Trinity: Bride of West Virginia (Amercan Mail-Order Bride 35) (3 page)

“A mail order bride? Is that truly what you’ve done?”

“It is. It’s been most effective. I’ve made my choice. I plan to take very good care of this pretty young lady. She shall want for nothing. Just look at that skirt. She’s in desperate need of a fresh wardrobe.”

“This is insufferable.”

“You’re worried about the will. I’ve no plans to change it, Nathanial. If you’re upset I’ll disinherit you, you need not. However, if you continue to sling insults my way, I might reconsider. You needn’t have come all this way to try to stop the wedding. But, now that you’re here, I do hope you’ll stay for supper. They don’t need you in Boston the day after tomorrow, do they?”

A groan of frustration filled the carriage. “I’ve left clients waiting. Yes, they need me.”

“I do believe she’s coming to.”

I had kept my eyes closed, listening to the conversation. I felt someone’s fingers on my cheek, the brush light. “Mrs. Witherspoon?”

That name sounded foreign to my ears. “Hum?” I opened an eye a crack, seeing the handsome visage of Nathanial Witherspoon. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t hit your head. I prevented it.”

I sat up straighter, smoothing out the skirt. “Thank you.”

“I was going to take you to the hotel to celebrate,” said Mr. Witherspoon. “They’ve a marvelous restaurant. But, because of your collapse, we’re going home instead.”

Nathanial withdrew a shiny silver flask from the pocket in his waistcoat. “Here. This might help.” He held it to my lips.

A strong, burning sensation slid straight into my belly. “I don’t usually drink spirits.”

“One sip won’t kill you,” he muttered, screwing the top back on. His gaze drifted over me, a pronounced frown emerging. “Are you dizzy still? Are you ill?”

“I’m sorry to be such a nuisance.”

“It’s no matter, my dear.” Mr. Witherspoon glanced out the window. “We’ve arrived. I’ll have Lilith arrange lunch.”

“You’re not with child, are you?”

I gasped, staring at Nathanial. “No!”

“Why else would a young woman answer a mail order bride ad?”

“That’s quite enough, Nathanial. I’ll not have you accusing my wife of such things. You’ve tried to ruin my wedding and my happiness as it is. I might be an old man, but I’m not too old for another family. You may disagree with my choices, but you’ll learn to live with them.”

Nathanial ran fingers through his hair, frowning deeply. “I came to save you from yourself, but I’ve arrived too late.”

The door of the carriage swung open, Mr. French waiting at the bottom of the steps. “Well, it’s always good to see you, son.” Mr. Witherspoon alighted with the help of Mr. French, who held his arm. “I rarely have the pleasure of your company since you fled to Boston.”

“I work there.” Nathanial stepped from the conveyance, turning towards me. “Come along, Mrs. Witherspoon.” Annoyance laced his tone. He held out a hand, waiting for me to take it.

Having overcome my moment of weakness by losing consciousness, I felt steadier now. Scooting towards the door, I reached out to take Nathanial’s hand, the contact producing a tingling, electrical effect, which seemed to race straight up my arm to my throat, my breath catching. Whether he felt it too, I did not know, but he drew me to him, his lips near my ear.

“You have your hand in the cookie jar, my dear, but don’t think you’ll get one single crumb.”

The anger in his tone startled me. “P-pardon?” I caught hints of whatever soap he used, mandarin, lavender, and cedar wood teasing me.

With a tug, he pulled me from the carriage, my feet tripping on the steps. I fell into him, his arms going around me. The shock of the encounter left me speechless, my mouth parting to speak, but no words came forth. Standing there before an enormous white house with ornate pillars, the only vision that filled my eyes was of the man who held me, his anger palpable, greyish-green eyes glaring at me.

“Do unhand my wife. You’ve your own fiancée to maul,” said Mr. Witherspoon. “How is the lovely Victoria anyhow?”

“We’re not yet engaged.” He released me, casting one last angry look my way. Then he turned to the house.

Roger French brought out my luggage, carrying the bags towards the large front porch. The housekeeper, who had been at our wedding, traveled in another carriage, the vehicle having gone to a back entrance. She appeared on the front steps smiling.

“Welcome home, sir and madam.” Several maids joined her, all of them being women of color. They wore serviceable dresses with starched, white aprons and frilly caps.

Nathanial sprinted up the steps, ignoring the maids and disappearing into the house.

