A Shadowed Groom For Christmas (Spinster Mail-Order Brides Book 6)

by Marisa Masterson

  A flurry of preparations followed that day. Kitty and Kit began a correspondence that allowed her to grow more comfortable with the idea of marrying him. At first, he seemed to want to discourage her from joining him, emphasizing the loneliness she could expect. Then his letters changed, asking things about her and demonstrating his interest in her.

  Her home sold quickly after the decision to put it on the market, and Kitty packed the items which she specified to the new owners she would keep. Her mother’s desk, the china and silver, paintings and photographs, as well as the hall tree would travel on the train with her.

  Finally, the day before her departure, Kitty hired a carriage and made her way to the cemetery. Alone in front of her parents’ headstones, Kitty removed her hat and the protective netting that shielded her from the world’s taunts. The light autumn breeze that tickled her face held a hint of the ocean. Kitty breathed it in wistfully, knowing that the breezes in Wisconsin would lack the tang of the Atlantic.

  With loving care, she planted a mum between her parents’ grave markers. Though another person might speak to her dead parents and explain the decision for her life that she’d made, Kitty thought that was ridiculous. Her parents had trusted their souls to the Lord and certainly couldn’t hear her from heaven. So, she hummed a favorite hymn as she worked to be sure the graves were tidy.

  Suddenly a sad thought made her stop her humming. The only things she had to say goodbye to were these graves. She had no friends to visit. Her mother had allowed Kitty to hide much of her life, even schooling her at home rather than exposing her to taunts at school. The emptiness of her life wouldn’t change when she went to live in the shadows with her husband.

  Finished with the graves, Kitty looked for the caretaker, deciding to meet him without covering her face. She remembered the verse about not being ashamed about her face. When she did find the man, he hardly glanced at her and Kitty silently thanked the Lord for honoring his promise that she wouldn’t feel ashamed. She asked the man to water the mum well for the next three days so that it would root itself and thrive. This done, she drove the carriage back to her home, only to find the man from the livery on her doorstep waiting to collect it as well as an employee from the depot wanting to load the furniture and any trunks she planned to ship the next day. Too late to consider escaping a future filled with shadows.

  Chapter 2

  Grand Rapids, Wisconsin, Late December 1886

  A tremendous lurch and the deep-throated blast of the steam whistle told Kitty she had arrived. Of course, if her vision hadn’t been hampered by the netting, she could have simply looked out the window at the depot faintly lit by lanterns hung on the platform to know they’d arrived. How tired she’d grown of this veil that held her prisoner behind its hot and stuffy material.

  How I wish I had the courage to claim the verse and not be ashamed of my face!

  As the train came to a halt, several passengers who stood in the aisle lost their balance at the awkward and sudden stop. Kitty was glad she’d waited to stand. The anxiety about meeting her groom kept her seated.

  Perhaps if it were daytime with a brightly shining sun in the sky, Kitty might have been excited or hopeful about her first meeting with Kit Randolph. But it was a gloomy night. The unusually warm December night created a fog that settled around her head and shoulders as she disembarked from the train with the conductor’s help.

  Shivering from nerves as well as fear, Kitty tried not to compare the situation with her favorite novel. Truly, though, the night reminded her of something out of her favorite gothic story, The Castle of Otranto, or even Frankenstein. It seems that she remembered foggy scenes in those books.

  Desperately seeking light as well as warmth, though the evening was pleasant enough for winter, she headed for the glow from the depot’s waiting room that managed to penetrate the fog. Before she could enter that haven, a hand gripped her arm and a low voice questioned, “Miss Kitty Donaldson?” The shock of being touched as well as her overactive imagination wrenched a short scream out of her. Then she whirled to face the overly-familiar man who dared touch her.

  He was short, barely taller than her own five foot two inches. Though he stood in a shadow, Kitty was sure his hair would prove to be bright red in daylight. What confused her was the lack of scarring on the man’s face. Had her future husband lied to her? Certainly not, so who was this man?

