by E. E. Burke
She might be flustered because she’d experienced the same reaction he had when he touched her foot. Or, something more in line with what a lady would feel at the pull of attraction. Whatever the reason for her rosy glow, he found it enchanting.
He executed a formal bow. “A pleasure, my lady.”
“All right, the damsel is saved. Let’s get moving.” Hardt flicked an assessing gaze over him and then gave a nod to one of the soldiers, who motioned for Val to move away.
He found the entire exchange insulting. However, there was little point making an issue of it. He’d done his good deed. Before he turned away, he made eye contact one last time with the young woman, considered wishing her luck finding a husband and then changed his mind. Being bartered off to these rough men who didn’t have the least idea of how to treat a lady would not be considered lucky by any stretch of the imagination.
He turned away, focusing his attention on getting through the crowd and down the street without being turned the same brown color that stained everything and everyone. Time to get back to business. At that popular saloon, he’d find an interested buyer, quickly sell the deed and get the hell out of this Kansas mud-hole.
Chapter 2
Rose Muldoon stared at the retreating gentleman, who had slipped between two horses and headed in the opposite direction, making his way through the crowd of men still milling about in the street. According to the railroad agent, there were two hundred unattached settlers living in the area. If so, they must’ve all come to town to meet the train. Her handsome, black-haired rescuer stood out, not only because he topped the tallest men by several inches, but also because of his manner and attire. That black suit fit his tall frame so perfectly that it had to be custom made. Imagine, a high bloke like him bowing to someone like her.
A brisk wind ruffled her skirt. She tightened the knot on her shawl to prevent it from blowing away. The wind wasn’t cold as much as a nuisance—trying to slip its fingers beneath her petticoats like that old coot Donohue. The gentleman hadn’t tried to pinch her behind the knee when he took her ankle and slipped the boot back onto her foot. No, he’d been ever so gentle and polite. If he’d felt her trembling, he didn’t show it.
Just thinking about his hands on her brought on another heated flush.
“Ma’am? You need to move.”
She jerked her head around at the soldier’s order. Then shuffled her feet to follow along behind the other women, wincing at the stinging on her toes and heels. Good thing she had on stockings so the gentleman hadn’t seen her blisters. That would’ve been almost as humiliating as falling on her face in the mud in front of him, as she would have done if he hadn’t caught her. A smaller man would’ve dropped her or lost his balance. He acted like she weighed nothing. When he put his arm around her, he’d been reaching down, not up, and he hadn’t looked at her like she was a freak. If God had shaped a man to fit her, He couldn’t have made one more perfect.
She chewed her lip, chastising herself for not opening her mouth and talking to him. Instead, she’d behaved like a hickjop. The only thing worse would’ve been to drool on the Englishman’s polished black boots.
Did he live ‘round here? Would he be taking part in the drawing? He didn’t talk, or look, like the other men who’d rushed the train with their tongues hanging out. If that gentleman were in the market for a wife, he’d want a more refined lady, like the pretty widow walking in front of her. Susannah Braddock might decide she liked him, as well.
Too embarrassed to ask outright, Rose posed a question. “What sort of man do you favor, Susannah?”
“Not one I draw out of a hat,” she replied over her shoulder. “I’ll do my own choosing, thank you.”
That might work for Susannah, who had the kind of face and form that turned men’s heads, along with the added bonus of a good education and not bearing an Irish name. Rose had none of those things in her favor.
“What if the blokes don’t agree to be chosen?”
“Any man you select would be honored, I’m sure.”
Rose wasn’t so sure. Not because she didn’t have pride—that was the problem, she had too much pride. Back home, she’d gotten propositions, but no decent offers. At least the men out here were willing to tie the knot. But she had better put that fine gentleman out of her mind or be ready to meet with disappointment when he didn’t show up for the drawing, or worse, if he did and got matched up with someone else.
