A giggle escaped from Adela’s smiling lips. “I’ll probably be reminding you of that sometime in our future.”
Chapter 22
It snowed the next day. Light fluffy flakes that matched Adela’s mood. For that reason, the ceremony in the garden would be short, but oh-so-beautiful with the snow frosting the hedges and topiaries—and the hot house flowers Carianne ordered.
Ramie furnished the wedding gown, one she’d designed for a client. She’d make another for Miss Turnbull. Ramee was making a name for herself in dress design. Adela would be the best dressed bride in New England.
As she beheld her reflection, the gown took her breath away. It might have been designed for a debutant, someone Adela certainly wasn’t, but it suited a bride better. Satin and lace of purest white. Modest bodice and leg-o-mutton sleeves. Overskirt shot with silver thread gathered into a bustle and falling into a short train. It was a gown designed to draw everyone’s attention to the woman who wore it, though Adela sought no one’s approval except Byron’s.
There was no one to give her away, and Byron didn’t have a best man standing at his side, but Adela had three of the most beautiful and loving bride’s maids a bride could want.
She shivered from the cold and nerves as she joined Byron and the minister under a white rose covered arch, snow sticking to her hair and lashes. Then Byron took her hand, warming her clear through.
He pressed a chaste kiss on her lips after their vows, and everyone rushed back inside as the snow grew heavier.
Adela and Byron took their places at the dinner table where her friends and the minister and his wife waited. Prudie furnished the sumptuous feast, though she assured everyone she didn’t do the cooking, lest they be afraid to eat.
The food was delicious, of course, and hearts light.
Since their train was leaving at a set time, they couldn’t linger. Adela climbed the stairs to her bedroom one last time to change her wedding gown to a more sensible traveling dress. When she’d left this house before going west, she’d felt hope mixed with trepidation. Today there was only joy, though it was bittersweet to bid her friends good-bye again.
Ramee came out of the dressing room carrying a carpetbag. “I’ve packed your wedding gown. I’ll take it down for you.”
“Are you sure you want me to take it? Miss Turnbull won’t know I wore it.”
“You must take it, and hand it down to your daughter someday.”
Her daughter? Yes, more than one daughter, please God, and sons too. She could picture guiding a little hand to set a stitch and a little boy hounding his father’s steps.
Ramee hooked her by one arm. “Don’t forget to hang the dress up as soon as you get on the train. It’s still damp and might mildew.”
“Where can I hang it on the train?”
Carianne took her other arm. “I’ve secured a private car for you and Byron. It goes through almost to Crabapple.”
Adela was aghast, though the idea of spending her wedding night in a comfortable rail car traveling forty miles an hour excited her. “Thank you, but it’s too much. You should not have done that.”
“Of course I should. A newly married couple must have privacy on their honeymoon.”
She looked from Carianne to Ramee. “Oh, I am so blessed.”
Prudie called from the stairs. “Your carriage awaits.”
Her husband also awaited, at the bottom of the stairs, staring at her with admiration and tenderness. With a heart almost too full to contain her excitement, she tripped down the stairs toward him.
“Don’t forget to throw your bouquet,” Ramee called, thrusting the flowers in her hand.
“What foolishness,” Prudie said, coming to bestow a congratulatory kiss on both bride and groom.
Carianne got between them and squeezed them both, then stepped backward. “She’s right. You throw your bouquet as you leave.”
Adela and Byron stopped at the door, and she turned to face her friends. Prudie hovered in back, as if she was determined not to catch the bouquet.
Turing her back to them, Adela determined to throw the hothouse orchids high and wide to make certain Prudie caught it.
But when she swung around, it was Ramee who held it up, triumphant glee showing in her face. Adela blew them all a kiss and took her husband’s arm.
The sun had broken through gray clouds with only a few flakes carried on the breeze. The carriage indeed waited to take them to the depot. It was time to depart for their prairie home.
Book 2
Ramee’s Fugitive Cowboy
Chapter 1
Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1882
After sticking a knife in her back, did he have to look so pleased about it?
Ramee Abbott wrenched her gaze from the document in hand to meet Jackson Crandal’s satisfied smile. Her friends had warned her about him, but his influence and charm mesmerized Ramee like a cobra its prey.
Jackson was a Harvard graduate, the son of a New York textile manufacturer, a prominent member of society. He’d courted her. Whispered words of love. Proposed marriage. She had to look at the contract again to make sure she wasn’t mistaken.
No mistake about it. He’d sold her dress designs right out from under her nose. Now he stood there looking like he expected her to congratulate him.
“You appear stunned, Ramee. I thought you’d be pleased.”
Her heart pumped so hard she felt it in her ears. “Pleased that you stole my designs?”
His laughter was dismissive. “I didn’t steal them. I merely found a buyer, and you’ll notice for a most desirable price. I saw no reason to wait until after the wedding.”
“But you sold them as your own.”
“A mere technicality, my dear. Are you suggesting I put your name on the contract?”
She almost choked over the word, technicality. “Not only that, I expected to sign the contract and receive the recompense. They were my designs. I brought every one of them to fruition, stitched every seam.”
