The Rancher’s Perfect Bride
Loving A Rancher Series 7
By
Caroline Clemmons
Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Clemmons
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.
Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Copyright © 2018 by Caroline Clemmons
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty One
Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Three
About Caroline
Chapter One
Atlanta, Georgia, April 9, 1888
Zenobia dabbed at her eyes and cheeks with her handkerchief. Her sweet mother had passed away five days ago after being bedridden for over four years. The knowledge her mother’s death was imminent hadn’t softened the loss from being like an open wound. The funeral yesterday had passed as if she was in a trance.
“Nellie, you were so good to Mama. Are you certain there’s nothing more of hers you want?”
Nellie had served Mama since Mama was a child and now sobbed into her handkerchief. “No, thank you. She gave me such a surprise when she gave me so much money three months ago.”
“She knew you’d be eager to leave Atlanta once she was gone and didn’t want you to have to wait for the will to be read.”
“Bless her, I’ll be able to retire in comfort. I leave for Summerville today. If I like the cottage my sister has found near hers, I can afford to purchase the place, thanks to your sweet mother.”
Zenobia hugged Nellie. “Goodbye, dear friend. I’ll write to you and you must answer to let me know how you’re settling there.”
When Nellie had gone, Zenobia and her own lady’s maid, Marcy Boyer, folded the last of her late mother’s dresses for the poor. Tears still trailed down Zenobia’s cheeks.
Marcy went to find someone to move the crates. When she returned, she rushed into the room. “Your stepfather demanded you to come to the parlor immediately. Hurry because he’s not in a good mood, even for him.”
“Oh, no, what now? I know he’s eager to get rid of me since Mama has passed and he doesn’t need us to nurse her.” Drying her eyes, she rushed downstairs.
Jim Beveridge, her stepfather, insisted she call him Papa even though he resented Zenobia’s presence in the house. When she entered the room he gave her an assessing stare. “You should be married with children. Instead you’re old enough you’re on the shelf.”
The nerve of the man. “Now that I’m not helping nurse Mama, I can attend dances and parties. I still have time to find a husband, Papa, without being consigned to spinsterhood. I’m sure I’ll soon have a beau.”
“I’m not so sure so I’ve helped you. Percy Lawton has asked for your hand and I’ve agreed.”
Aghast, she stared at him. “Percy Lawton? Without even consulting me? But, Papa, he’s nothing like the sort of man I’d choose for a husband. In addition, he’s—”she caught herself before she said too old, though he was—“he’s your age rather than mine.”
“He’s fit for his years and one of my closest friends. He’ll make you a fine husband with plenty of funds to keep you in comfort.”
She took a step backward, appalled at her stepfather’s revelation. “No, he may act properly surrounded by you and his other men friends. Around me and other women he’s lecherous and not someone I’d want to spend time with even for a few hours—and certainly not for the rest of my life.”
Hoping against hope he’d accept her refusal, Zenobia turned her back on her stepfather and fought to control her features. Her stepfather watched for any sign of weakness her could use against people.
He persisted, “I’m your guardian until you’re married or until you turn twenty-five. You’ll marry Percy Lawton.”
She whirled to face him. “No, Papa, I won’t marry that swine. How could you expect me to and so soon after Mama’s passing?” How she hated calling him Papa.
He pointed at her with his cigar. “You can’t use your mother as an excuse any longer. You will marry Lawton or I’ll have you declared hysterical and placed in an asylum.”
She clutched the pearls at her throat with one hand and reached out to grasp a table and steady herself with the other. “Surely you wouldn’t do such a terrible thing to me even though I’m only your stepdaughter?”
“I’ve already spoken to my attorney and he says I can easily do so. He can have you declared hysterical in several areas.”
Zenobia dropped onto a chair. She knew her stepfather was capable of doing as he promised. “How could you? After you promised Mama and she trusted you to protect me.”
His voice rose, “I told you not to throw your mother up to me. You have until breakfast to give me your answer. And don’t think you can slip out and run away. I’ve alerted the men who patrol the grounds.” He turned and stormed into his study.
Slowly, Zenobia rose and dragged herself to her room.
Marcy hurried inside and closed the door behind her. “I overheard. Do you believe the threat? About the asylum, I mean.”
“Oh, he’s serious all right. I have no doubt he’d do anything to get rid of me, especially if it means more money for him. He only married mother because of her wealth and he’s already spent so much of her money.”
Marcy sat beside her on the bed. “What are you going to do?”
Zenobia looked into her best friend’s eyes. “I don’t know but I won’t marry Percy Lawton. He is just despicable.”
“I agree. He gives me shivers and I’ve taken care to never let him catch me alone, especially after what he tried to do to Bessie. Only Hoskins’ appearance saved her.”
“And my stepfather didn’t even care. He still regards Percy as his best friend. I have to think of something to avoid marrying the man.”
“Perhaps you could pretend while you decide what you’re going to do instead.”
