His Substitute Mail-Order Bride

by Sherri Shackelford

  “Nothing.” She covered her face with a sob. “I’m sorry.”

  He took her in his arms and hugged her against his chest. “Shh. I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Forget I said anything.”

  Her fingers trembled in his. “Can we dance some more?”

  “Absolutely.” He cradled her face in his hands and wiped away her tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Just please don’t cry.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Why do we keep saying that to each other? What are we sorry for?” He tucked two fingers beneath her chin and met her watery gaze. “Nothing you could ever tell me would change the way I feel about you.”

  She turned her face up toward his, an invitation if ever he’d seen one. Russ surrendered to the temptation. Lowering his head, he kissed her softly.

  The music swirled around them, and they drifted to the dance floor once more. Dancers crowded nearer, and his thoughts swirled. He wondered about the man she’d married, the man who’d scared her off men, and a white-hot rage filled his soul.

  He’d thought she might grow to feel something for him, but he was only driving her away. He was falling hopelessly in love with Anna. He was falling in love with her, and his love was driving her further away.

  A feeling of emptiness and yearning gaped in his chest. He had the uneasy sensation she’d just told him goodbye.

  * * *

  Anna tugged her wrapper around her shoulders and slipped onto the porch. She closed the screen door behind her, making sure the hinges didn’t squeak.

  Moonlight glinted off the dew-covered grass, illuminating the path. Her bare feet padded over the soft grass. She knelt before the rosebush and plucked the single bloom from the leafy bush. Returning inside, she carefully trod up the stairs and tiptoed past Russ’s room and into her own.

  She feared she was falling in love with him, and she feared what that meant. She recalled their kiss that afternoon, and the way he looked down at her right before he captured her lips. That was how she wanted to remember him. Gazing at her as if she was the only bloom in a barren desert.

  She’d picked the rose to remember the day. Now she tucked the flower between the pages of a thick book and pressed the cover shut.

  He deserved the truth. He was right, they couldn’t go on living with walls between them. He deserved more than she could give him. She’d hurt him this evening. It devastated her to think she could hurt such a kind and loving man. Of all the regrets she had in her life, hurting Russ stood above the rest.

  She’d tell him. She’d tell him and face the future without the past haunting her. If he was ashamed of her, then so be it. If he never wanted to see her again...

  At that thought, she felt as though her soul was being ripped from her body. Pressing her hand against her stomach, she choked back a sob. When he returned from work tomorrow, she’d tell him the truth.

  No matter the consequences.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Russ propped open the door of his office to take advantage of the temperate spring weather and resumed his place behind the desk. In his effort to clean up his house for Anna, he’d brought all his papers from home. They remained in a haphazard stack near the door. He had vague plans of organizing them later, when business slowed, though he doubted he’d ever see that day.

  A tall, gaunt figure darkened the doorway, and he glanced up. “May I help you?”

  “I was hoping you might,” the man said.

  Russ motioned him toward a chair set before his desk. “Have a seat. Can I get you something? A cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” The man folded his tall frame onto the seat. “I was hoping to speak with you about your wife’s late husband.”

  In the outer room, Simon glanced up from his paperwork. He looked between the two men and cleared his throat. “I have some business at the register of deeds. Best get it done before they close for lunch.”

  He stood and donned his coat, silently closing the door behind him.

  Russ folded his hands over his stomach and leaned back. “I’m afraid I can’t offer you any help, Mr...” He let his voice trail off.

  “Detective Latemar.”

  Though surprised by the title, Russ kept his expression neutral. “I never met my wife’s late husband.”

  “Has she told you anything about him?”

  Russ’s scalp prickled. “I don’t have time to play games, Detective Latemar. Say what you have to say and leave. As you can see, I have stacks of work.”

  “Your wife wasn’t concerned about finding her late husband’s murderer, but I was.”

  “He was murdered?”

  “You look surprised, Mr. Halloway.”

  Russ suppressed a muttered oath. “If you have nothing else to say, good day to you, sir.”

  “Mr. Linford was killed in a very public, very shocking fashion. A woman was observed fleeing the scene.” The detective rose from his chair. “You can imagine the list of suspects.”

  Russ was a lawyer. He knew full well what the detective was insinuating. In a crime of passion, the police always looked toward the spouse.

  “You don’t believe for an instant she killed her husband,” Russ said. It was a statement, not a question.

  “Not after I met her. But I’m a detective, Mr. Halloway. I have to follow the rules. Most people think of the spouse first.”

  Russ didn’t know the details, but he knew something had gone very wrong in Anna’s life. Regret squeezed his chest. He hadn’t realized her husband had been murdered. No wonder she’d been skittish and afraid. He certainly didn’t believe she’d had anything to do with his murder, but the tale was salacious. People talked. People speculated. And Anna had no doubt been at the center of that gossip.

  He wanted to rush home and gather Anna in his arms, but he held himself in check. The detective was here for a reason. He had to figure out why.

  Before he could question his visitor, the man spoke. “I had a few suspects. There were several mistresses.” He flipped back his coat, revealing his gun holster, and put a hand on his hip. “But I couldn’t prove anything. My prime suspect had disappeared, you see.”

