Emma: Bride of Kentucky (American Mail-Order Bride 15)

by Peggy L Henderson

  Emma smoothed her gloved hands down the front of her dress, a dark blue traveling gown that had always been one of her favorites. Luckily, she hadn’t been forced to sell it, yet. Other than two dresses that would pass for acceptable wear in high society, she didn’t own much of elegance.

  She’d already thought about what she would tell David - that she’d lost her home and livelihood in a fire. It was stretching the truth a bit, but not by much. There was no need to tell him that she’d been left destitute after her mother’s death. She wouldn’t even bring up her worthless father.

  Mr. David Benton had been vague in his letter to her, but had been eager for her to make the trip to Kentucky so they could meet. He’d even sent her money for a first class train ticket. She certainly wouldn’t have had the funds for this journey, even if she had been traveling third class. The last of her money had been spent on the hat and gloves she wore. She had to at least appear as if she still belonged in high society.

  Someone bumped her in the side, a man in a hurry to board the train behind her. He offered a quick apology, and rushed for the train. Emma hastily stuffed the letter back in its envelope, then picked up her bag that contained all of her worldly possessions.

  She scanned the crowd of people milling about. Ladies in fancy dresses, and men in suits mingled with common people – women in plain garb, and men in work clothes. Her eyes drifted quickly over those people without much interest.

  No doubt David Benton would be impeccably dressed, since he was a well-to-do horse breeder. She’d been to the races in New York and Maryland, and it certainly was aptly dubbed ‘The Sport of Kings’. People in the horse racing business were rich, and she would soon be among them again. All her worries about finances would be in the past.

  In her last correspondence, she’d sent Mr. Benton a description of herself and her travel itinerary, so that he’d know when to come and collect her. He’d described himself as a man in his mid-twenties with dark hair, a moustache, and tall. Of all the men she surveyed, several fit portions of that description, but not the whole package.

  Emma paced along the depot. It wouldn’t be wise to move too far away from the platform where her train had stopped, in case she’d miss Mr. Benton. The train station in Lexington was quite large, to match this formidable, sprawling city.

  Fifteen minutes must have passed and still there was no sight of a man fitting David Benton’s description. She blew a quick breath out of her mouth.

  “What if he forgot?” she mumbled. “Or got the dates mixed up?”

  Emma straightened her back and gripped her bag firmly in her right hand. The wool cloak she wore was becoming unbearably warm in the early afternoon sun. Annoyance at having been left waiting grew. It was time to ask someone about Mr. Benton. She eyed the people going about their business again, then headed for the ticket window.

  “Miss Emmaline Waterston,” someone called from behind her.

  Emma’s heart lurched in her chest at the deep voice calling her name. Finally. Curbing her agitation at having been left waiting for so long, she plastered her best smile on her face and swallowed the lump of apprehension in her throat. When she wheeled around, she nearly tripped on a loose wooden board under her feet.

  The smile faded and her forehead wrinkled when she glimpsed the man walking toward her. Her eyes darted around to see if it might have been another man calling out her name, rather than the one heading directly at her.

  She mentally recited the description David Benton had given of himself - dark-haired, with a moustache, nearly six feet tall, and wealthy. The man in her direct line of vision did not fit that description, not in the slightest.

  He was dressed in a simple, light-blue cotton shirt tucked haphazardly inside tan britches that were held up by dark suspenders. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and his wide shoulders did not escape her notice. Neither did this man’s dirty blond hair that poked out from beneath a brown cap that reminded her of the newspaper boys back in Lawrence. The other ends of his britches were tucked into old, worn boots.

  He stopped just in front of her, and Emma raised her head to look him in the eye. He languidly peeled the cap from his head, revealing a disheveled mop of hair that fell forward over his eyes. His lips curved in a slow grin, creating indents in his cheeks. Emma’s heart fluttered inexplicably in her chest. She blinked and shook her head slightly at the reaction. She stared up into deep-blue eyes that threatened to suck her right up. She’d never seen a man this handsome before, even if he appeared unkempt.

