ROMANCE: His Reluctant Heart (Historical Western Victorian Romance) (Historical Mail Order Bride Romance Fantasy Short Stories)

by Jane Prescott

  The nursemaid took baby Georgiana straight up to the nursery; her mother would see her later, after she had rested from the long journey here. Lord Fitzwilliam had joined his wife, not wanting them to undertake the arduous travel alone. Besides he liked his brother-in-law, Mathias, and looked forward to many happy days ahead, hunting and fishing.

  The whole household was abuzz with the excitement over new visitors, especially with a new baby in the house too. Combined with Lady Hexley’s impending arrival, this was indeed a happy and contented household.

  * * *

  Tristan boarded the large ship. His father had come to visit him to see him off, and he waved to him from the deck. They had discussed his father joining him, seeing as how he was retired from work now, but his bones ached and he did not wish to embark on such an adventure at this time in his life. When Tristan had visited his father’s new home, he was almost tempted to stay in England. The view of the ocean from the house was stunning.

  In the end it was probably that view that had encouraged him to accept the Lord’s offer. At first he was angry that Lord Hexley thought he could buy him off. He had truly been fond of Bridget. However, his experiences over the last few months had made him realize the difference in their worlds. They were not meant for each other; it was now obvious to him. Although he was a little surprised at Lord Hexley’s generosity, but what did it matter. If his Lordship was willing to pay him off never to see his wife again, which he wasn’t going to be doing anyway, then so be it. The thought of never seeing his father again had been the hardest part. Yet his father more than encouraged him to go seek a new life, find a wife and have a beautiful family of his own. His father made it all appear very tempting.

  And so, here he was, setting off to the new world, and seeking out a whole new life for himself, all at the expense of Lord Hexley. His passage fully paid, in a cabin as well, and money to spare to get him started, what more could a young ex-soldier hope for. He hoped that his skills with the guns might see him into a new trade.

  Malcolm waved his son goodbye, a few tears in his eyes, but they were of happiness. He had never informed Tristan that he may be a father, what was the point of causing him more grief. The lad had suffered enough, what with his experience in the wars and then falling in love with someone he could never have. He deserved better, and the generosity of Lord Hexley would see to it that Tristan had a good start.

  Chapter 20

  The whole household was in disarray. All the staff had been informed that Lady Hexley had started in labour, in the early hours of the morning. Everyone was excited and worried, all at the same time. These things could go so very wrong, even money could not guarantee a healthy birth.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, everyone had said a prayer around the table at breakfast time. They all hoped that the birth would go well and the baby is healthy. The patter of tiny feet was just what this house needed.

  * * *

  Bridget insisted on the fresh air from the window. Gertrude had wanted all the windows and curtains closing, and a large fire burning in the hearth, but Bridget would not hear of it. As Mathias was banned from the room, Gertrude had no one to support her, so she reluctantly agreed. She had no choice in the matter as Olivia had supported Bridget.

  Bridget had also not allowed any midwives near her. Her housekeeper would be there when she needed her. She wanted no influence from others, much against the better judgement of her husband. He had insisted on a surgeon being in attendance for the birth. Originally she only wanted Olivia in the room, and no one else. She knew though that she was in no condition to object, but she would insist on having things done her own way. Olivia felt the same way and between them they managed to convince Gertrude.

  Gertrude, on her part was annoyed with Bridget, she had refuse to any “lying-in,” period, saying that continual rest just gave her more back ache. Gertrude believed a woman needed rest in the later stages, but Bridget would still go for walks in the garden. Thankfully, she had agreed to stop horse riding, for a short while anyway.

  * * *

  Mathias was aware of his wife’s strange behaviour throughout her pregnancy, but he trusted her instincts. After all, it was her free spirit that had attracted him to her in the first place. She would not rest when she was told to, she would not eat and drink as she had been advised and she wanted only herself and Olivia to deliver the baby. That was preposterous and he had insisted on others being in attendance, at least she had relented on that.

  He paced the floor and then poured himself a stiff drink. This was going to be a long day.

  * * *

  The cry of a baby rang throughout the house. Mathias sat at his desk and put his head in his hands in relief. At least the baby had been born, alive.

  “Lady Hexley insists on you joining her, me Lord,” a voice said from the door. One of the maids was over excited at bringing him the strange request.

  It was typical of Bridget, he could imagine his sister, Gertrude, would be furious even at the door being opened and risking a draft, never mind letting a man into the room. When he got to her bedroom, he had been right, Bridget has insisted on the door being open and the curtains, and the windows. His eyes gleamed with happiness at the sight before him. There she was, his wife with a bundle in her arms. She smiled at him, though she looked exhausted.

  “Mathias,” she said to him as he approached her, “come and introduce yourself to your son.”

  At that moment in time Mathias knew he had done everything right. All the decisions he had made over the last few months regarding his wife’s infidelity, had been the right ones. Now they had a child and their family was complete.

