Rachel_Bride of New Hampshire Page 3

  “Hello, Reverend.”

  The man swallowed his food, wiped his hands on a towel, and turned to greet her. Black clothing and a clerical collar proclaimed his profession. He shook her hand, his grip firm. “Hello, and welcome. Will you be staying a while?”

  Mrs. Gentry grinned. “For as long as it takes.”

  He glanced at his wife, a question in his gaze.

  “We’ll talk later. In the meantime, follow me, Rachel.”

  Rachel followed up a cramped staircase to a charming little bedroom. The bed, white with an arched panel headboard, was covered by a beautiful homemade quilt with different colored flowers embroidered all over it. A nightstand, dresser, mirror, and matching chair emphasized the charm. But it was the filled bookcase that really captured her attention and brought a flood of memories. Her older sister Grace, reading to her late into the night. Her mom and dad in happier times pretending they didn’t know. “What a beautiful room. I love it.”

  Mrs. Gentry shot her a pleased smile. “Wonderful. It was my youngest daughter’s. She’s married now and living in Manchester.” She led the way inside and started to dust the dresser. “I have to say, good for you for playing hard to get with Thomas. A situation such as this demands a good strategy. If I have anything to say about it, you’ll be married within the fortnight, and he’ll be much more appreciative of his good fortune.”

  Rachel stared at the woman’s back. “Oh. I don’t think so. Mr. Buchanan was adamant about the fact he’s changed his mind and decided we don’t suit. He plans to send for another mail-order bride immediately. I plan to find new employment when she arrives.”

  Mrs. Gentry laughed. “Don’t you worry. I’ve known Thomas his entire life. He’s a stubborn man, but he’ll come around.”

  “I don’t think he will.”

  “Mr. Buchanan is the most eligible bachelor in the entire area. There were rumors going around about him before his wife left, but they seem to have only added to his appeal. He’d be an excellent catch for you. If you don’t take him off the market, every girl in this town will continue their pursuit.”

  Rachel set her suitcase against the wall. “That’s fine. I prefer to remain unmarried if at all possible.”

  Mrs. Gentry studied her with concerned eyes. “Oh. He hurt your feelings, didn’t he? Well, no matter. Once he comes around and does some groveling you’ll feel better about the entire situation. You know, the mail-order bride thing was my idea. What did he say that enticed you to choose his letter? He wouldn't let me read it.”

  “Nothing much. His was the only one left.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “A sewing factory burned down and a lot of young ladies decided to try the mail-order bride route. By the time I decided to give it a go, his was the only viable letter remaining.”

  “How many girls passed his letter up?”

  “Over forty.”

  “But he has so much to recommend him. I’d think his would be one of the first chosen!”

  “Well, he wanted an ugly bride. It sort of offended some of the others, and since I didn’t have much choice, I got the bottom of the barrel, so to speak.”

  Mrs. Gentry looked at her, aghast. “He asked for an ugly bride?”

  Rachel nodded.

  Mrs. Gentry’s mouth opened and shut like she couldn’t find any words. Finally, she said, “That man is an idiot where women are concerned.” She shook her head. “I wish he wasn't so ham-fisted, but I suppose I can’t blame him. His first wife was a very difficult woman. When she ran off with another man and divorced him, it was the best thing that ever happened to him and his little girl. I just wish he could see it that way.” She inhaled and exhaled heavily. “In the meantime, you have a place here for as long as you want.”

  Relief flowed through Rachel. “I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I don’t wish to rely on charity, but all the same, I am incredibly grateful. I plan to save every penny I make so I can get back on my feet again.”

  “Well, I hope you don’t turn out to be as stubborn as Thomas. But don’t worry, if that doesn’t work out, there are a lot of eligible bachelors in the area I can introduce you to. In fact, I think that might be an excellent strategy to reel Thomas in. We’ll make him jealous. I could introduce you to Edward Klein. He owns the general store, and mentioned he might be looking for a sales clerk. And, he’s an eligible bachelor.” She was grinning again. “That would be so perfect. Thomas and he don’t get along at all. Can you imagine? Throw a beautiful woman into the mix and watch the sparks fly. How wonderful!”