  Mistresses. Plural. Everything fell into place. Anna’s marriage had been miserable. She’d suffered, and instead of giving her time to heal, he’d pushed her—into marriage, into talking about the past. A past she probably wanted to keep buried.

  “Then find your suspect,” Russ said, refusing to show the detective his riotous emotions.

  “She’s dead.” Detective Latemar studied the spines of the books perched on Russ’s barrister shelf. “Killed herself. Found out this morning. Thought Mrs. Halloway should know.”

  “Then why tell me?”

  “Because I can’t prove anything. The woman took her secrets to the grave. I’ll never be able to prove it, but for me, this case is solved.”

  Russ stood. “Then go back to Philadelphia and close the case.”

  “I can’t. I don’t have proof. It will always be out there—the suspicion about your wife. Thought you should know. Rumor around town has it that you’re running for mayor.”

  Russ leaned back in his chair and clutched his head in his hands. He felt as though a fog had lifted and everything was suddenly crystal clear. Anna had only married him when she’d discovered she was pregnant, when she was alone and desperate. She’d kept him at arm’s length because she hadn’t wanted to hurt him. She was keeping her distance, just in case.

  She’d been trying to protect him the whole time.

  The detective cleared his throat. “You all right, Mr. Halloway?”

  He looked up. “Why are you here? Why are you telling me all this?”

  Detective Latemar adjusted his gun belt, then leaned forward and braced his hands on Russ’s desk. “I like what I’ve heard about you around town. I wasn’t
going to speak with you originally. Your wife asked me not to. But I like Mrs. Halloway, too. She didn’t deserve that fool. I think I made the right choice in coming here. I think maybe she deserves you.”

  “I don’t deserve her.”

  He’d made so many mistakes along the way. Why hadn’t he been more patient? Would she ever forgive him? Could she ever love him?

  “Yep.” Detective Latemar grinned. “I did the right thing coming here.” He turned and walked to the door, then paused as he grasped the door handle “Tell Mrs. Halloway the case is closed. Tell her that I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. Tell her...” The detective hung his head. “Tell her I’m sorry I failed her. I wanted to clear her name, but I’ll never have the proof.”

  He turned his head, and their gazes met. An understanding passed between the two men.

  “I’ll take care of her,” Russ said.

  “I know you will.” With that, the detective left.

  Russ stared at the door for a long moment before swiveling in his seat. He thumbed through the stack of papers. He’d nearly reached the bottom when he found the item he’d been seeking.

  He spread the newspaper across the desk—the Philadelphia Morning Post his friend had sent some months ago—and searched the headlines. When nothing relevant appeared, he thumbed through the pages to the obituaries, but there was no Linford listed. He’d nearly given up when a headline caught his attention: Case of Murdered Lawyer Remains Unsolved.

  He skimmed the article before sitting back in his chair once more. Rubbing his nose with his thumb and forefinger, he read the article again.

  Digging through his desk drawer, he retrieved a tin of matches and set the corner of the newspaper on fire. He dropped the flaming bundle into the metal wastepaper can and watched it burn.

  Simon strode through the door and skidded to a halt at the sight of the fire. “What’s that?”

  “The past,” Russ said quietly. “The past.”

  * * *

  Anna answered the knock on the door and discovered a train porter wearing a sharp green uniform and matching cap. “Mrs. Linford?”

  She exhaled her frightened breath. For a moment, she feared Detective Latemar had returned.

  “It’s Mrs. Halloway now.”

  “I have a trunk for you, ma’am. I tried to deliver it to the hotel, but they said you were staying here.”

  Anna glanced behind him and noticed her trunk for the first time. “Finally! I was starting to think I was never going to see it again.”

  “Sorry about that, ma’am. Someone forgot to take your trunk off the train in Cowboy Creek. This thing has been to California and back.”

  Anna shook her head. “It’s quite a sobering thought to realize one’s trunk is more well-traveled than one’s self.”

  “Where would you like it?”

  “In the parlor, please.”

  The young man hoisted the trunk onto his shoulders and delivered it to the parlor. Once she sorted through the contents, she’d have Russ take the trunk upstairs.

  After showing the young porter out, Anna knelt, unlocked the mechanism and flipped open the lid. The familiar scent of a lavender sachet wafted from the layers of tissue and clothing. How odd, living in this great house when all her possessions fit in such a small space.

  She sifted through the layers of clothing and petticoats, relieved to discover her looking-glass hadn’t broken. The hairbrush and looking-glass were the only items she had beyond a pair of earbobs from her mother.

  Several favorite books lined the bottom of the trunk, and she placed them on the shelves beside Russ’s law books. She retrieved her copy of Andrew Jackson Downing’s A Treatise on the Theory and Practice of Landscape Gardening and hugged the book to her chest. Having familiar, beloved objects around the house made her feel more at home, as though she belonged.

  She sat back on her heels. She’d always been a bit of an outsider, but Russ was doing his very best to ensure she felt as though she belonged, and she appreciated his effort. She wasn’t here only to cook and clean. He wanted a true companion. The experience was heady and frightening at the same time.