  He sat at his wife’s side, despite the constant tutting from Gertrude, and looked at his adorable son. His heart was filled with a deep and overwhelming love at the sight of the little infant. Despite his squashed and pink features, he could see much of his mother in his face, her generous mouth and small nose. Maybe it was his just his imagination or desire, but Mathias thought he saw his own eyes in him too.

  THE END

  The Westward Bride

  Had you told me I’d lift up stakes and move to Chase, California, I’d have called you a plain fool. Such a notion as distant, transcontinental travel has never appealed to me, to be quite honest. My neighbors have often commented on my homebody nature to my father while doing business.

  “How is your Minnie, today, Joseph?” A customer might have asked my father not so long ago, while placing his order for flour, molasses, and other sundries.

  I carry in my mind a warm picture of my beloved father in his long, shopkeeper’s apron standing behind his counter, unhurriedly putting the order together. There is never cause for hurry in the company of old friends and with good conversation at the ready, he was fond of saying. “Same as ever, I should imagine. Buried in her books, disinterested in the wider world.” They might then share a laugh and afterwards speak of much more interesting matters of the world within Brooklyn, assess the economy, or comment on the progress on the building of the Panama Canal. All topics were of interest at Wilson’s Dry Goods, and if I were lucky enough to be part of the conversation, father would tolerate my views in instances in which other men would expect women to be seen and not heard.

  I loved him for his kind heart and open mind. I miss him every day.

  I will confess, with some small degree of shame, that the idea that I prefer confinement within my own four walls would have been a far too accurate image of your narrator. I have, until now, lived much of my life in my own imagination. It had never been my expectation that adventure would find me, nor that I would do more than marry, attend church, raise children, and die an old woman in Long Island like so many generations before me.

  I often felt that father and mother wished me to live beyond the confines of our rooms. Two of their four children set out to fight for the great cause of our time; one came back after the Union had been saved. My sister, Ida, died tragically young and within days of
my mother being carried off by consumption.

  It was in the summer of 1879 that my father died peacefully in his sleep, leaving only my brother James and his young wife Anna Belle for me to live with. I fear that my nature has never been compatible with my elder brother’s. It was after a particularly heated debate some weeks after my father’s funeral that Anna Belle took me aside for a discreet conversation.

  “Minnie, James loves you. You do know this?”

  “I suppose. He has an uncommon way of expressing such love!” I was still quite red in the face after our row. His insinuations against the writings and character of Mr. Thoreau had quite unnerved me, as well he knows the author to be a personal hero of mine.

  She sat me down at the small kitchen table in the family home, an intimate setting for private discussions, away from the much grander dining table in the adjacent room. My brother had taken to his heels following our conversation, no doubt to walk off his own upset through numerous laps around our block.

  “Listen,” Annabelle said softly, holding a magazine in her hand. “I don’t wish you to think me too bold in what I say, but it strikes me that this arrangement will only result in heartache for you both. Living in the shadow of your father in this house has soured both your temperaments. I wanted you to know that I am talking to James about selling the house. I’d like for us to move closer to my parents in Indiana.”

  This came as quite a surprise to me, I can tell you, and I recall my eyes flying wide open at the suggestion. “Oh! But the business? What will come of it? And… and… I don’t know anything about Indiana. I don’t know if I’d be comfortable there.”

  She looked pained and sighed. “You are welcome to join us, of course. You are family, and you have no one else here, so we will not abandon you to the world. But, dear,” and here she took both my hands in hers. “You are pretty and young. Will you not make some effort towards meeting with suitors?”

  I will confess to you, reader, that I had made no such effort. The men of Brooklyn are of a good nature, have decent upbringings, and are not uncomely to look upon. However, I had hoped to maintain my independence for a few more years. At 22, I felt that I was far too young for marriage. Though it is, to be certain, fine for many a young woman even younger than I was, I could not see it suiting my character well. And there is another matter that I hesitate to mention.

  I don’t consider myself homely, but I am, and there is no kind way to say this, extraordinarily tall. It is a fact that when I stand, I tower over the vast majority of men of my Brooklyn. For that reason alone, I have seen far less interest cast in my direction than a girl could hope for. It can be rather demoralizing.

  “Are you familiar with this magazine?” She passed to me a volume of Ladies’ Monthly Chronicle. I admitted to her that though I had seen it, I had never pursued its contents. She directed me to the back.

  “Here you may find many good gentlemen correspondents eager to meet a woman if pure heart and suitable character. My own friend Myrna Highgate took to corresponding with a man who had sought his fortune in Colorado. They have a pleasant life, with many children and all the bounty that country has to offer.”

  It was the “many children” that gave me cause. No doubt I spoke stiffly when I took up the magazine and assured her I would give it thought. In truth, I did not for a good week afterwards. But curiosity got the better of me and soon I did find I was in conversation with a man by the name of Eli W. Pierce. Even after enough time had elapsed that I felt comfortable attempting a new life in his promised haven of California, I could not suspect that we would find love while coming so close to dying in each other’s arms.