Zenobia mulled over that suggestion. “That’s a good idea. I’ll say I want a June wedding. That will give me two months to think of something else and get away from here.”
Marcy looked relieved. “You know I’ll help you anyway I can.”
“We have to keep up the pretense that we dislike each other. Otherwise, he’ll move you elsewhere and hire as my lady’s maid some detestable person who’ll tattle my every move to him.”
“We’ve fooled everyone so far. All of the servants think I dislike you. I know some report to your stepfather. I’m not sure which ones so I just pretend to all of them, even those who dislike me for it.”
“I’m sorry some are unpleasant to you because of your loyalty. You know I appreciate your help keeping me safe.”
“Now we have to think what to d
o.”
Zenobia gazed at the woman she considered her best friend. “You know you’ll have to leave when I do or he’ll hold you responsible. He can be vicious.”
Marcy hugged her arms. “Don’t I know it? I saw him when he fired the stable boy. I thought he was going to kill the boy first and all the child had done was fail to hang up a bridle in the way he’d been instructed.”
“I’d already been thinking about us leaving. Today I saw an ad for mail-order brides. I’ve been considering contacting the agency.”
Marcy’s eyes widened and she stood. “But, then you’d be marrying a stranger.”
“I’d rather marry a stranger than marry Percy. There’s an agency here in Atlanta. The ad says they thoroughly check each prospective groom.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad, then. But how will you get there? I’ll bet Mr. Beveridge has us followed.”
Zenobia was certain she was watched. “I’m sure Hoskins is one of his informants but he’s the only one who drives the coach. We’ll have to be very cautious.”
She rose and paced as she clicked off the steps she’d take. “As you suggested, in the morning I’ll tell my stepfather that I’ll marry Percy. I’ll say I want a June wedding. Then I’ll say I need to go shopping for my trousseau. Of course, he’ll send you with me.”
She walked to her dressing table and sat down. “If I’m going to be a mail-order bride I’ll have to cook and clean. Where can I learn?”
Marcy shook her head. “I know how to iron and press clothes. I can get stains out of some fabrics but the laundress does the real clothes washing. My mom and older sisters did all the cooking and cleaning at home until I went into service. My job was always taking care of the little ones.”
Marcy helped Zenobia out of her dress and into her night clothes. “If you become a mail-order bride I don’t think you’ll have a lady’s maid.”
“Or any other kind of servant. This is why I have to learn to cook and clean. Think about this tonight. When we go shopping tomorrow we’ll look for somewhere to learn.”
The next morning at breakfast, Zenobia sat at her stepfather’s right. “If you’ll allow me to have a June wedding then I’ll marry Percy Lawton. Papa, I’ve always dreamed of being a June bride.”
Her stepfather put down his paper and gave her a hearty smile. “I’m certainly glad to see you’ve come to reason. I’ll let him know today.”
She kept her eyes lowered. “Of course, I’ll need some new clothes for my trousseau. And, please, don’t think I’m going to take Marcy as a lady’s maid when I go. She is just too annoying.”
Her stepfather kept smiling. “I’m sure Percy will get you the maid of your choice. In the meantime, make sure you choose clothing suitable for the wife of a man of Percy’s standing in the community.”
She feigned surprise. “You can’t believe his social station is higher than yours?”
Her stepfather preened and picked up his paper again. “Perhaps slightly. At any rate, he entertains more and goes to more social occasions. See you don’t embarrass him or me.”
Zenobia bit her lip to keep from smiling. “I will, Papa.” She waited a few minutes. “Didn’t I see Mama’s lawyer visit yesterday? Did he come about her will?”
A frown returned to her stepfather’s face then he quickly smiled and patted her hand. “Don’t worry your pretty head about such things. Leave those matters to me, my dear. Everything is being taken care of.”
Pretty head, huh? She suspected he was up to something but couldn’t imagine how to learn what. Somehow, she managed to finish her meal and excuse herself.
Back in her room, she called Marcy loud enough to be overheard. “We’ll be going shopping today. Alert Hoskins we’ll need the carriage then get in here, you lazy girl, and help me change.”
Outside, Zenobia told Hoskins where she wished to go. When they were in the closed carriage, they whispered so he wouldn’t be able to overhear.
“As soon as he drops us off, we’ll send him away and tell him to pick us up there at four. I’ll order a wedding dress and several others in case my stepfather checks. Mme. Olga will let us slip out the back. From there we can get a hansom cab.”
Marcy’s eyes widened. “Are you sure she won’t tell?”
“I’ll let her think I’m going to rendezvous with a man. I’ve heard she does this all the time and won’t even question me. She’s very romantic.”
“And devious apparently. I suppose she has to be in order to keep her business thriving.”
“Oh, yes, Mama said many married women cheat on their husbands. This way, Madame Olga insures their loyalty while billing their husbands—and I suppose has means to blackmail them if she chooses. Regardless, I think that’s emotional blackmail.”
