“You can’t wear the other Sunday dress today—you wore it just last week! This isn’t right. I insist you tell me what happened. And don’t tell me you fell—the bodice is torn and the lace is half missing.”
Felicia had the misfortune of passing by the room at that moment, and her mother pulled her in by the hand.
“Do you know what Lilly did to her dress?”
Felicia panicked, looking between her mother and sister, and Lilly knew she was sunk. Hiding something was one thing, but Felicia didn’t like to lie. She was the most honest person Lilly had ever known.
Looking down at the floor miserably, Felicia told their mother the story—as much as she knew of it. Lilly looked away in humiliation, shrinking under the horrified stare of their mother.
At least now she’ll know, Lilly had thought. I won’t have to bear this burden alone.
But she was soon to learn that her hope was nothing but a childish fantasy.
In the hotel room, Lilly stood with tears slipping down her cheeks. She wasn’t even aware she’d been crying. She pushed the memories aside—for the thousandth time—and closed the dresser drawer.
Perhaps when I’m married—when I have a husband who will love me and keep me safe, these terrible memories will fade. She went to the window and looked down on the street below, the shops across the street, and out over the mountains that served as a backdrop to the town. This place will be a new start. I won’t let myself remember. It’s in the past, and all that matters is my future. My new life.
She tried not to let doubts about her fiancée creep in. She wouldn’t let herself think of being tossed out on the streets. She would be a good wife—the best a man could ever hope for. Her husband would never know the truth, and even if he did suspect that Lilly was no longer “pure”, maybe he would keep her anyway, if she only made him happy enough.
Chapter 6
June 17, 1890
The clerk at the front desk eyed Jake with a mixture of irritation and amusement. Jake had been pacing the hotel foyer for ten minutes, waiting for the ladies to descend. The clerk had assured him that Mrs. Porter was, indeed, upstairs with Miss Watkins, and that the ladies had been notified of his arrival.
Then why were the women not down in the foyer?
He reached up to scrub his hands through his hair, and once again, stopped himself. He’d applied a very small amount of oil to his hair—just enough to keep it out of his eyes, not enough to make it look oily—and he didn’t want to ruin the effect. He’d felt foolish doing it, but he’d do whatever it took to capture the heart of Miss Watkins. He wanted everything to be perfect for her.
She won’t forsake you for your lack of skill in applying hair oil, you fool. He knew that. Sadie hadn’t left him for anything so shallow—at least, he didn’t think she had. But he couldn’t help second-guessing himself, wondering what it was that had sent her into the arms of another man.
A man should be able to keep his wife in line. That was what so many men had whispered behind his back, he knew—and some bold fellows even dared to say it to his face. But Jake hadn’t been interested in keeping his wife “in line.” He wanted her to love him, the way he had loved her. He didn’t want to scare a woman into staying with him. Many men might find satisfaction in wielding their power over the weaker sex, but he wasn’t one of them. He might be bigger and stronger than most men, but most men didn’t realize was that respect was commanded, not demanded. It was earned.
Where are they? He glanced up the staircase as footsteps descended, but it was only a man and his wife. He resumed his pacing. It was a wonder he hadn’t worn a hole in the Persian rug. Minutes ticked by. Or was it hours?
“Mr. Morgan?”
He froze, swallowing hard over the knot in his throat. He turned, seeing Mrs. Porter and Miss Watkins descending the last few steps. He hadn’t heard the approach of their light tread upon the stairs.
She was more beautiful than in her photograph, which he didn’t expect. Her brown hair was done up in an elegant twist, with a small hat perched atop it, at the back of her head. Tendrils curled down beside her face, accentuating her pale skin and high cheekbones, and her green eyes were framed with thick lashes.
He smiled broadly. How could he have gotten so lucky? If her personality was half as engaging as her appearance, he’d count himself the luckiest man in Helena, luckier than the claim miners who had struck it rich.