  “Miss Emmaline Waterston?” he asked again in that rich drawl which she’d already heard once before.

  A slight shiver passed down her spine and goose bumps formed on her skin, despite being warm under her cloak.

  “Yes,” she answered, having to clear her throat to say it a second time. “And you are?”

  Surely, this couldn’t be David Benton. If so, she’d been deceived.

  “Sam Hawley,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Emma stared at it. She cocked her head to the side, but breathed a sigh of relief when he confirmed that he wasn’t Mr. Benton. This man was a mere stable hand, from the way he was dressed.

  Reluctantly, she lifted her gloved hand and placed it in his. The warmth and strength in his hand, as his fingers closed around her palm, sent a quick pulse through her that left her momentarily breathless. She pulled her hand out from his and took a step back, shaking off the odd sensation. Her pulse throbbed at her temples.

  “I was expecting Mr. David Benton,” she murmured, forcing the words from her mouth. “I presume you know him.”

  Hawley put his cap back on his head before he nodded, then ran a hand along his jaw. “Yeah, I know him. I was told to come and fetch you.”

  “Fetch me?” Emma’s brows rose.

  “Benton . . . Mr. Benton couldn’t make it,” he said, emphasizing the Mr. almost gruffly, as if he’d wanted to say something else. There was a distinct note of annoyance in his tone, like the name left a bad taste in his mouth.

  Hawley reached for her bag. Emma gladly handed it over. It was getting rather heavy, and she desperately needed to get out of her cloak.

  “Follow me, and we’ll get to the farm. It’s about a forty minute ride outside of Lexington.”

  “Very well.”

  Emma sucked in a deep breath. Her annoyance with David Benton grew. He’d said he’d come and pick her up, yet he hadn’t even sent a proper driver. He’d sent a stable hand.

  What other recourse did she have but to follow this man? She didn’t have a penny to her name, and she needed to remain calm in order to make a good impression. If Mr. Benton decided that she wasn’t what he’d expected, he might refuse to marry her, and then she’d be in serious trouble.

  Peeling her cloak from her shoulders, she followed Hawley as he led the way through the throng of people. He walked briskly, and she had to almost run to keep up with him. If she didn’t stay close, she might lose him in the crowd. Emma draped her cloak over her arm and held her hat to her head while trying to keep pace with the man in front of her.

  Her agitation shifted from David Benton to his ill-mannered servant. This man had no social manners. He never once glanced back to see if she was still behind him, and seemed to be deliberately walking fast. The look he’d given her when he’d first walked up to her had been almost insolent, as if he detested her.

  Emma dismissed the strange feeling. It was silly. Why would a man she didn’t know, and who’d never seen her before, have feelings of animosity toward her? Perhaps that was just his character. He’d sounded rude when he’d spoken of Mr. Benton, too. Not exactly a favorable attribute in an employee.

  Hawley finally stopped in front of a black, country carriage that stood parked along one of the streets off the main thoroughfare. A team of bay horses stood by patiently. They nickered softly when the man approached, and he gave each of them a pat, then tossed her bag onto the back seat. Only then did he turn to look her way, for
the first time since telling her he’d come to take her to David Benton.

  Opening the carriage door, he held out his hand to her. Emma stared at it for a moment. Her heart sped up before she even accepted his offer to help her into the rig. She gathered her skirts and set a foot onto the step. The warm hand on her lower back, steadying her, sent an added surge of heat through her, and she nearly fell forward into the carriage.

  Hawley closed the door behind her, then stepped up to the rig and draped his forearms over the sides, looking up at her once she was seated.

  “Everything all right?” he drawled. “Do you need anything before we get going?”

  Emma shook her head to the negative. He offered another heart-stopping grin, his blue eyes trained on her with an intensity that left her heaving for a breath of air, and tipped his finger against the brim of his cap.

  Emma clutched her cloak on her lap. He kept his gaze on her for another second, then shoved away and moved to the front of the carriage and swung easily onto the driver’s seat. He glanced over his shoulder.

