The Partridge: The First Day (The 12 Days 0f Christmas Mail-Order Brides Book 1)

by Kit Morgan

  “So it was easier for him to send you off with Mrs. Walters?” he asked.

  “Apparently.” She sniffed back tears with a surprised look on her face. “I think his social status was more important to him than I ever was.” Her lower lip trembled at the admission.

  Chase could tell she was doing her best not to cry. “All the more reason you should stay. Let me take care of everything. I do have a question, though – do you really want to get married? You mentioned earlier you were only doing it for the cause.”

  She stared back at him, with an expression he couldn’t read. He didn’t want to marry off a bride who didn’t want to be married to begin with. Oh, what a tangled web we weave/When first we practice to deceive … Sir Walter Scott’s words rattled around in his head, banging against his conscience and heart. He’d deceived her, just as surely as the sun rose. He’d deceived Charlie. He’d deceived himself.

  And he’d been deceived – by Percy and his uncle. How on Earth did they think bringing a passel of random brides to Noelle was a good idea?!

  “Don’t give up on the others,” she said softly, as if reading his thoughts.

  “The other brides?”

  “They wouldn’t be here if they didn’t want to get married. They desire husbands, flesh and blood men.” She hung her head again. “I just wanted a means to an end.”

  “They say confession is good for the soul,” he said. “You wanted to further your cause. I wanted to further mine. Look what it’s gotten us.”

  “You can still save Noelle, Reve … I mean, Chase. What you’re fighting for is worthy – don’t give up now. Granted, you should’ve told Charlie Hardt what you were up to, but after seeing him in action I understand why you didn’t.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Sometimes Charlie doesn’t know what’s good for him. Personally, I think he needs a good woman, but convincing him of that – of anything – is another matter. It would take a special and equally stubborn woman to crack through whatever’s guarding his heart.”

  “May I ask what happened?”

  He shook his head. “Not my place to tell. But I assure you, Charlie’s a good man. And one day, with the right woman, he’ll make a good husband.”

  “Am I the right woman?” Felicity asked, her voice sincere.

  Chase studied her a moment, his mind going over their time together. He looked her in the eye and said, “No.”

  Chapter 14

  Frustrated, Felicity paced in the empty bedroom. She had no idea where everyone else was. She’d been so intent on her conversation with Chase Hammond that she didn’t pay attention to anyone else’s comings and goings. She must’ve been more intent than she thought. They’d been sitting in the parlor next to the front hall. Maybe some of the girls slipped out the back? Who knew?

  She sat on the bed, let herself fall back onto the mattress – then reminded herself this was a whore’s bed. One who had serviced who knew how many men. She got up, crossed the room and sat in a chair instead.

  Chase hadn’t explained why he’d said no, that she wasn’t the right woman for Mayor Charles Hardt, and she’d been so stunned by his blunt response that she didn’t ask. But deep down, she knew it was true, and that Chase would know. But what if Chase couldn’t find her a husband? What if things got so bad she had to consider working in this brothel?

  “Felicity, stop it! Your imagination’s running away with you.” She stood and began to pace again.

  Did she want to get married? That was the real question. What started out as a way to further the cause was now a matter of survival. She had no money, no friends she could rely on. Her society acquaintances in Denver thought she was a laughingstock, and her fellow suffragettes had problems of their own. Even her parents just wanted her to go away.

  Now she’d realized why her father was so desperate she join Mrs. Walters’ Benevolent Society for Lost Lambs. He wanted her out of his hair and his social life. After all, what would the elite of Denver think of Mr. George Partridge’s daughter perpetually landing herself in jail? How he managed to keep it quiet she never knew, but he did. Probably paid off the newspaper editors …

  She bit her lower lip to keep the tears at bay. She’d never been in this bad a situation before, and didn’t see a way out. Life with some miner couldn’t be that horrid, could it? Maybe she should head over to the saloon and watch them in their natural habitat … drinking. Excessively. On Christmas.

