No, she had to do this on her own and was determined to do just that.
“Miss Cora, we’ve been over this already,” Julia reminded her. “I would be most happy to correspond with you via letter, but I hardly think it appropriate to bring a lady friend of mine when I am only just now meeting my future husband. I think it is only right that we are allowed time to become better acquainted before we are to worry about friends interfering.”
Cora looked a little put out by this, but didn’t argue. She surely knew that Julia was correct in her assessment, even if it wasn’t the only reason she was so against Cora attending.
“I do wish you at least had a chaperone!” Cora protested, looking up at the man who was now checking boarding passes of those getting on the train. “Even if your future husband is a wonderful man, there are so many dangerous people on trains these days! I prefer a good old carriage, myself, but Christian insists that it is the wave of the future. Progress, he calls it.”
She made a wave of her hand as though this was ridiculous. Cora wasn’t one for progress, preferring the way things were instead. She enjoyed the comfort and kindness of routine, of things staying the same. Julia preferred the promise of the new and the adventurous, although the war had quelled at least some of that.
Finally, it was time for Julia to go. There was no more time for dallying or talking or anything of the sort. This was the last call for boarding passengers.
Looking a little teary eyed, Cora embraced her friend tightly. In her ear, she whispered, “Oh my dear Julia! Write me soon and give word of how you are doing. You have both my address here and in New York. Use them both as you must!”
With that, they parted ways, Julia boarding the train that would speed her away towards her new life.
****
Livingston, Montana - 1871
Julia arrived at the station in Montana early that morning. It was brisk and cool, just barely turning from winter to spring, and with the sun still so low on the horizon, she could still see the fog of her breath as she left the train. Once on the platform, Julia retrieved her single bag and began to search the many faces there. She had no idea what Mr. Baroque looked like, knowing only that he was a thirty-year-old widower. He had a son also, but she was unsure whether or not the son might be present as well.
There were a good many faces there on the platform, either waiting to board and leave Montana, or waiting for those disembarking the train. Most of the passengers were men, so perhaps she would at least be easier to spot, but it seemed as though all of those waiting were men as well. They wore thick, long brown coats and wide brimmed hats, and most had beards that varied in color from brown to gray to a golden red. How was she supposed to find Mr. Baroque in a sea of so many possibilities?
Clutching her bag, Julia began to look around. She would have to start asking people, she decided, if she was going to find him. The first man she came upon seemed a little too old, with wisps of gray in his beard.
“Excuse me, sir?” she asked as politely as she could.
He turned to look at her, his eyes squinting and beady, but inspecting her with a shrewd gaze. “Ma’am?”
“I am looking for a Mr. Baroque. Might you have seen him?”
His bushy eyebrows rose in surprise and he took a step back, examining her once again, more carefully this time. “Whatcha need with Mr. Baroque?”
A quiet blush crept up along her cheeks, making them feel warm despite the cool air. Did she tell this man the truth? Was this the type of thing men out West might discuss? Cora had obviously shared her personal experiences with the whole thing, but that didn’t speak as to whether or not Christian felt comfortable talking about the arrangement.
Finally, Julia cleared her throat and answered, “I am here to take care of his young son.” It was both honest and discreet, she felt.
“I see,” said the man. “Well, then I might take you right on to him then, ma’am. I’m Mr. Clemens, his business partner.”
They shook hands and Julia introduced herself. They didn’t discuss much after that, Julia preferring not to openly talk about the arrangement with Mr. Baroque until she knew where he stood on it, and Mr. Clemens evidently preferring silence to idle chit chat.
Mr. Clemens escorted Julia to the far side of the platform. Again, there were so many people waiting that it hardly seemed possible that she might be able to pick out Mr. Baroque from any of them. It was pure luck that she had come across Mr. Clemens, such a helpful older man who knew Mr. Baroque.
When they reached a bench, Julia saw a young man sitting there with a newspaper held out so that he might read. He was handsome with defined features and a short, smart haircut. Hope surged within Julia as she thought perhaps this was him.
“May I introduce Mr. Wyatt Baroque,” Mr. Clemens said, but it wasn’t the sitting man he gestured towards.
Next to the bench was another man, standing. He, too, was attractive, if maybe a little more worn than the man beside him. He wore a dark suit and a heavy brown overcoat that stopped just below his knees. He wore no hat; his coppery red hair was combed back tidily and his matching beard was kept trim and light. Although he was less typically handsome and seemed just a little rough around the edges, despite his sharp suit and his deliberately combed hair, Julia found herself still quite impressed with his appearance.
His eyes were blue and they searched her just as shrewdly as Mr. Clemens had.
“Hank, it seems you’ve found my future wife.”
****
Mr. Baroque escorted Julia to his carriage drawn by two incredibly lovely black horses who seemed to enjoy carrot sticks immensely. He drove himself and told Julia to sit inside the cab where it was warmer. She didn’t protest, uncertain of what she might say in way of conversation should she choose to ride with him anyway, and found herself grateful for the small protection from the elements once she was settled inside.
