The Cheyenne Mail Order Bride Becomes A Lady

by Iris Kelly

  “Call in the maids to iron your dresses, draw you a bath, and bring you a light supper. Then be sure to get a good, restorative night of sleep. You’re going to need it.”

  Beatrice couldn’t let them leave without at least attempting to thank them.

  “I don’t know what made you all think of me for Mr. Martin. I didn’t know what to expect when I got here. I didn’t . . .”

  Beatrice didn’t know how to say how flabbergasted she had been to feel Virginia’s warm embrace around her. How she had been made to feel more special and welcome in the past few hours than in the entirety of her life. How their willingness to even pretend to claim her as family brought the biggest lump to her throat. She didn’t have to. At least not to Lydia.

  “There was a bit of selfishness on our part. We were not ready to say goodbye to you, Beatrice. And hopefully, we never will.”

  With that, Lewis escorted his teary ladies out of the apartment, and Beatrice was left to collapse on the nearest lounge chair and marvel at the spectacle that was now her life.

  In time, she remembered to ring for the maid. Evelyn was an earnest girl of about eighteen years of age, dressed in a starched black and white uniform. She was very anxious to please, and it was all Beatrice could do not to tell her, Don’t trouble yourself. I’m no one of any importance.

  She pointed out which dress needed to be ironed for the following afternoon. The rest could be taken care of while she was out on her walk with Mr. Martin. She also ordered supper to eat in her room, and she told Evelyn to choose the dish, since she had no idea what half the items on the menu were. It turned out to be roast pheasant with a delicious gravy, herbed potatoes, and asparagus. And a lovely glass of wine—something Beatrice had only been able to have a clandestine sampling of a few times a year after family parties.

  Later, another maid, Grace, joined the efforts to prepare Beatrice’s steaming bath. What a luxury! But as she tipped the girls, who behaved so respectfully and deferentially, she was keenly aware that she was not the superior they treated her as. She was very much one of them. And though going out in Boston society and pretending to be something better had been a challenge and a wonderful game, this was quite different. She had never felt more like an imposter. How on earth was she going to live this life?

  *****

  The next afternoon, it was Evelyn who came to inform Beatrice that Mr. Martin had arrived and was waiting in the lobby. Beatrice had been ready for hours, trying to distract herself with a book to no avail, furiously pacing the room, and drilling herself on essential facts of family background, Boston social circles and theatre seasons from years past. She mustn’t slip. She mustn’t give herself away. At least she knew that she looked the part, in a green silk dress with a floral design running down either side of the front cream panel.

  As she descended the wide majestic staircase to the grand lobby, she could see that several men were there. She only had the vaguest idea of what Mr. Martin looked like—dark hair, grey eyes, thirty-six years of age. But she needn’t have worried that she would have any difficulty finding Avery Martin. From the moment she appeared at the top of the staircase, he stood transfixed as he watched her descend.

  Yes, he had been told that she was lovely. But it can be a sorely abused word, clouded by sentiment and affection. For the sake of her acceptance into influential circles, Avery had hoped that she would be tolerably pretty. Still, the beauty of her cousin and aunt had given rise to some relatively high expectations. She exceeded them. Not only were her features striking, flaxen hair becomingly arranged, and her figure and fashion noteworthy, but there was something in her gaze as she searched the room that filled Avery with anticipation about the mind that accompanied the body.

  Beatrice had hoped to locate the one man who would be looking in her direction. As it so happened, almost all of the gentlemen in the lobby had taken notice of her, and there were several tips of the hat in her direction. But one, wearing a dark well tailored suit, was resolutely marching in her direction. She stood still and waited for Avery’s approach.

  “Miss Kirby.”

  “Mr. Martin.”

  “I’m so terribly . . . grateful that you’ve honored me with your . . . consideration,” Avery stammered.