  Rachel blinked. “A job will do me fine.”

  Mrs. Gentry rolled her eyes. Undeterred, she waved a hand in the air. “Nonsense. Every woman needs a good husband. You’re just hurt by his lackluster reception. That will all change soon enough. Men are stubborn, but once he’s adjusted to the idea, Thomas will quickly change his mind. Especially if he has a little help along the way.”

  Rachel bit back a groan. The woman would not be stopped.

  “You just get settled in, and we’ll have supper shortly. Everything will look better after you have food in your belly and a good night’s sleep.”

  When Mrs. Gentry shut the door, Rachel sank onto the bed. She was tired and hungry, but she wouldn’t change her mind. Had the man pinched her pride? Yes. Maybe a bit. He was attractive, and his immediate rejection had burned some.

  But ultimately what she wanted was safety and security. If she could find it in this small town, everything might work out for the best.

  She might even end up being grateful to Mr. Thomas Buchanan in the end.

  Chapter Four

  Thomas stuffed the letter he’d written to Miss Miller the night before into his jacket pocket. He’d mail it on the way to work today. He hoped the woman would get it right this time. He’d been very specific, again, and didn’t want any more mistakes.

  He wanted to get married, and wanted to do so as soon as possible. His family needed to be more settled. He needed a wife, a true helpmate to make that happen. And he wanted a son before he grew too old to enjoy one.

  He’d underlined the word homely three times in this newest letter. He’d added unattractive for good measure. It had taken two months for Miss West to arrive. He hoped this next bride didn’t take so long. New England winters could bring travel to a complete halt.

  He regretted the time wasted. He also regretted the fact he’d lain awake in bed last night, wifeless. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been looking forward to having a woman in his bed again. The fact she hadn’t seemed to mind in the least that he wouldn’t marry her also kept him awake. He was a great catch. Everyone knew that. So why didn't she mind?

  He shook his head to clear it. He’d made a lot of missteps in his life. In choosing a wife, especially. That wasn’t going to happen again. He’d waited this long, he could wait two more months.

  He headed to the Gentrys' home and knocked on the door.

  Mrs. Gentry answered. “Come in.” She was smiling and welcoming.

  “Is Miss West ready to go?”

  Even as he said the words, Miss West moved into the doorway. “I am.”

  His stomach tightened. If he’d thought her pretty yesterday, she was beautiful today. She looked worry free, well fed, and well rested. He could barely look at her. His intense reaction to her presence, the way his body tightened, and the awareness blossoming between them prickled his skin.

  Not good.

  “Have you eaten?” Even to him the words sounded terse.

  She nodded.

  He turned and left.

  He heard her say her goodbyes to Mrs. Gentry and then she was beside him, walking up the street.

  “This town is beautiful. I love the leaves. The train ran through some impressive scenery as well.”

  “Mm hmm.”

  She tugged a threadbare blue shawl closer about her. “It’s a bit chilly, but it’ll probably warm up again like yesterday.”

  “I imagine so.”

  He tried not to look at her. It almost hurt to envision he could have had her in his bed last night. Why this renewed weakness for pretty women? He hadn’t reacted like this to any of the women in town, so what was the problem?

  He’d thought his ex-wife had cured him of that flaw forever.

  Her cat was following. “What is with your ugly cat?”

  “My cat is not ugly.”

  So she wasn’t pretty, and her cat wasn’t ugly. Maybe Rachel was as loopy as his mother. “Does your cat have a name?”

  “Sir Lancelot.”

  He laughed. “I’ll bite. Why is the cat named Sir Lancelot?”

  “Because he’s not only brave, he’s uniquely perfect.”

  “Unique, anyway.”

  “And faithful.”

  “I thought Lancelot was famed for being unfaithful.”

  “He loved Guinevere until the day he died.”

  The passionate way she said it made him finally look at her. She was a romantic, that was clear. Another good reason they shouldn’t marry.