“You won’t have to worry about the sewing any more, my dear, nor anything but sketching the designs…and taking your ease as my wife.” He moved to her as if he’d take her into his arms.
She backed up. How could she marry this charlatan? Prudie was right. Jackson was nothing but a pompous cad. Ramee shook her head. “I can’t marry you. Indeed, I don’t even want to be in your company.” She swung on her heel, only wanting to leave. She had to get off by herself and think things out.
He caught by the arm. “You’re being hysterical, Ramee. I would have said nothing had I known you were so sensitive.” All pretense of good humor disappeared as his tone turned harsh. “You must understand that every design you produce in the future will be sold under my name. As a married woman, you can’t enter into these contracts. In fact, after our marriage, Ramee Abbott will no longer exist. You will be Mrs. Jackson Crandal, a position that will elevate your standing in society considerably.”
“I don’t care to be elevated. I have some influence of my own, and I’ll be as well educated as you, Jackson. Marriage is out of the question until after I get my degree from Harvard.” She’d tried to make that clear earlier, but he ignored everything he didn’t want to hear.
“That presents a problem, of course, and is no doubt why you jumped to the conclusion that you could do business with the manufacturers on your own. Women should never aspire to college. It simply brings on discontent.”
She tried to twist out of his grip but he held on. “Come, let’s sit and discuss this rationally.”
All right, she’d give him that much. She let him lead her to the sofa and sank into the cushions. He stroked her knuckles. “You are distraught because you think I’m trying to cheat you. My dear everyone will know you help me produce these dress designs. As my wife it will be understood perfectly.”
Except that she was doing it all, not ‘helping’ him. Still she’d let him have his say. Then she’d have hers. No need for a scene. He’d just blame it on her fe
male perchance toward hysteria.
“In regards to the money, I’ve no doubt you’ll enjoy the rewards of our money, and I will be generous enough so that you can buy whatever baubles please you.”
Baubles? Money was a sore spot with her. She could still remember the rat infested slums of Philadelphia.
Now that she knew where she stood, her heartbeat slowed and reason took over. She couldn’t recall ever agreeing to Jackson’s proposal, but he assumed no woman would refuse him. He’d even made all the wedding arrangements without consulting with her. At the moment she didn’t know how to enlighten him without enraging him further. “This is happening too quickly for me. Let’s postpone the wedding until after I graduate.”
“Ramee, Harvard is not going to award you a degree, nor to any of those other women going to the Annex. It was only an experiment to appease a former president who wanted his daughter to be recognized. The experiment failed.”
“It hasn’t failed. Most of those women, and I as well, have kept up with our studies.”
“Only because the studies were tailored for you. It’s a scientific fact that a woman’s brain isn’t as large as a man’s. You simply over-tax yourselves trying to keep up. Besides, what can you possibly do with a degree?”
She drew in a deep breath to maintain her composure. “What does a man do with a degree? Use it to forward a career.”
He laid his arm around her shoulder and went into that condescending tone that always irritated her. “I believe you’ve been overly influenced by those haughty women you’ve associated with, but when we are married and move to New York City, you’ll see things differently. You’ll give up these foolish notions once you’ve had a child and understand the role you were intended for.”
He was insane. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?
Maybe the reason she hadn’t confronted him before was fear—nor could she confront him now. She was alone with him save for the cook. With his tendency toward angry outbursts, he might turn violent. Better to placate him until he took his leave. She forced her lips into a tight smile. “I’m sure you’re right, Jackson. But can’t we postpone the wedding for awhile?”
“No, the wedding has been arranged and paid for. It must go on next week as planned. I have to get back to my New York office within a month, and we want a honeymoon, do we not?”
It took all her control to prevent a shudder. “But I’m not ready, Jackson.”
He withdrew his arm and turned a deep shade of red. “Ramee, I’ve tried to explain as best I could. I know ladies take fanciful notions and fears creep in as the wedding day nears, but I must tell you if you have any plan to jilt me at the altar, I will make life difficult for you. You’ll be ruined in society, and no one will do business with you.”
In a motion that made her flinch, he snatched the document from her other hand. “I should have known better than to let you see the contract. Remember, I know where you come from. No other man will offer for you if they know your background, but out of my affection and recognition of your talent, I’m willing to overlook that.”
His affection? No, his greed. He intended to sell her work for his own benefit. There was a name for a man like that.
Prudie had him pegged right, the pompous donkey, only Prudie used a more descriptive term. There just weren’t enough words for a lady to express herself. But Ramee was glad he’d finally let his true feelings be known. It didn’t matter that he refused to postpone the wedding.
She’d never marry him, though it was best to keep that fact from him. “Very well, Jackson. You don’t have to threaten me. The wedding will go on as planned.” She laughed lightly as she rose, only wanting to get away as quickly as possible. “I suppose I should get used to acceding to your better judgment.”
He got to his feet, a ready smile on his lips. If only she could get away before he wanted to kiss her. “You’ll find that my better judgment is only for your best interest, my dear.”
She rushed ahead of him and opened the door. He turned with his hat held to his chest and bend toward her. She turned her cheek to receive his kiss and could barely suppress revulsion. Closing the door, she shuddered. How could she have gotten herself into this mess?
