Grace (The Marriage Market Book 2) (5 page)

"Nice to make your acquaintance, Mr. Blackthorn," she said stiffly.

"I'm afraid I didn't catch your name, Miss…"

"I am Miss Crumb."

"Are you traveling to Omaha?" he asked, staring into Grace's blue eyes.

"Yes, we're on a little trip to visit Miss Brown's… father. He's an officer at Fort Omaha."

"Oh really, what's his name? I am quite familiar with the fort."

"It figures," Effie muttered under her breath as she turned around and removed her hat.

"Michael Brown, Major Michael Brown," Grace said, smiling back.

"No, I don't recall the name, but it's been a while since I visited the fort. Maybe I'll look him up and tell him I met his charming daughter and her companion."

              "Yes, you do that. Now if you'll excuse us, we'd like to freshen up. It's been quite a long afternoon," Effie announced, indicating the door.

              "I understand," Jonah replied, tipping his hat once again. "Perhaps we can enjoy a meal or two together on our journey. It gets mighty lonesome traveling alone."

"Yes, I'd enjoy…"

              "I doubt that will happen, Mr. Blackthorn. You see Miss Brown has a delicate constitution and we take many of our meals in our compartment, but we wish you a pleasant trip," Effie cooed as she ushered him out the door, slid it closed and turned the lock. Pulling down the curtain, she turned at glared at Grace.

"What?"

"So you're Miss Brown now and your father's a Major? Nothing like calling attention to yourself. The first handsome man that comes along and you forget all about your poor husband?"

"I don't have a 'poor husband'," Grace insisted.

              "I know that, but it's what we agreed on for a story. Now Jonah Blackthorn will be sniffing around like a hound on a scent. How do you know he's not a Pinkerton Agent?"

"Well, I don't," Grace gasped in panic, her hand flying to her chest.

"No, that's right, you don't."

"I'm sorry, Effie, truly I am. He's just so handsome and…"

              "Horace Remington is handsome too, and look what a scoundrel he is. You're too trusting, Grace," Effie insisted, although her tone was kinder seeing the stricken look on Grace's face.

              "And when he spoke about his departed mother, who shares my name, well my heart just broke for him," Grace continued, starring off into space.

              "Come on, snap out of it! His mother is probably in perfect health and living in Baltimore."

"Do you think so?"

              "I don't know," Effie admitted, taking Grace's hand and giving it a squeeze. "I just think the more people we talk to, the more likely we are to be discovered. You need to be more aloof and standoffish. Don't encourage perfect strangers to strike up a conversation. You could accidentally let something slip."

              "You're right, of course. You nearly always are," Grace said dejectedly, "but he was incredibly attractive wasn't he, and isn't his mustache divine? Mr. Blackthorn is so tall and muscular, why I bet he's strong enough to beat Horace to a pulp."

Effie laughed.

"I'll bet I could beat Horace to a pulp with the way I feel about him."

              "Oh, Effie, I'd love to see that." Grace laughed until she snorted and collapsed against the cushioned seat. "I'd like to see you kick his hairy ass to hell and gone."

              "Where did you hear that kind of talk?" Effie asked, shocked and filled with a new respect for her friend.

"My brother."

Effie sank back against the seat giggling before she fell into silence for a few moments.

"Grace, do you think men have hairy asses?"

"I don't know, but it seems likely. I mean they have hair on their faces and chests."

"It's kind of a disgusting thought, isn't it?"

              Grace nodded, yawned and pulled the pin from her hat, setting it on the seat beside her. The motion of the train soon had her eyes drifting shut and she fell asleep wondering why she'd never thought to ask after Mr. Blackthorn's wife.

              Jane Watson sat on the front porch, watching the rain drip from the roof. Lord, if those girls didn't stop fighting soon, she was going to quit or rip her hair out. You'd think a houseful of women could live together in peace and harmony, but apparently not.

              In the last few weeks she'd grown quite fond of Dr. Martin and was anxious to begin work as his nurse. She missed her children dreadfully and wanted to send for them, yet here she was, trapped in a beautiful house of horrors.

              Sending the message to Mrs. Jordon, Tempest, had been her last resort and she breathed a sigh of relief when the carriage pulled up out front.

              "What is it, Jane?" Tempest asked, hurrying to the house as soon as her son, Samuel, lifted her to the ground. "Is one of the Mademoiselles ill? Shall I send Samuel for Dr. Martin?"

              "No, no one is ill, unless being just plain ornery and spiteful counts as an illness. I'm at my wits end. All they do is fight and argue."

              "I do not understand. They were perfect angels at my house, oui? What has happened to cause such behavior?"

Jane looked at the beautiful dark haired woman and sighed.

              "There are no men here, no one to impress. To put it quite simply, I think they are bored and maybe a little anxious."

