EMMA (Mail-Order Brides Club, #1)
Read EMMA (Mail-Order Brides Club, #1) Online
Authors: Ashley Merrick
Tags: #sweet historical romance, #mail order brides, #clean western romance, #sweet western romance, #montana cowboys, #sweet clean historical romance
Emma, Mail-Order Brides Club
Copyright 2014, Ashley Merrick
All rights reserved
Edited by Cindy Tahse
Cover design by Amanda Harris
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Mischief in Montana is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is purely coincidental.
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CHAPTER NINE | Epilogue | Three months later....
Boston, 1896
E
mma Byrne glanced out the kitchen window, which overlooked tony Louisburg Square. She loved this view and her friends had envied her when she landed her position as a cook's assistant with the Chapman family. They were one of the richest families in Boston, and Emma knew she was fortunate to live in one of the grandest mansions in all of Beacon Hill. Even though her room was a tiny one on the fourth floor, one of several in the servants’ quarters, she was still lucky to have it. Jobs for young Irish women were hard to come by and she didn't know what she would do if she lost this one.
When she finished polishing the silver, Miss O'Brien nodded at her and said,
"You'd better go ahead and go, then. Just take care to be back by five. They've added a few last minute guests and I'll need you to serve as well." Miss O'Brien was in her late forties and had never married. She had the largest of the small rooms on the fourth floor. Emma realized that was likely to be her future, if she was lucky enough to hold on to her job. She sighed. Today was supposed to have been her day off, free and clear, but because of the dinner party, she could only take half a day.
"I'll be back before then."
Mrs. O'Brien turned her attention back to the dough that she was kneading and Emma glanced out the window once again. The sun was shining, but still she knew it could get chilly by the Charles River, so she grabbed a warm wool shawl on her way out the door.
The air was crisp and clear as she headed off to meet Julia and a few of her other friends at their usual spot, along the water’s edge of the Charles. It wasn't far, maybe fifteen minutes or so, and as she walked, Emma admired the stately brownstones that lined Louisburg Square and the cobblestone streets throughout Beacon Hill.
Eight girls were waiting patiently for her when she came around the corner and when they saw her, they all yelled, "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!!!" She couldn't believe Julia had managed to round up almost all of their friends from the orphanage. Julia, Katie, Colleen, Maeve, Finola, Cara, Dana, and Mary were all there. The only ones missing were Caitlin and Jane. Usually, it was just two or three of them who managed to meet each week, on their day off.
"I can't believe you're all here! It's been so long since we've all been together." Emma hugged each girl hello and then they shifted to the side of the building where the boats were stored and huddled together there to block the wind.
Julia set down one of the two baskets she was carrying and lifted a gorgeous, pink-frosted cake out of one and handed it to Colleen to hold, while she took out a knife and plates from the other one. After a quick chorus of "Happy Birthday" was sung, she sliced up pieces for everyone. Katie spread a large blanket on the chilly grass, and they sat in a tight circle to eat and catch up.
"I saw Mrs. Richardson the other day in the North End," Katie said. "I was running an errand at the cheese shop and she was there. Said to say hello to you all." Mrs. Richardson was the head mistress at the orphanage they'd all grown up in. Though she wasn't the most outwardly cheerful person, she was a bit of a softie and very protective of her girls. She'd helped most of them find their positions as the rule at the orphanage had been very strict—once they reached age eighteen, they had to leave.
"She said something else that was interesting." Katie looked around the group to make sure she had everyone's attention. "She recently started a new side business, a match-making service, to pair up young women who want to get married with men out west who are looking for wives."
"Mail-order brides? Who would do that? I can't imagine traveling so far to marry a man I'd never met," Julia said.
"I don't know, I think it sounds a bit romantic," Colleen joked. "It's not like any of us have been swept off our feet by any local men. When would even have time to date?"
They fell quiet at that. It was true. None of them had serious boyfriends. In their positions as nannies, maids, and cooks, they all lived in-house with their employers and there wasn't much of a social life to be had. They were all between the ages of twenty and twenty-four and their prospects for marriage were dim.
But still, mail-Order brides? None of them were that adventurous, or willing to risk their current situation for something so unknown. They all laughed at how ridiculous the idea was. All except Emma, who said nothing at all as she finished her cake. The idea didn't seem ridiculous to her. It seemed like a possible way out of a situation that was becoming increasingly dangerous.
Almost as if she'd read her thoughts, Julia asked, "So is Gerald due back tonight?"
"He is. I'm sure he'll be in rare form after being gone so long, and the liquor will be flowing."
"Well, be careful, and lock your bedroom door," Julia advised with a look of concern.
Emma had been dreading the return of the master of the house, and what might happen the next time he'd had a few drinks and found her alone. She knew it was inevitable that he would try again as soon as he had the opportunity.
***
E
mma had to almost run to get back by five. It had been so long since she'd seen all the girls that the hours had flown by. Still, even pushing herself as fast as she could, it was a few minutes past five when she walked into the kitchen. Mrs. O'Brien looked up with a sigh of relief.
"Thank God you're back. Most of them are already here in the den, drinking scotch. There's no wives tonight, just the men, and they're in rare form."