  She moaned and put her face in her hands. “What have I got myself into? And how am I going to get out of it?” She knew the answer to the first question, but honestly hadn’t a clue regarding the second.

  “Are you all right?”

  Felicity looked at the door, saw Pearl standing there and quickly wiped her eyes. “I’m fine. Where is everyone?”

  “Not sure. I just came in to get a few things.” Pearl went to a dresser, opened the top drawer, pulled out several items and quickly stuffed them into a small bag she had with her. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Felicity shook her head in dismay. “Well, I suppose things could be worse.”

  Pearl went to the bed and sat. “What happened?”

  “Mayor Hardt, he … he doesn’t want to marry me.”

  “Oh, that.”

  “That?” Felicity echoed. “You make it sound as if you already knew.”

  “Actually, the other girls and I … my coworkers? We had a bet going. Looks like I lost.”

  “You did?” Felicity said, mouth hanging open. “Who won?”

  “Everyone else.”

  “Lord have mercy,” Felicity groaned.

  “Speaking of that,” Pearl said. “How’s Rev. Hammond? I haven’t seen him since he called on you early this morning.”

  “That’s right,” Felicity said absently. One of the other brides had answered the door when he’d called on her the second time.

  “Is he going to find you another husband?”

  Felicity shrugged. “He says he will, but I don’t know … am I ready?”

  “To be married? Who is?” Pearl laughed. “Besides, what mail-order bride is in love when she first arrives?”

  “You’re right. But some of them, you can see it in their eyes – they have hopes and dreams they think a husband will fulfill. I pray they’re right.” It hadn’t worked out for her, but she still wanted things to work out for the others. For herself, what could she expect? Hers wasn’t a hope and it wasn’t a dream. It was an agenda. There was a difference.

  Pearl pulled a coverlet off another chair and wrapped it around Felicity. “You look cold. You’re trembling.”

  “Trembling?” Felicity pulled the coverlet tight around her. Good grief, the woman was right. “Thank you, Pearl. You’ve been so kind since we got here. Why?”

  Pearl shrugged. “Despite what I do, it’s not what I am.”

  Felicity cocked her head to one side. “What do you mean?”

  “I like to take care of people. I’ve always been that way, even when I was a little girl. I want to make sure everyone is content, well cared for.”

  Felicity smiled. Here was a prostitute, treating her better than her friends back home would have. Denver’s elite would laugh in her face and walk away at this point without so much as a “good luck, Felicity.” “I hope you don’t mind my saying, but, I think you’d make a man a very good wife.”

  Pearl swallowed hard and turned away. “No, I don’t mind. Though I don’t think anything will come of it.” She then quickly left the room.

  Felicity sighed – she must’ve struck a nerve. Did whores dream of getting married, of having a better life? With a shake of her head, she pulled the coverlet a little tighter and let her tears fall. Best take advantage of being alone while she could.

  * * *

  Chase nursed his coffee and thought. This whole thing was a disaster. Charlie’s absence meant more than just a reluctance to get hitched – it meant he was still very angry. If he didn’t come down off the mountain for the little C
hristmas evening service Chase had planned, their friendship was in jeopardy. “Charlie, can you forgive me?” he whispered to himself.

  And what was he going to do about Miss Partridge? Granted, there was no shortage of local men in want of a wife, but every time he thought of pairing her off with one of them, his stomach knotted. Who was decent enough for her? None of the men he remembered still wanting a bride seemed right.

  Hmmm … what about one of the men not already involved? The Pruitt brothers … egad, forget about them – they’d want to share her. Liu Chi-ming … he was mean as a rattler, especially toward “white devils.” Considering him was grasping at straws. Of course, there was …

  “Rev. Hammond?”

  Chase looked up into the face of Woody Burnside. “Hello, Woody.”

  “Mind if I sit down?”

  Chase smiled. Everyone in town knew the table he always used doubled as his “office”. “Go right ahead. What can I do for you?”

  Woody took off his hat and sat. “I was just wondering about the service tonight. Are we having one?”

  “Why wouldn’t we?”