Susannah winged open a fringed shawl and cloaked her seven-year-old son against her side when he started to wander. Rose smiled, recalling the countless times she’d tried to keep her little brother out of the mud. It rarely worked given Willy’s fascination with puddles. The energetic lad she’d met on the train had the same mischief dancing in his eyes. The two boys would become fast friends, if they ever met. But they never would...not in this life.
Grief squeezed Rose’s heart.
For a time after that awful fire, her pain had been so intense she hadn’t thought she would survive. Didn’t want to. Father McCarthy had suggested she take advantage of the railroad’s offer and go find herself a husband, have her own family. It wouldn’t replace the one she’d lost, but it might ease some of the pain and the aching loneliness.
Using a corner of her shawl, she wiped away the tears. There now, no more crying, her mother would’ve told her. We all have our crosses to bear, and yours are no heavier.
Susannah cast a glance over her shoulder and her brow furrowed with concern. “Rose, never fear. Mr. Hardt can’t force us to take part in this travesty. We will appeal to the authorities.”
Rose wasn’t sure what travesty meant, and she didn’t see how pleading with those in authority would help. That sort didn’t care about people like her. “What would they do? Before we appeal, let’s get a look at who shows up for the drawing.”
Her rescuer’s image popped into her head. His lips were as perfect as those on the statue of St. Michael, and a square jaw that added strength to his lean, aristocratic features. Ah, he had the loveliest eyes, a fascinating blend of blue and gray, as light as crystal.
“There won’t be a drawing. Not if I can help it.” Susannah’s firm reply burst the daydream. “We must have the freedom to choose whomever we want, not just the men Mr. Hardt says are qualified, or those he picks from a hat. What gives him the right to limit our choices?”
Some women had limited choices, regardless. But Rose didn’t correct her friend on the matter because it wasn’t in her nature to argue. She offered an observation instead. “Mr. Hardt, he’s not that different from other men. They all think they’re put on earth to be in charge.”
“No one could argue that.” Susannah hugged her son closer. “Which is why it is up to us to teach them differently.”
Rose imagined father’s reaction if her mother had announced he wasn’t in charge. “If you don’t mind, I’ll be leaving that task to you.”
“You don’t agree, Rose?” The question came from the woman behind her.
“What I think doesn’t matter,” Rose replied, hoping to avoid an argument.
“Of course it does,” Susannah returned with vehemence. “What we all think matters. Just because we’re women doesn’t mean our opinions don’t count.”
“Tell that to Mr. Hardt,” Charm LaBelle projected the reply around Rose’s right side. The top of her head didn’t even reach Rose’s shoulder.
What Charm lacked in size she made up for in personality, even in the way she dressed. She stood out like a bright-feathered bird. She’d been all the way to California and back and had spun wondrous tales during the train ride. The Englishman might prefer a well-traveled woman like Charm. Except that he’d have to lift her like a child to kiss her.
“That uncharitable man is leading us along like the Pied Piper,” Charm muttered. “I wonder if he remembered to collect our trunks.”
Rose glanced down at the donated carpetbag. She hadn’t needed a trunk or a suitcase to contain all she owned in the worl
d: another dress, also donated, nightclothes and a rosary Father McCarthy had given her. The only reason she had her mother’s shawl was because she’d wrapped up in it when she’d left early that fateful morning, just before dawn, to collect clothes to be washed. When she’d returned, the apartment building had been ablaze.
“Oh, good heavens!”
The morbid thoughts invading Rose’s mind disintegrated at Susannah’s outburst.
“Mr. Hardt, please slow down! Our legs are not as long as yours.”
She’d called out several times to tell him he was walking too fast. The mounted soldiers riding alongside them hinted at the reason—the rambunctious crowd. In New York’s Sixth Ward, men were more numerous, and just as rowdy. Being whistled at and ogled didn’t seem as strange as disembarking in a town that had been plopped down out in the middle of nowhere.
