Janet Dean - The Substitute Bride

Exactly what Elizabeth wanted to hear, wasn’t it? Then why did Ted’s words sting? Well, business arrangement or not, how could she wed a stranger? “I…I can’t marry you.”

Ted turned to her, searching her face. His expression softened. He took her hand in his. His gentle touch gave her a measure of comfort…and far too much awareness of the man.

“This isn’t easy for either of us,” he said, his eyes filling with tenderness. “But I want you to know I’ll be kind to you. Work hard to provide for you. I don’t have much, but all I have is yours.”

Elizabeth didn’t want to marry, but what choice did she have? She didn’t have a penny to her name. Didn’t have a single idea what to do.

A proposal would solve all her problems.

Except this proposal was offered to another woman. What would Ted say once he knew her true identity?

grew up in a family that cherished the past and had a strong creative streak. Her father recounted wonderful stories, like his father before him. The tales they told instilled in Janet a love of history and the desire to write. She married her college sweetheart and taught first grade before leaving to rear two daughters. As her daughters grew, they watched Little House on the Prairie, reawakening Janet’s love of American history and the stories of strong men and women of faith who built this country. Janet eagerly turned to inspirational historical romance, and she loves spinning stories for Steeple Hill Love Inspired Historical. When she isn’t writing, Janet stamps greeting cards, plays golf and bridge, and is never without a book to read. The Deans love to travel and to spend time with family.

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And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

—Romans 8:28

To my wonderful Steeple Hill editors

Melissa Endlich, Emily Rodmell and Tina James.

Thank you for your encouragement and wisdom.

To my beloved grandchildren Tyler, Drew,

Lauren and Carter. God bless you for giving me

fresh eyes, endless joy and hope for the future.

To the Daves, our sons by marriage, and my

husband, Dale—your steadfast faith is a

role model for our family.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Questions for Discussion

Chicago, spring of 1899

Elizabeth Manning had examined every option open to her. But in the end she had only one. Her heart lurched.

She had to run.

If she stayed in Chicago, tomorrow morning she’d be walking down the aisle of the church on Papa’s arm. Then, walking back up it attached to Reginald Parks for the remainder of his life, which could be awfully long, considering Reginald’s father was eighty-two and still going strong.

Papa said she had no choice, now that their circumstances had gone south like robins in winter. He’d reminded her that as Reginald’s wife, she’d be kept in fine style. Probably what the keepers said about the tigers at the zoo.

She scooped her brush and toiletries into a satchel, then dropped it beside a valise crammed with clothes. No, she couldn’t rely on mortality to get her out of the marriage.

And as for God…

Martha had promised God would help her. Well, Elizabeth had prayed long and hard and nothing had changed.

Her breath caught. Perhaps God had washed His hands of her. If so, she could hardly blame Him.

The time had come to take matters into her own hands. Once she got a job and made some money, she’d return—for the most important person of all.

She dashed to her four-poster bed, threw back the coverlet and yanked off the linens, then knotted the sheet around the post, jerked it tight and doubled it again for good measure. That ought to hold her weight.

A light tap. She whirled to the sound.

“Lizzie?”

Elizabeth flung open the door. Skinny arms and legs burrowed into her skirts. “I don’t want you to go,” her brother said, his voice muffled by tears.

“I don’t want to, either. But I’ve explained why I must.”

Robby’s arms encircled her waist, hanging on tight. Her breath caught. Could she do this? Could she leave her brother behind? “I’ll be back, as soon as I find a job. I promise.”

With few skills, what job could she do? Could she find a way to support them? All those uncertainties sank like a stone to her stomach. Refusing to give in to her fear, she took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders. She would not fail her brother.

“What if you can’t?” Robby’s big blue eyes swam with tears. “What if—” he twisted a corner of her skirt into his fist “—you don’t come back?”

Looking into her brother’s wide eyes filled with alarm and hurt, Elizabeth’s throat tightened. Was he afraid she’d die like Mama had?

“I’ll be back.” She knelt in front of him and brushed an unruly lock of blond hair out of his eyes. “We’re a matched set, remember?”

Robby swiped at his runny nose, then nodded.

“We go together like salt and pepper. Like toast and jam. Like—”

“Mashed potatoes and gravy,” Robby said, voice quavering.

“Exactly.” The smile on Elizabeth’s face trembled but held. “In the meantime Martha and Papa will take good care of you.”

“But—but when we move, how will you find us?”

One month until the bank tossed them out on the street. One month to forge a new life. One month to save her family. Her stomach dropped the way it had at nine when she’d slipped on the stairs and scrambled to keep her footing. She hadn’t fallen then and she wouldn’t fail now. “I’ll be back before the move.”

Tears spilled down his cheeks. “I want to come with you.”

If only he could. But she had no idea where she’d go. What conditions she’d face. “Eight-year-old boys belong in school.” Elizabeth forced the words past the lump in her throat.

Tugging him to her, she inhaled the scent of soap, thanks to Martha’s unshakable supervision. A sense of calm filled her. She could count on Martha, who’d raised her brother since Mama died, doting on him as if he belonged to her.

Robby’s eyes brightened. “Can you get a job on a farm, Lizzie? So I can have a dog?”

His request pressed against her lungs. What kind of a father gave his son a fluffy black-and-white puppy for Christmas, then turned around and sold it in January? Reversals at the track, he’d said. As always with Papa, luck rising then falling, taking their family and their hearts with it.