“I apologize for the delay, Mr. Morgan,” Mrs. Porter began. “You know how we ladies like to dawdle as we get ready.” She laughed, and Miss Watkins joined her with a light giggle.
“That’s alright.” Jake felt as if his tongue was made of cotton…he could barely speak.
“Jacob Morgan, may I introduce Miss Lillibeth Watkins, of Parker Hill, Massachusetts.”
“Miss Watkins, it is a great pleasure.”
“Mr. Morgan, I’m so pleased to meet you.” She offered her hand, and he bent to kiss it.
When he looked up into her eyes, he could see that she was every bit as tense as he was, and that set him at ease a little.
He asked her how the journey had gone, and what she thought of Montana so far. After a few more pleasantries, Mrs. Porter suggested they adjourn to the restaurant for their luncheon, so they could all relax and get to know each other better.
They ordered their meals and chatted while they waited for the food to arrive. Miss Watkins didn’t have manners quite as refined as Mrs. Porter—but to Jake, that was a good thing. If she’d been as polished as Mrs. Porter, Jake would have been far more intimidated. As it was, he felt that his bride-to-be had very good manners and behaved just ladylike enough that he’d be proud to show her off, but not so much that she seemed uppity or too reserved.
Their conversation was amiable enough, and he could imagine himself sitting by the woodstove in the evening, talking about their day. She did appear anxious at times, glancing up at him from under her thick lashes, her hand trembling when she lifted her glass to her lips—her curved, full lips, which drew his eyes more often than he knew he should allow—but he knew the whole experience must be worse for her than it was for him. He only had to pay the expenses and matchmaker’s fee, while she had to give up her whole life, family, and friends, travel across the country, and settle down with a strange man in a strange town. It must be an earth-shattering experience for a woman, even when it turned out well.
And Jake wanted very much for it to turn out well. He’d been eager for a wife—for a friend, a companion, and a lover—for so long. It was hard enough to find a wife out west, especially as you approached the age of thirty. But add a divorce to it? He was doomed to a bachelor life, without Mrs. Porter’s help. Sure, if he’d been a store owner or someone else more well-to-do, he might have had a decent chance. But he was just a blacksmith, in a town with two other blacksmiths. He made enough to live a decent life, but not enough to entice a young girl to marry a divorced man who came home covered in soot and sweat every day.
These thoughts plagued him as their meals arrived, and he watched Miss Watkins take a bite—there he went staring at those lips again. He really wanted things to work out. He wanted to see those lips up close…to taste them, to hold her close and feel the silk of her hair against his cheek…
He pushed those thoughts away. Save it for the honeymoon, Jake. If there was a honeymoon.
Please Lord, let her like me. So far he liked everything he saw, and didn’t see any signs that she was the kind of woman that would abandon her husband, or take marriage lightly. Then again, I thought the same thing about Sadie. Well, that’s not entirely true—it never even entered my mind that Sadie would be unfaithful to me. I assumed love would conquer all. But sometimes love wasn’t enough…or maybe, it didn’t last long enough.
Miss Watkins giggled over something Mrs. Porter had said, but he didn’t know what it was. He was barely holding up his end of the conversation now, too taken by the flutter of Miss Watkins’ lashes, or the curve of her lips, or how delicate
her small hands looked, holding the fork. Why would such an attractive woman need to travel so far to find a husband? Their correspondence had been brief—he’d sent so many letters, with few responses. No one wanted to travel so far to marry a divorced man.
Miss Watkins had told him that her parents were pressuring her to marry an unsuitable man. But was that reason enough to flee Massachusetts at the drop of a hat? It seems that an alluring woman such as she could have married any man she wanted, at least at her own social level or below. How could there not be alternate men she could choose, just lining up at the door for her hand in marriage? Are enchanting women so common in Boston that men are tripping over such young ladies every day?
He dwelled over this as they ate, chiming in to answer any questions that either of the ladies might ask him. Mrs. Porter was working to keep the conversation up—Miss Watkins seemed deep in her own thoughts as well. But it wasn’t uncomfortable or awkward. She seemed to have a temperament that would work with his own. He thought Mrs. Porter had outdone herself.