  Distracted, she set the treatise aside to read later. There were several more burlap sacks of seeds in the bottom of the trunk. She’d packed the less precious varieties here, and carried the others in her satchel. She’d brought far more seeds than she could ever use. With that in mind, she began separating each of the sacks into two piles. She’d give the extra seeds to Touches the Clouds. There might be some varieties he found interesting.

  Another bundle, deeper in the trunk, had been knotted with twine, and she struggled to unravel the tight bow tied around the top. As she grasped the bundle, her fingers closed around a sheet of paper. She sat back on her heels and lifted the sack to the light. How on earth had paper gotten into her seed collection?

  Curious now, she wrestled the knot loose and dumped the contents over the table. A letter fluttered down with the seeds, and the pungent odor of cheap perfume sent her stomach curling.

  She gingerly pinched the envelope between her fingers. Large, florid writing scrawled over the front. The letter was addressed to Edward. A neat slit across the top indicated he’d read the letter. Hesitating, she tugged her lower lip between her teeth. Reading the missive felt like an intrusion.

  Then again, why had the letter been placed in the bag with the seeds? Edward must have placed it there knowing she would find it.

  She tugged the letter free and quickly scanned the contents, before returning to the top of the letter and reading more slowly.

  “Oh, Edward.”

  The nauseating scent of the perfumed envelope turned her stomach as she read the looped handwriting. He’d treated the woman badly. More even than a romantic relationship, Edward had taken money from her with promises of investing the funds for a profitable return. He’d promised her an income secret from her husband. Judging by the contents of the letter, Edward had the taken the money for his personal use. The lady also claimed that she knew several other women who had suffered at Edward’s hand.

  She threatened to kill him in a specific manner. She threatened to shoot him.

  The letter was signed, O. Fairfax.

  Her heartbeat picked up rhythm, and she dropped the letter as though she’d been burned, then backed away from the offending object.

  Was she reading the letter of a killer?

  Lines from the last newspaper story she’d read circled in her head. Edward’s many affairs had exclusively involved married women. At the time, she’d assumed he sought them out as a matter of convenience. But what if something more sinister was at hand? If he stole a lady’s money, she could hardly petition her husband for assistance.

  “Edward, you idiot,” she muttered into the empty room.

  His tastes had always run toward the expensive. The finest horses, the most expensive clothing, membership to the best clubs. He’d needed all that, he’d said, to support his career as a successful barrister, as well as his political dreams. Had he ever been a successful barrister? She’d always taken his word. She’d discovered early on that he wasn’t as successful as he’d led her to believe, but she’d assumed his exaggeration was limited.

  Her stomach dropped. She remembered how he devoured the money left to her on her father’s death. No doubt he’d convinced his colleagues that her inheritance funded his lush lifestyle. When he’d run out of that money, he’d gone back to his old ways. He’d stolen it.

  The crime was perfect. Or almost. Someone had obviously exacted revenge.

  It seemed Edward must have suspected something might happen to him, and he’d placed the letter in the one place he was certain it would be discovered. In that way, he’d led her to his killer. He’d given her what she needed to clear her name. Tears burned her eyes. Perhaps he had cared for her. Just a little. Though he’d mocked her hobby, h
e’d at least understood the importance the seeds held for her. He’d known she’d find the proof there.

  A carriage sounded in the drive and heart pumped faster. She set the letter on the buffet and straightened her spine.

  Russ appeared in the doorway, and her heart did a little flip. He’d loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

  She jumped to her feet and brushed at her skirts. “I’m sorry. Dinner isn’t ready. I wasn’t expecting you this early.” She grasped a handful of clothing and stuffed the assortment into the trunk. “This was just delivered.”

  “I was starting to worry they’d lost it for good.”

  “According to the porter, this trunk has been all the way to California and back.”

  “Hmm,” Russ said, tugging his tie even looser. “How was your day?”

  She stuffed the rest of her belongings haphazardly into the trunk and slammed shut the lid. “I’ll check on dinner.”

  “What are we having?”

  “Stew.” She smoothed her hair and brushed past him. “I’ll see to it.”

  He caught her arm. “There’s no rush.”

  “Can I fix you something to drink?”

  “Nothing. I’m fine.” He tugged her gently. “Sit down. Tell me about your day. I’m sorry I rushed you at the dance. I was an idiot. I’m sorry. Take all the time you need to trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” She was putting off the inevitable. She took a seat and stared at her clasped hands. “I found a letter.”

  “A letter?”

  “Yes. From one of my husband’s mistresses.” The rest of the story poured out of her. The shame. The embarrassment. Edward’s treatment of her. “I thought it was me. I thought I wasn’t good enough, and that’s why he cheated. I thought if we had children, he’d love me. Nothing worked. Nothing ever worked.”

  He knelt before her and took her hands. “He’s the past, Anna. I’m your future.”

  “There’s more.”

  He pressed two fingers against her lips. “I know, and it’s all right.”

  “You know?”