Tracie Peterson
Authors: Bridal Blessings
© 1997
Logan’s Lady
by Barbour Publishing, Inc.
© 1997
My Valentine
by Tracie Peterson
Print ISBN 978-1-61626-955-5
eBook Editions:
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-62029-420-8
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-62029-419-2
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
All scriptures quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Image Source
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
www.barbourbooks.com
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
Printed in the United States of America.
LOGAN’S LADY
Dedication
To Rebecca Germany, one of my favorite editors. Your friendship means a great deal to me and I thank God upon my every remembrance of you.
Colorado, 1875
A
melia grimaced as she heard her father and Sir Jeffery Chamberlain break into yet another discussion on the implementation of fertilizer to boost agricultural yields.
It was this dreadful country that did it,
she thought.
America! A country filled with barbaric men, ill-mannered women and positively rotten children.
Shifting uncomfortably in the seat of their stage, Amelia wished fervently that if there were a God, He would reach down and smite the lot of them in order that she might be allowed to return home to England. But of course that wasn’t going to happen because Amelia had firmly decided for herself that there was no God.
“I say, Chamberlain,” her father stated with a marginal note of enthusiasm. “I believe we’re slowing down.”
“Yes, quite right,” the younger man responded and peered out the window. “We’ve made an excellent way thanks to our time spent on the railroad. American railroads are quite the thing. Good money here, what?”
“Indeed, the stage coaches are just as abominable as those back home, but I believe their railway system to be quite superior,” came the reply and the conversation erupted into a spirited discussion of the American rail system. Amelia sighed, adjusted her lace collar and waited for the announcement that they had arrived in some small, forsaken Colorado town.
She hadn’t wanted to come on this trip to America. America had been the furthest thing from her mind, in fact, but her father was insistent and clearly closed the matter to discussion. Amelia’s sisters Penelope and Margaret were just as loath to travel, but they were quite interested in Sir Jeffery Chamberlain.
Amelia held a small wish that she could share their enthusiasm. After all, he was to become her husband. At least that was the plan as her father saw it, but Amelia had no intention of marrying the pompous man. Jeffery Chamberlain was a long-time crony of her father’s. He wasted his days doing as little as possible, furthering his already-sound reputation of being a spoiled dandy. He had been knighted, but only because his mother held a tender place in the queen’s heart. And he owned vast estates with wondrous woods that beckoned the visitor to take a turn about, but those were his only redeeming qualities as far as Amelia was concerned.
Her father viewed him in a different light, however. Sir Jeffery Chamberlain was rich and popular with Queen Victoria’s court. He had a sound education and a quick wit that had managed to keep him out of trouble on more than one occasion, and he was worth an enormous sum of money, which not only could keep his own lands well-kept but also would surely flow over to his future father-in-law, Lord Reginald Amhurst, the sixth earl of Donneswick—should that need arise.
Staring hard at the man, Amelia noted all of his flaws. His nose was too long, his forehead too shiny. He had perfect white teeth, which seemed to be constantly bared for all the world behind unflattering smiles and his beady eyes were placed too close together. Added to this, the man was an unmitigated bore.
Amelia shook her head uncomfortably and tried against the rocking and bouncing of the stage to look at the magazine she’d bought in Cheyenne. Flipping through pages of ladies’ fashions, Amelia tried to rationalize her thoughts.
I cannot blame Father for setting out to arrange a marriage. It is done all the time in my circle of friends. Why, I don’t even remember the last time one of my companions managed to marry for love, and not because the union was of financial benefit to one family or the other.
Some of her friends had grown to genuinely love their intended mates. Others had not. Her dear friend and confidant, Sarah Greene, had managed to find herself engaged to a charming man of wit and gentlemanly breeding and had quickly lost her heart. But that was not to be the case for Amelia. She could not find it in her heart to love Sir Jeffery, as he insisted they call him, nor did she think love would grow there for this man.
Amidst a roar of “whoa’s” and a cloud of dust, Amelia realized that they had come to a stop. Ignoring her father’s window description of the town, Amelia tucked the magazine into her bag. Immediately Penelope and Margaret began fussing and going on about the wilds of America.