  ---

  My Dearest Minnie,

  My heart fairly races to know that soon you will be on your way to be with me. It’s my greatest wish that you should be happy and safe here by my side as soon as possible.

  There is much I look forward to acquainting you with in Chase. We are situated on the banks of a gentle river aptly named the Feather a tributary of the Sacramento, that great northern, winding ribbon of water in the center of our broad valley. We have a fair view of mountains within this basin, a panorama I hope you will come to love.

  These are settled lands, though you may have heard otherwise. As we have discussed, I came here with my father and his brothers who sought their fortunes in the waning years of the rush. I have seen much change to these lands in that time. Instead of growing their wealth through mining, the families instead helped pioneer Chase, and in this way we have become the respectable family of the town. I think you’ll be pleased by the sophistication to be found in even such a small town as this.

  I’ll not go on and on with this letter. It is enough to know that I will see you soon. I hope that you are delighted in meeting me as I have been by the photograph and locket you have sent ahead.

  Yours,

  Elias

  I looked over the letter once more time before carefully tucking it away in my bag. The ship lurched suddenly, causing me and the other passengers below decks to gasp in fear. I heard them shifting in their seats, and worrying to one another.

  “Have you ever seen such a storm!” I was seated next to a woman dressed all in pink and black named Ida Beaumont. She was looking most distressed. The poor young thing had been looking exceptionally green in tint since the Samuel B. Thompson had picked her up in New Orleans. I had also struggled with the stomach upset initially, but somewhere off the Carolinas I became much more comfortable.

  “It is to be remembered.” I remarked.

  “To be remembered, should we survive it.” She responded, miserably. At this, I clucked my tongue disapprovingly.

  “We must be made of sterner stuff, Ida! Where we go, the pioneers are putting down their stakes, turning the rough land into fields and orchards. It’ll be fine. Put your faith in that.” I didn’t entirely believe my own words, but I suspected we’d be all right. I had chanced to pass a sailor on my way to the sitting rooms, and he looked as carefree during the worst of it as a child at play. I imagine the time to worry in such situations is when the expert is in clear fear for his life.

  I had hoped that perhaps my friend would find her constitution by the time we reached the Canal, but it was not to be. For my part, I marveled at the astonishing feat of engineering, a testament to man’s ingenuity even in the malarial climes. Fortunately for a few of my passengers, I had secured a good supply of quinine prior to our journey. Though it was never my intent, I made a small profit in selling of much of this medicine to those who could afford the purchase and insisted upon reimbursing me, as I did not become ill. I was not entirely industrious, as a few who could not afford full reimbursement were given my medicines for free. At any rate Ida’s sickness seemed to be entirely of the sea-going variety.

  We were struck by yet another massive blast from the fierce waves, and a few of our companions tumbled to the carpet. I allowed Ida to brace against me and held her so she wouldn’t end up in a heap with the others.

  I found that despite the terrors of the sea and the rumor that we risked being dashed upon the rocks of the Baja Peninsula, I was surprised to find I was having the time of my life. Never before had I or any member of my family ventured so far south or west on the globe! Whatever the life ahead had in store for me- and I did presume I’d arrive, my companions grim words notwithstanding- providence had given me the chance to see the world in a way so few had done, or perhaps ever would again. I knew it would be without propriety to do so, but I excused myself and made my way along the wildly sloping hallways to a stairwell I knew of. It would lead to the deck, and I felt a sudden desire to take in the air.

  It wasn’t possible to step a foot on deck, no matter my efforts, but I was able to lift my head and body above the deck itself and look out. The scene was one of the most astonishing that I have ever laid eyes upon. As we pitched and were tossed about in the storm, I could just make out the shape of the Mexican shoreline through ropes of lashing rain. I was soaked thro
ugh the moment I had ascended the stairs, and I could just make out a lone sailor not far from my post, trying his best to reach the stern. He was gripping the railing with a steely strength, not unlike my own efforts to maintain my place on the stairwell. Above us, the sky was the grey of iron, and with each up and down upon the water, I thought I knew somewhat what Odysseus felt on his return to Ithaca. I do not fancy myself a heroine in the mold of Diana. But I do know what it feels like to be held captive by the sea, and that it is to give one’s future over to nature and the uncontrollable wilds.

  ---

  We docked in San Francisco, happy, whole, and very much alive. Not so much as an adventurous sailor had fallen overboard.

  I bade farewell to Ida and we made agreement to stay in touch. I asked that she visit me at her earliest opportunity, and she agreed. At the arrangement of my fiancé, I had expectation of a hotel room for the night. The next morning, I took my leave of Ida, who had expectations of meeting her own fiancé in that same city on the bay that evening. I will not tell you all the tales of my continuing voyage to Chase. We crossed the Bay by a much smaller boat, took a train to Sacramento, and from there departed for a lengthy overland rail journey to the former gold fields of the north.