  The man again said her name, and Kitty nodded while she tried to erase any fear from her expression. Removing the hand from her arm, he instead held it out palm up and said, “What about your ticket for the luggage, Miss?”

  His use of the word miss let her know he was a servant. For some reason, perhaps because he’d frightened her, Kitty was relieved to know he wasn’t her groom. Where was her groom? The night was foggy and her fiancé failed to show up. Could this situation seem any more mysterious?

  Rather than giving over her luggage ticket, Kitty stared at the man for a moment. Pursing her lips in a puckered frown, she asked, “How do you know my name and who sent you?”

  The dim light of the lanterns hung around the depot revealed the elf-like servant’s expression. From what Kitty could tell, he seemed to believe her statement was odd. Still, she didn’t say anything but waited to hear how he would respond to her.

  “Weren’t you expectin’ Mr. Kit to come for you? He’s the one what sent me for the veiled lady. Weren’t any others with their face covered up tight.” The man met her gaze as he spoke, a good sign to Kitty’s way of thinking that he was telling the truth so she produced the ticket. With a grunt, he took it and went off to claim her things.

  Actually, as she thought about it, Kit Randolph would hardly leave his home to meet her at the depot. In each of the three letters she received from him he mentioned that he never left the house. He had emphasized it so she would know what to expect if she took the final step of journeying from South Carolina to join him as his wife. At the time that she’d received his first letter, Kitty had almost been convinced that he was trying to dissuade her from coming. Still, he never retracted his offer of marriage and she never lost the deep sense that her decision to marry him was indeed the best one she might make for her future.

  The servant returned with a deep frown on his face. “No one said nothing ‘bout furniture and such comin’ with you. I’ve got it stored so as I can talk to Mr. Kit about it. Trunks are loaded so let’s get you in the wagon too.”

  Kitty hoped the man didn’t intend to throw her onto the pile of luggage, though it did sound that way from what he’d said. Greatly relieved, she accepted his hand and climbed aboard the wagon seat. Once he had joined her there, the man set the horses to a slow walk through the dense fog that resisted the light coming from lanterns hung on the front corners of the wagon.

  Once they’d pulled away from the train depot, Kitty asked, “Will we have far to go?”

  The elf-like man had wrapped a scarf tightly around his face, even though the night was mild. Reaching up he pulled a bit of it away from his mouth and grunted in reply, “Nah.”

  When he said nothing more, Kitty tried again at conversation. “Is it always so foggy here?”

  The man snorted as if to let her know the question was a silly one before answering in an irritated tone, “When it goes just above freezing with snow on the ground, fog comes. Sure to be a green Christmas.” Then he raised the scarf higher over his mouth.

  Kitty supposed that meant he didn’t want to talk so she finally left him alone and occupied herself by twisting her lightly gloved hands together. Very little time passed before they stopped in front of a mostly dark two-story home. By the light of a gas streetlamp, she thought she could make out that it was brick. With the fog, though, she couldn’t be sure. It made sense that the house would be made of brick instead of wood. Because she knew Kit’s previous home burned down, probably the brick seemed safer to him.

  The servant, who had yet to tell her his name, came to her side of the wagon and assisted her to
the ground. Without comment, he left her on the sidewalk and hustled the wagon to a small side road she imagined led to the back of the house.

  Alone on a dark street in the fog and about to enter the darkly foreboding house. She had to stop reading so many scary novels. The plots had her imagination running wild at that moment as she stood surrounded by an eerie silence.

  Squaring her shoulders, she walked slowly up a walkway toward a yellow glow. Her foot stubbed against something. Stopping, she pushed her foot against it to investigate and realized it was a step. This would have been much easier if that silly man had given her one of the lanterns hung on the wagon!

  Slowly she raised first one foot and then the other, getting ever closer to the golden light. At the top of the steps, she found the light she’d been walking toward. A lantern hung from the porch roof lit the area around the front door, allowing her to see that it was a lovely shade of red. Knocking, she waited under the comforting lantern light.