  His nervousness put Beatrice at ease. He was more anxious to please than she was. No matter how she had been dressed in Boston, Beatrice had received her share of admiring glances from men from all walks of life. Avery clearly found her attractive, and that was enough to give her the upper hand. Not that she wasn’t equally impressed. His trim figure, square jaw and deep dimples were more manly beauty than she could have hoped for.

  Avery continued, “They never told me you were so . . . ‘tall’.”

  Beatrice knew a compliment when she heard one. “You are also much . . . ‘taller’ than I was led to believe, Mr. Martin.”

  Avery felt his cheeks grow warm. He was seldom the recipient of such implied flattery. But what a stroke of luck that he should appeal to her. For the briefest moment, a few images of conjugal bliss flooded into his mind, but with great effort, they were pushed away. She was not his yet, after all. And there were no guarantees unless he could please her and win her.

  “Shall we?” he said, offering his elbow.

  Beatrice took it and walked across the marble floor of the exquisite hotel lobby in a gorgeous, high fashion dress and on the arm of a handsome and successful gentleman, piquing the interest and envy of several onlookers. She wondered to herself, when am I going to wake up from this preposterous dream?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  It was a lovely fall day, still warm, but not overly hot—perfect for a long stroll.

  “We can take a carriage to get back, but I thought you might like to have a close look at the town,” Avery explained.

  “I have been looking forward to it for a long time. I wasn’t expecting such a beautiful neighborhood.”

  “This is one of the most upscale of areas. Cheyenne is becoming quite the civilized place. Although, I confess, you’ll still see quite a few of the rough edges here and there.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. We hear such exciting stories of the West back in Boston. I would hate for it to be too much like the East.”

  “The ladies in your family have an admirable sense of adventure.”

  The mention of her “family” brought Beatrice to a momentary panic. But there was no cause for alarm. Still, better to turn the focus onto Mr. Martin.

  ”Do you live close to this area?”

  “No, farther east. A bit south of Main Street. I bought that home about three years ago, and I’ve been very pleased with it. It’s not large enough for a family—certainly not with children. Are you . . . do you like children?”

  “Some I like very much, and others I could do without. From what I have seen, it seems that children tend to become very much like their parents—whether they are friendly and goodhearted, or selfish and overly proud, their children will inherit their qualities as surely as they inherit the color of their eyes.”

  “Are you like your parents?”

  “My father died before I could know him. But I did know my mother. She was . . . busy. But she cared a great deal about my education, and she was happiest when she saw that I was learning new things. But she also warned me not to get a swelled head. Virginia and I shared a tutor, and being six months older, I was always a bit ahead of her.”

  “You were like an older sister, I suppose. A common enough experience. It was natural to feel her superior.”

  “Natural perhaps, but my mother was very grateful to the Bellamys for taking her in after she was widowed, and so we needed to make ourselves as welcome as possible. In any case, she died when I was eight, so . . .whether I am like her is hard to say. I only wish I had more memories of her.”

  Beatrice trailed off into a long, downcast silence.

  “Oh, forgive me. I did not mean to revive painful losses. Why don’t we turn our thoughts to happier matters?”r />
  “Yes. Why don’t you tell me about being a lawyer? I know only the most elementary aspects of your profession. It’s a very demanding job, I think. You had to go to school for a very long time.”

  “Well, if you can keep a secret, I never went to law school. I simply apprenticed with a lawyer in Chicago for five years and have been on my own for the past ten. Little known fact—President Lincoln never went to law school either. And if he could ascend to the Presidency with his humble origins, who’s to say I can’t set a high bar for myself?”

  “There is such a thing as being too important, particularly if one’s life ends in assassination. I trust you will never have those kinds of enemies.”

  “All politicians have some enemies, in direct proportion to the importance of the offices they hold.”

  “I can only hope that you are never important enough to kill.”

  Walking in their direction was Sebastian Knight, the editor. He was surprised to see a fellow bachelor in such an obvious situation of courtship.

  “Mr. Knight, may I introduce you to Miss Beatrice Kirby, a new arrival from Boston,” Avery said.

