Reluctant Proxy Bride

by Margaret Tanner

  “No.”

  “It doesn’t seem, well legal, I suppose.” Ruth fiddled with her reticule.

  “I assure you it would be. The man has supplied excellent references and, of course, you would have to do the same. No one except us and the clergyman or judge who performs the ceremony need to know anything about this arrangement.”

  Ruth wrung her hands, almost wishing she hadn’t come in here. “Can I think about it?”

  “Yes, but don’t leave it too long. If another suitable woman comes in, we will have to accept her. My first obligation is to my client.”

  “I’ll think about it for an hour or so then come back, if that is all right.”

  “Yes. It does deserve thought as it is a big step for you to take.”

  Ruth left the agency and started walking toward the main street. Dare she do it? Marry a man she had never met and never wanted to meet? Fifty dollars was a lot of money and would ensure she would have extra time to decide what to do once the Osborne’s left.

  It meant there would be no need to rush into anything. She could take her time to find the right position. This baby of hers was not going to have a bad start in life like her.

  Don’t procrastinate, do it, screamed a little voice inside her head. She swung around and retraced her footsteps. Luckily, Reverend McDonald’s character reference was still in her reticule.

  The moment she stepped inside the agency, Sarah jumped up from the desk.

  “That was quick. I guess it means the answer is no?”

  “It’s yes,” Ruth said emphatically.

  “Are you sure? It’s a big step for you to take.”

  “I want to do it if I can stay here in Boston and don’t need to meet the man, and the marriage is annulled after twelve months.”

  “All right. Take a seat and tell me about yourself. Oh, and you need to fill out this form. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  Ruth sat opposite Sarah. “No, thanks. I promised myself a cup of tea and a fancy pastry at a little tearoom I passed on my way here.”

  “Tell me about yourself.”

  Ruth told the other woman her life story, only leaving out about Virgil deliberately lighting the fire that killed him. Sarah made notes, using several sheets of paper.

  “It won’t cost me anything?” Even though it might sound mean, Ruth was in no position to pay any costs involved.

  “No, the prospective groom pays for everything. You sound a good match for this man, but my husband will have to check a few things out first. Do you have any character references?”

  “Yes, I do.” She pulled out Reverend McDonald’s reference from her reticule and handed it over. “I would like it back.”

  Sarah read it and nodded her head. “Could I keep it to show my husband then you can have it back?”

  “Yes.”

  “Being a lawyer, he’s fussy about everything. Drives me mad, sometimes.” Sarah smiled. “I think he will agree with me that you are suitable for our client. Can you call back in a week? That should give us enough time to check your references and if they are all right, we’ll organize a preacher to marry you.”

  “You have a preacher lined up already?”

  “If the bride is in Boston, we do have someone. If the bride is too far away, it is all done by correspondence and we contact a preacher who is in the area where the bride lives.”

  Ruth could see the agency was well organized.

  “We do mail-order brides as well. They’re a little easier to organize.”

  Sarah handed Ruth a paper to sign saying she agreed to marry Tyler Dean of Harper’s Mount, Colorado.

  “We’ll see you in a week and everything should be ready.”

  “Thank you.” Ruth left the agency.

  Browsing around the stores, wondering why she had not asked more questions about her prospective groom, held little appeal now. Not after the momentous step she had just taken. She needed a cup of tea to steady her nerves. What had she got herself into? Marrying some stranger on the spur of the moment. It’s not as if she would ever have to meet him. By the time she arrived at the tearoom, she was regretting her impulsive decision. There was still time to back out of it.

  A waitress showed her to a table before taking her order. A cup of tea and a piece of current cake. I’ll finish up here then go back and tell Sarah I just can’t do it. On the other hand, the fifty dollars would come in handy for when the baby was born. Her head started aching because of the strain of wondering whether she was doing the right thing or not. If only there was someone whose opinion she could ask.

  The tea was served in a white china cup with a blue stripe around the top. She wondered how she would eat such a large slice of cake with her stomach churning with nerves. It had been foolish to waste money on ordering it.

