by Grafford, Jo
They pulled abreast of the carriage, and a tall man with dark, wavy hair stuck his head out the window. “Good afternoon, fellows. Madam. Are you on your way to Headstone?” he inquired politely.
“We certainly are. That’s our home.” Prescott nodded. “We’re the Barra brothers, and this lovely lady is Daisy Danvers. She recently agreed to become my bride.”
“Well, many happy congratulations!” He beamed at them. “I’m Reverend Wyatt Bishop. I know. I know.” He waved away their laughter. “A reverend with the surname of bishop. I’m a walking jest.”
“Ah, well, laughter is good for the soul, or so I’ve heard,” Prescott returned jovially. “Welcome to Arizona, reverend. Will we be seeing you behind the pulpit on Sunday?”
His brothers gaped at him, underscoring to Daisy that her future husband hadn’t frequented too many church buildings in the past.
“Or sooner, Mr. Barra.” Wyatt Bishop gave him a knowing smile. “Anytime you and Miss Daisy are ready to say your vows…” He raised a stack of papers from the seat next to him and waved them. “I’m returning to town with a whole new stack of birth certificates, baptismal certificates, marriage certificates—”
“Sold,” Prescott interrupted. “You may begin the ceremony, reverend.”
“Press!” Daisy gasped, slapping playfully at his chest. “You can’t possibly mean…” She was wrong. A second glance proved he looked seriously ready to get married. “Right now? Are you quite certain?”
“More certain than I’ve ever been about anything else, darlin’. And you?”
“Very.” She blushed from the roots of her hair to the toes curling nervously in her boots.
“Madge will skin you alive if she misses out on this,” Levi warned.
“Fine.” Prescott pulled his horse alongside the reverend’s carriage. “Care to follow us back to the Barra ranch? We can say our vows there and enjoy the feast our sister is preparing afterwards.”
“Sounds like a much better afternoon than what I originally had planned.” The reverend slapped the side of his carriage and called to his driver, “Follow them!”
The driver nodded and nosed in behind their party.
* * *
A few hours later, Daisy stood with Prescott before Wyatt Bishop on the front steps of Levi’s ranch home. They exchanged their vows in the presence of her new brothers and Madge, the two other Barra brides who were introduced to her as Callie and Felicity, Meg Nicholson, Valentina and Miguel, and a gloriously setting sun.
“I do,” she promised Prescott with her heart in her eyes and emotions clogging her throat.
“Forever and always, darlin’.” He didn’t wait for permission. He kissed her, branding her as his own before everyone present. “Now let’s go be happy together.”
It sounded like a wonderful plan to her.
<<< THE END >>>
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Then keep turning the page to read a sneak preview of
Mail Order Brides Rescue Series #6:
Outrageous Olivia
Much love,
Jo Grafford
Sneak Preview: Outrageous Olivia
Olivia Rothschild stood fuming beside the pianoforte in the grand parlor of her aunt’s estate home in Boston. It was true she was forever landing herself in scrapes; but this time, it wasn’t her fault. It truly was not! How could she have possibly known the debonair Alec Grenville wasn’t a real marquis? That he’d merely been posing as his cousin, Charles — the real marquis — because they looked enough alike to pass as twins?
Every hopeful mama with a daughter of marriageable age had their assessing eye on the marquis, including Olivia’s guardian, the highly fashionable Beatrice Rothschild — a wealthy spinster who’d never risked the perils of marriage, herself. That was why Olivia was in a bucketful of trouble right now. If only her nosy rival, Diana Edgerton, hadn’t witnessed Olivia kissing Alec during their carriage ride this afternoon! La, but the chit had been quick to spread the poisonous tale, and now Olivia’s reputation was extremely compromised.
Her aunt made her stew a full hour before sailing into the room in one of her newest gowns, a mouth-watering creation of pure midnight blue silk imported from the Orient. Her Mandarin collar was edged in delicately tooled ivory lace, and tiny pheasants flitted across her bodice in silver and gold threads.
