A Bargain For A Bride: Clean mail order bride romance (Montana Passion Book 1) (2 page)

Moira dipped the fountain pen into the inkwell at her writing desk and continued the letter, wiping at the tears that dropped onto the fine linen paper as she wrote. She kept seeing Ronan’s horrified expression, one that ran the gamut from heartbreak to shock to rage, as he eventually read her words:

Dearest Brother,

I cannot have it on my conscience that you fought a duel on my account, especially not on the half-truths and outright lies of those we know to not have our best interests at heart. Greed is a powerful force, one that neither you nor I can overcome on our own.

I am gone to the Americas this day, and I pray that you not come after me. I beg your forgiveness for the hurt and the shame this will cause you and our family, but I must leave to secure your safety and prevent this poorly made marriage. I do ask that you slander my name and report to all that I ran off because you were forcing me to marry Macomby. It is the only way to save us both.

Ever your loving and faithful sister, Moira

She carefully sprinkled the paper with fine sand from her silver shaker, then laid it aside to gather up her things. Moira crept out of her suite and made her way silently to the office where her brother conducted the family affairs, kissing her letter silently before placing it on his desk, once their father’s desk.

She peered into the hallway to make sure no one was about, then headed to the servants’ galley and waited at the appointed spot. Only moments after her leather shoes tapped against the stone floor, a young woman stepped out of the shadows and laced Moira’s hand through her elbow. Gretchen curtsied, then reached for Moira’s traveling bag before picking up her own worn case.

“Won’t you be missed?” Moira asked her longtime companion in a hushed whisper.

“No, m’lady, I have no one. My parents a’ been gone many a year now, and you know me aunt took to her bed last spring and never came up again. ‘Sides, ‘tis only fittin’ that I go wid ya. You can naw travel alone, not a lady of your station. ‘Tis not right.”

Moira nodded and jerked her head in the direction of the hallway. They stepped into the darkness and felt their way along the stone walls until they finally emerged in an antechamber that would take them to the stables. They swathed themselves tightly in layer upon layer of wraps and cloaks against the harsh temperatures, then set out for the stable.

There, a groomsman had tied the horses to the carriage and was prepared to take the young ladies to the port, carrying them to a new future that didn’t involve forced marriages and estates but that still was rife with danger.

By the first light, Moira and Gretchen were safely stowed in the chambers adjacent to the captain’s, arguably the safest rooms aboard ship. They were bound for America, eager to put land behind them as quickly as possible. Moira couldn’t let herself step out of the cabin for fear of seeing a member of the household race toward the ship on a breathless horse, knowing they would pull her from the ship by force if necessary. Ronan himself would be the first suspect on her list, as she knew he would never let her sacrifice herself for him.

But where will he be once he loses the duel to Macomby’s sneering brat? The opponent has fought in the Americas, in the Caribbean, and in India, all trained and outfitted by the British crown. What had Ronan done, except been a dutiful son, a loving and careful brother, and a man with a smart head for business? If he hadn’t been so adept at overseeing his father’s affairs, Uncle wouldn’t even be interested in the estate. It was only because of Ronan’s diligence that anyone wanted a stake in his profits.

And he’ll be just as dead as if he hadn’t earned them a farthing,
she thought, the fresh tears welling up in her eyes again. Instead of feeling the sense of adventure everyone else on the ship was feeling—even Gretchen, although the girl was loyal enough to deny it, she was sure—Moira was almost inconsolable at having to leave her home behind.

She read the post bill again for reassurance, looking at the withered document that promised untold riches and land of her own, land that she as a woman could still claim. It clearly stated that everyone was welcome to apply for homestead. Maybe if she could secure property of her own, Ronan could join her and put all of this in-fighting behind them. She would have preferred to see Uncle take all of it if it would save her brother, and they could start afresh in this place called Montana, a place whose beauty surely must match its enticing name.

An agonizing several hours passed before the great ship actually moved away from the port, finally allowing Moira to release the tense breath she’d been holding since first making her decision and packing her trunks to leave her home forever. Gretchen paced back and forth the length of the overly large cabin as the ship crept out of port at a snail’s pace, retracing her steps over the length of the good-sized room intended for passengers of Moira’s station.

“My lady, you have naw told me what it is we’re to do once we reach land,” the ladies’ maid began nervously. Moira regretted for the hundredth time dragging her longtime companion into this, but it wasn’t right for a young lady, especially one of means and allegedly betrothed to an older man, to travel alone, let alone to undertake a journey like this.

“We’re to meet up with a certain Mr. Walsh at the land office in New York,” Moira explained patiently, knowing that much of that didn’t register in the younger girl’s mind. Land ownership and ocean travel were concepts that didn’t have much impact in a servant’s daily life, so it was only natural that Gretchen would have questions and doubts.

“And how did ya hear of this Mr. Walsh? What if he’s up to no good?”

“Not to worry, Gretchen, he comes highly recommended by a number of people who were in business with my father. I haven’t corresponded with him personally, but I understand he handles the American side of business for a lot of people in my family’s circles. Now, let’s see if we can walk about the deck and get some fresh air, shall we?”

