A Mistaken Match. Whitney BaileyЧитать онлайн книгу.
her temples, and she closed her eyes and tried to sort out the day’s events. The more she reviewed the day, the more peculiar it all felt. James had been nervous when they met, but something more hid behind his green eyes. It wasn’t only surprise. Was it confusion? Disappointment? He’d had plans to marry her the very next day—plans he’d quickly changed. Though she was relieved—surely they could get to know one another a little while before they were betrothed—she couldn’t help but wonder why the sudden change of heart? And what of that comment about wanting lots of children? Surely Mrs. Turner hadn’t made a mistake?
She closed her eyes and replayed her exchange with Mrs. Turner in the cramped and stuffy offices of the Transatlantic Agency. Mrs. Turner had announced with resolution, “I believe you and Mr. James McCann will be as perfect a match as any.” Ann took deep, measured breaths and tried to slow her racing heart. Mrs. Turner wouldn’t make a mistake of this magnitude. Her business depended on it.
Ann rose and stared into the mirror above the dresser, hoping to find some clue to James’s dismayed reaction at their meeting. The hint of a shadow traced under her eyes, and two stray hairpins poked their heads out like nosy children. She appeared as she expected after so many days on the train. She removed her brown felt hat and ran a hand over her forehead. The pain in her temples spread over her creased brow. Ann plucked out her hairpins and untwisted her coiffure. Her hair fell down past her shoulders and she groaned as the ache in her head eased.
She opened her trunk and retrieved the few things she needed for her toilet. The pitcher proved empty, and James hadn’t shown her the privy. Did all men forget women had need of such basic necessities? The reality of sharing a home and life with another would drive anyone to distraction. Maybe that was all that was wrong between them—awkwardness and nerves.
That thought cheered Ann, and she convinced herself of it on the short walk downstairs with the pitcher. If houses in America were like those in England, the well pump would be directly outside the kitchen door. James had also failed to supply her with a lantern or candles. Thankfully, the summer sun had not yet set, and soft fingers of orange sunset lit her way.
She opened the kitchen door and found the room bathed in dusky light. James sat at a worn wooden table with his back to her. The floor creaked as she entered and he jumped from his seat, sending papers scattering to the floor. They both stooped to retrieve them and his fingers grazed hers. He snatched his hands back and ran them from the crown of his hair to the nape of his neck.
“I’m sorry I startled you. I came to fetch some water.”
James’s gaze fixed on the papers in her right hand. She passed them to him, but not before she saw the salutation.
“Why are you writing to Mrs. Turner?”
James colored and opened his mouth to speak but clamped it shut. He pulled out a chair and directed Ann to sit down.
“I’m sorry, Ann. I should have said something sooner. But when you got off the train, you caught me by surprise and I didn’t know what to do.”
“You’re sorry? What has happened?”
James locked his eyes with hers. “There’s no use beating around the bush. I never expected a woman like you.” He raked a hand through his hair.
“The agency sent you to me by mistake.”
The room spun. Her hands tingled strangely and the pitcher fell from her fingers. James lurched forward and rescued the pitcher within an inch of its smashing into the floor.
“By mistake? That isn’t possible,” Ann protested. “Mrs. Turner gave me your name and you had mine. We exchanged letters. How could there be any confusion?”
James set the pitcher on the table and stared at it rather than at Ann. Had she done something wrong in the previous few hours? She mentally picked through the events of the evening, but couldn’t uncover any clues.
“I think the agency made a mistake when they matched us. I had one request and you don’t fulfill it.”
Ann sank into the nearest chair. How could this be? Ann had suspected a mistake minutes earlier but brushed the thought away from her mind like a bothersome fly. Mrs. Turner didn’t make mistakes, did she? “We’ve only just met. We barely know one another. How could you already be so sure?”
James met her eyes before dropping his gaze to the worn wooden floorboards. “I knew in an instant. From the moment I saw you.”
“I don’t understand.” Mrs. Turner had prepared the girls for all sorts of excuses if their matches had a change of heart. They didn’t work hard enough. They cooked terribly. Her mind raced through several reasons why a man might object to marrying her, but none could be ascertained with a glance. He would have to know my heart. She shuddered at the thought.
James met her eyes again. “At the train station today. You could see my surprise at the sight of you.”
“You were nervous. To be honest, so was I.”
James sucked in a lungful of air and pushed his words out in one long breath. “It was more than that. I was surprised because I expected a plain girl. An ugly girl, even.”
Ann rubbed her aching temples. What on earth was he talking about? She’d also expected an ugly match, and had been pleasantly surprised. If only every girl at the agency, and every lonely bachelor in America could be so fortunate. “Forgive me, but I’m afraid I don’t see the trouble.”
James ran both hands through his hair until it stood up in tufts. “I requested the agency send me someone as plain as they come. That was my one and only request.”
Ann shook her head. She knew James McCann might have many valid reasons for rejecting her as a wife, and she had steeled herself for all of them. But she’d never expected him to outright lie. She squeezed her hands together to keep them from trembling. “No man would ask for such a thing.”
James sighed. “I did. Farm life can be hard. I knew a pretty girl would expect more than I could give her. I don’t need that kind of nonsense.”
Ann’s cheeks grew hot. Her heart thudded so loud she feared he could hear it. “Why go through an agency at all? I’m sure America has as many ugly girls as England.” She winced at the harshness of her own voice. She’d never been good at keeping her temper. Ann bit her lip.
James brow creased. “I thought someone who needed to find a husband through an agency would have no other alternatives.”
A shiver coursed through her. James McCann had described her situation perfectly. Still, she bristled with irritation on behalf of all the other girls at the agency. “You thought all mail-order brides were desperate.”
“No, no.” He waved his hands as if to bat the words out of the air. “I meant no disrespect.”
She sat up straighter. “What did you mean?”
“I thought a mail-order bride would be more content with this life.”
“This life?”
“I’ve been working on this farm by myself far too long. Uncle Mac needs tending to. I need a helpmate.”
“And why have you already deemed me unsuitable?”
James dipped his head and smiled sheepishly. “A woman like you couldn’t know what hard work really is.”
The hairs on the back of her neck stood up. “A woman like me? I’ll have you know I’ve worked harder than most men all my life.”
James chuckled and coughed to disguise it. “I know you worked as a maid, and I’m sure that is hard work, but it’s not the same as farm life.”
“You have no idea,” she replied between clenched teeth. The labor of farm life seemed a sweet reprieve in