“Well?” she demanded without preamble. “What do you have to say for yourself this time, niece?”
Olivia spread her hands. Though she’d had plenty of time to think about what she was going to say, she’d managed to come up with exactly nothing that would pacify her aunt. “Aunt Bee,” she entreated softly. It was her pet name for her aunt, a nickname that normally made her melt a few degrees.
Beatrice Rothschild’s fair, classical features hardened. “This is not the time for sweet nothings and apology kisses, child. We’ve a real problem on our hands!”
“I am aware,” she mumbled miserably, looking down at her hands. She twisted them tightly together. “You said you wanted me to engage the marquis’s attentions. I honestly believed I was doing what you asked when I—”
“You kissed the wrong man!” her aunt hissed. “I specifically instructed you to flirt with the marquis and the marquis only. I cannot believe you botched it so horribly.” She produced a fan and waved it in agitation at her face. “La, when a young woman sets out to be indiscreet, she must do it with more care. Most unfortunately, you’ve given Diana every reason to flap her tongue at your expense. It’ll be a miracle if your reputation isn’t in shreds by morning.”
Olivia dragged in a tortured breath and asked the question that had been plaguing her most of the afternoon. “Does this mean you will force me to marry Alec?”
Her aunt’s aristocratic brows rose, wrinkling her high forehead. “Force is a strong word, my dear. I prefer to think of it as self preservation. Alec may not have the title we hoped to secure for you, but he is still a Grenville. That’s a name that will open many doors in society for you.”
For us, you mean. Olivia had heard the speech a thousand times about how to elevate one’s standing in the world through a proper marriage to a man bearing the right surname. She didn’t care a fig about such things, but they mattered to her aunt. A lot! If the woman was anything, she was a social climber. She was also a skilled manipulator of men. If she decided Olivia needed to marry the man she’d kissed, the deed was as good as done.
“So you do mean for me to marry him.” Olivia bit her lower lip.
“Do you have a better scheme to save your heavily besmirched reputation, niece?”
Scheme! This couldn’t be happening! One honest mistake and her aunt wanted to turn her entire future into one of her diabolical schemes? Olivia raised and lowered her shoulders. “I could leave town for a few months. Claim an urgent matter of business in New York or the like.” Most of her late father’s warehouses were located along the Hudson River. It wouldn’t be that much of a stretch to claim she needed to pay a visit to his business holdings.
Her aunt shuddered. “And remind everyone in Boston that all your money was acquired in trade? No, thank you! It would be social suicide for both of us.”
For you. I do not care one whit. I never have. Olivia couldn’t believe her aunt was seriously considering making her marry over one small indiscretion — an indiscretion the woman helped to create with her own less-than-savory courting advice. “How soon do I have to decide, Aunt Bee?”
Her aunt snapped her fan closed and tapped it against her palm. “Immediately.”
“Tonight?” Olivia’s brain felt close to exploding. Everything was happening too fast.
“Yes! We have to get ahead of the rumors before they spiral out of control and ruin us.”
Us. At least her aunt was finally admitting the real reason for her paranoia. She wanted to continue to be one of the belles of high society in
Boston. She wanted to hold her head high and have the doors to all the exclusives dress makers, dining establishments, and clubs remain opened to her. One black spot on a woman’s reputation, and all those doors could slam shut…permanently.
Olivia reached for her wide-brimmed walking hat and her reticule. “I need some fresh air,” she murmured, feeling lightheaded.
Her aunt’s frown deepened. “Where are you going? I thought I made it clear we need to act now. You and I should jointly call on the Grenvilles this very evening. Fortunately for you, I am a dear friend of their grandfather. He will hear me out and listen to reason. I am certain of it!”
