Edwina: Bride of Connecticut (American Mail-Order Brides 5)

by Margaret Tanner

  EDWINA – BRIDE OF CONNECTICUT

  AMERICAN MAIL ORDER BRIDES

  BY MARGARET TANNER

  All rights reserved

  Copyright 2015 – Margaret Tanner

  Thank you for downloading this e-book. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author. Quotes used in reviews are the exception. No alteration of content is allowed. If you enjoy this book, then please encourage your friends to purchase their own copy.

  Disclaimer

  This novella is a work of fiction.

  Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental or historical. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously.

  Cover Design and Production by Erin

  http://edhgraphics.blogspot.com

  edameronhill@gmail.com

  Chapter One

  “You did what?” Josh Sinclair glared at his sister.

  “I pretended I was you, and advertised for a Mail Order Bride in the Grooms’ Gazette.” Amy faced him, defiant. “You’ve been on your own too long. Hasn’t he, Tom?”

  “Don’t bring me into this.” Tom grinned at his wife.

  “Damn it woman. You had no right.” Josh thrust his fingers through his hair, causing the curls to become even more riotous than normal. “You can damn well have that ridiculous advertisement removed.”

  “It’s too late.” Amy looked pleadingly at him. “Edwina has already answered and agreed to marry you.”

  “Edwina! Matrimony is not on my agenda. Even if it was, I wouldn’t be marrying some desperate spinster who has been left on the shelf.”

  “She’s from Boston.”

  Boston! Pain pierced his heart. Three years and Maryanne’s betrayal still hurt. He would never trust another woman. He had given her his heart, only to have it smashed to pieces. He had relinquished the captaincy of his ship, and was a loner now. Just the way he liked it.

  “She accepted your marriage proposal.”

  “Your proposal, Amy, not mine. Hell’s bells.” He bit back a more colorful maritime expletive. “Tell her it’s a mistake. I’m dead. I’m already married. Tell her whatever you like.”

  “We’ve exchanged two letters, and she sounds perfect for you. She was quite impressed with your references. She comes from a good family …”

  “No!” He would do almost anything for his sister, except this.

  “You’re a fine looking man, Josh.”

  “I can recommend marriage.” Tom placed his hand on Amy’s shoulder and gave a besotted smile. “It’s the best thing I ever did, and now, with a baby on the way, everything is perfect.”

  Josh snorted. After twelve months of marriage they were still making cow eyes at each other. “I’m off to my cabin for a couple of weeks.”

  “You can’t.” Amy wrung her hands. “You can’t. Who will meet Edwina?” “She’ll be arriving at Hartford around lunch time tomorrow.”

  “You and Tom can meet her.”

  “We can’t,” Tom said. “Remember, I’m going to the Dairyman’s’ Association meeting in Glastonbury, and Amy needs to shop for baby things. We’ll be gone for a couple of nights. It’s all arranged.”

  Hell and damnation. There was nothing else for it but to bite the bullet, confront this woman and send her back to where she came from. Even if I have to pay her fare home, it would be well worth it to be rid of her.

  “Give me the woman’s letters,” Josh growled.

  Pulling two letters from the dresser drawer, Amy shoved them into his hand. “Please Josh.” Her lips trembled. “I was only trying to help.”

  “If you want to help me, don’t meddle in my affairs,”

  “Now look here.” Tom stepped forward. “Amy did it with the best of intentions.”

  Turning her face into her husband’s chest, Amy sobbed.

  Why was it, Amy could force his surrender with a few tears? Women and their conniving ways, a man was better off without them.” He sighed; defeat was imminent.

  His sister lifted her head. “You will meet her, won’t you, Josh? Promise.”

  “I give you my word. I will meet the stage and make arrangements for her return to Boston. That’s it. Then I am going to my cabin for a couple of week’s peace and quiet.” He stomped out of the kitchen, congratulating himself for keeping his temper in check. Well, almost in check.