One end to the other was only a couple blocks, if you could call a muddy thoroughfare lined with wobbly planks blocks. The depot appeared to be the only brick building, the rest being constructed out of rough wood shingles, including a general store, a grocery and three gin houses, what they called saloons. Surprising there weren’t more, what with all these men and no mothers, sisters or wives to keep them out of trouble. Mr. Hardt had assured them the men would settle down, now that women were here to offer a civilizing influence. He couldn’t possibly believe twelve women could civilize all these men.
Rose would settle for the one who didn’t appear to need civilizing.
That was wishful thinking.
She sighed longingly, and then put the foolish notion out of her head. She’d come out here to marry one of those hard-working settlers Father McCarthy had told her about. He hadn’t mentioned the advertisement saying anything about English gentlemen.
***
At the end of the second block, the railroad agent stopped in front of a two-story clapboard house painted white. Didn’t look like a courthouse, as he’d mentioned. He went off to speak to the officer in charge of the soldiers, and then returned and ushered them up a set of stairs leading to a porch that wrapped around the front.
Before she entered, Rose glanced up at a sign posted over the door. One of the words spelled House. She couldn’t make out the first word. L-a-g-o-n-d-a. It could be a name.
She’d only gotten as far as reading simple words before she’d left school so she could help her mother take in more washing and mending. Her days had been filled with scrubbing other people’s clothes and her nights with caring for younger siblings while her mother continued to work. Schooling had been a luxury they couldn’t afford, though she’d argued with her mother about having to give it up.
Her throat tightened, and then her eyes began to sting. She would give up anything to have her family back again. That wasn’t possible, so she had to stop dwelling on the past and accept that she was alone. Unloved.
“Miss Muldoon?”
Hearing her name snapped Rose out of her daze. Mr. Hardt sounded concerned. Even stranger, he appeared to have brought them home with him. She glanced around at the paneled walls in the front hallway and the nice furnishings
“Are you unwell?” Susannah put her hand on Rose’s arm in a motherly gesture. She was only a few years older, but she’d stepped into a mother hen role. It reminded Rose that she wasn’t alone, and someone did care about her.
She straightened, determined not to be a burden. “I’m fine. Just tired.”
“It’s been a long day,” Susannah murmured, and looked pointedly at Mr. Hardt.
He smoothed down wavy black hair as he hung his hat on a hook attached to a high-backed chair. A looking glass was mounted on the back. Rose gazed at her wide-eyed reflection. A hall tree was what they called it. She’d seen them on occasion when she’d delivered clothes her mother had mended for wealthier customers.
A gray-haired lady chatted amiably with the other women. She ushered them into a front parlor. The woman looked too old to be his wife. His mother, perhaps?
“Is this your house?” Rose asked him.
He looked surprised that she’d asked. “Mr. and Mrs. Fry own the Lagonda House. It’s the only hotel in town.”
Rose felt her eyes widen. She didn’t want to admit she had never been in a hotel. She hadn’t ridden a train before either, until a few days ago. In fact, she hadn’t ventured beyond Five Points for most of her life.
“You ladies can freshen up here before we go over to the courthouse.”
Mrs. Braddock narrowed her eyes at the railroad agent’s remark.
He stared right back at her, giving no indication of being ruffled by her anger.
She spoke softly to her son, instructing him to go wait in the parlor with the others while she had a word with “the nice gentleman.” As soon as Danny was out of earshot, she dropped the sweet tone. “Are we to assume this is where we’ll remain until such time we choose to wed?”
“Until later this afternoon, yes,” he returned smoothly. “You do recall signing an agreement stating you were willing to be married.”
Susannah’s chin went up. “I have every intention of marrying. When I am ready to do so.”
Challenging a stubborn man wouldn’t get her anywhere. Rose knew this well, having lived with her father, the stubbornest man ever created. She hugged her shawl, debating whether she ought to step into the fray. She didn’t want to contradict her friend or offend the railroad agent, but this concerned her, too. She’d been able to reason with her father, so convincing Mr. Hardt to compromise seemed an easy enough task.
“We’re all in agreement about marrying, sir. What Mrs. Braddock is wanting, I think, is a little time to get used to the idea.” Rose held the railroad agent’s gaze, which wasn’t difficult, as they stood eye-to-eye. Most men were uncomfortable with her being the same height—or worse, taller.