Olivia pushed open the front door, feeling like she was about to suffocate. “I’ll return within the hour and give you my decision then.” After she had the chance to clear her head…
“Within the hour! So help me, God, Olivia! If you walk out of here while I’m—”
Unable to listen to another word without screaming, Olivia firmly shut the door behind her. A faint autumn breeze enveloped her and propelled her down the quiet, ritzy avenue towards the much busier business section of the city. Feeling like a boat without an anchor, she drifted aimlessly past shop windows, hardly knowing where she was heading. Her black lace-up boots felt like they were full of lead. Her heart was equally heavy.
It had been five full years since her mother had passed and three since her father had departed. Nothing had been the same since. Her Aunt Bee had tried to step in and serve as both her father and mother, but her aunt’s social climbing aspirations had brought little but misery to their household. Even the servants stepped lightly around her and avoided direct encounters as much as possible.
Oh, how Olivia wished her parents could have lived long enough to raise her themselves! No doubt they’d possessed a fault or two, but she couldn’t remember a single one of their onerous traits. All she could recall was how kind they were to everyone and how loved they were by everyone. They’d also been patient and long-suffering with their spirited only daughter, forever encouraging her to be kind and good.
“I’m not the young woman they would have raised me to be.” She muttered the words aloud to punish her own ears. Under her aunt’s tutelage, she was fast becoming a person she wasn’t proud to look at in the mirror.
She paused in front of a shop window on 14th Street and Broad. Her own reflection scowled back — a stylish debutante of nineteen years (nearly twenty) with long blonde hair twisted in an elegant up-do. Her gown was tailored uniquely for her by Boston’s most sought-after seamstress, Yvonne Taylor. Only the deepest pockets could afford the woman’s exclusive designs.
The gown Olivia wore boasted a bodice of hand-crocheted lace, with a deep berry silk overlay and a berry and white pinstriped underskirt. Her bustle consisted of ruched gold silk that cascaded past her ankles to a short train. Normally, the sight of so much finery would have made her feel like a princess. This evening, it merely filled her with guilt and regret.
I am vain and selfish, spoiled and over-indulged. That is why I am continually landing myself in deplorable situations. Living from party to party the past few years certainly hadn’t given her any resounding sense of accomplishment. Nor had it provided much in the way of personal happiness…
Quite the opposite. Her busy socialite calendar had worn her down, body and soul. Somehow along the way, Diana Edgerton, who’d been her best friend as a child, had become her biggest rival. They were one hair’s breadth short of declaring themselves enemies.
Regrettably, Olivia also no longer viewed any of the young men of her acquaintance on their merit, but rather on the size of their bank accounts and their ability to advance her place in society. She had no one left she counted as a true friend. She supposed she had her aunt to thank for that. It was a dismal thought.
And now she was being backed into a corner, forced to consider marrying a man she didn’t love.
Alec Grenville. Though she’d shamelessly flirted with him and carelessly kissed him, she’d felt nothing afterwards. No sweet or tender feelings. No sense of attachment. No stirring of emotions, whatsoever.
I don’t want to continue down this path. A stab of self-pity shook Olivia. It was followed by a mouthful of bitter remorse and the dreaded certainty that she must do something drastic to change her course. Otherwise, she would be lost forever.
I no longer wish to be a person who goes through the motions of life without wholly engaging my heart, intellect, and energy. I want to live — truly live. I want to love and be loved. And when it came time for her to marry, she wanted the kind of marriage her parents had enjoyed — one full of affection, laughter, and joy.
“I don’t want this,” she choked in a voice that was barely audible. “I’d rather die.” I don’t want the future Aunt Bee has chosen for me.
A man lightly cleared his throat, jolting her from her distress.
“May I help you, madame?”
Help me?
Her gaze fastened on the reflection of the man standing beside in the picture window. Nobody can help me out of the kind of trouble I’m in, certainly not a perfect stranger.
He possessed a rangy build and was taller than her — quite a bit taller, in fact. Most people were. At five feet two, she was a good six or eight inches shorter than him, even in the elevated heels of her walking boots. The passers-by in the busy street moved in a distorted blur behind their heads.