Now, if only Miss Watkins was thinking the same thing…
***
He’s very handsome, Lilly thought as she forced herself to take another bite of food. Her stomach was doing flip-flops, and eating was the last thing on her mind.
When she’d come down the stairs, she’d been taken by his appearance. His dark hair set off his warm brown eyes accented by flecks of caramel. He had a strong jaw and a prominent nose…but it was his broad shoulders that caught her attention the most. She imagined he must be very strong, after all the physical labor of the blacksmith shop. He had the look of a man who could be intimidating if he wanted to, yet his mannerisms bespoke a man in complete control of himself.
He was a little rougher around the edges than the other men who had shown an interest in her back home—but that, too, was likely due to his profession. He was also older than most of her would-be suitors had been. By the age of twenty-eight, most men were settled down with children, and the men she socialized with back home were usually only a few years older than her own age of eighteen.
Lilly didn’t mind the age gap too much. When Mr. Morgan smiled, he did show the tiniest bit of crinkle at the corner of his eyes, but it was barely noticeable, and of course, he was much too young to have any grey hair yet. He just seemed older and more mature than most men—comfortable with the life he’d chosen, and knowing already what he wanted out of life.
She could feel the nervous energy that radiated off of him, but she had the suspicion that he normally had a very calm demeanor. Mrs. Porter had described him as a very patient, kind man who could provide a woman with a very stable life. That was exactly what Lilly wanted. The fact that he was divorced didn’t bother her much—her family were church-goers, but not exactly devout. And though her own mother would have lost her mind if she’d known that the man Lilly was to marry was divorced, she herself didn’t care much. Except…
Her stomach curdled. Except that it could indicate that he doesn’t take marriage seriously, she thought. Then she chastised herself for thinking such a thing. His wife left him—what could he have done about that?
But was there more to it than that? Everyone was always putting their best foot forward when they first courted. All she had to go on was the small stack of letters Mrs. Gardner had shown her, which he’d been sending so that Mrs. Gardner could show them all to a potential bride at once, and speed things along. He apparently was very lonely, and frustrated with the lack of marriage prospects for himself in Helena, and the lack of response from so many of the brides he’d written to.
It had appeared to be the ideal situation for Lilly, who had written him one very long letter back, describing herself, her situation—leaving out the worst parts, of course—and informing him of her habits, likes and dislikes, and what she was looking for in a marriage, etc. Then she’d gotten one long letter back, answering a few questions she’d had, and sharing more about Helena and his life. At the end of the letter, he asked for her hand in marriage, and said that if her answer was yes, to have Mrs. Gardner send a telegram, and he would wire money for Mrs. Gardner to buy Lilly a ticket. The arrangements were made and a ticket was purchased. Mrs. Gardner said she’d never seen a marriage arranged so quickly.
Lilly had told Mrs. Gardner only that her parents were trying to force her into a marriage with an unseemly man, and that time was of the essence. Though Mrs. Gardner would have liked to see Lilly and Mr. Morgan correspond a bit more, it was obvious that they seemed to be a good match, and given each of their circumstances, a quick marriage seemed a reasonable choice.
And there, in the restaurant, Lilly thought that she had most likely made the right choice. Jake Morgan seemed to be a very pleasant man, very amiable, and someone she thought she could get on with very well. Not to mention his masculine appeal. By all appearances, it was a good match.
But Lilly had learned the hard way that appearances could be deceiving.
Chapter 7
After the meal was finished, Mrs. Porter suggested they go on a walk. She had told Jake ahead of time that she would most likely do this, and end up hanging back a bit so the new couple could talk alone and get used to each other a bit more.
It was a pleasant day, and they turned off the Main Street, heading for a neighborhood where small houses lined the streets, and flowers grew over the picket fences or along the edges of the properties. The lilac bushes were in full bloom, and he enjoyed watching Miss Watkins stick her nose into the clusters of purple flowers and inhale deeply.