Marcy tilted her head to gaze at her. “Are you going to cheat on your husband?”
“Certainly not. That doesn’t mean I can’t take advantage of Mme. Olga’s proclivities.”
Marcy clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her giggling.
After assuring Madame Olga that she would be ordering a lot of clothing, Zenobia and Marcy slipped out the back. Walking quickly to the next street they hailed a hansom cab. Zenobia gave the driver the matchmaker’s address.
Chapter Two
When they arrived Zenobia was surprised to see a gracious home. Only a discreet sign gave any indication that it was a business, E. Hawkins, Matrimonial Consultant. After asking the hansom cab to wait, Zenobia rang the bell.
The woman who answered was middle-aged with brown hair in a bun and kindly blue eyes. “Good morning. Has one of you come to be a bride?”
She and Marcy exchanged glances. “We both have. I’m Zenobia Stanton and this is my friend, Marcella Boyer, but she goes by Marcy.”
“Won’t you ladies come in? I’m Evelyn Hawkins and I match brides with grooms. Do you both know what type man you wish to marry?”
Marcy nudged Zenobia. “You go first.”
Zenobia took a deep breath. “I want someone who is kind and gentle and maybe likes to read.”
“That’s not a difficult list. Do you have physical qualities you wish to consider—age, height, weight?”
“Well, I’m twenty-two and I’d like someone late twenties, no older than 32. If he were taller than me that would be nice and I’d prefer he isn’t too heavy. Frankly, I’m more interested in his character than in his looks.”
“That’s commendable.” Mrs. Hawkins inclined her head and shuffled letters on her desk. “And what about you, Miss Boyer?”
“The same as Miss Stanton except that I’m twenty and would like a groom no older than thirty.”
“Do both of you wish to correspond with your prospective groom?”
Zenobia almost jumped from her chair. A letter coming to her home would ruin her chance of getting away. “No, that would take so long. We’d hoped to be wed soon.”
Mrs. Hawkins smiled and looked from one woman to the other. “I have two brothers who live near one another in Montana Territory. The weather gets extremely cold there for much of the year. Would that discourage you?”
Again, Zenobia and Marcy exchanged glances.
Zenobia said, “Obviously we’re friends so being near one another would be nice. Marrying brothers would guarantee that.”
“Then I believe you should read the correspondence from these men. Each provided a letter of character from their minister, the sheriff, and a prominent rancher in the area.”
She slid two sheets of paper, one to each woman. “Callum McFadden is the eldest and I’ll give his letter to you, Miss Stanton. Miss Boyer, Andrew is the younger brother by two years. As you can see they live in Cottonwood Springs, which is on the train line.”
Zenobia read the letter Mrs. Hawkins had passed to her.
Dear Prospective Bride,
My name is Callum McFadden and I am twenty-six years old and own my own ranch in Montana Territory. (By the way, I believe we will soon be a state.) I am 3 inches over 6 feet tall
and have all my teeth and do not overindulge in strong drink. My hair is dark brown and my eyes are blue. The ranches of my brother Andrew and I adjoin one another but we have our own houses. Mine is large enough for a couple and several children but probably not large by Georgia standards.
Three cowboys live in the bunkhouse but eat in the kitchen with me. That means extra cooking and laundry for the woman who marries me. The house is sturdy and warm in winter and cool in summer with a covered porch across the front and the back. We have a good view of the forest and mountains in the distance. The kitchen has a new range and we have a water pump at the sink inside the house.
I promise to be a good and faithful husband to whomever I marry and expect the same qualities in return.
Best regards,
Callum McFadden
Zenobia looked at Marcy and couldn’t keep from smiling. “Callum sounds nice. What is Andrew like?”
Marcy’s eyes twinkled. “He sounds really nice. Shall we choose these two?”
Mrs. Hawkins handed them each a form to fill out with their details. “If you provide this information, I’ll send it to the McFadden brothers. When do you wish to depart?” She passed the calendar to the girls.
Zenobia and Marcy studied May before Zenobia asked her friend, “What do you think about May twenty-third?”
Marcy shook her head, a worried frown marring her brow. “We’ll be better off choosing the ninth or the sixteenth.”
Zenobia worried her lower lip with her teeth as she handed Mrs. Hawkins the calendar. “Since you mention it, Marcy, we’d better make our departure on the ninth.”
Mrs. Hawkins looked at each girl. “What else can I help you with?”
Zenobia took a deep, bracing breath. “We want to take cooking lessons. Not fancy things, just good solid food that a rancher would eat. Can you direct us to someone who could teach us?”
Mrs. Hawkins leaned back in her chair. “Oh, my, learning to cook in just four weeks is quite a challenge. I do know someone who can help you. My sister sometimes gives lessons to prospective brides. Her name is Elaine Nesbitt and I’ll give you her address.”
The Rancher's Perfect Bride Page 1