“Don’t mind him.” My husband held out his arm. “Come inside, my dear. You’re in need of something to eat and drink. You’ve had a taxing morning.”

I held the flowers from the wedding, the roses looking wilted. “These could use water.”

“Someone will attend to that.”

My new home was indeed impressive, the structure three stories tall and surrounded by deeply green lawns. “It’s pretty.”

“It was built in 1839. I purchased it nearly a decade ago. I’ve made some refinements. You’ll note the neo-classical appearance. I do so admire that look. It’s quite grand, especially for this area. My wife, Jacqueline, adored the style as well. It reminded her of Washington, the capital. She spent a great deal of time finding the right furnishings and artwork. I sent her to Europe nearly every year to bring back little treasures.” He smiled wistfully. “She did enjoy her jaunts.”

We reached the steps, where I faced an assortment of women, all of whom looked at me expectantly. “Hello,” I managed shyly.

“Welcome to your home, Mrs. Witherspoon,” said Mrs. Dexter. “These are the maids that work at the Witherspoon Mansion. This is Henrietta, Penny, Lucinda, Selena, and Natalie.”

I nodded to each of them. “Hello.”

They curtsied politely. “It’s lovely to meet you,” Selena murmured. The others greeted me as well.

Mr. Witherspoon labored on the steps, his cane supporting him. “Yes, very well. You’ve met your new mistress, now get back to work!” He glanced at Lilith. “My wife requires a meal and a cup of tea.”

“Yes, of course, sir.” She turned on her heel, striding down a hallway lit by wall sconces.

I peered into the house, my eyes widening. Two things hit me at once, the first being the sheer opulence of the surroundings and the second the sound of music. My husband ambled inside the foyer, turning to see if I followed.

“How do you like your home, Mrs. Witherspoon?”

With wide eyes, I gazed at the entranceway, standing on what looked like black and white marble. A grand staircase swept to one side, while a drawing room opened to the left, elegantly appointed furniture arranged before a massive marble fireplace, the mantel reaching the ceiling.

“My stars,” I murmured.

“See, there are some compensations for marrying an old-timer.” He laughed at the joke, the sound raspy.

“Where’s the music coming from?”

“A violin. Nathanial is fond of playing it. I rarely dabble anymore.”

I hadn’t expected such luxury, feeling insignificant amongst the artwork, which graced the walls going up the stairs. It smelled of roses, the flowers bursting from a crystal vase on a table before a gilded mirror. A chandelier hung overhead, although it had not been turned on. I eyed the crystals dangling beneath it, staring straight towards the ceiling, which sported ornate plasterwork.

Perhaps … my husband was right. Perhaps the future wasn’t as bleak as I thought, or had pretty, shiny things blinded me?

Chapter Four

Lilith escorted me to a bedroom, where finely carved mahogany furniture and thick carpets filled the cavernous space. I stood upon the threshold, staring into the room, not believing it was truly mine.

“W-where does Mr. Witherspoon sleep?” I held my breath, waiting for the answer.

“Across the hall.” Mrs. Dexter drew the heavy draperies aside, showing a balcony. Sunlight streamed in, which revealed the pattern in the carpet, roses bunched together in a whimsical design that repeated itself, over and over. “It’s pretty.”

“This was Mrs. Witherspoon’s room. She was fond of roses. We’ve a hot house out back. You’ll need a tour of the grounds after you’ve rested. I’m having tea and sandwiches sent up as we speak.” She indicated a large armoire, with a gilt façade. “You’ll find clothing in here, but the style might not suit you. Mrs. Witherspoon was not a young woman. You may wear what you wish.” She eyed my outfit. “Do you have things that need washing?”

The bags had already been brought up. “I … do have a few things that require attention.” A bedspread of white satin with a floral design and ruffled pillows caught my eye, the canopy above decorated in the same fabric. “Oh, gracious be.”

“I see this will take some getting used to.” She smiled kindly. “Let me show you to the water closet.”

“Yes, that would be good.”

“It’s right down the hall. You’ll find Witherspoon Mansion a more than hospitable place. We’ve all the conveniences of the finest hotels. No expense was spared here.”

“I can see that.”

The water closet held a commode and a bath, the clawed-foot tub attached to plumbing with hot and cold water. I gazed at myself in the mirror over a sink, finding that although I felt starved and exhausted, a happy light danced in my eyes. In the bedroom, someone had brought in a tray with a teapot and a cup, a pair of daintily cut sandwiches arranged on a gold-trimmed plate. I grasped one, biting into it, tasting cucumber and butter.