  “My pleasure, Miss Kirby. I hope that Cheyenne is treating you well.”

  Clearly he was asking about how Mr. Martin was treating her. “Very well, Mr. Knight. I am quite happy with everything I have seen so far.”

  “Glad to hear it. And Mr. Martin, I have lined up three miners who are willing to give you their statements tomorrow. We had to fabricate a funeral, otherwise they’d never get the time off from work. Will that suit you? Around noon at your office?”

  “That’ll be fine, Mr. Knight. Why don’t you stop by Monday morning, and we’ll see what we have to go on.”

  Mr. Knight seemed quite relieved, and they all wished one another a good afternoon.

  “May I ask what that was concerning? Or is it a confidential matter?”

  “It is a matter that will soon become a messy public spectacle. There was a mining accident and four miners were killed. That sort of wretched thing happens from time to time. But the owner of the mine, quite a wealthy man, offered the suffering families only a pittance in compensation. They were all starving a month later and are now very dependent on the charity of the church and their neighbors. Mr. Knight wrote of the situation in the newspaper that he owns, and the mining owner is suing him for an amount large enough to bankrupt his newspaper.”

  Hmmph. Wasn’t that just like the rich? “And what are you to do for him?”

  “Absolve him of slander. Protect his rights to print the truth. Save his business.” Avery neglected to add, And win myself an ally who will portray me favorably when I am in the public eye. But such are the realities of politics. Perhaps more could be confided in the days to come.

  “Here we are,” Avery said. They had reached a lovely tearoom. “Shall we stop for a little refreshment?”

  “I smell something very delicious wafting out. I think we must stop and figure out what it is.”

  “Are you a hedonist, Miss Kirby?”

  Although Beatrice’s vocabulary was extensive, this was a word that she couldn’t recall.

  “Why? Are you opposed to associating with hedonists?”

  “We all have a taste for some fine things, I think. Whatever your needs or desires are, you have only to let me know, and I am at your service.”

  Hedonist. Obviously not a bad thing to be, if it inspired such generosity.

  They settled comfortably inside and a pretty young waitress wheeled over a dizzying selection of hors d’oeuvres and desserts.

  “Ooh. You must have tried a few of these. Which ones would you recommend?” Beatrice asked the waitress.

  “Oh, the lamb pies. And the duck sandwiches. And this pastry is awfully tasty. And this one. And this one.”

  “Shall we get two of each?” Beatrice asked Avery.

  He nodded agreeably, and the waitress filled their plates and poured their tea.

  “Thank you,” Beatrice said.

  “Anything more, Miss? Sir?”

  “I can only advise you to get out of sight before we start stuffing ourselves.”

  And eat she did, properly, with all the proper utensils and protocols, but with more delight than Avery had witnessed in a long time. He was reminded to pay more attention to his own enjoyment of the meal—something that was often last on his mind on social occasions. Their meal also gave Avery some time to gather his thoughts and his courage.

  “Miss Kirby. I don’t mean to be abrupt. I suppose it is your easy manner than emboldens me. It is also my nature, or has become my nature, to clarify circumstances and submit all relevant information in order to arrive at a rational judgment. Did your cousin and aunt show you my advertisement?”

  “No . . . though I have seen those kinds of ads. I saw the one that Aunt Lydia responded to. Did you want to show it to me?”

  “I think not. It was judged to be a bit daunting. And I would never want you to think that I was a man who couldn’t be satisfied—which is just not true. I simply think it’s best for both of us if I be clear about my hopes and expectations regarding . . . a wife.”

  “I’m all ears, Mr. Martin.”

  “Well, then. I shortly hope to spend the remainder of my career in the public eye, in a position of great influence. I need the confidence of the important businessmen in this town. I need goodwill and votes. And I need to be a family man, for it’s impossible to name a politician who is not.”

  “That is a rational inducement for matrimony.”

  “It lacks romance, I know.”

  “Go on, Mr. Martin.”