              "But I am doing everything I can to find them husbands," Tempest insisted. "Mon Cher," she said, turning to her son. "Go in and talk to them. Make them see it takes time to find the proper man to wed," she pleaded.

              "No mother," Sam said firmly, shaking his head. "Moving them all into Hugh's house was your idea, not mine."

              A sudden crash and squeal followed by shrieking spilled out the upstairs window and Sam frowned.

"What the hell is going on in there?"

              "I couldn't begin to tell you, but if it doesn't stop, Hugh and Amelia may not have a house to come home to," Jane replied.

              "Mon dieu, do something, Samuel. Your Pa Pa will be most unhappy with me if things go amiss."

              "Oh, I'll do something all right," Sam growled as he heard the sound of shattering glass. Yanking open the door, he entered his brother's home like a wounded bear. "Get down here immediately," he bellowed. "I want you all in the parlor right now!"

Jane and Tempest followed him into the house. Instantly there was silence.

"Now," Sam roared.

              One by one, the girls made their way cautiously down the wide stairway, keeping one eye on Sam as they scurried past him. His expression was fearsome, his frame tense with anger.

Once they were all assembled he began to pace.

"I want to know what the hell is going on here and I want to know now."

When no one replied, he continued.

"This is my brother's home and you will treat it with the respect it deserves or I'll go outside and cut some switches. If you force me to do that, you can bet each and every one of you will be sitting on sore bottoms for a week. Do I make myself clear?"

              Looking around the room, he observed fear, defiance and remorse on the faces of the women.

              "Good. Don't make me repeat myself," he growled before walking out the door. "I better not hear of anymore of this nonsense. Mother, they're all yours."

              As soon as the door closed behind him, they were all talking at once as they rushed to Tempest for comfort.

              "Come," she said, patting and stroking each young woman. "Would you be so kind as to make us some tea," she asked Jane, looking over the heads that surrounded her. "We will go into the dining room, lord knows it is big enough for a party," she continued.

              "Wait! Magnifique, that is it. We shall have a party. A grandiose ball and invite many les jeunes hommes for you to choose from," she trilled, clapping her hands in delight. "There will be music and dancing, the perfect setting for love to bloom. Oui?"

              Suddenly tears changed to squeals of happiness and Tempest laughed gaily. The next hour was filled with making plans, and when Tempest took her leave, she was kissed and hugged nearly to death.

              "Behave ma petites; I will see you soon to discuss dresses. You must all be beautiful for this merveilleux night. Au revoir."

Sam met her on the porch and took her arm as he escorted her to the carriage.

"Well, did you get everything straightened out?"

"Oui, parfaitement. We are going to have a ball," Tempest said smiling and taking his arm.

              "Wonderful, reward the little brats for their bad behavior. That always works," he drawled sarcastically as he snapped the reins.

              "Sam," Tempest scolded. "Do not be so harsh. They are all young and far from home, their dreams of love and marriage crushed."

              "It was their choice. No one made them travel across the country to marry a stranger. What were they thinking? What were their families thinking to let them run off like that?"

"I think many do not have families. To me it was the act of a desperate woman."

"Desperate or greedy?"

              "Mon Cher, do not say such things. You are too cynical for one so young," Tempest said sadly.

              Sam looked into his mother's blue eyes and patted her hand. Pulling up to his parents' home, he set the brake and walked around to lift his mother down.

"Aren't you coming in? I thought you would explain to your Pa Pa about the party."

              "Nice try, Mother, but you're on your own. I have to get into town and meet Hugh if he shows up. I swear since he and Amelia moved into my house I'm lucky to see him at all."

              "Ah, they are in love. Is it not wonderful?" she asked, her face glowing with happiness. "Maybe one of the Mademoiselles will catch the eye of my other son," she said thoughtfully. "Then we will soon have beaux bébés filling the house, oui?"

Sam laughed and got back onto his seat.

"Don't even think it. The last thing I'm looking for is a woman to complicate my life."

              "But Samuel, there are many to choose from. Each of them would consider themselves lucky to have attracted your attention," Tempest insisted, stomping her foot.

              "My attention or my money?" he asked. "Do they want a man to love and support, or a man to cater to their every whim? No thank you, Mother. If and when I decide to wed, the woman I choose will be smart enough not to travel into dangerous territory on her own. Someone I won't have to worry about every second of my life. I'll want a wife, not an irresponsible child.

              "Now hadn't you better speak with Father about your plans before you get those girls any more excited?"

              "Ah, you're Pa Pa will never deny me," Tempest scoffed. "He is not very good at saying no. Now go to work, your negativity is depressing me," she continued, waving him off. "You need a woman to make you smile. Imagine, my own son is no fun at all."

* * * * *

              Flicking the reins, Sam drove away, wondering if perhaps his mother was a little bit right.

              "Why, Duncan?" Tempest demanded, leaning over the front of her husband's desk. "I do not see what you could object to. A ball will allow the juene filles a chance to meet potential husbands. It is the way in France."