“Um … thank goodness.” Alone for the moment, I eyed my luggage, the bags tattered around the edges. “Perhaps this won’t be such a disaster after all.” I strolled to the balcony, finding seating here with a chaise lounge and pillows, the awning providing shade. I stared at the lawn, seeing a carriage traveling by in the distance. “Such a pretty view.” The wind held a slight chill, the leaves on the trees in the process of turning gold. “I could sit here for hours.” Would I truly be able to do that? “It’s like a dream. There has to be a catch.” In my heart, I knew what it was. I had married a man I had absolutely no feelings for. I would be his wife until one of us died. “This is forever.”

The music continued, drifting out through an open window beneath me. I listened to the refrains of “Lullaby” by Brahms, thinking how soothing the melody sounded. Having a cup of tea, I sat in solitude, the music threading its way through me, filling me completely. It wasn’t until someone touched my shoulder that I realized I had fallen asleep on the chaise.

“What?”

“I’m sorry to wake you, Mrs. Witherspoon.”

Groggy and slightly disorientated, I glanced at the woman standing beside me. “Oh, I’m sorry.” Someone had placed a knitted blanket over my shoulders.

“Mr. Witherspoon was worried about you. Supper will be served soon.”

I tossed the blanket aside. “I do apologize. I must’ve dozed.”

“You were tired.”

“Yes.” I cast a glance towards the lawn, noting the shadows, the sun having disappeared behind the mountain. “It’s later than I thought.”

“Mr. Witherspoon wanted you to have a rest, Mrs. Witherspoon. It’s no worry at all, but they do expect you to come down for supper.”

“Yes, of course. Please, call me Trinity. We needn’t be so formal.”

She smiled slightly. “Trinity in private and Mrs. Witherspoon amongst the rest of the staff.”

“I see.” I hadn’t changed clothing, having nothing clean to wear. “I’ll just tidy myself, and I’ll be down.”

“Certainly.” She took the tray away, noticing I had cleaned the plate. “They’re waiting for you in the parlor.”

“Thank you.”

After she left, I splashed water on my face from a pitcher and bowl on a dresser. Brushing my hair out, I gathered it into a knot at the top of my head, wishing I had the time to heat rods and curl it, but I hadn’t that luxury. Perhaps my husband would provide a maid for me. I would have to ask him about that. The outfit I wore was the same from earlier, the shirtwaist and skirt, the fabric many years old. I knew I looked dowdy and severe, but there was little to be done about it at the moment.

As I left the room, the aroma of something delicious cooking teased my senses, my belly grumbling again, wanting to be fed. I strolled to the steps, my boots sinking into thick carpet, which lay upon a polished wooden floor. The chandelier in the entranceway glowed now, the light catching on the various crystals, making it look like a glorious, floating ball of light. Mesmerized, I stared at it while descending. On the first floor, I turned to cross the foyer, finding the men in the parlor, a conversation in progress. They hadn’t seen me yet.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Nathanial said. “You should be thoroughly examined by Doctor Watson.”

“I have been. He says I’m in fine condition, although the gout in my leg has become worse. He’s prescribed a change of diet that should alleviate the symptoms somewhat. I’m not terribly worried about it.”

“It’s your mental faculties that concern me, your wits and reasoning. Those need to be assessed.”

Laughter filled the air. “Everything is functioning well there. You may think me a fool, but I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?”

I stood in the doorway, my hand on the frame, listening.

“I don’t wish to die without the benefit of female companionship. I adore women. I’m not so old where I cannot enjoy such a thing. You may be able to go on forever without marrying, but I loathe being alone.”

“I’m waiting for the right woman.”

“That’s a rather telling statement, Nathanial. You’ve the lovely Victoria. She’s well bred and quite beautiful, from what I recall. I thought you’d settled on her already. What’s the delay?”

From where I stood, I glimpsed Nathanial by the mantel, his hand wrapped around a glass of brandy.

“I didn’t come here to discuss my personal life. It’s you I’m fretting over. I came as soon as I got wind of this insane scheme you concocted. Sending out for a mail order bride.” He laughed, “It’s something they do in the west. You’ve dozens of ladies to choose from, father. You didn’t need to contact this matchmaker woman. It’s ridiculous. It makes you look desperate.”