As the carriage began to move, it grew increasingly bumpy. The train ride had been relatively smooth, although the chugging of the engine and the tooting of the horn hardly made it relaxing. There had been plenty of movement, of course, but most of it had been a consistent swaying back and forth rather than the bumping and pitching of the carriage. Even so, it had been a long trip; Julia was tired. She spent a good deal of her time watching outside through the windows, seeing the buildings coming up around Livingston until they became fewer and fewer. Soon, there was little more than trees and the open range than signaled the plains of the area. Still, they pressed on.
After a time, despite her intentions, Julia felt her eyelids droop heavily and her attentions wander. Before she had even realized what had happened, she was fast asleep, her head leaning against the door.
It wasn’t until the carriage jerked to a halt, that Julia awoke again. The sudden stop caused her to fall forward slightly and she only just caught herself, the fall waking her abruptly.
Shaking the sleep from her body, Julia looked outside once again. They had stopped outside of a large mansion, as big as any Julia had ever seen. But it wasn’t like the mansions in the East. It was two story, of course, with the same white washed facing and tall pillars and a large porch for sitting. Beyond the house, however, was a noticeable fence keeping in cattle and horses alike. It was a ranch with plenty of land and huge beasts of burden that were both impressive and beautiful.
Julia stared in awe at the property. She was so lost in the beauty and size of it, that she didn’t notice Mr. Baroque until he was opening the door for her and had brought out a small crate to make her descent a little easier.
“This entire place belongs to you?” Julia asked, unable to hide her awe.
Mr. Baroque nodded. Thus far, he had not yet smiled at her even once, and while he remained cordial to a T, he was most definitely not a welcoming man. He didn’t make her feel uncomfortable, but he made no bones about her purpose there.
Julia climbed out of the carriage and accepted his hand to help her down. “Will you show me the
area?” she inquired hesitantly, not sure if this might be crossing one of those boundaries he insisted would be erected immediately upon her arrival.
Mr. Baroque didn’t say anything for a long moment. He reached for her bag and began escorting her towards the front door of the mansion, a thoughtful frown on his face. When he finally said anything in response, they were in front of the door. “I will give you a proper tour of the property, yes. As I have explained, this will be your home and I intend to make your stay here as pleasant as possible. There will be some matters that should be discussed additionally, and I would prefer my son not be present for them until we have gone over them as adults.”
Julia nodded. She had been so distracted by Mr. Baroque—both his uniquely handsome appearance and his aloof mannerisms—that she had all but forgotten about the young boy who would be her charge for the years that followed. Eagerness bloomed in her chest; she wanted very much to meet the young man.
“Shall I meet him first?” she asked, trying to taper her eagerness but failing. She couldn’t help but find that she wanted so very much to fill the empty hole young Marcus had left in his wake.
Mr. Baroque glanced at her in surprise, his eyebrows lifted slightly to make his beautiful blue eyes all the more noticeable and impressive. “No. Not today,” he answered after a moment, opening the door. Julia felt her heart drop suddenly. “I thought it best he be tutored until such times as I could find either a suitable wife or a suitable governess.”
“And which am I?” Julia asked before she could stop herself. It was a silly question and deliberately provocative. She knew exactly where she stood on the matter; it had been made perfectly clear to her the details of her arrangement in his letter before she arrived.
Mr. Baroque turned to fix her with a piercing stare, one that was probably meant to be stern—even menacing—but instead, it only entranced Julia. She found herself searching those deep, soulful eyes in hopes of finding the truth within them. They didn’t look like the eyes of a dangerous man or an angry man. They only looked like they were in pain.
“Don’t sass me, Miss Julia,” he told her sternly, but his eyes remained as they were, incapable of any real anger. “I expressed my intentions very clearly in my letter to you and I told you then that if you had any misgivings on the matter, then you ought not to show up at all. If you are having them now, then perhaps I had best take you back to the station and buy you another ticket home.”
Julia met Mr. Baroque’s gaze evenly; she wasn’t afraid. His words stung a little bit more than she had thought they would. He was correct, of course, this entire arrangement was one of convenience and to challenge it already as though she might be desirous of something more, something he couldn’t provide and had expressed early on that he couldn’t, seemed unfair all of a sudden.
Looking away finally, she apologized. “I don’t know what came over me,” she told him sincerely. “I understand the arrangement and I meant no disrespect. I’m sure that I will learn to acclimate to the situation perfectly, given only a little bit of time.”
He looked uncertain, but gave her a single nod in agreement. Then he pushed open the door and escorted her inside. The mansion was beautiful, extending like a ballroom as soon as they stepped through the door. It was a foyer, but connected to the sitting room and the living room, which were separated only by a long wall that stopped short of the foyer. There was a staircase to her immediate left which obviously went to the second story and opened up to a hallway that overlooked the first floor. Paintings lined the walls, many of them depicting severe looking people in fine clothing. Others were less structured, showing a family running through an orchard and a young maid milking a goat. They each had ornate frames polished in gold and copper colors.
“The ground floor contains the living room, the sitting room, the music room, and the kitchen. There is also the sun room off the east side of the house.” Mr. Baroque escorted her through the house, pointing out each of the rooms, always being polite and descriptive, but hardly granting her more than a passing glance. When he’d escorted her to the back of the house where the kitchen and the mud room were, they looped back around going through the sun room.