Mr. Hardt had no visible reaction. His thoughts remained shuttered behind eyes as dark as the deep blue sea.
Rose’s heart hammered against her chest. When all else fails, try a friendly smile. “If you was to grant us a night’s sleep, we’d all be chirpy and looking our best in the morning for them coves you picked out.”
At last, he blinked. “Coves?”
“Gents.”
“Ah...” He pressed his lips together. She might’ve thought he was trying not to smile, if he’d shown a hint of humor. “You’ve missed your calling, Miss Muldoon. As a diplomat.”
She assumed he meant it as a compliment, although that was no guarantee he would relent. “You’re agreeable, then?”
Susannah heaved a sigh. “I’m relieved to hear it. We’ll need some time to settle in and get our bearings. Tomorrow, or better yet, in a few days, we could meet our suitors in an acceptable situation. A social would be a proper venue.”
The railroad agent crossed his arms over his chest. What Susannah suggested didn’t sound offensive to Rose, but there was something about the Boston widow that rubbed Mr. Hardt the wrong way. “The last time we arranged a social, the Land League used the distraction to wreak havoc. No socials.”
“We can manage without,” Rose broke in, “if we might have a look at those men on that list you mentioned.” The way her luck had been going, the handsome gentleman wouldn’t be involved, but if he was, she wanted to meet him again.
“Yes, that would be much better than forcing us to take part in a game of chance.”
Rose groaned at her friend’s remark. Susannah meant well, but Mr. Hardt wouldn’t be calling her a diplomat.
The oncoming storm started in his eyes. Rose had seen her father lose his temper, and that’s what he looked like, right before the gales struck.
“This isn’t a game, Mrs. Braddock. You all came out here to be married, and so you shall be, as soon as possible. I’m willing to allow you to remain here one night, at the expense of the railroad, but you better be ready first thing in the morning. We’ll hold the drawing at ten.”
“What makes you think we’ll agree to a lottery?” Susannah braced her han
ds on her hips, challenging him. “There’s no rush.”
“Yes, there is. We must put an end these disputes, which means assigning claims, and our policy states the first assignments go to married men.”
Disputes, claims, it all sounded like nonsense to Rose. What did make sense, though, and what she should’ve expected, was the motive. These marriages were just transactions to the railroad...business...and in the end, money. Things were no different out here than at home.
After the initial stab of disappointment, she stated the obvious. “Daub their palms, you mean. Only, we’re to be the grease, and you need to apply it quick.”
“Grease?” Susannah’s frown turned perplexed.
“So he can get whatever it is he wants from these men.”
Confusion turned to shock. “We’re to be bribes?”
“Brides,” the railroad agent said firmly. “Miss Muldoon misunderstood.” He held Rose’s gaze, challenging her to contradict him.
He could deny it all he wanted, but she’d lived in Five Points where bribery was a way of life, and she wasn’t as ignorant as he thought. However, nothing would be gained by arguing with him about it. For the moment, she’d hold her tongue.
Susannah tipped her head to look up at the railroad agent, studying him in a way that implied puzzlement more than anger. “Is this true, Mr. Hardt? Is the reason you’re in a hurry because you have to pay someone off?”
His face went taut.
Rose sent her friend a warning look. Susannah had a way of asking questions that made them sound like insults.
He replied in a tight voice. “The longer we linger and allow you and the other ladies to become a distraction, the more likely there will be trouble. Suffice to say, tempers are short. These men are restless. The sooner you’re wed, the better.”
Rose searched the agent’s stiff expression, trying to interpret what was behind his guarded words. “Are you saying we’re in danger?”
His features softened just the slightest bit, she wouldn’t have noticed if she hadn’t been watching him closely. “No, Miss Muldoon. I wouldn’t allow harm to come to you, to any of you. But part of my job entails seeing that you are matched up, and I intend to do that in an efficient and expedient manner.”