Their stroll along the railing of the ship would be their last view of the sky for the rest of the four-week voyage. The new steam engine technology had greatly reduced the length of time to make the trip from Liverpool to New York, but even steam engines still had to stop in various ports for passengers and cargo, and they most assuredly couldn’t do anything to make the weather any better. Moira and Gretchen spent most of the trip huddled together in their cabin, wringing their hands and fighting the feeling of seasickness brought on by the rough waters, torrential rains, and bitterly cold winds that howled through every rivet in the vessel.

Christmas on the ship was a wretched affair. The ladies ventured out of their cabin only for the meal with the captain at his insistence, promising them it would be alluring enough to raise even the darkest spirits. Gretchen helped Moira dress in one of the few fine gowns she’d packed, having reserved the rest of the space in her trunks for necessary items and simpler clothes.

The captain was right on one account, and that was the extravagance of the meal. But instead of lifting her somber mood, it only made Moira more morose. It was a stark reminder of what should have been taking place right that very moment at Brennan Castle: her father, had he lived, should have been stoking the fire in the great hall and ordering another round of sherry for the glasses. Her brother should have been standing behind her plush chair and asking her if she was warm enough before they both insisted she play the piano and sing carols for them.

Instead, she was seated on a rocking ship with complete strangers who were trying to create a festive air, but failing. She excused herself immediately after the meal, too weary in her soul and too heartbroken to join in the singing that was planned for after dinner.

By the time the ship reached New York, the two ladies were too exhausted to feel the gratitude the handful of other passengers aboard the freighter felt. Joyous cries from outside their small window let them know when the new country came into view, as a cheer went up from the paid passengers and the crew alike. The storms and high waves had made it a difficult crossing, and everyone was thankful just to have survived.

“Oh, Gretchen, look!” Moira called out, pointing to the city skyline in front of them as they descended the gangplank, following immediately behind a porter carrying the lady’s trunks and Gretchen’s simple homespun bag. The maid’s sight followed her mistress’ outstretched arm and took in the sweeping city, far larger than any town she’d ever laid eyes on. Everywhere she looked, rooftop spires on tall buildings brushed the clouds, only to be outdone by the construction of a new, even taller building beside it.

“My goodness, m’lady, whatever would they need with such a great lot of houses? Do you really think there’s people in all of ‘em?” Gretchen couldn’t help but stare at her surroundings, pressing a small hand to her nose as a whiff of rancid air off the bay assaulted her senses. Coupled with the usual noises of a busy seaport, the overall effect was almost enough to make her turn around and climb her way back up to the ship. Only the memory of the weeks of storm-tossed agony kept her from heading back home that very minute.

“Well, it’s certainly not like London or Liverpool, but I suppose it suits these people just fine. Come on, let us find Mr. Walsh and get back to the wide open spaces. I need to see some greenery after looking at naught but the cabin walls.” Moira paid the porter, who loaded her things onto the back of a waiting hansom cab. She provided the driver with the address, ignoring his look of surprise as they ducked into the covered carriage and out of the cold winter air.

“Are you sure, ma’am?” he asked in an accent that was both strange and thrilling to Moira. “You just don’t look the type to be seen in those parts.”

“I’m quite sure, thank you. Drive on!”

“I’m quite sure that is the correct address,” she promised him after he asked for a third time, settling back against the plush velvet cushions of the cab and letting her head fall back for only a second before remembering to carry herself with importance. After all, she was not only the Lady Brennan, newly arrived in America, she was also about to become a landowner, something she couldn’t do legally back in Ireland. She gave Gretchen a reassuring look and began pointing out different landmarks she’d read about in the newspapers.

They arrived at the austere offices of the land management department and paid their fare. The driver agreed to wait in front to guard their belongings; Moira may have been born and raised on an immense and therefore somewhat isolated country estate, but she was no stranger to the ways of cities, having traveled much with her father before his passing. They entered the office and announced themselves to the young clerk working behind the brass grated window. He came out and directed them to a rather plain-looking office that held only a simple desk and two wooden straight-backed chairs for visitors who wished to conduct business.

“I’ll go let Mr. Walsh know he has company,” the clerk said, smiling with something close to devilishness in his expression. Moira and Gretchen took their seats in the two wooden chairs, their small purses clutched between their hands and placed on their laps. Gretchen shook noticeably as her nerves got the best of her; Moira, although excited and somewhat nervous herself, had a lifetime of talking to people beneath her in status, and therefore didn’t feel the worry that Gretchen was struggling to hold in.

“Miss Brennan,” a loud voice said around the stub of a cigar he gripped between his teeth. “Oh, wait, I’m so sorry, I mean… Lady Brennan. Where are my manners?” Mr. Walsh came around the desk and dropped into the leather chair. “What brings a fine lady such as yourself to our humble land office?”

Moira couldn’t speak for a moment, shocked as she was by the somewhat boorish Mr. Walsh. She’d never encountered a man who smoked in front of her, and a cigar at that, as the only men she’d known to smoke opted for pipes and took the activity to another room with the other men, to enjoy brandy and talk of business.

“I’ve come to inquire about a parcel of land… in the West,” she began, recovering quickly.