Julia’s lips parted as they entered, wonder lighting her eyes as she saw the glass windows that ran from the floor to the ceiling. The entire room was designed like a pentagon, three of the five sides made entirely of glass, while the last two were attached to the back wall of the house. Light flooded the room, making it easily the brightest room of the house. The floors were a hard, light colored wood that echoed beneath their feet as they walked through it. There were curtains pulled to the side of each of the large windows; they were an airy, faint white that was all but transparent. There were only a few pieces of furniture in the room, the rest of it otherwise unused and open. A chaise lounge chair was settled in the middle of the room, the cushions a pale pink with delicate blue flowers embroidered on them, and a golden-brown framework that shone against the light. There was also a small table for coffee or tea, a second chair, several pillows pushed off to the side, and a trunk that was settled against the wall.
“It’s beautiful,” Julia told Mr. Baroque breathlessly. “I would think this might be my favorite room in the house.”
He didn’t say anything for so long that Julia finally glanced over at him, only to find that he was staring at her strangely. There was a soft expression on his face that disappeared as soon as he caught her watching. Coughing into his hand, he cleared his throat and said, “Shall we visit the upstairs?”
Julia only nodded, still wondering what that look had meant.
The upstairs was equally beautiful and very tastefully done. Julia was shone where her quarters would be—they would share separate accommodations until the wedding and afterwards they could discuss other arrangements, he told her. The room was lovely, of course, decorated with a woman in mind. The duvet was a pearly white color with a light blue trim and green embellishments. Several pillows were piled on the bed as well, matching in color and design, and an additional fleece blanket was folded up at the end of the bed. There was a vanity, a bookcase—mostly with knickknacks as opposed to actual books—and an armoire made of beautiful stained cherrywood.
“I trust that this room will be to your liking,” Mr. Baroque told her briskly. “If it is not, let me know of what changes need to be made and I shall have them done immediately.”
Julia thanked him, but said that she had no need to change any of it. As they turned away, she contemplated the bookshelf. “I do have one request,” she amended as they left her room.
He hmm’d in answer.
“Might I have books? I enjoy reading on medicine as well as having something for your young boy to read. A healthy mind makes a healthy boy.”
Mr. Baroque glanced back at her as they made their way down the hall to the other rooms. He considered her thoughtfully for a moment before he nodded. “Very well. Whatever material is to your liking.”
Later that day, when Julia was settled—she had very little to unpack—she heard a commotion just down the stairs. She had been up in her room but at the sudden bursting open of the door and sharp cries, she hurried down the stairs to see what was the matter.
When she reached the first floor, however, she found that nothing was wrong at all.
Mr. Baroque had caught a small boy up in his arms and was smiling broadly as he swung him around through the air. They laughed and spun for several long moments before stopping abruptly at the sight of Julia standing there.
Clearing his throat, Mr. Baroque put the child down on the ground again and introduced him to Julia. “Son, this is Miss Julia. She is going to be your new mother.”
The boy shied away from her, though she did her best to smile in a friendly matter, and clung to his father’s leg.
“Miss Julia, this is my son, John. You must forgive his shyness; he is only eight.”
“Of course,” Julia said easily. She knelt down so that she was eye level w
ith the boy and said in a stage whisper, “I’m quite nervous around new people as well. I was hoping that you might be brave and make it easier on me.”
The soft tenor of her voice and her plea for assistance seemed to bring the boy out, only a little, but enough that he offered her his hand. She smiled as she shook it lightly.
“Don’t worry Miss Julia,” he said. “My dad’s not scary at all.”
At this, Julia laughed. “No, he isn’t.” Looking up at Mr. Baroque she added in a softer tone, “Not at all.”
****
It was nearly a month after moving to Montana that Julia began to realize it. They had been married only two days after her arrival, just enough time for John to warm slightly to the idea of having her around, and since then, she had continued to remain in her own room. Her feelings on the situation had changed without her meaning them to. It was due to small things: brief touches of the hand as they passed books, cups or coats between them; lingering glances on the spring nights that were growing longer every day; a soft word from his lips. Julia had understood when she answered the ad that love was not what Mr. Baroque—Wyatt—was looking for. He merely wanted a caregiver for his eight-year-old son, John. But now Julia was finding that love happened anyway—on her part. That was the problem, though; Wyatt remained unchanged in his position on their marriage.
Julia tried to occupy herself by spending time with John. He was a precocious little child, always eager to learn and to test his imagination and his limits. She found that she very much enjoyed his company, though he reminded her almost painfully of her dear, sickly Marcus. She took to reading to him in the sun room, taking advantage of the early mornings and the extended afternoons, basking in the golden sunlight that filled the room. As per their agreement, Julia would tell Wyatt of the books she wanted and he would ensure they arrived as quickly as possible. It meant that she had a multitude of children’s tales to share with John.
Annie: A Bride For The Farmhand - A Clean Historical Western Romance (Stewart House Brides Book 3) Page 73