  They arrived at his house, a stately brick mansion, one of the nicest in town. Was she sorry now that he wouldn’t marry her?

  “Your home is beautiful.”

  Her graciousness made him feel petty. “Thank you.” He led the way inside to find his mother and daughter still at breakfast in the dining room. He gestured to Cassie. “This is my daughter Cassandra. And this is my mother, Mrs. Buchanan.”

  Rachel smiled. “It’s so nice to meet you both.”

  Cassandra shot Rachel a narrow-eyed, petulant glare. “Your hair is so ugly!”

  “Cassandra!” Thomas was shocked by her behavior.

  He turned to look at Rachel, to apologize, but her lips curved and she’d arched a brow as if to say, see? He barely kept from laughing, which surprised him. “I apologize, Miss West. As you’ve no doubt observed, my daughter is in need of a positive influence to teach her some manners.”

  “Not at all. I’ve been told that about my hair by many a person, so your daughter’s unkind remarks and rudeness hurt not at all.”

  Cassie looked down at her plate, shamefaced.

  He was impressed at the ease with which she’d handled the situation. She might have actually made Cassie an excellent mother.

  He tried to squelch the thought.

  Mrs. Polanski bustled in with a serving of bacon. “This is our cook, Mrs. Polanski. And this is Rachel West.”

  “How do you do?”

  Mrs. Polanski put a hand on her overlarge hip and studied Rachel with a sharp brown gaze. “This the lady you was gonna marry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm. Well, welcome.”

  “Thank you.”

  His mother stirred in her chair. “Actually, I find her hair beautiful.”

  Thomas was surprised. His mother hadn't spoken much of late.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Buchanan. That’s very kind.”

  The cat jumped up to stand at the windowsill and look inside. Cassie screamed. “What is that?”

  Rachel laughed. “It’s my cat, Sir Lancelot. When we first met I was passing an alley and a dog cornered me. I thought he’d attack and I was scared to death. I didn’t dare move, let alone run away. Sir Lancelot tore out of the alleyway and chased the dog away like a gallant hero. We’ve been together ever since. Though I did have to hide him in my rented room. No pets allowed. But he’s a smart little guy, very loving and faithful, and he stayed out of trouble.”

  Both Cassie and his mother were entranced. He had to admit she was actually very good with them. She handled them with good nature and humor—nothing like his first wife.

  Maybe he should have married Miss West, after all.

  The thought scared him. Why was he even thinking that? They weren’t suited.

  He backed away. “If you ladies will excuse me, I’ve got work to do. He went outside, jumped down the porch stairs, shoved his hat back on, and walked to work. He wouldn’t be so easily swayed. He was simply making excuses for the woman because he wanted her. He’d wanted other beautiful women in the past too, but hadn’t married them, either.

  He wasn’t going to make a mistake this time. He wanted his life to run smoothly, he didn’t want drama, and he certainly didn’t want a wife who could attract the attention of another man.

  Rachel could do that with her eyes closed.