  Woody shrugged. “I don’t know – maybe on account of all them women threatening to leave? I figured you’d be busy trying to patch things up.”

  Chase felt his stomach tighten again and rubbed his tired eyes. It was barely lunchtime and he already felt like calling it a day. But that was out of the question – he had to get things fixed. Of course, he still had twelve days – well, eleven and a half. He looked at Woody. “We’re still having a Christmas service.”

  “I was hoping we would.”

  “That’s good to hear. I hope everyone else feels the same way.” By now the whole town probably knew about Mrs. Walters’ threat to pack her brides up and leave. In fact, he was surprised the other grooms weren’t lining up to complain. Speaking of which, where was everybody? Woody, Nacho and Liam were the only grooms he’d seen all day.

  “I … met my bride,” Woody said as if confessing some long buried secret.

  “Good, good,” Chase said with a smile, tapping his fingers on the table.

  “Something wrong, Reverend?”

  “Huh? Oh, uh, no … well, yes. But no.”

  Woody nodded. “Yeah, we sure got our share of troubles, don’t we?”

  Chase stopped fidgeting, having just realized he was. “Not you – you’re getting married. What trouble could you possibly have?”

  Woody sighed. “Trust me, I got plenty.”

  “You want to talk about it?”

  “Nossir.”

  Chase started tapping his fingers again, then slapped his other hand over them. “Woman trouble?”

  Woody pressed his lips tight.

  Whatever it was, Chase knew not to push him. Best let the man tell him when he was good and ready. In the meantime … “You didn’t happen to see Mayor Hardt on your way over here, did you?”

  Woody shook his head, eyes fixed on the table. “’Fraid not.” He paused before asking, “He’s not gonna marry that gal, is he?”

  Chase felt his nerves go taut. “It doesn’t look like it.” He did his best to relax.

  “Poor woman,” Woody said with a sad shake of his head. “What she gonna do?”

  Chase looked at him, brow furrowed. It was a good question – she said she couldn’t go back to Denver. If she didn’t marry, what then?

  “I can’t understand it, Reverend,” Woody said. “You got Mayor Hardt a real fine-looking bride.”

  Chase smiled. “That she is. Smart, too.” He sighed. “Kind-hearted, knows how to speak her mind but polite. And she believes in something. Mighty fine qualities.”

  “I guess you’d know. Culver said he saw the two of you walking down the street this morning. And Nacho told me you introduced her to him.”

  “Yes, I was showing her the town.”

  “Did she like it?”

  “As a matter of fact, she did.” Indeed, she’d shared his vision for Noelle, until he’d confessed and made her angry. But how to make it up to her – other than find her another husband?

  Woody, as if reading his thoughts, asked, “Who’s she gonna marry now?”

  “That’s a good question.” He took a sip of his coffee. “On that, I’m out of good ideas.”

  “What about one of the Goodwin brothers?”

  Chase choked, almost spraying coffee across the table. “Absolutely not!” he coughed.

  Woody was taken aback. “Well, gee, Reverend, you don’t have to bite my head off. It was just a suggestion.”

  Chase took a second to clear his throat “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bite your head off. But I don’t think Sam or Jeb would be a good match.” Especially not after she’d seen them both fleeing a whorehouse, but he didn’t tell Woody that.

  Seamus, rag in hand, reached the table and wiped up the drops Chase had spilled. “That’s a fresh pot yer wasting, Reverend.”

  “Accident.”

  Woody turned in his chair to Seamus. “He don’t like the idea of Mayor Hardt’s bride – well, the gal who was supposed to be his bride – marrying one of the Goodwins.”

  Seamus’ bushy eyebrows rose. “Why would anyone want to marry one of the Goodwin brothers? Besides, has she ever seen them?”

  Chase was glad he hadn’t taken another sip. “Actually, she’s seen both. Um … Sam and Jeb were making a hasty exit out of La Maison des Chats when I escorted the ladies to their accommodations.”

  Woody and Seamus exchanged a quick look, then Seamus burst out laughing. “The lasses got an eyeful, aye?” he asked between cackles.