  She sipped the tea and found it calming. What she was contemplating was not such a bad idea when she needed the money for her baby and Tyler Dean deserved to keep his ranch. How he must have suffered by being a prisoner of war in Andersonville. Life had been tough for them both. Was it too much to expect a little happiness? Who could it hurt?

  As she nibbled on the cake, her resolve strengthened. She would do it. There was no other choice that she could think of.

  ◆◆◆

  One week later

  Ruth told Mrs. Osborne she needed to go into town for a short time and her employer agreed to let her go. She was a strange woman, yet she treated her well, not expecting too much from her.

  They spent time playing cards or reading, going for walks in the garden. Mrs. Osborne always left the house by the front door, whereas she had to use the kitchen door and they would meet at the side of the house.

  Mrs. Duckworth was rather aloof with little animation on her face except when she was with her mistress. Then, her eyes would soften, her expression becoming gentle. It was obvious she adored Arabella.

  “Are you sure I can’t get you anything, Mrs. Osborne?” Ruth asked before she left. “You’re not craving for anything?”

  “Craving? Why would I be craving for anything?”

  “You’re lucky. I still get cravings for ginger of all things, even though my pregnancy is still in the early stages.”

  A fleeting expression flashed over Mrs. Osborne’s face; it came and went so quickly Ruth couldn’t decipher what it meant.

  “Oh, those cravings. I forgot about them. Off you go.”

  Ruth found it hard to understand her employer, who was always mindful of her pregnancy and making sure she never over-taxed herself, yet almost off handed and forgetful about her own condition.

  I don’t know why I’m worrying, she thought as she left the house on her way to see Sarah at the marriage agency. Nerves were playing havoc with her stomach and she had barely slept the night before for worrying. Was she doing the right thing? What if Tyler Dean wanted her to be a real wife to him?

  That was a foolish notion, as according to Sarah, he had been adamant about not having any contact with his proxy bride. What if she wasn’t acceptable?

  All the various worries warred with each as she walked along. Her hand trembled as she pushed the door of the agency open. A smiling Sarah relieved her anxiety a little. All must be well.

  “Good news, Ruth. My husband thinks you will be perfect for Mr. Dean as your stipulations are similar to his.”

  Ruth sat down in case her legs gave way.

  “You haven’t changed your mind about marrying our client?”

  “No.” I’ve spent half the night worrying about it. She clamped her lips shut so the words would not tumble out. “You had time to contact Mr. Dean?”

  “No. He left everything entirely up to my husband. We’ve contacted a local preacher and he can marry you on Wednesday at eleven. My husband will stand in for Mr. Dean.”

  “That was quick.”

  “No point procrastinating since our client is on a deadline.”

  “Um, when would I get the fifty dollars?” It sounded awful to blurt it out, but R
uth had to know. She was only doing it for the money, God forgive her.

  “Straight after the marriage ceremony.”

  “Thank you. Do I need to bring anything with me?”

  “No, just yourself. Don’t be nervous. You would be surprised at the number of arrangements like this that are carried out.”

  “I know, but it seems so…well, I’m not sure what word I’m looking for. If I only had myself to consider, I would never have gone through with it.”

  “It will be fine, Ruth, I promise. Until Wednesday morning then.”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  Chapter Five

  Four months later

  Ruth was starting to feel the effects of her pregnancy now. Her stomach poked out and her ankles puffed up. The marriage to Tyler Dean had went off without a hitch. She had told no one what had transpired and still went under the name of Ruth McNulty. It didn’t seem right somehow to use the name of a husband who wasn’t really a husband at all.

  She was in the small sitting room with Mrs. Osborne, whose stomach poked out as much as hers, yet she didn’t complain about indigestion or swollen ankles.

  “You’re so lucky, Mrs. Osborne. I had terrible leg cramps last night.”

  “Leg cramps. Oh, you poor thing. Maybe you should see a doctor.” Her employer’s eyes darkened with concern. “You are all right, otherwise?”

