Bronwyn Williams - The Mail-Order Brides

Dora’s eyes narrowed. Whatever it was, she didn’t want to hear it.

“I’ll pay you fair market value for the house and the acre of land it stands on,” Grey St. Bride announced. Her jaw fell, and while he waited for her response, he went a step further. “I’ll even include a bonus if you’ll agree to vacate the premises within one week.”

By the time she remembered to close her gaping mouth, Dora’s fists were clenched at her side. Not even that could prevent the tremors that raced up and down her body.

Nor did it quell her sudden fear, her doubts.

Could Grey force her out? If he did, where could she go to start over? No matter how much he paid her, money didn’t last forever. She, more than anyone, should know that.

“No, thank you,” she said, her voice betraying her feelings by only a slight stiffness. “I believe I’ll stay.”

Blue eyes had never looked more arctic. “The devil you will.”

Longshadow’s Woman

“This is a perfect example of Western romance writing at its very best…an exciting and satisfying read.”

—Romance Reviews Today

The Paper Marriage

“From first page to last, this is the way romance should be.”

—Old Book Barn Gazette

“Creating multi-dimensional characters in a warm-hearted story, Ms. Williams draws you into the heart of her tale.”

—Romantic Times Magazine

#587 THE PRISONER BRIDE

Susan Spencer Paul

#588 THE QUEST

Lyn Stone

#590 SARA AND THE ROGUE

DeLoras Scott

The Mail-Order Brides

Bronwyn Williams

www.millsandboon.co.uk

White Witch #3

Dandelion #23

Stormwalker #47

Gideon’s Fall #67

The Mariner’s Bride #99

The Paper Marriage #524

Longshadow’s Woman #553

The Mail-Order Brides #589

To the keepers of the Cape Hatteras lighthouse, which includes our grandfather, E. D. Burrus, and our great-grandfather, Bateman A. Williams.

And to our sister, Sara Shoemaker, for duties above and beyond.

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

April 1899

St. Brides Island, on the Outer Banks

of North Carolina.

Considering all she had lost over the past few months—her father, her fiancé, her friends and her reputation—it was her personal maid, Bertie, that Adora Sutton missed most at this moment. Feet spread against the rocking motion of the boat, she tried to brush out the worst creases from her gown. The travel stains would have to wait. As for her hair, which was unmanageable at the best of times, all she could do was flatten it with her hands, pin it down and hope the wind wouldn’t set it free again. There was no way she could keep a hat on her head in this wind—it would be gone the moment she stepped outside.

“I’ll set your bag out onto the dock, miss,” said the young mate as she left the protection of the cramped passenger section. “Mr. St. Bride, he’ll see to it.”

“Yes, thank you very much,” Dora murmured, fumbling in her reticule for one of her few remaining coins while she scanned the bleak terrain for some sign of welcome. Merciful heaven, was this all there was? Aside from the bustling waterfront, she could see only sand, marsh, a few stunted trees and a scattered handful of rough cottages. A single road, roughly paved with oyster shells, crossed the island, leading directly from the waterfront to a tall weathered house perched on top of the highest dune. Before they had even reached the docks, the mate had identified it as St. Bride’s house, St. Bride being the name of the man who had placed the advertisement that had brought her out to this bleak, unappealing island.

According to Captain Dozier, the man owned not only the entire island off the coast of North Carolina, but almost everything on it. Dora had murmured a noncommittal comment and silently wondered whether the king of the island was, in reality, a dragon. Hadn’t some wise man once said, “Better the devil you know than the devil you don’t?” Perhaps she should turn back before it was too late.

But then, another sage, she reminded herself, had said, “In for a penny, in for a pound.” She hadn’t come this far to allow worrisome second thoughts to send her scurrying.

However, she did wish she’d chosen to wear one of her darker gowns. While the pink lent her courage, it was rather impractical. Now, instead of looking her best, which might have bolstered her spirits, she looked rumpled and frivolous.

Perhaps, she thought with a surge of bitter amusement, she should have worn scarlet….

The advertisement had specified healthy, capable women of good character, who were seeking a mate. The first few qualifications posed no problem. Small she might be, but she was far stronger than she looked. How else could she have survived the past six weeks? She was certainly healthy enough, if one didn’t count the aftereffects of mal de mer. The brandy Captain Dozier had given her had settled her stomach, but it had done little for her equilibrium.

Capable? Oh, yes indeed. She’d been the first in her set to learn the two-step, and her voice was considered exceptional. Unfortunately, she couldn’t carry a tune, but when it came to tennis, she easily outshone all her friends.

Her former friends, she amended quickly.

As to her character, that, unfortunately, was open to argument.

Behind her, men swarmed over the two-masted freighter, some bringing freight up from the hold, others carting it to a tall building that seemed to be some sort of warehouse. A redheaded man with a fistful of papers had cornered the captain, and the two men were deep in conversation.

Dora looked around helplessly. When it became obvious that no one had sent a carriage to meet her, she told herself that if this was to be the first test of her mettle, she would not be found lacking. Shifting her valise to the other hand, she approached a youth who was busily unrolling a length of stained canvas. “Where will I find Mr. St. Bride?”

Startled, the boy looked up. His face turned fiery red. “St. Bride? That’s his place up there on the ridge, ma’am.” Rising, he dusted off his hands and said, “Tote yer poke?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Yer poke-sack, ma’am? Kin I tote it for ye?”

Thinking of the few coins that were all that remained between her and starvation should this venture fail, she smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, but it’s really not heavy.”

The boy nodded and returned to his task. Dora, stepping carefully off the weathered wharf, set out along the rough road that led to the house on the hill. She had taken for granted she’d be met on arrival, or at the very least that a conveyance of some sort would be available.

The shells were mostly crushed, but there were a few clumps here and there. Picking her way carefully, she tried to avoid the worst clumps and at the same time look around her. Merciful heavens, what a desolate place!

Stepping on something sharp, she lurched, righted herself, and wondered how long it took for the effects of a single glass of brandy to wear off. Perhaps she should have worn something sturdier than her kidskin slippers instead of packing all but a single change of clothes in her trunk to be sent out as soon as she could afford it. Which was to say, as soon as she had a husband who could afford to send for it.