  “Make yourself comfortable, Miss Waterston,” he called. “And welcome to Kentucky.”

  Chapter Three

  Sam unhitched the team after pulling the carriage into the carriage barn, and led the two geldings to one of the corrals a short distance away. He swiped at some sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand, shoving some of his hair back under the cap. Time to ask old Gus to take the scissors to his mop.

  He turned the two coach horses loose in the paddock. A grin formed on his face when they followed their usual ritual of walking off to the middle of the enclosure, then dropping to the ground and rolling in the grass with deep grunts of pleasure. The two geldings were a team in everything they did, not just pulling Mrs. Benton’s fine carriage.

  Sam glanced toward the big house. Tall-growing junipers and willows partially hid the white columns that framed the front of the mansion, but didn’t entirely conceal the large estate. The trees couldn’t be tall enough, as far as he was concerned. The Three Elms Farm was his home, and he loved it here, but the big, white mansion was an eyesore, in his opinion. He shook his head and pushed away from the paddock fence.

  When had he ever given that house a second glance? He’d never even been near it, except for today, when he’d had no choice but to drive the carriage up to the front entry. He’d only done it as a favor to Gus.

  The Benton’s long-time general caretaker of the stables and personal driver for Mrs. Benton, Gus Ferguson was like a father-figure to Sam. He’d taken him in and raised him as his own, right alongside his three other sons. Jace, Caleb, and Ben had all left to find work elsewhere.

  As much as Sam disliked the owners of the farm, he couldn’t leave. He owed everything to Gus – a home, his job here at the Three Elms Farm, and all his knowledge about horses. Now that Gus was getting on in years, it was Sam’s turn to take care of him.

  This morning, Gus had barely been able to get out of bed.

  “Damn rheumatism,” he’d grumbled, limping from his bedroom to the small kitchen, hunched over, and holding a hand to his lower back. Years of working with unruly young horses were taking their toll on him.

  “Maybe you oughta stay in bed today. Whatever you need done, I’ll take care of it,” Sam had offered, handing him a cup of coffee.

  Gus had accepted the brew and grimaced when he sat at the table. He’d taken a sip first, then glanced up at Sam, his lips twitching in a smile.

  “I don’t think I can ask you to do what I gotta do today.”

  “And I don’t think you’re in any shape to be juggling harnesses or handling horses today,” Sam had countered. “You know you can ask me anything.”

  Gus had chuckled, which had elicited a coughing spasm. He’d swallowed some more coffee, and peered up at Sam, who’d stood with his hip leaning against the table, waiting for a reply.

  “Mrs. Benton needs a ride into Lexington.”

  Sam cursed under his breath. Of all the things he didn’t want to do, spending any time in the company of the farm’s owner was at the top of the list. Mrs. Benton was nice enough from what he’d heard, but in all the years he’d been at the farm, he’d never talked to the lady personally. She was one of the rich society women, and anyone who didn’t measure up to her standards was looked down upon. That included her employees, especially those who worked in the barns.

  It had obviously never occurred to the woman that, if it wasn’t for the hard working stable hands, she’d have no breeding and racing establishment. She was very good at boasting about her grand horses, and throwing money around, but she’d never gotten her hands dirty in her life. Sam couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her anywhere near the barns. Probably last spring, during the yearling showings, when she’d entertained wealthy buyers.

  Sam had mentally scoffed. At least she wasn’t as bad as her good-for-nothing son. Once this farm fell into his hands, it would go to ruin faster than anyone could blink.

  “Didn’t you drive her to Lexington just yesterday?” Sam had asked. It was too late to back out.

  “She needs to meet someone at the train station,” Gus had said, coughing to clear his throat.

  “Another important visitor?” Sam had guessed. “Who’s she trying to impress this time? A buyer, or an investor?”

  “I’ve heard it from a reliable source that David’s fiancée is comin’ in from Massachusetts on the noon train.”

