Mail Order Bride Collection (A Timeless Romance Anthology Book 16)

  Copyright © 2016 by Mirror Press, LLC

  E-book edition

  All rights reserved

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.

  Interior Design by Heather Justesen

  Edited by Julie Ogborn, Jennie Stevens, and Lisa Shepherd

  Cover design by Mirror Press, LLC

  Cover Photo Credit: Elizabeth May/Trigger Image

  Cover Photo Copyright: Elizabeth May

  Published by Mirror Press, LLC

  http://timelessromanceanthologies.blogspot.com

  eISBN-10: 1941145647

  eISBN-13: 978-1-941145-64-7

  Winter Collection

  Spring Vacation Collection

  Summer Wedding Collection

  Autumn Collection

  European Collection

  Love Letter Collection

  Old West Collection

  Summer in New York Collection

  Silver Bells Collection

  All Regency Collection

  Annette Lyon Collection

  Sarah M. Eden British Isles Collection

  Under the Mistletoe Collection

  Road Trip Collection

  Written in Her Heart by Stacy Henrie

  Other works by Stacy Henrie

  About Stacy Henrie

  WANTED: Midwife Bride by Kristin Holt

  Other works by Kristin Holt

  About Kristin Holt

  The Sound of Home by Annette Lyon

  Other works by Annette Lyon

  About Annette Lyon

  For Better or Worse by Sarah M. Eden

  Other works by Sarah M. Eden

  About Sarah M. Eden

  An Inconvenient Bride by Heather B. Moore

  Other works by Heather B. Moore

  About Heather B. Moore

  The Price of Silver by Siân Ann Bessey

  Other works by Siân Ann Bessey

  About Siân Ann Bessey

  Chapter One

  Woodland, California, 1884

  “I’ve decided to place an advertisement in the Matrimonial News,” Georgeanna Fitzgerald announced, tapping her pen against her desk. A tremor of excitement, mingled with nerves, bolted through her at voicing her plan aloud. Surely, this was the answer to several of her problems.

  From the desk adjacent to hers, Clayton Riley, her financial advisor and personal secretary, snapped up his chin. “You’re what?”

  “Going to place an advertisement in the—”

  He waved his hand impatiently. “I heard what you said, Georgie. I’m trying to deduce what in the world you meant. An advertisement for whom?”

  Georgie set down the pen and maneuvered her bustled skirt around her chair in order to stand. “For me, Clay.”

  “Why?”

  He ran a hand over his frown, drawing her attention to his chiseled jaw and masculine mouth. She still thought him quite handsome. A few years back, she’d even fancied herself in love with Clay, but that girlish infatuation had been rebuffed. He’d seen her as his employer’s daughter first, then as his employer after the death of her father. Perhaps he even felt brotherly affection toward her, but he hadn’t ever seen her as someone of romantic interest.

  “Your father’s money will provide for you. We’ve been over this.” Clay placed his folded hands on top of the desk and leaned forward. “Why then, would you need a husband? Especially one who might only want to marry you…” His voice faded as a chagrined expression passed over his face.

  “For my money?” she countered with more triumph than irritation. She’d hoped to make him understand. “That’s why I want to place this advertisement.” Georgie paced across the Turkish rug, her skirts rustling behind her. “I’m tired of only being found attractive to men because I inherited my father’s fortune. Which is why I don’t intend to mention my wealth in the Matrimonial News.”

  She shot him a victorious smile, but Clay shook his head, his brows drawn down in confusion. “Why become a mail order bride then? If not to be provided for?”

  “There are many reasons why a woman would wish to marry.” Georgie circled the rug again. “Companionship, love, the hope of a family.”

  Clay cleared his throat, though his eyes had strayed back to the stack of papers before him. “And you want these things?”

  “Well, yes.” She bit her lip. “Sort of.”

  “You aren’t making sense.”

  She went to his desk, splaying her hands on the wood surface and bending toward him. “It’s the perfect solution,” she explained. “If I marry, not only will I have a companion, someone who doesn’t want me simply for my money, but I will also receive the rest of my inheritance. The part Father stipulated would be mine when I married.”

  He looked up again, his blue eyes sharp. “Do you mean to say that your annual income is insufficient? If that’s the case, then we can certainly adjust—”

  “No,” she said, interrupting him. She placed her hand on his arm, though she wasn’t sure why the muscles underneath his jacket sleeve felt taut with concealed tension. “My annual income is more than adequate. But it won’t be enough to build a new orphanage for those sweet children in Sacramento. I want them to have every convenience, and I can’t do so without that reserved money.”

  Clay leaned back, breaking her hold. “So you would marry a complete stranger,” he asked as he crossed his arms, “in order for the orphans in Sacramento to have a better home?”

  Why did he seem angry? Georgie fell back a step, raising her chin in defense. “It isn’t as strange as it sounds. Women have chosen to be mail order brides for centuries— and for far less compelling reasons,” she added. “Age being one of them. I’m twenty-two years old.” She turned away as a feeling of longing welled up within her. “In many people’s eyes, I’m practically a spinster, and yet, I’d like to be a wife and mother.”