  Amy was the most infuriating woman he had ever come across. Always interfering, trying to run his life, just because she was three years older. It had been like this for as long as he could remember. The thrashings she had saved him from when their father was in one of his black moods, the way she had nursed him after he had been injured, and the way she had stood by him after Maryanne’s betrayal. He did owe her, but not to the extent that he would contemplate marrying some spoilt little hothouse flower from Boston.

  He strode toward the single story white cottage Tom had helped him build on his share of the farm. He rarely stayed here, much preferring his isolated cabin where he could roam the mountains choosing the best timber for his carving. Who would have thought his maritime whittling would lead to a lucrative business, supplying one of a kind sailing ships for wealthy New Yorkers.

  Dairy farming wasn’t for him. Milking cows morning and night held no appeal. The fur trade and his wood carving provided an outlet for his restlessness. He missed the wide open vista of the sea, but the wild mountain ranges surrounding his home were great compensation.

  The shipping line had offered him a desk job after his partial recovery from the accident that had fractured his hip and almost broken his back. There was the vague offer of another ship after he fully recovered, but with steam starting to take off, and the majestic sailing ships going out of business, it would not be the same. For him, there was nothing like strolling the deck of a fully rigged clipper.

  He pushed the door of his cottage open and entered a small parlor. The whole house smelled of bees wax polish and lavender, which pleased him. He hated the damp, disused smell some houses acquired. He would stay the night at Nellie’s Tavern on the main Hartford Road, then it would be an easy two hour carriage ride into Hartford. Nellie’s place might be isolated, but it was clean and she was a superb cook. In the morning he would meet the stage carrying this foolish city woman and send her on her way.

  What kind of female would travel all these miles to marry a man she did not know. For that matter, what kind of man would be so desperate for a wife, he would advertise in a newspaper? His lips curled in derision. He would never demean himself like that.

  ***

  “Good heaven’s Edwina.” Eddy winced at Aunt Victoria’s caustic tones. “You need to act with more decorum.” The older woman stroked her immaculately coiffured, silver grey hair. “Why can’t you be more like my beautiful Charlotte, then you might have a few more eligible suitors to choose from? Nigel is the only gentleman prepared to offer for your hand in marriage. Thankfully, he comes from one of Boston’s finest families.”

  “I told you before, Aunt Victoria, I don’t want any of your eligible young men, I’m happy the way I am.” Eddy tugged at a wayward auburn tendril that had escaped from her neat chignon. A long plait hanging down her back was what she preferred, but that would never do in this household.

  “Well, you can’t stay here living off our charity forever. It’s an embarrassment to our family that you remain unwed.”

  Eddy recoiled at the harsh words.

  “It is so unbef
itting for a woman of twenty-one,” her aunt continued in ominous tones that discouraged any discussion. “You are an adult now and should be making your own way in the world.”

  Aunt Victoria’s grey taffeta gown was the latest in fashion. The skirts whispered where they swept the floor. “Now, you will go into the drawing room and help your cousin entertain her friends. High tea is a custom very appropriate for genteel young ladies.”

  High tea! They weren’t in England, but her aunt and her snobby friends acted as if they were. More English than the English, came to mind.

  The older woman wrung her bejeweled hands, as if washing them of her ungrateful niece. “Your mother married well beneath herself, and see where it got her, dying in some hovel in the wilderness.”

  “Ma…Mother and Papa loved each other.”

  “Psh. Love! Money and position is all that counts, my girl.”

  Eddy wanted to argue but dared not. With little money of her own, she had nowhere to go if her aunt chose to throw her out. Uncle Stanley, her mother’s brother, was a quiet man, kind in his own gruff way, yet totally dominated by his wife. He had made his fortune on the Californian goldfields, but Aunt Victoria acted as if they had come from English aristocracy.

  As for her cousin, nineteen-year-old Charlotte was a product of an exclusive, Swiss finishing school. Thank goodness they hadn’t foisted that on her.