  While she had expected the door to open, the face that met her startled a gasp and screech from her. It was the absence of a face that had caused that reaction. The tall, straight body that stood in the portal was surely topped by a head, but it was covered by a black cloth bag of sorts. Narrow slits allowed the wearer to see. Below those slits, squares had been cut in a line to form a mouth. She supposed that helped the man to breathe.

  A dark house. A foggy night. A masked stranger dressed all in black. How could she even force one foot over the threshold of the house?

  As she turned to escape, the low yet richly timbre of a voice welcomed her. “Miss Donaldson, I am so glad you’ve arrived. Please, I don’t want to keep you out in the damp winter night. Come in where I have a warm fire waiting for you.”

  Almost hypnotically, the velvety voice lured her into the house. She followed the darkly clothed figure through a marble-floored and brightly lit entryway into a magical room. Several lamps allowed her to see that books lined two of the walls, from floor to ceiling. A large bay window was set in the third wall with a mammoth oak desk placed in front of it. A huge fireplace dominated the final wall. Its crackling blaze called to her and Kitty quickly drew off her gloves to hold her cold fingers near the warmth.

  Seeing her action, the tall man moved to her side. Removing his black leather gloves, he reached for her hands and gently rubbed warmth into them while holding them between his. Kitty’s eyes flew to connect with blue ones that she could barely make out through the slits of the hood. What she saw mirrored her own surprise. Was this the attraction that Miss McKinley had hoped Kitty might feel when she finally met her husband?

  Beyond the sensation in her middle, Kitty also felt something else at his touch. Or rather failed to feel something else. Shouldn’t his palms be scarred? She had all but memorized his letters and she was sure he’d referred to scarred hands in one of them.

  Before she could ask to see his hands or even pull her own out of his and turn his palms over, Kit had stepped away and once again wore his gloves. Turning the expressionless mask in her direction, that deep voice asked, “Would you care for tea or perhaps a toddy to warm you?” Even as he made the inquiry, he was already reaching for the bell pull.

  Meeting the servant at the door, he gave instructions for tea to be brought. Returning to her, Kitty felt the eyes behind the mask study her intensely. Then a half hiss, half sigh issued out of the line of small squares forming his mouth.

  “I should have sent the carriage. I do apologize,” he shook his head in what Kitty assumed was an expression of regret. Not being able to see his expressions left her guessing. “And that man of mine should be whipped for not giving you a lantern to find your way to the front door.”

  His threat might be taken literally by someone else. Kitty knew from the letters and his caring voice that the black sack hid a compassionate man so she dismissed the threat to his servant as hyperbole.

  “I am fine, truly. It’s simply that the weather of South Carolina stays mild much of the year and the night was so damp.” The topic she needed to discuss with him was much dearer to her than the weather. “Do you not find it humorous that we both hide behind a black curtain?”

  He inclined his head, tipping his black curtain to her. She had hoped he might say something or even chuckle. When he didn’t, she continued. “Before we marry, I won’t ask to see your face. I do need for you to see mine, though.”

  Leaving the fire and its revealing light, Kitty moved to a chair that was partially hidden by shadows. After seating herself, she reached to slide her two mother of pearl hat pins from their spots. Setting these on a table placed for convenience next to the chair, she then removed the hat and its concealing veil. In a very feminine gesture, she smoothed any strands that might have escaped the knot at the base of her neck.

  Her fiancé had also left the fire and stood close to the chair, watching her movements. With her face bare, Kitty raised it to him so he had a clear view of her birthmark. Or at least as clear a view as the eye holes allowed him.

  A moment of silence passed and Kitty wondered what he thought. Then he made a noise as if he had been holding his breath and had just released it. “I admire not only your delicate and lovely features but also your courage.” The tone of admiration in his deep voice left her in no doubt of his sincerity and she released her breath.

  “Does this mean you will marry me as planned? That I will stay here with you.” Kitty fought to keep the tremor of fear and worry out of her voice.

