrothed had threatened her with.
“Dear girl, I simply cannot understand how you think of such terrible accusations as that. Poor Lord Linton. All he wants is a beautiful wife and you are doing all that you may to cause problems before your marriage has even begun,” Mrs. Temple said.
As though she were screaming into a dark void, Gemma knew once more that she would not be heard. There was nothing that might convince her mother and father of the honest truth that she had been telling them.
They simply did not wish to hear it.
Once upon a time, Gemma could not believe that Lord Linton had gotten away with all of his exploits and mistreatment of young ladies. Now, however, it all made perfect sense. He could do anything he wished because no one would question him. They would all accuse their daughters of being the dishonest ones.
For a man so wealthy, it was easy to believe that anything he wished for was his by right. There was no reason for him to worry about whether or not he would be doubted.
Gemma stared out the window, looking at London with gloom. The rainclouds were gathering, and she heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance.
Six months before, she had met a young lady from America who had been quite a joyful sort. Oftentimes, she would talk about the heat of the southwest, the dryness and the joy of riding through such heat with the faint wind blowing against her skin.
Now, that was a young lady who had spirit. And Gemma dearly longed to be able to freely show her own spirit. Ever since that time, she had been fascinated by America.
Gemma had begun to read about the fledgling country, to try and meet more Americans in London, although she had only managed to meet one other and he was a man the age of her father. Still, she had asked him a great many questions.
But the fact was, she was stuck in London, unable to get away. No matter how she might beg, her parents would never send her to America. They detested the idea of it. And not only that, but they were unwilling to release her from a marriage to Lord Linton.
For a moment, outside the window, Gemma was uncertain if the rain had begun or if it was the smog of the city that clouded everything. Or perhaps it was neither of those, perhaps it was only her state of sadness.
“I believe we are all finished here,” her mother said.
“Wonderful, does that mean we may return home?” Gemma asked.
“We still have one more stop to make, but it is right next door, so we needn’t worry about taking the coach,” her mother said.
They made their way to the shop right beside the dressmaker and had a look at shoes that were brought into London from cobblers out in the countryside. Mrs. Temple had something very specific in mind.
Gemma wandered the shop and saw a wall towards the back where there were all manner of postings:
Governess Wanted!
Don’t miss Eliza Wendall in her latest role for the stage!
Hamish’s Horses—a breeder to meet all your equine needs!
And then she saw it, the very thing that lit her spirit aflame once more:
Delilah Collins—Matchmaker. Find your American husband in the new country!
A matchmaker? One that could get her to America?
Gemma read the headline of the poster three times before she was willing to believe it enough to move on to the next part of it. But it was true. All of it. There really was an opportunity to go to America and find a husband.
Tempted beyond what she had ever imagined, Gemma looked closely at the address listed in order to communicate with Miss Delilah Collins. She could do this, she could find the woman and make her destiny. She could e
scape the dreaded marriage to Lord Linton.
Gemma’s stomach turned in anticipation. Was she really brave enough? Was she willing to risk everything for this dream?
As her heart pounded, Gemma decided that she was. She had to be. If she was stuck in England for the rest of her life, a mere piece of property that lived in fear of her husband, then there was hardly a risk to consider.
Was she guaranteed a good husband in America? No. Was there every chance that she would not love him? Certainly. But he would not be Lord Linton.
Perhaps in America she would not find someone better, but Gemma was certain that he could not be worse.
She gathered her courage and forged ahead with her mother, suddenly pretending to be perfectly docile.
“I love this pair,” she said, choosing shoes that would accompany one of the new gowns, but were also far more practical for a life that may require more walking than her current life of coaches at all times.
“Oh, yes, they do go so well with the purple dress,” her mother agreed.
Gemma smiled and nodded, giving her mother a large grin.
She had made a decision. And nobody would be able to stop her.
Chapter 3
Marianne Collins was on her way. She had sent a note to Amos that morning that his wife would be arriving that day. A messenger from her sister had come ahead of this woman—and other young ladies—and across the country to Tucson in order to tell Marianne that another batch of women would be expected.
Miss Collins had apparently chosen someone very specific for Amos, although he did not believe her. She had never met any of these women and she had hardly even spoken to him aside from a brief interaction, when he first told her of his desire for a wife, and one other time in which he had paid a visit to ask when the woman would come.