  “Afraid so.”

  Seamus slapped Woody on the back. “Reverend’s right, lad. No lass in her right mind would want to wed a Goodwin. I’m surprised Madame Bonheur puts up with them. They’re cheap as they come and would just as soon swindle a man – or woman – as say hello.”

  “Well, if not a Goodwin, then who?” Woody said. “Sheriff Draven?”

  Seamus and Chase’s expressions became serious. “No,” they said at once.

  “Hmmm,” Woody mused. “How about … um … Percy?”

  The two other men didn’t hesitate. “NO!”

  Woody frowned. “Yeah, I’m outta ideas too.”

  Chase shook his head. Woody was only trying to help, but it seemed there was no help in Noelle for Felicity.

  “Uh, Reverend?”

  “Yes, Woody?” Chase said wearily.

  “How about you marry her?”

  Chase’s eyes popped as if someone had stuck him in the rear with a hatpin.

  “Aye, that’s a bonny idea,” Seamus said. “You could marry the lass.”

  Chase jerked himself out of his shock. “No! No, no, no.”

  Woody looked him up and down and, almost as a challenge, asked, “Why not?”

  Chapter 15

  Later that evening …

  Why not? Chase thought as he checked his appearance in the small mirror on his wall. He’d changed his clothes, not wanting to wear coffee-stained duds for the Christmas service. He ran a comb through his hair, straightened his jacket and headed for the door.

  Woody and Seamus had waited for an answer from him earlier, but he’d been able to avoid it when a ruckus broke out between two miners at the bar. He’d snuck up to his room after that, and spent the next few hours wracking his brain, trying to find a solution. He hadn’t spoken to Felicity since morning, and had told himself he wouldn’t until he’d found someone for her. Not that there was a shortage of grooms in Noelle, but none would do for someone as smart and sophisticated as Felicity Partridge.

  Including him. Besides, he wasn’t ready to marry – what would he do with a wife? So what if she was pretty, sweet, kind and dedicated in addition to being intelligent and worldly-wise? He was sure many if not all of Mrs. Walters’ brides were. But Felicity had an agenda too – she wasn’t just there to get married, but to further the suffragette cause.

  Now that he thought about it, would Noelle even be a good plac
e for her to carry on with that cause? He shook his head at the thought as he left his room and descended the stairs. He could just picture Felicity trying to hold a rally for the women in town, all fellow mail-order brides save for a Chinese laundress or two. What good would that do for the movement?

  The shame of it was, the woman had drive and wasn’t afraid to say what needed saying to get a job done. She had no lack of courage – he liked that about her. She wasn’t afraid to make sacrifices …

  “Rev. Hammond?”

  Chase froze at the bottom of the stairs. “It’s Chase, remember?” He walked over to Felicity, and saw she looked tired, the spark he’d come to see in her eyes snuffed out.

  This was not the firebrand he’d spent time with earlier today. “What’s the matter? Has something happened?”

  She gazed at him with those wonderful blue eyes. “I can’t see any way around it. I’m sorry, but … I must tell Mrs. Walters that I have to go back.”

  “What? But you can’t – I know I’ll find someone for you. Just give me some time.” He tried to keep from sounding desperate.

  She shook her head but said nothing.

  Chase glanced around the room. Over a dozen miners were at the bar or playing cards at tables, and they were all looking at him. This was bad, very bad. He couldn’t let her leave – if she did, the other brides might follow, and then what?

  “What’s the matter, sweetheart?” one of the miners said from a nearby table. “Ya ain’t to the mayor’s likin’?”

  “That’s enough of that,” Chase warned as he took Felicity by the arm and steered her toward his own table.

  “I’ll marry ya, sugar!” called another. He said it in a friendly enough manner, but then wiped a dirty sleeve across his mouth. Was he salivating?

  “Nah, pick me!” cried a third. “I’ll take better care o’ ya’n Mayor Hardt ever could!” Two others stood, eyes glued to Felicity, mouths open as if panting.