"I'm sorry, Lass, but the answer is no," Duncan replied, looking over some figures.

"Oh, you are pig-headed, my husband," she hissed, pounding her small fist on the desk. "I put on your favorite dress to ask this of you."

              "Yes and you look beautiful, my love, as always," Duncan replied, taking in his wife's appearance. He could feel the electricity rising in the room as she wound herself up, aching for a fight. His temperamental lass didn't like to be thwarted and for years he'd given in to her tantrums. It was only recently he'd come to realize he'd done them both a huge disservice and had taken her in hand.

              Looking at her, he noted her long dark hair, pulled back and hanging nearly to her waist, just the way he preferred it. The blue day dress was the exact color of her eyes when she was happy. Now those eyes were flashing in annoyance.

              "You are a stubborn man, Duncan Jordon," Tempest spat, picking up a figurine and turning it in her hand. "If it is the money, I will pay for it myself."

              "That's very generous of you, darlin', but it isn't the money. Now put that glass doodad down before you get yourself into trouble."

              "This is my home, and my do-did… my do-dig… my statue," she insisted, eyeing her husband as he pushed back his chair and stood. "It's mine and I'll smash it if I want to."

              Duncan knew she was testing him as she'd done several times since he took her over his knee intending to put an end to her volatile rampages. Up to now, she'd backed down at the last moment but he had a strong feeling that wasn't going to be the case today. Walking around the desk, he leaned against the front, his big body poised and ready to react. She didn't disappoint.

              Shaking his head, he sighed and began to roll up his sleeves as the figurine shattered against the stone fireplace to his left.

"Lock the door, Lass."

"Oh, non, Duncan, I am sorry," she cried with her fingers over her lips as she backed away from him.

"I'm sorry too, but you know what that is going to cost you."

"I'll pay for it."

"Yes, my love, you will, but not in money, in tears."

              "I didn't mean it. I just lost my temper for a moment. Please forgive me," she pleaded, her eyes wide with worry.

"I will, just as soon as you've paid the piper. Lock the door."

              Tempest went to the door slowly, her head down. As she took the doorknob in her hand, Duncan wondered if she was going to make a run for it, but finally she turned the lock and faced him. Smiling in pride, he held out his hand and enveloped her in his strong arms when she ran to him.

"You know why I have to do this?" he whispered into her hair.

              Tempest nodded against his neck, her body trembling as he swept her up, carrying her to the settee. Sitting, he held her on his lap and smoothed her hair back.

              "Tempest, I canna agree to your idea. Most of the men who want brides work from sunup till sundown in the forests and mills. They dinna have the use for clothes grand enough for a ball. They want wives who will work alongside them, not cutting down and transporting logs, but work to care for a home and a family. They're lonely and heartsick to think they've lost the women due to their own foolishness. You must give them the chance to make it right, my love."

"But they lied," Tempest insisted, looking into her husband's eyes.

              "Yes, they did. They deceived the girls, but not because they aren't decent men. The loneliness got to them and they were afraid the brides wouldn't come if they used their own names. Many of them sent honest letters, but used Hugh's name because he placed the ad and was the man the girls expected to hear from. The money used to pay for the passages was their own. Some of them have been saving for years. Giving a ball would eliminate them from the competition and open the field for many of the wealthier men in town to enjoy the evening, even though the chance of them actually taking a Mail Order Bride to wife are slim.

"Why not invite them to a nice informal dinner party and give the ladies a chance to meet the men who sent for them. Give the loggers a chance to explain and possibly win them over. I will agree to that, but not a ball, my love."

              "You are a wise man, my husband," Tempest said with a smile. Pulling his head to hers, she kissed his lips longingly before she released him. "I will talk to the Mademoiselles and tell them of your decision. They will be disappointed, but perhaps you are right about the men and we have been too hasty in dismissing them."

              "I'm glad to see you are becoming more reasonable, even if it is because you have a spanking coming."

              "You are still going to spank me?" Tempest turned pleading eyes to him and Duncan suspected they weren't asking for mercy. In his heart of heart, he knew she would soon be getting not only what she deserved for her childish behavior, but also what she needed; a strong man willing to set limits and enforce them.

              "I'm afraid so, Lass, spank you and more." Turning her easily, he placed her face down and bottom up over his lap. "There are more ways than one to punish a naughty wife."

Flipping up her skirts, he pulled her pantalets down swiftly and cupped her pretty bottom.

              Tempest didn't struggle until the tenth swat fell crisply on her pink cheeks, but Duncan easily held her tighter, keeping her in place.

              "I've told you there will be no more compromising as far as your temper tantrums go. I simply will not tolerate them any longer. You may argue with me to your heart's content, but throwing things at me or speaking to me in a disrespectful manner will have your sweet bottom paying the price each and every time." Swat! Swat! Swat!