“I suppose we might very well be scalped by Indians,” Penelope said with a fearful expression. She allowed Sir Jeffery to assist her from the stage before adding, “We’re so very glad to have your company, Sir Jeffery.” She oozed congeniality and interlaced her arm with his. At seventeen she was more than a little bit aware of the power a young woman’s simpering could have over the male gender.
“It is my pleasure, Miss Penelope,” he assured her.
Margaret, a year Penelope’s junior, secured her place on the opposite arm of Sir Jeffery as soon as her father had helped her from the stage. “Yes, it would be quite frightful to have come all this way into the heart of the American wilderness with only Father and Mattersley to offer protection. Why, whatever would three women and two old men do should the heathens truly choose to attack us?” Mattersley, the other
old man
she referred to, was the earl’s manservant and constant companion.
Amelia watched all this through the open door of the stage. She rolled her eyes and sighed.
Indeed, what would Sir Jeffery, pompous dandy that he was, do in such a situation? Bore the poor Indians to death with questions of what fertilizer they were using on the Colorado plains?
She couldn’t abide the simpering of her sisters and chose instead to remain in her seat on the stage until her father beckoned her forward.
“Amelia, allow me to help you down. Why, you’ve scarcely said two words since we left Cheyenne. You aren’t ill, are you? Taken with vapors, what?”
Amelia’s pale-blue eyes met those of her father’s. “No, Father, I’m not at all indisposed. I simply have had my mind consumed with a variety of subjects.”
Sir Jeffery untangled himself from Amelia’s sisters and came to offer his hand. “May I accompany you to the hotel, Lady Amhurst?” he questioned with a slight bow. Amelia noticed her father’s frown as if he could read the curt reply she was thinking. Containing her thoughts with absolute ladylike control, she nodded. “Of course. Thank you,” she murmured, putting her gloved fingers into Jeffery’s palm.
“I have arranged for us to have rooms at a boarding house here in Greeley,” the earl began. “It’s a temperance colony so there will be no wine with dinner, nor any after-dinner brandy, I’m afraid.” Amelia, knowing her father’s distaste for alcohol, realized that he said the latter for Jeffery’s sake.
“Ah, the barbarians.” Jeffery sighed and Amelia knew he meant it. To Jeffery, any measure of discomfort represented a less-than-acceptable social standing. And for Jeffery to be without his brandy was definitely a discomfort.
For a reason beyond her understanding, Amelia was put out at Jeffery’s attitude. Not because of the alcohol—although she herself couldn’t abide the stuff—no, it was more than simple issues of food and drink. Jeffery’s entire demeanor put her at odds. Maybe it was just that she wanted to conflict with his ideals. Maybe it was the fact that she was completely disgusted with his companionship and still hadn’t been able to get it across to either her father or Jeffrey that she had no desire to marry.
Glancing upward, Amelia instantly felt the noon sun bear down on her. Grimacing, she opened her white parasol and lifted it overhead to ward off the harsh rays.
“Oh, Father,” Penelope began to whine, “it’s ever so hot here. Must we stand about as though we were hired help?” She looked for all the world as though she might faint dead away at any moment.
They were all quite used to Penelope and Margaret’s displays of weakness, and for several moments no one said anything. Finally the earl motioned for his loyal valet, Mattersley, and gave him several coins. “See if you can’t arrange for our things to be brought up.” The man, close in age to his employer, gave a regal bow and set out on his mission. “There,” the earl said, turning to the party, “I’d say that settled itself rather nicely. Let’s make our way up, what?”
“Indeed,” Jeffrey answered as though his were the only opinion to be had. “This harsh American sun is quite hard on fair English skin.” He said the words looking at Amelia, but she had the distinct impression they were given more in consideration of his own situation than of hers.
The dry, dusty streets of Greeley did nothing to encourage the entourage. The boarding house was a far cry from the regal estate they’d left behind in England. It wasn’t even as nice as the furnishings they’d acquired in New York City or Chicago. In fact, Amelia knew it was by far the worst accommodations they’d know yet, and her opinion of America slipped even lower. Why, even when they’d toured India, they’d resided on lovely estates.