  He would stick to his original plan, give himself a homely bride, and in the meantime, remain completely unaffected by Rachel.

  ~~~

  Cassie stared at her.

  Mrs. Buchanan stared at her.

  Mrs. Polanski stared at her.

  Rachel wasn’t even sure where to start.

  The good thing about being a governess this time around, was there wasn’t a wife to boss her, arrange her day, or accuse her of unspeakable deeds to protect her disgusting son.

  She was sort of in charge this time around, wasn’t she?

  Of course the bad news was there was no one to arrange her day, so she’d better figure it out quick. She took a breath as the realization sunk in. She had two months of governess work ahead of her. Two months to find a new job. She was well-fed, and she wasn’t married to a complete stranger.

  Things were looking up.

  A sudden welling of happiness bubbled within her. She was suddenly very glad she’d come to Keene, New Hampshire. Everything was going to work out just fine.

  Granted, she recognized she was attracted to Mr. Buchanan. But that was just chemistry, and certainly not enough of a reason to try to tie herself down. If she refused to dwell on the breadth of his shoulders, his intense hazel eyes, or his masculine features, she’d do just fine.

  “Cassie, how old are you? About eleven or so?”

  “Twelve.”

  “Ah. A young lady in the making. Is there anything you’re interested in doing today?”

  The girl’s expression tightened to mulishness.

  “What about you, Mrs. Buchanan? Is there anything you’re interested in doing? I’m going to create a list and I’d like to take both of your wishes into consideration.”

  The woman was now staring out the window. Rachel walked over, opened the window and retrieved her cat. She sat him in Mrs. Buchanan lap as Cassie made noises of disgust.

  “I’ll never touch that thing!”

  “Maybe he’ll never let you.”

  Mrs. Buchanan petted the animal and he quickly settled into her lap.

  “Mrs. Polanski, what time do we eat supper in this household?”

  She shrugged. “No set time really.”

  “Can you tell me what’s on the menu for supper tonight?”

  Mrs. Polanski shook her head. “I don’t need to cook much. We get casseroles from the ladies in the area most nights.”

  That was interesting. Why hadn’t he chosen one of those ladies to marry if they were so interested in him? “Well, tonight, let’s have a meal that you’ve cooked. We’ll plan on six o’clock sharp, tonight and every night. If any casseroles show up, you can turn them away. We can’t depend on the fact that someone might bring food over to the house.”

  Mrs. Polanski shot her a venomous look.

  Rachel ignored her.

  “Cassie, that’s a beautiful dress you have on.” Only the red muslin dress looked to be a couple of sizes too big for her. Rachel could fix that. “Why don’t we go upstairs and style your hair? What time does school start?”

  Cassie's mulish expression turned to one of interest as she touched her long dark locks. “Nine o’clock.”

  “Mrs. Polanski? Could you make her a lunch?”

  “As if I don’t everyday.” With a sniff, the woman headed into the kitchen.

  Rachel followed the young girl upstairs to her bedroom, which was beautiful, with a white bedspread, a four-poster bed with a canopy, and matching furniture. Apparently the girl liked dolls as they were scattered throughout.

  She sat Cassie in front of her vanity, picked up her brush, and braided her slightly oily hair as she chatted about inconsequential things. When she was finished, the young girl looked at herself in the mirror, entranced.

  “You’re to say thank you.”

  Cassie shot her a dirty look. She stood up and tried to stomp off, but Rachel blocked the doorway. “Cassie, you’re to thank me for doing your hair.”

  They had an undignified struggle in the doorway, before Cassie finally spat, “Thank you!”

  Rachel let her pass. She’d have her hands full with that one for a while, but she meant to come out on top. She would help the girl gain some good manners. She went downstairs to find Mrs. Buchanan in the sitting room, still petting Sir Lancelot. “If his purring is anything to go by, he loves you.”

  She sat next to the older woman, and when she asked once more if she had any activities she liked to do, Mrs. Buchanan simply hummed and ignored her.

  “Mrs. Buchanan, I just styled Cassie’s hair. Would you like it if I did yours?”

  The woman still didn’t respond, but Cassie went upstairs and retrieved the brush and some pins. As she styled the gray hair into a bun, Cassie entered the room with a satchel and lunch bag. “I hate Sir Lancelot. He’s dirty and I don’t want him in the house.”

  “He’s recently had a bath. Can you say the same?”

  Cassie gasped, looked mortally offended, then flounced to the front door.

  “Do you need me to walk you to school?”

  A slammed door was her only response.

  Rachel finished pinning Mrs. Buchanan’s hair. “There you go. That looks lovely.”

  Mrs. Buchanan smiled up at her. “Thank you, Amelia.”

  Amelia?

  Mrs. Polanski moved toward the front door, basket in hand. “I’m going shopping to stock up on food.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Amelia was her sister. She’s been dead for years.”

  “It’s a beautiful name, and I pretty much answer to anything.”

  “Mr. Buchanan don’t like it when people humor his mother. He says they’re not to let her get away with it.”

  “Well, I’ve seen this condition before, and the most we can hope for is more lucid times than not. There’s no reason not to humor Mrs. Buchanan.”