Nevertheless, Miss Collins was apparently very determined that she would make her clients feel as though they were receiving a truly personalized service. As if she had hand-picked the women herself.
Amos paced in anticipation, frightened by the choice that he had made.
Would he be happy? Would he learn to love this woman he was apparently committing his life to without knowing a single thing about her?
He recognized what a strange choice this had been, but Amos was utterly unable to comprehend any other options that he had had. No, this was it. He was going to marry a beautiful, dignified, British woman.
Well, she would at least be British. As for the rest, he could hardly say until she was standing before him.
Justine had agreed to be out when the young woman arrived, for which Amos was rather thankful. As much as he loved his sister, he didn’t think that she would be happy to be a part of this and he worried greatly that she might make the young lady uncomfortable.
Of course, the whole situation was likely to be rather uncomfortable, he imagined.
But when he heard the sound of the coach coming towards his home, Amos took in a deep breath, ragged and unsteady.
He thought to go to the window, to catch a first glimpse of the woman, but his feet would not move him, and he froze.
The knock at the door sounded. Still, he could not move.
Amos tried again to push forward. And again.
Finally, he managed to lift his right foot and drag his left behind as he proceeded.
When Amos reached the door, he looked at the handle, opened the door, and did not take his eyes off it until the door had swung wide open. He took a step back and finally lifted his gaze.
Miss Collins stood in front, her grey dress in decent shape, but dusty from the arid desert. Grey hair to match, most likely pretty enough in her day, but she was now a spinster.
Amos could see the red hair of the woman behind her, like an outline. Red hair and a pale pink sleeve.
But finally Miss Collins moved to let the young woman in and Amos was able to see his new wife.
His breath caught immediately, and Amos was shocked that she was so lovely. Of course he had hoped for a beautiful wife, but hope and expectation were two entirely different commodities and the latter had not dawned on him.
Her red hair was smooth and a deep shade, contrasting with the paleness of her skin and the stark green of her eyes.
Amos had heard that many women from Scotland had this coloring, but he had never met a British woman from England and for some strange reason he had been picturing a woman with plain brown hair and maybe blue eyes.
But someone with such lively features? It truly was a surprise to him.
Her lips were a natural shade of pink that were enhanced by matching her gown, and her little pointed chin was feminine and delicate.
“Ahem,” came the terse sound of Miss Collins in front of him.
Amos was alerted to the fact that he had been staring quite rudely. The young lady did not appear to have noticed as she was looking around the house, but Miss Collins was evidently displeased.
“Mr. Amos Thompson, please allow me to introduce you to Miss Gemma Temple,” Miss Collins said.
For the first time since she had walked through the door, Miss Temple returned his gaze and her eyes met his with a sort of surprise. It was as though she had not even noticed him standing there the entire time.
“Very nice to meet you, Miss Temple,” Amos said.
“And you, Mr. Thompson,” she said, giving a low curtsey.
Amos was unsure exactly how to respond to her greeting but decided that he might as well bow rather than extend his hand.
When their eyes met once more, Amos was relieved that she gave him a smile, although it lasted very briefly before she began to glance around the house once more. He could not help but notice that a small twitch formed between her brows, as if to express a disappointment she was trying to hide.
Amos’s heart sunk, but he did not wish to lose hope already. Not when he had only just met the woman he was meant to marry so soon.
“This is your home?” she asked, that twitch returning.
“Yes, yes, it is,” he said.
“It is…smaller than I expected for an American home,” she said.
Amos tried not to take her statement to heart. She clearly did not know what to expect.
“It is considered fairly nice in this area, actually,” he replied, having a great deal of pride in his home and the work that he had done in order to afford something like this.
“I see. I suppose I have not seen many American homes. How many bedrooms does it have?” she asked.
Still thinking it was strange that she was so fixated on this issue, Amos tried to smile through his gritted teeth.
“Three. Which is more than many,” he replied, defensively.
She looked at him, apparently realizing that he was offended. But she said nothing about it.
“It is very different from my home in England,” she said.
“Well, at the moment it is only my sister and myself who live here, so three bedrooms for two people is quite a lot,” he said.
A small huff of laughter escaped her lips before she put a delicate hand to them in embarrassment.