  Sam’s brows had shot up. “Fiancée? Who in their right mind would marry that bas . . . him?”

  A twinge of curiosity had coursed through him at the notion that David Benton was engaged. This was the first he’d heard of it, not that he paid much attention to what went on with the owners. It also seemed rather unthinkable, considering David’s reputation.

  “Heard that he found himself a nice lady, and is ready to settle down.”

  Sam had scoffed, unable to hide his contempt. “I feel sorry for the woman already. She must be pretty desperate to consider marriage to the likes of him. Is she some horse-faced female who couldn’t find a husband in her own social circles?”

  Gus had chuckled. “Now, now. Every man can change. Maybe marriage is just what David Benton needs. You never know what effects a good woman can have on a man.”

  “In Benton’s case, I think I know,” Sam had grumbled. No woman in her right mind would marry that son-of-a-…

  “Best get the team ready,” Gus had cut him off. “I sure appreciate you doing this for me. You’re a good boy, always looking out for me. You know I’d never ask, but –”

  “Get back to bed, you old coot, and you’ll feel better in the morning. I’ll ask if Millie can come down from the big house and rub some of her special ointment on your sore back and joints.”

  He’d winked and grinned broadly at the old man. “That oughta make you perk right up.”

  Sam had snatched his cap from the peg on the wall next to the door and opened it. He owed Gus more than he could ever repay, not that the old man would ever ask for any sort of repayment.

  “You need to change your clothes. Mrs. Benton won’t be happy, seeing you in your stable duds.”

  Sam had shot another wide grin over his shoulder. “I said I’d do you a favor, Gus. I didn’t say I’d do it in your clothes.” He’d raised his hand in farewell and headed up the hill from the caretaker’s cottage to the carriage barn to get the team ready to head into Lexington.

  An hour later, one of Mrs. Benton’s house servants had come to the barn, looking for Gus.

  “He’s feeling a bit under the weather today,” Sam had said. “I can give him the message.”

  “Mrs. Benton wanted to let him know that she won’t be able to go into town today.” The young man had glanced around the barn, then stepped closer to Sam and whispered. “There was a lot of yelling upstairs. She and young Mr. Benton had a huge fight again.”

  Sam had stopped adjusting the crupper around one of the geldings’ tails, and looked at the
messenger.

  “Do they fight a lot?”

  The man had sniggered. “Oh, yes, sir. They fight like cats and dogs. Mrs. Benton isn’t happy with Mr. Benton at all.”

  That wasn’t too hard to believe, considering she was constantly bailing him out of trouble. David Benton was nothing but a spoiled, rich bully, without regard for anyone but himself. Sam had been on the receiving end of his taunts plenty of times when they’d been younger, and they’d even gotten into a fist fight once, when Sam had stopped him from abusing a horse. Sam had been the one in trouble for it, even though David had beaten him hard enough with a buggy whip that it left welts on his arms and back for days.

  There had been other incidents, but he wasn’t going to dwell on them. He’d done his best to stay away from David Benton, and do his job and mind his own business. If half the talk going around was true, then David Benton’s careless attitude toward anyone had grown worse. His money, or rather, his mother’s money, had always kept him out of trouble.

  “So, I can unhitch the team?” Sam had asked hopefully. This day might still turn out all right after all.

  “No, sir. Mrs. Benton wanted Gus to drive into town by himself, and give his apologies to Miss Waterston for not meeting her at the train station.”

  “Miss Waterston?” Sam’s eyebrows had shot up.

  The messenger had handed him a note. “Yes sir. This is a description of the lady, so Gus will recognize her.”

  Sam scanned the note. Emmaline Waterston. Early twenties . . . dark hair . . . would be wearing a blue dress. That described a lot of women.

  “I’ll take care of it,” he’d assured the servant, who’d nodded and dashed away.

  Sam had finished hitching up the team, then drove the carriage from the barn. He’d stopped to talk to a couple of the handlers who’d been working with some of the two-year-olds.