  “Yes, except for feeling fat and frumpy.”

  “It will be all over soon,” Mrs. Osborne consoled. “I guess I have been lucky.” She ran her hand across her swollen stomach.

  “The baby was restless last night, too, kicking up a storm it was.” Ruth felt her stomach quiver then shift slightly and wondered whether anyone else could see it. She had never once seen any movement in her employer’s stomach. Maybe she suffered the discomfort at night.

  “I’ve got a frightful headache, Ruth. I think I’ll have a lie down for a while. I wish Mrs. Duckworth were here. She always knows what to do.”

  “I could make you a cup of tea.”

  “Thank you, that would be nice. You won’t be able to make me the special herbal tea like she does.”

  “I could if I knew what went into it.”

  “It’s a closely guarded family secret. A pot of English tea will be better than nothing. You can help me up to my bedroom first.”

  “All right.”

  “When I get these bad heads, my balance is affected, and I wouldn’t want to tumble down the stairs.”

  Ruth heaved herself out of the chair and stepped over to the other woman, whose face was ghostly white, her eyes half closed with the pain.

  Linking arms, they headed toward the staircase, which was wide enough for them to walk abreast. Ruth held on to the bannister rail on one side, Mrs. Osborne on the other side, as they slowly made their way to the bedroom.

  “Would you like me to help you out of your dress?”

  “No.” Mrs. Osborne shot the word out. “I can do it. You go down and make the tea.”

  “If you’re sure.” Ruth turned the bedclothes back. It was too cold for anyone to lie on top of the quilt even though a fire burned brightly. It looked as if winter would be early this year.

  “Yes, I’m sure. You get the tea, and when Mrs. Duckworth gets back from the funeral, send her up to me.”

  “All right, I won’t be long.” This was the first time in months that she had entered the bedroom, or even climbed the stairs. The housekeeper thought it too much for a woman in her condition. Strange that the woman wasn’t so worried about her darling Arabella climbing up and down the stairs. There again, she was used to them and maybe she didn’t want to shift out of her pretty room.

  Ruth made her way to the kitchen and placed the kettle on the stove to boil, then set up a silver tray with a matching cup, saucer and plate, sugar bowl, and cream jug. She found a box of English tea and put a couple of scoops into the small matching teapot. All the crockery in the house was fine English bone china; the cutlery silver.

  It all seemed very English to her, obviously pandering to Mr. Osborne’s birthplace. It was a shame the man would not be back before their baby was born.

  Ruth made the tea and placed a couple of chocolate cookies on a plate just in case Mrs. Osborne felt hungry. The stairs were hard going, so she didn’t want to have to make a second trip if her boss decided she did want something to eat after all.

  Taking the stairs carefully, Ruth made it to the bedroom without mishap. Mrs. Osborne’s eyes were closed.

  “I’m back,” she said quietly. No reply. She placed the tray on the carved nightstand.

  Mrs. Osborne’s dress was carelessly flung across a chair, so she leaned over to straighten it. What on earth was that? Under the dress was a vest and attached to it was a stuffed rounded pillow-like affair.

  Ruth’s heart turned to stone. Worn under a dress, it would look as if the wearer were pregnant. Blood rushed to her head and pounded so loudly in her eardrums, she feared they would burst.

  Carefully, she placed the dress back exactly as it was and tiptoed over to the bed. Making it look like she was tidying the bedclothes, she lifted them up and her shocked eyes became rivetted on her employer’s flat stomach. Her hands trembled so badly she could barely pat the linen back into place. Mrs. Osborn was not expecting a baby. It was all pretend. Why would anyone do such a thing?

  It suddenly hit her with the force of a battering ram. No wonder everyone was concerned about her welfare. They wanted her baby. It was the only logical explanation. She shoved her fist into her mouth to stop the screams tumbling out and, on shaking legs, crept out of the room. Slumping against the wall outside, she took in several deep, shuddering breaths.