“Ohhh, they’re just intoxicating!” she breathed.
Her laughter was what Jake found intoxicating. He made a mental note to be sure to make her laugh often.
“Hello there, Mrs. Burger!” called Mrs. Porter. “Your flowers are exquisite this year. Did you add more roses?”
The older woman coming out the front door of the white house which they stood in front of smiled, wiping her hands on her apron. “Yes, indeedy! Aren’t they delightful? They’re my favorite so far. Would you like a cutting?”
“Oh, I’d adore one, thank you! I’m planting flowers along the side of the building, where the sun enters the alley. I think they’ll get enough sun there.” She turned to the couple. “You two go on ahead. I’ll catch up in a minute.”
Jake offered his arm to Miss Watkins, and was stunned when she merely stared at his arm, as if it was a snake. He smiled. “I don’t bite,” he joked, hoping to ease the tension.
“Oh. Of…of course not.” The smile she returned was tight, and obviously forced.
“Is something wrong? Have I done something?”
“No! No, nothing, you’ve been a perfect gentleman.” She slowly placed her hand into the crook of his arm—she didn’t link her arm with his. “I think the trip has taken quite a bit out of me. I’m just not myself.”
“I understand.”
They walked on slowly, while Jake pondered what to say. Eventually, Miss Watkins broke the awkward silence.
“Mr. Morgan, do you have space for a garden outside your apartment? I know you said it was at ground level.”
Jake was grateful she’d found a topic to break the ice. Now that they were alone, his nerves were returning in full force. “Yes. As a matter of fact, there’s a fenced-in area forming a nice little yard. As you come down the alley alongside the bakery, the building ends at the back corner, and that’s where the picket fence begins.”
“Oh no, you live behind a bakery? That’s going to mean disaster for my figure! I’m quite fond of pastries,” she laughed.
“Then I’ll buy you one every day, if you like.” Jake grinned.
“Oh, heavens, no!” Miss Watkins gasped, her eyes wide. “I’ll be as big as a house in no time. I don’t think you want that.”
“Miss Watkins, you’re far more attractive than I ever could have hoped for. I suspect you’d still be lovely, even if you were as big as a house.” He stopped and turned, looking down into her eyes. Then he winked.
“But if you’re worried about your figure, then I’ll just bring a pastry home once a week.”
Her cheeks flushed, and he could see she was pleased. “Thank you. You’re very kind. I think you could call me Lilly now, if you want, since we’re to marry this week.” Then her blush increased. “I mean…that is…if you want to call me Lilly. And if you still want to….” she looked down, as if wishing the earth could swallow her whole.
“I do,” he interrupted, wanting to reassure her. “I’m very eager for you to be my wife.”
“Really?” She looked up, surprised. “Oh, that’s…wonderful! I was worried that you...well, that you wouldn’t find me suitable.”
He patted her hand, which was still hooked through his arm, and Lilly tensed again.
He removed his hand from hers, quickly, then cleared his throat. She was far more demure than he had expected. “I’m more afraid you’re not suitable for me.” He saw panic in her eyes, and he rushed to correct himself. “Because I’m afraid that, if you were given a few weeks here as a single woman, you’d easily find a man far more suitable for yourself than me. Though I’m happy to quickly marry you and steal you away from whoever that might be.”
She relaxed, her own grin matching his. “I assure you, Mr. Morgan—”
“Jake,” he insisted. “That’s what my friends call me.”
She halted, looking up at him, her eyes intent on his. “Jake, I assure you, that you are exactly what I’m looking for. I want a kind, patient man, who will provide me with a nice, stable life. I have no desire to attempt to climb the social ladder or marry someone who can provide a fancy lifestyle. My parents weren’t rich by any means, though they had a ‘comfortable’ income, and even they were expected to attend balls, social events, and charity events. In fact, they were eager to do so, and have their children do the same.”
Mail Order Promises Page 5