  “Yes, we will marry tomorrow evening. You will be my Christmas Eve bride.” The words were said warmly, helping Kitty to look past the blank mask to the smile she hoped was under it.

  A knock on the library door stopped her from making any comment. At his command, an older woman, followed by a maid carrying a tea service, entered. Kitty heard the woman softly direct the maid to take the tea upstairs and then walked to them. She stopped in front of Kitty and held out her hand. “Hello, my dear. I’m Mrs. Marlowe. Has Kit told you that I’ll be your companion?”

  Kitty looked to her future husband for an explanation. He nodded, “Uhm, I haven’t mentioned it yet. I do think you’ll enjoy Mrs. Marlowe. She, uh, is a friend of my mother’s and will provide you with company at meals as well as a woman to visit with.”

  Kitty hadn’t considered the fact that they wouldn’t share their meals. Silly that she hadn’t realized that, until he removed the hood covering his face, he wouldn’t be able to eat in her presence. The thought emphasized the distance her future husband placed between them. Perhaps Mrs. Marlowe’s presence would be a blessing.

  Though she had quickly felt drawn to her fiancé, the motherly woman’s presence made her feel more at home. Something about the woman’s calm no-nonsense presence reminded Kitty of her mother. Life suddenly seemed safer here.

  “I thought you were going to frighten her off. Why is she settled in a bedroom upstairs?” Mrs. Marlowe all but growled that last question. Remembering her kindness to Kitty, he was impressed. This proved to him that Pinkerton agents really could play a part well.

  He sighed, thinking about the part he too was forced to play. Very quietly he asked, “Are you sure she’s asleep?”

  At the woman’s nod, he untied the laces that secured the base of his hood. He hated this need to hide his face and gladly removed the wretched sack. Once it was off, he ran a hand through rumpled hair and turned his handsome, unscarred face toward Mrs. Marlowe. “Heard anything from Fitch?”

  She nodded and sat in one of the chairs placed in front of his desk. “He’s sure of the embezzlement now and has found the second set of books. You’ll need to go in and claim them.”

  He nodded, “It doesn’t get us closer to proving the man is a murderer.” He leaned forward and with a hard edge to his voice asked, “Was the chemist able to find anything in the candy? Even though there was no return address, something with the package might trace back to him.”

  She chastised him like a mother, “Now I told you that you
needed to be patient. The plan is underway.”

  He grimaced. The problem was that the murderer also had a plan.

  Still employing that chastising tone, she continued. “Speaking of plans, why didn’t she panic and want to leave as we’d expected.”

  The man’s previously hard expression melted at the mention of the young woman. “I saw her and couldn’t. I am…drawn to her somehow. Wrong time to be courting a woman, I know, but…”

  A practical woman, she snorted and shook her head at what she considered foolishness. “So, the wedding happens after all? Good thing you’ve already arranged for the decorations.” Sarcastically, the woman asked him a question as she arched her eyebrows. “Just what name will you use to take those marriage vows?”

  He shrugged, choosing to ignore her tone, and answered in a tired voice. “Kit Randolph is taking a Christmas bride tomorrow.”

  Chapter 3

  Grand Rapids, Wisconsin, Christmas Eve 1886

  He laid the balled-up note from Kit Randolph down on his desk. They had failed!

  This had been their second attempt at poison. Had the man grown suspicious? They had been sure he would succumb after the dinner party in October. She had assured him that the amount of poison he had slipped into Kit’s after-dinner brandy should have done the job.

  Now he not only was alive but planned to marry that evening. Kit would have an heir beyond his feeble mother. He had counted on the mother being the only survivor he’d need to deal with, a prospect that delighted him. Old people so often died in their sleep and his help in making that happen would not arouse suspicions.

  The fire he set should have killed Kit last year. The poison had seemed guaranteed to do the job. And just last week he had sent a gift of Kit’s favorite candies. She had liberally laced each, she told him. There should not be a wedding happening that evening!

  Smoothing out the invitation his fist had crumpled, he picked it up to go in search of her. She would know what to do. After all, this had all started out as her idea.