  Under her aunt’s eagle eye, she gave a demure smile, and glided from the room. She hesitated in the vast tessellated hallway of the mansion. It stood on an enormous block of land, and from her bedroom window Eddy could see the ocean. She loved watching the ships with tall masts sailing by. The salt laden air soothed her when she was upset, yet it wasn’t to be compared with the rugged beauty of Tennessee where she had lived the first fifteen years of her life.

  She dithered outside the double doors leading into the classically furnished drawing room, where brocade couches, crystal chandeliers, the finest of bone china and silverware flaunted this pretentious lifestyle.

  The tinkling laugh of Charlotte and her female friend slithered like ice down Eddy’s spine. The insincerity of pampered young men ingratiating themselves with these self-centered young women sickened her. Six years of these people, and this place was enough. She had to get away.

  If she didn’t find a husband herself, her aunt would have no compunction about pushing her out on to the streets. Thanks to the woman’s snobbery, Eddy was trained at nothing of any substance, and would be unable to obtain employment.

  Could she ask Uncle Stanley for help? He had always been kind to her. Being so dominated by his wife, it was doubtful he would go against her wishes, although they did share a couple of secrets.

  Uncle Stanley was a shooting enthusiast, taking her almost daily to a private shooting range with him on the pretext he needed her to write down his scores. Instead, he allowed her to participate and practice. This small indulgence was the highlight of her existence. He obviously suspected how unhappy she was. How she found it difficult to find a place in such a shallow society.

  Her father had been a Union Army sharp-shooter in the war between the States, and had trained his only child in the art. At ten, she was a better shot than most men, much to her gentle mother’s dismay. With a sigh, she ran a hand across the waistline of her pale lemon gown. It might be fashionable to have a tiny waist, but the tightly laced corset was killing her. At every opportunity she loosened the laces. Sometimes, she was able to discard the corset, and having a naturally small waist, could get away with it.

  Oh for the days when she could roam the Tennessee woods dressed as a boy, but those times were long gone.

  She entered the drawing room stepping daintily, shoulders back, head held high, testament to Aunt Victoria’s relentless tutelage.

  Nigel Featherstone jumped to his feet and minced over to her. “Edwina, what a vision of loveliness you are.” His slack, wet lips formed what he thought was an admiring smile. She could not prevent the shudder of disgust that swept through her.

  Charlotte and her best friend Jemima both pouted, although there were two other young gentleman in attendance. They obviously did not appreciate Nigel’s attention being diverted from them.

  Aunt Victoria really thought she would marry this creature? He might be wealthy and well connected, the only attributes that mattered to these people, but his toad-like features and fawning manner repelled her. Then there was his unsavory reputation as a heavy gambler. She would rather be burned at the stake.

  Ignoring his proffered hand, Eddy edged past him and sat on the couch next to Jemima.

  “Did you hear about the fire at Bob Brown’s factory in Lawrence?” Ian Haversham asked.

  “Yes. I heard that one of the seamstress’ skirts caught fire.” Nigel snickered. “That would have been a sight to see.”

  “How sad. Those poor women,” Eddy said.

  “Poor women?” Ian twirled his handlebar moustache. “They’re working class trash.”

  “My brother says women who work in factories are no better than whores,” Jemima said, with a look of disdain contorting her pretty face.

  Eddy stood up. She couldn’t bear to hear such horrible talk for a moment longer. “Please excuse me. I have a dreadful headache and need to lie down.” She pinned an apologetic smile to her face, vowing to keep it there or die in the attempt.

  She made it to her bedroom without meeting Aunt Victoria and being forced to endure one of her inquisitions. Lying down on the bed, she closed her eyes. Her head throbbed now. How could she wed such a disgusting, vindictive creature? If only she could marry a decent man who would accept her for what she was. A young woman with tomboy tendencies.