  All the strange goings on in the house now made sense. Once she had birthed her baby, they would steal it and pretend it was Mrs. Osborne’s and no one would be any the wiser, not even the absent husband. They would dispose of her; she didn’t doubt it for one moment.

  Mrs. Osborne had apparently had a wet nurse when she was a baby so they would do the same with her child. She would be killed, and no one would ever know what they had done. She placed her hands protectively over her stomach and forced herself to find the strength to climb down the stairs. By the time she made it to the kitchen, Ruth was on the verge of collapse.

  She had to get away—today—while the Duckworths were away. Where would she go? What could she do? Get out of Boston for starters, or they would hunt her down.

  Thinking on it now, she had noticed over the last few days that no matter where she went, one of the women always found an excuse to be with her. It had been slightly irritating, although she had thought it was because they were thinking of her welfare. In reality, it was the baby they wanted, and to make sure they got it, they were guarding her. Keeping her a prisoner in this mansion until she gave birth then she would be murdered, and her body disposed of.

  Fear, shock, and horror tore through her in equal measure. She had to get away from here right now. She dragged herself up from the table and made it to her bedroom to grab up her bonnet. Taking the fifty dollars from the marriage agency people from under the mattress, she shoved it into her reticule. She could take nothing with her, otherwise, these people would know she had run off and would hunt her down with the tenacity of blood hounds.

  If the Duckworths came home early, they had to think she had gone shopping. She would leave a note saying she had popped out to buy headache medicine for Mrs. Osborne. That would buy her a little more time. She would catch the first train out of Boston, going to she knew not where. The quicker the better. Once she got out of town, she could work out what to do with the rest of her life.

  It was terrible to be so alone and friendless.

  Hurrying out of the house as fast as she could in her traumatized state, she forced herself to slow her pace once in the street in case the Duckworths drove past and saw her. If she failed to get out of their clutches today, she would have to bide her time and wait for another opportunity to escape, if or
when it came.

  Even if they didn’t kill her, they would force her to out of the house. Leaving her baby behind was something she would not even contemplate. Could she complain to the authorities? Who would believe such a far-fetched story, particularly against a wealthy, seemingly respectable society family? She suddenly recalled overhearing Mrs. Duckworth complain to Mr. Duckworth about poor Arabella feeling so worried and under pressure because her husband was desperate for an heir. The woman had called him selfish, but Ruth supposed for a man in his position, it would be necessary.

  Did Mrs. Osborne fear that if she failed to produce a baby, her husband might have the marriage dissolved? It didn’t excuse such an evil act as stealing another mother’s child. The orphanages were full of children and babies desperate for a home. Why not get one from there? She bit her lip to stop it trembling.

  As an orphan child, she had always lived in the hopes of someone adopting her. It never happened. It was always the sweet, pretty children who were chosen. An aristocratic man like Mr. Osborne would want an heir with his blood, or be tricked into believing her child was his.

  Would Sarah at the agency help her? Why should she? Her suggestions would probably be to throw herself on the mercy of her husband, Tyler Dean. Could she do that? What kind of man would turn away a woman who was in such dire need?

  He lived on an isolated ranch a few miles out of Harper’s Mount, Colorado. A perfect place to hide out for a few months. Once the baby was born and was a few weeks old, it would be of no use to Arabella Osborne. She needed a newborn baby to fool her husband into believing it was his.

  She had no idea how to get to Colorado, only knew it was a long way away. Right now, her finances were not too bad with the fifty-dollar proxy bride money, her unspent wages, and the few dollars she had left from what the McDonalds had given her. If only they had not returned to Scotland she would never have been put into this position. It wasn’t their fault, or the doctor’s wife. How could they have known what a diabolical plan Arabella and the Duckworths had hatched after seeing her.

  Chances were, if her coloring had not been similar to Arabella’s they would not have done it. She would never know now. Once they had met her, their planning had been meticulous. Arabella had been out and about mixing with people while she was virtually kept a prisoner, unbeknownst to her. On thinking about it, most people in the neighborhood would not even know she had been living here.