  Her cheeks grew warm at admitting such hopes to Clay. But he needed to know her mind was made up, especially since he would no longer be using her home as his office once she married.

  The thought of not seeing Clay on a daily basis caused an ache of a different sort. Their longtime friendship would have to be sacrificed in order for her to marry. But, if she could help other orphans, now that she was one herself… Ones not so fortunate as to have been born to a father who’d made his fortune during the California Gold Rush and who’d loved his wife, Georgie’s mother, every single day, even after she’d passed away.

  “My mother was a mail order bride,” she tossed over her shoulder as she approached her desk.

  “Yes, but your father told me that she did so in order to better her station in life. To keep from being a lady’s maid forever.”

  “And I’m hoping to better the orphans’ stations in life.” Georgie picked up the picture sitting on her desk’s front corner. Her parents and her ten-year-old self smiled back. She and her mother had shared the same honey-colored shade of hair and hazel eyes, but Georgie’s height was all from her father. Would any man want a tall woman with more angles than curves as a wife?

  Georgie replaced the picture. “It’s true. Mother wanted more than servitude for her life, but Father said he fell in love with her the m
oment she climbed out of the stagecoach. Mother said it only took her another hour to realize she could love him for always too.”

  Of course, Georgie didn’t expect instant love, even if her parents had found it. Mutual respect and affection would do for her, with the hope that love would grow over time. If her parents could make marriage to a stranger work, she certainly could too.

  Clay pushed back his chair and stood. “As your personal advisor, Georgie, I can hardly recommend this as a solution to…” He gestured around the room. “To help young orphans or fight loneliness.”

  She drew herself up, though she still stood a head shorter than Clay. “That is why you are my financial advisor. Not my advisor in matters of the heart.”

  His frown deepened as he ran a hand through his brown hair. “Be that as it may, your father charged me to look after you— not just your money.”

  “Precisely.” Georgie flounced into her chair and slid a clean sheet of paper in front of her. “Which is why I want you to narrow down the selection process.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  She pointed her pen at him, emphasizing each word. “I want you to choose the most suitable men out of those who respond.”

  “Me?” he choked out. “I thought you said I’m not to counsel you on matters of the heart.”

  “You also said Father made you promise to look out for me.” She smiled sweetly at him. “Which, in this endeavor, means I need your unbiased, objective opinion as to whom I should begin correspondence with.”

  Clay raked his hand across his face and turned away, stalking toward the bookcases on the other side of her father’s study. “Georgie,” he warned, hidden frustration leaking into his voice.

  “Please, Clay.” She perched forward on her chair, hoping he sensed her eagerness and sincerity. “I could honestly use your help.”

  He halted before the bookshelves, his hands inside his trouser pockets. Tense silence filled the space between them. At last he emitted a grunt of acceptance. “What would you have me do?” He didn’t turn around.

  Georgie ignored his obvious display of annoyance. “If you would kindly run this advertisement to the post office when I’m finished, that would be lovely.” She nibbled on the end of her pen. “Now, what to write?”

  She studied the piece of stationery, then began to dictate out loud as she wrote. “Educated, amiable lady of twenty-two, with blonde hair and hazel eyes, seeks intelligent, witty, kindhearted gentleman of twenty-five to thirty-five years of age.”

  Though she heard a scoff from Clay’s direction, she chose not to comment. Thirty-five might be a bit too old for her, given that Clay was twenty-nine and believed that seven years between their ages was too many. But she was no longer an exuberant seventeen-year-old.

  Georgie read through the words once more, smiling at what she’d written. This was the perfect solution, practically an answer to prayer. She’d been asking the Lord for weeks about how to supply the children with the new, larger home they so desperately needed, and then, she’d overheard someone at church mention the Matrimonial News.

  Now, her life and the life of each of the dear orphans she was patroness over was about to change for the better.

  Clay scowled at the sidewalk, his derby hat doing little to shade his eyes from the warm afternoon sunshine. If only it would turn cloudy and stormy, something more in keeping with his present mood. An annoyed growl, as much at himself as at Georgie, filled his throat. This matrimonial advertisement scheme of hers was foolhardy, irrational, illogical…

  “Afternoon, Mr. Riley,” an alto voice intoned.

  Lifting his eyes, he found old Mrs. Huckabee seated on her veranda. The woman lived to be “in the know” of the comings and goings of Woodland’s residents.

  “Afternoon, ma’am.” Clay tipped his hat to her.

  “Heading into town, are you?” she asked. “Or are you going home at this early hour?”

  He hoisted the envelope in his hand. “Actually, I’m posting a letter.”

  “For the lovely Miss Fitzgerald?”

  Lovely, yes. But also young and stubborn and rash… He reined in his thoughts long enough to answer, “Yes.”

  “Such a shame she’s all alone in that big house,” Mrs. Huckabee said with a heavy sigh.

  Clay decided not to remind the woman that Georgie wasn’t entirely alone. She had a cook, a maid, and a man-of-all-work. Not to mention Clay was there every day, typically only returning to his room at the boarding house in the evenings.