  ***

  “Edwina, you have to come to the dressmaker in Lawrence with me,” Charlotte whined. “I don’t wish to go there alone. Mother has gone over to see the Galbraiths.”

  “You have a wardrobe full of gowns that you’ve hardly worn,” Eddy said.

  “I want a new one, something really special. I have the magazine picture of the one I like. It’s a darling thing, just perfect for the Admiral’s dinner party.”

  “To travel all that way for a gown is ridiculous. We’ll have to stay overnight. There are plenty of places here in Boston where you can buy one.”

  “I need one made by Madame Duval.” Charlotte stamped her foot. “Besides, it’s a chance for us to stay at the Queen Victoria hotel. It’s so English.”

  “Oh, all right, but don’t expect me to be fitted for any gown, I’ve got too many as it is.”

  “You don’t have to worry, mother is not prepared to spend any more money on you.” Charlotte’s voice dripped with spite. “If you don’t marry Nigel, you won’t be able to stay here in her house either.”

  “I thought it was your father’s house,” Eddy said defiantly, but inwardly quaked. What could she do? She needed to think this through, and come up with a plan. The twenty five mile drive into Lawrence would give her plenty of time to come up with something.

  The carriage finally stopped at the dressmaker’s, a discreetly elegant shop with lace curtains on the leadlight windows and brass fittings on the door. Madame Duval’s clients belonged to the upper echelons of society. She employed only the best seamstresses in the whole of New England. The uniformed driver helped Charlotte alight from the carriage while Eddy climbed down herself.

  “Come back in two hours and don’t be late.” Eddy winced at Charlotte’s perfunctory tones. “We are staying the night at the Queen Victoria hotel.” The driver acknowledged her orders by touching the handle of his whip to his hat, leapt back on to the carriage and drove off.

  “I won’t go into the dressmakers with you,” Eddy said. “I’ll take a walk in the park over there.”

  Pouting, Charlotte minced off.

  Two hours in clean, fresh air permeated with the scent of flowers would be heavenly. The trees bordering the small park were all dressed in the colorful fall glory, of red, gold and russet. Three nannies played
with their small charges. The children laughing and racing around had Eddy longing for babies of her own. She was not ambitious, never had been. All she wanted was a caring husband and children.

  She sat on a wooden bench seat with only one occupant on it. The young woman was slumped over, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders were trembling and she was crying.

  “Are you all right?” Eddy asked. “You seem upset.”

  “I…I am.”

  Eddy patted the woman’s hand. “Is there anything I can do to help? I’m Edwina Pearson, but call me Eddy.”

  The woman dabbed at her eyes with a white handkerchief. “Roberta McDaniel.”

  “Maybe talking about it could help.”

  “Maybe,” Roberta said. “I’m just so worried. I was the manager at Bob Brown’s factory and it burnt down.”

  “I heard about that. How awful. Was anyone hurt?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Roberta took a couple of steadying breaths but her lips still trembled. “Over a hundred women have lost their jobs. The owner doesn’t intend rebuilding.”

  Eddy gasped. “That’s shocking, I wish I could help in some way.”

  “I keep wondering whether I’ve done the right thing. I suggested to the unmarried women that they should become Mail Order Brides.”

  “What!”

  “They have nothing to look forward to here except poverty, or God forbid, prostitution. I gave all those who were interested a copy of the Grooms’ Gazette. They were encouraged to choose a man they felt would be suitable for them. I even chose one myself. There’s nothing here for me now. The gentleman I wrote to sounded genuine and respectable. There are a lot of lonely men in this country with little prospect of finding a wife.”

  Eddy’s thoughts drifted off. A Mail Order Bride, she hadn’t thought of that. Maybe she could find herself a husband that way. A farmer or rancher would suit her just fine.

  “Sorry Roberta, what did you say?”

  “I’m anxious about the consequences. What if it turns out badly? It will be my fault, but I felt responsible for the girls’ wellbeing. It was all I could think of with there being so many of them.”