She swiveled away from his reflection to face the man himself and stopped short. He wasn’t the handsomest man she’d ever met, but he was by far the most striking. She couldn’t quite put her finger on the reason.
Why did you stop on this particular street to address me, of all people? “A good evening to you, sir.” She nodded at him in what she hoped was a polite but dismissive manner. However, she couldn’t help casting a quick, admiring glance at his suit. He wore a well tailored black blazer over silk black trousers, and her critical eye told her his top hat rested on a fresh haircut. Against her will, her gaze finished sliding across his features and found his dark one assessing her with genuine concern.
He offered her a polite, half-apologetic smile she found more intriguing than ever. Have we met? Do I know you? In seconds, her overwrought mind ran over dozens of fashionable young men’s faces in her memories and came up empty.
He bent his tall frame to peer more closely at her. “Pardon me if I seem overly forward, but you appear distressed. If there is anything I can do to help…?” His voice was a soothing baritone, perfectly modulated to inspire trust. “A cup of hot tea perhaps, if you step inside my office?”
“Your office?”
“Yes. I’m Jordan Branson. You might have heard of me.” He held out a gloved hand, which she pretended not to see.
No, I’ve never heard of you. We clearly do not move in the same circles. In no hurry to share her own name, she narrowed her gaze on the building in question. Her lips parted in surprise at the sign in gilded letters surrounded by wildflowers. She’d not noticed it before.
Boomtown Mail Order Brides
She took a stumbling step back. “You run a bridal agency?” Egad! If she had any sense left in her, she would take off running and never look back.
His hand shot out to steady her elbow. “Are you well?” he asked quickly.
She yanked her arm away, as if his touch stung. “Mr. Branson, if you must know, I am already being pressured to consider a marriage I do not want. Your services are truly the last thing I need this evening.” She shuddered, hating how rude she sounded but meaning every word of her outburst.
To her surprise, he looked even more concerned. “Just Jordan, please. No need to call me Mister.” He reached around her to open the door to his office, which she suddenly realized she’d been half-blocking all this time. No wonder he’d accosted her. She was impeding his progress. She took another step back, feeling foolish.
“Pray come in,” he urged gently. “For tea and nothing else. I’ll not badger you with any sales pitches. I pr
omise.”
As if she wasn’t already in enough trouble! Hobnobbing with another dashing stranger certainly wasn’t going to solve anything, yet Olivia found her feet following him inside. The temperature in the air warmed several degrees, thanks to a fire leaping in a whitewashed brick hearth.
She studied the room in surprise. It wasn’t at all what she’d expected. There were no harem-esque red rugs or dark velvet curtains. Instead, the area was open and spacious, light and inviting. White eyelet lace curtains framed the windows, and a set of blue and white striped chairs were arranged to form a cozy sitting area.
“It’s a lovely office.” Her cultured tastes could find no fault.
“Thank you. Please, have a seat and allow me to serve that tea I mentioned.”
She selected one of the striped chairs and gingerly sat while he removed his hat and hung it on a hook against the wall. In moments, Jordan Branson made his way back to the sitting area with two steaming teacups in hand.
“Thank you.” She accepted it, all the while wondering why she’d accepted his invitation to step inside the building. A bridal agency, of all outlandish places! Lord help me! My brain is sorely addled this evening.
“My pleasure.” He took a seat across from her and sipped on his tea. Though he continued to watch her over the top of his teacup, there was nothing censuring in his gaze, which could only mean one thing. He hadn’t yet recognized her. As promised, he didn’t launch into any sales pitches about becoming a mail-order bride. In fact, he didn’t speak at all. They sat in companionable silence for several, much-needed minutes of calm.
Eventually, curiosity got the better of her. “Why?” she demanded, lowering her teacup. “Why do you do this?” She gave a humorless laugh. “Most men of my acquaintance spend most of energy dodging commitments, whereas you… specialize in them?”