Mrs. McGee came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. “Your gentleman caller left, has he?”
“Yes.” Hopefully, for good.
“I guess the wedding is drawing near. You must be excited, huh?”
Excited didn’t begin to express how she felt. “Jackson wants it to take place next Saturday, here in the garden.”
The smile stretching Mrs. McGee’s plump cheeks seemed forced. “Let’s hope the weather cooperates. Remember Adela’s wedding, how it started snowing? At least at this time of year, you won’t have to worry about that, and most of the flowers are in bloom. Beautiful it’ll be if the sun shines.”
Ramee didn’t care if it hailed. She wouldn’t be here. “I’m a bit fatigued, Mrs. McGee. I’m going up to my room and read a bit. Would you tell Carianne and Prudie I’d like to see them when they get home?”
“That I will, Miss.”
With leaden steps, Ramee made her way to the cheerful blue and yellow bedroom she’d called her own these past two years. She’d have to leave—give up her hopes of graduating from Harvard. Jackson’s threats weren’t idle ones. He’d ruin her socially and probably worse. But where could she go? She had so little money saved.
Jobs for seamstresses were plentiful in almost every large town. She could make a living, if need be. But not here. Jackson wouldn’t allow that. In fact, he’d see that no one hired her anywhere in the Northeast. Maybe she’d go to Chicago or St Louis. New Orleans—she’d always wanted to see New Orleans.
Aside from Jackson, it was time to stop living off Carianne’s charity.
She and Carianne had been best friends since they were thirteen and twelve, respectively. Ramee had gone to live with her grandmother in the same Philadelphia tenement with Carianne and her mother and aunt.
It was Carianne who’d first encouraged Ramee to not only sew her own clothing, but to design them, and Ramee discovered a unique talent.
When Carianne’s mother was killed in a train accident, her English grandmother, Lady Galenshire, took over as guardian and hired Ramee as Carianne’s companion.
In that capacity, Ramee enjoyed all the advantages her friend did. She was twenty-one years old now, and it was time to take care of herself. Jackson made it impossible for her to finish at Harvard. But a dress designer didn’t need a college education.
Deep in the recesses of her mind, her designs still existed and would continue to spring forth no matter where she went. Jackson couldn’t steal her future.
She’d always thought her connections with other educated and talented people would help her build a career. That’s how she’d viewed Jackson. He was a clothier and designer of minor acclaim and had access to people who sought the best in fashion.
You shall reap what you sow.
She hadn’t been honest with Jackson. In the back of her mind, she’d used him just as he’d used her. Although she’d known he planned on marriage, she’d always known she’d never marry him. She’d brought this mess on herself.
Two courses lay before her. Confront Jackson or run. Running might be cowardly, but it was the sensible choice.
Ramee rubbed her temple where a throb steadily grew. As much as she hated to admit it, Jackson was right. A woman had to have a man to make it in the business world, to survive in the world, period. But that man didn’t have to be Jackson. There were other men.
Adela had found her husband in a magazine ad.
Being one of the Annex women, Adela roomed with Ramee, Carianne, and Prudie, until marrying a Kansas farmer last year. Her correspondence since gushed with happiness.
As if some force pulled her attention, Ramee spied Carianne’s magazine, the New England Prattler, resting in the wire wastepaper basket. The Prattler printed all the doings of the social hostesses
and their patrons. This was the magazine that Adela’s husband had posted his advertisement for a wife. God had to have been in that, bringing Adela and Byron together, even though hundreds of miles separated them.
After retrieving the magazine, Ramee flopped on her bed. No wonder Carianne discarded this issue. Nothing in here about her Casanova Cowboy. Carianne followed the exploits of the famous cattle baron, so named because of his Italian good looks, and the fact he was often pictured in the company of society beauties.
Ramee scooted up on the pillows. Cowboys. They would be out west. Maybe that’s where she should go.
She flipped over to the personal ads. The shortest one caught her eye.
Twenty-six year old single, hard-working Christian man looking for a wife. She should be a Christian lady, under twenty-five, with some education. Would be pleased if she could play the piano, but not necessary. Just bought my own cattle ranch and hope to find a partner in life. Josh Volker, c/o Merriweather Inn, Sacramento.
A shiver ran through her. This was an answer to her prayers—an escape. If this man was all he claimed to be, he was exactly what she wanted in a man. A partner.
She fit his requirements. Christian. Twenty-one years old. Lots of education. Playing the piano wasn’t her best talent, but she could play for parlor gatherings. Josh Volker possessed the attributes she valued—Christian, hard-working, had his own business. And best of all, he lived clear across the country. Right now she wanted to put all that distance between her and Jackson.
This California cowboy wouldn’t care about the circumstances surrounding her birth, and even if he did, he’d never know.
Without allowing time for her friends to get home and try to change her mind, she tore the page from the magazine and grabbed her reticule on the way to the door. She’d send Josh Volker a telegram right now. No sense in sending a letter. A telegram would insure she got in front of other women who might respond to his ad.
The Annex Mail-Order Brides: Preque (Intrigue Under Western Skies Book 0) Page 11