Wonderful. This was not how Emma had envisioned spending her birthday evening. She reached into a side closet and pulled a frilly, white apron out and tied it over her long dress. Then she smoothed her blonde hair down and hid all of it under a white serving cap.
"Here, take this tray out. This will get some food into them before the liquor takes over." Mrs. O'Brien handed her a large, oval tray piled high with sliced cheeses and cured meats as well as warm bread and fresh butter.
Emma carried the tray into the den and set it down in the middle of a round gaming table. It was the only table in the room. It was the only logical spot for it, and the men weren't playing cards yet, though she had no doubt that they would as the night progressed. She was mostly invisible to them as she entered the room. They took no notice of a servant, especially as she had taken care to hide her assets. Not a strand of her long, blonde hair was showing, and the frumpy apron added bulk to her otherwise slender figure. One person noticed, however, and before she could escape the room, he was at her side. The wave of liquor that rolled off his breath almost knocked her over.
"Did you miss me?" he said with a smirk.
"Good evening, Gerald. I'm sure you're happy to be home." She tried to dodge the question.
"I am, and we will catch up later. I most definitely missed you." He put his arm around her waist then and gave her a squeeze. She tensed up so noticeably that he let go immediately and took a step back. "I can see we still have a few things to discuss." He frowned at her before turning his attention back to his friends.
Dinner was served without a hitch and after Emma helped clear the tables and tidy up in the kitchen, she was free to retire for the night. She breathed a sigh of relief as she reached the fourth floor without running into Gerald. He'd had such an early start to the evening that she suspected he was too far gone into his scotch to remember her that night, and she was grateful, but she knew it was just a matter of time.
***
T
he moment came when she least expected it, just a few nights later. The house was quiet as Francine, Gerald's wife, was eight months pregnant and had gone to bed early. Gerald was out with his friends and Francine didn't expect him home until much later. Mrs. O'Brien had already turned in for the night, but Emma was restless. It just a little past nine and she was still wide awake, and bored. The children, Matthew and Elise, at ages four and two, respectively, had gone to bed hours ago, so the house was eerily quiet.
Emma tip-toed into the library, careful not to make noise and wake anyone, and decided to enjoy the peace and quiet and read for a bit. She selected the book that Francine had raved about a few weeks back,
A Lady of Quality
. It was a thick novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett, and Emma curled up with it on a soft sofa. She was immediately engrossed in the story—so much so that she lost all track of time and jumped when the door creaked open and a familiar voice sent shivers down her spine.
"Waiting up for me? How thoughtful of you." Gerald's words were slightly slurred as he made his way toward her and plopped down uncomfortably close on the suddenly small sofa.
"It must be late. I was actually just thinking about heading up to bed." Emma closed the book and went to get up and put it back on the shelf, but Gerald's hand clamped down on her thigh and she found herself unable to move.
"What are you in such a hurry for? The night is still young. Talk to me a bit." His breath was awful, thick with stale beer, and Emma felt her stomach do a miserable flip.
"I really should get going. I have to be up early in the morning." Again Emma tried to get up, but Gerald's hand still pinned her down.
"Well, as your employer, I give you permission to sleep in tomorrow," he said grandly as his other arm snaked around behind her and his hand landed on her shoulder, making her jump.
"Truly, I don't think that's a good idea." It was a terrible idea and showed how foolish the man was. She couldn't possibly sleep in, and saying it was okay with Gerald was the dumbest part of the idea. It would likely mean the end to her job. Which was actually beginning to seem a more appealing thought, impossible as it was.
"You need to relax and enjoy the moment. You're a very pretty little thing. I've always thought so." He squeezed her shoulders then and leaned in and planted a very wet and sloppy kiss on the side of her mouth. His aim was off and she'd turned her head just in time. He'd also loosened his grip on her leg and she took the opportunity to jump off the sofa and glared back at him, furious at the liberties he'd taken.
"Mr. Chapman, you are married!" She reminded him. "This is not at all appropriate."
Gerald just stretched out lazily on the sofa and looked up at her through eyes heavy with drink, and lust.
"My wife is very pregnant, as you know. No reason at all why we can't have a bit of fun." His eyes narrowed then and Emma grabbed hold of the doorknob, ready to make a run for it if he so much as started to move off the sofa.
"In fact," he continued, "I think there are certain 'duties' that I may add to your job description. Just between us, of course." He then winked at her, and just in case his meaning wasn't clear, added, "If you don't go along with this, perhaps we may need to find a new cook's assistant. I don't think that would be too difficult, do you?"
When Emma gasped in horror, he simply chuckled and then said, "well, you have a few weeks to think about my offer, and to decide if you miss me. I leave tomorrow and will be gone for almost a month."
For a moment, Emma breathed a sigh of relief. She'd be Gerald-free as of tomorrow. But the reprieve would be a temporary one. When she glanced back at him, he was leering at her, and as she turned to leave the room, he said in a smarmy tone,
"Goodnight, lovely Irish Emma. I look forward to getting to know you much better when I return."
O
n her next day off, Emma had one very important stop to make before meeting her friends at their usual spot by the Charles.