“Land?” Mr. Walsh returned, blinking rapidly and using his hand to fan his own plume of acrid smoke away from his face. “You want land?” He reached for a stack of papers and rifled through them until a piece of fine linen stationery stuck out from the pile. “Oh, I remember now! I got a letter that said you were coming.”

“A letter, Mr. Walsh?” she asked, suddenly afraid. “There should not have been a letter…”

“Yeah, here it is, from a Mister Ronan Brennan…” Gretchen and Moira exchanged a horrified look, but Mr. Walsh didn’t seem to notice as he continued to explain. “Says here you’ve left home with your family’s blessing, and that I should be expecting you. He’s asked me to help you in any way I can. So tell me what it is I can do for you.” He crossed his hands on top of the letter and looked between the two young ladies, waiting for an explanation.

“Oh, I see,” Moira said, her thoughts several thousand miles away with her brother, now all alone in the world. She pushed aside the image of him drinking each night away in front of the fireplace, and took a deep breath. “Well then, I’ve come to inquire about some land, as I stated. I should like to place a homestead claim on a good-sized piece that can be farmed, preferably with enough acreage to lease out the property to tenants.”

“Tenants, Miss Brennan?”

“Yes, tenants. I myself have no knowledge, skill, or desire to farm, but I have years of experience in managing my family’s property and maintaining a relationship between the household and the farmers in the village. I should like to establish a farm here in America that will let me continue.”

“You see, that’s the problem, ma’am. That’s not how it works here. People aren’t heading West just for the fun of working someone else’s land. They’re staking their own claims and living beholden to no one. We got immigrants every day, stepping off the boat like you just did, pardon my manners, and heading out West to make their own fortune. I hate to tell you this, but you’re not going to find anyone interested in signing on to work your land and pay you a portion of it.”

“I see, Mr. Walsh. That is an interesting viewpoint. But our farmers in Brennan aren’t beholden to us, they rely on us for many things. They’re all too happy to return the favor.”

“Well, this isn’t Brennan, and it sure isn’t Ireland, either. You go throwing your fancy title around and thinking people are going to line up to rent space on your farm, and it’s not gonna be pretty.” Moira blanched at his tone of voice and the threat in his words, while Gretchen slipped a hand protectively through her mistress’ arm. “I’m happy to help you with your homesteading, Miss Brennan, especially because I have this letter from your brother saying you’re clear to make your choice. And with that ship going down a couple of weeks ago with its banking cargo on board, the whole city is struggling for gold. If you’ve got the funds to pay the fees and the credit to secure the rest of it, the land is yours. But you have to know you’ll be in for a surprise when you finally get there.”

She thought about his offer quietly, but finally nodded. This wasn’t how she envisioned the process, but it was a small setback, one she could overcome. He left the room to gather the necessary paperwork, and Moira had to put a hand up to stop Gretchen from crying.

The clerk from the window was the one to bring the stack of papers for Moira to sign. She began reading the official documents, but eventually the strange version of English and the legal talk had her already exhausted and disappointed mind swimming. She reached the final few pages, signed them, and stretched her weary fingers before handing the stack to the still-grinning clerk.

“Thank you very much, Miss Brennan… I mean,
Lady
Brennan, of course,” he said in a voice that sounded very much like he was mocking her. He took the papers and placed them inside his ledger book, then produced another bound packet of papers for her to look over, plus a small bound volume on what she would need to purchase and know in order to homestead her claim. “You’ll want to read these over before departing for the claim. As Mr. Walsh said, the last thing you want is any surprises.”

The clerk chuckled at his own joke and left the office, leaving Moira to stare after him in confusion. She turned to the papers and glanced at them, but decided to wait to read through them until she was less tired.

“Now to find lodging, and plan our trip West. We’ll travel by train, now that the line extends all the way to California.”

“Pardon my asking, m’lady, but how is it that you know all this? Homesteading and train travel and this Mr. Walsh… how ever did ya manage it all?”

“Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Moira began, pulling Gretchen closer and linking elbows as they walked out of the office and out onto the sidewalk. “I had a good mind to speak to my father and my brother about expanding to America someday. I’ve been planning on it for years. I knew that whomever I married would be a hanger-on to his own family’s fortune. Our land and holdings aren’t so vast that I would make a good match. I wouldn’t be an asset to some of the larger families, so I have always known that my husband would likely be a second son, even a third, and therefore not stand to inherit his own estate. And with Ronan and his wife—God willing, he should marry soon—inheriting Brennan, I’ve always thought it prudent to marry and have my husband be appointed to see to the family’s interests abroad, either here or in India. We would have our own holdings and our own household, but still be contributing to the Brennan estates.”

“That is quite brilliant, my lady! You should have been born a man, if it’s not too bold of me to say.” Gretchen ducked her head at having been so outspoken, but Moira only laughed.

“Oh, think nothing of it, Gretchen. You’re right, after all, ‘tis not fair that a woman with a good head on her shoulders is barred from succeeding due to her ‘delicate’ nature and the way ladies are viewed. But that’s all behind us now! We’re in the land of opportunity and there is a bounty of options open to us. The West awaits us, as does our future!”