  “I need a sociable woman who is a flawless hostess. Who can win the friendship and good opinion of the wives of Cheyenne’s influential gentlemen. Who can be at my side for parties, balls, weddings, speeches. Who can hold her own in a tearoom or a card party. Who is enviably fashionable, which will raise her stock with the ladies, and for which I am quite happy to foot the bill. Someone who can be a leader in the ladies’ associations and plant the seeds of opinion that support my social platforms.

  Beatrice’s munching had come to a standstill. If Mr. Martin’s demands had been less extreme, they would indeed have intimidated her. Instead, they brought out her devilish impulses.

  “And the offspring? What qualities should they possess?”

  “Now you are making fun of me. I am sure I deserve it.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with a reasonable list of demands. Would you like to hear mine?”

  A bit chagrined, Avery managed a rueful smile. “It would be most unfair of me to ask for so much and not offer satisfaction in return. Yes, Miss Kirby, I am most interested to hear your requirements for a worthy husband.”

  Beatrice had a long history of serving her wealthy employers and a multitude of their relatives and guests. Pompous blowhards, most of them, superficial and self-important. Very little to admire or emulate.

  But one guest had always stood out in her memory, the young husband of one of Mr. Bellamy’s nieces. He had grown up in comfort and yet somehow lacked the blind entitlement of his relatives. How many times had an irritated Florence had to remind him that he needn’t bother thanking the servants when they poured his cup of tea, or delivered his laundry, or ran an errand for him?

  He had bumped into Beatrice in the hallway on one occasion.

  “Oh, I beg your pardon,” he had said, with a tip of his hat. To her, a maid! It was a scene that had played over and over in her head when she needed to remind herself that she was as deserving as anyone around her who had been born in more fortunate circumstances.

  “I would want a husband who treats everyone with dignity, regardless of their station.”

  In the confusing silence that followed, Mr. Martin realized that he had heard the entirety of Beatrice’s wish list.

  “It’s little enough to ask.”

  “But difficult enough to find,” she said.

  The first sight of Beatrice had been enough to impress.
Now, not halfway through their first day together, Avery felt himself to be dangerously intrigued. So much so, that he knew a refusal from her would be devastating. But she had come this far, promising a good faith consideration of his proposal. He simply had to convince her with compelling evidence that he would make an ideal husband for her. Fortunately, convincing people with compelling evidence just so happened to be what he did for a living.

  Afterward, they took a long stroll along Main Street, where Beatrice delighted in running into every shop that provided a stark contrast to Boston’s refined shopping avenues. The mercantile, the saddle and leather shops. She even wanted to see the mining equipment!

  Within were heavy metal beams and thick helmets and picks and shovels and miniature freight cars to carry the bounty out of the mines. Avery was reminded of his upcoming legal case.

  “It’s quite a dangerous profession,” he said to the owner.

  “Shoo. Not when done properly. And I ain’t just sayin’ that ‘cause I got equipment to sell. I been in those mines myself. I seen what happens when they take it slow and reinforce the walls and I seen what happens when they don’t,” the owner declared.

  “Hmm. Are you familiar with the Winters mine?” Avery asked.

  “Ain’t I just. I tried to get him to double up on his safety beams. Like I said, I got more in mind than makin’ a pile of sales. There was no cause for those four men to die. It would’ve taken an extra month or two to prepare the mine proper. Guess them men wasn’t worth that much. Not to Winters.”

  Avery tipped his hat in gratitude. He would definitely have to come back and speak to this man in more depth. But this day had been promised to Miss Kirby, and he couldn’t neglect her to focus on business. Not that she looked as if she minded. She had followed the conversation with great curiosity.

  As they continued down the street, Beatrice mused, “You said the newspaper owner is being sued for slander, for telling the truth? It sounds to me as if Mr. Winters is the one who ought to be sued. By . . . someone! Not only for being stingy with the widows and families, but being stingy before any of it happened. It sounds as if it never had to happen.”