  “Do you think she’ll ever marry, Mr. Riley?”

  Sooner than you know. “Perhaps, ma’am."

  “Such a sweet-tempered girl.”

  Most of the time.

  Clay quickly retracted this thought as unfair. While he didn’t like Georgie’s idea of becoming a mail order bride, she had always been kind, lively, and full of optimism. Except when she’d spoken earlier of being seen as a spinster. The memory of her crestfallen expression plagued his mind. She’d all but admitted to being lonely.

  Was that what had bothered him the most about their earlier conversation? Clay had come to find peace and contentment in their daily, tried and true friendship. But to hear that Georgie was still lonely… Was that what grated at him? Or why he felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach?

  “I shan’t keep you, Mrs. Huckabee.” He dipped his hat a second time.

  “Of course. Good day, Mr. Riley.”

  Clay smiled and walked on, though the curve fell from his mouth half a block later. If only he hadn’t insisted Georgie visit the orphanage in Sacramento last year. Then she wouldn’t feel compelled to marry a complete stranger in order to further help those innocent children.

  But, no, he didn’t mean that either. Georgie had blossomed as patroness of the orphanage, and so had her young charges. As an orphan himself, Clay had done what he could for the children over the years. But involving Georgie had proven to be a blessing for her and for the children. He wouldn’t wish that away, not even to avoid her scheme to post this matrimonial advertisement.

  Eyeing the letter again, Clay frowned. Why should it bother him if Georgie married or how she went about finding a husband? The answer came swiftly. He liked his current life it was predictable, comfortable. Had been for the last seven years. And while he wasn’t working for Patrick Fitzgerald any longer, Clay enjoyed advising and working with his daughter. Georgie and her parents had long since become the family he’d lost when his grandfather had passed on.

  “Then I should be overjoyed,” he reminded himself. If Georgeanna Fitzgerald was like family, then he ought to be happy helping to secure a good match for her. But the feeling roiling in his gut didn’t resemble happiness at all.

  He didn’t particularly like the image that rose in his mind of Georgie speaking with and spending time with another man. Or another man ardently kissing her. Clay’s jaw tightened at the notion.

  He could choose not to mail the advertisement. His feet ground to a halt on the sidewalk, his mind spinning. But Georgie’s sad expression danced before his eyes again, compelling him forward once more. She’d sounded so hopeful when she spoke of marriage and a family of her own. How could he deny her that? Even if he did think her methods for obtaining a husband and children were completely unorthodox.

  Lord, give me the courage to do right by her. Help me to let go of my annoyance.

  As his silent prayer ended, numb resignation settled over him. He would mail her letter and weed through the replies to find a man worthy of Georgie. That was the best he could do.

  But Clay couldn’t help thinking, ten minutes later, as he relinquished the envelope to the postmaster, that his peaceful, unchanged life was about to be forever altered by the outcome of Georgie’s scheme. For good or ill, things would never be the same for either of them.

  Chapter Two

  1877: Seven years earlier

  Hands behind his back, Clay observed the Fitzgerald’s well-manicured lawn from the drawing room window. Ever
ything about this place oozed tasteful opulence, but opulence nonetheless. The plush carpets, the marble-inlaid hearth, the expensive vases of freshly cut flowers— this mansion’s furnishings made his grandfather’s nice home in Sacramento seem like a crude cabin by comparison.

  Clay swallowed, hoping to bring moisture to his dry mouth. The last financial advisor to work for Patrick Fitzgerald had been much older than Clay’s twenty-two years. Would he be viewed as too young and inexperienced by comparison? He hoped not. From what his grandfather had told him, Mr. Fitzgerald had once been young and eager to prove himself too. Instead of making it rich from gold-hunting, he’d made his money by providing supplies to the miners. And now, his million dollar fortune was tied up in various stocks.

  Which had fared better than Grandfather’s had.

  Thoughts of his maternal grandfather, Clay’s only family, squeezed his lungs with grief. Grandfather had taught Clay everything he knew about life and banking. Clay’s earliest memories were of sitting beneath his grandfather’s desk, counting pennies. He hadn’t wanted for anything growing up, except to have remembered his parents better.

  The Panic of 1873 had changed everything. The bank had folded, bringing Clay home from college without a diploma. A year later, his grandfather also succumbed to their financial ruin. The doctor told Clay that it was the shock of everything that had ultimately killed Grandfather.

  Still in shock and grieving himself, Clay sold the only home he’d known and had taken a job at a newspaper. But now he needed to go back to his roots— to banking and finance and to advising others to make sound decisions about their money. This position with Patrick Fitzgerald would not only put his longtime banking skills to use but also help him feel closer to his grandfather.

  The squeak of shoes in the entryway pulled Clay’s attention away from his thoughts. Beyond the open door, a lanky girl of fourteen or fifteen skittered to a stop on the marbled floor. Her honey-colored hair was pulled back in a childish pink bow, but the long lashes fanning her greenish-brown eyes and her perfectly bowed lips suggested she would likely grow into a beauty someday.