Mail Order Marcella Read online

  MAIL ORDER MARCELLA

  Written by Marie Higgins

  Copyright © 2015 by Marie Higgins

  Previously published as Stealing The Duchess

  Revised copyright © 2020

  Cover Design by Virginia McKevitt

  Editors – Teresa Pearson & Veronica Mesia

  Edition License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  Mail Order Marcella (Widows, Brides, and Secret Babies, #5)

  ONE

  TWO

  THREE

  FOUR

  FIVE

  SIX

  SEVEN

  EIGHT

  NINE

  TEN

  ELEVEN

  TWELVE

  THIRTEEN

  FOURTEEN

  FIFTEEN

  EPILOGUE

  Marcella Bronson’s brother-in-law threatens her to find a husband or he will find one for her. All she wants to do is take care of her two-year-old cousin whose parents have died, but she doesn’t want to be kicked out of the family home, penniless, either. She sees a newspaper ad for a rancher looking for a mail-order bride and applies. Unfortunately, her plans go awry when she’s kidnapped and mistaken for her dying sister. Now she needs to figure a way out of this mess and convince her soon-to-be-husband that she and the little girl really do need his help.

  ONE

  Colorado 1885

  The wind outside whipped around the small cottage where she’d lived since she was a child, but tonight, the sound didn’t comfort her. Every member of her family was dead, killed by the murderous hand of the man who’d captivated her so completely.

  Most certainly, she was next.

  Heavy footsteps made the warped floorboards in the hallway creak. The terrifying sound pierced right through her. Clutching the dagger in her shaky hands, she stood behind the closed door in her bedroom. She wouldn’t let them take her without a fight. It didn’t matter that her heartbeat pounded so fast she could scarcely breathe, or that her limbs shook hard enough to break her bones, she was determined to win.

  Mr. Woodland—the handsome man she’d met yesterday—was to blame for the turmoil currently surrounding her, she just knew it. He’d been too charming, too sweet, and had literally swept her off her feet. She’d always known how to talk to men, but this man had seemed out of her area of expertise for some reason. Now she surmised his purpose. He’d wanted to get close to her... but for what, she wished she knew.

  Why hadn’t she seen his trickery through his sugar-coated words? Never again would she trust a man who charmed easily and swept her mind into oblivion. But now it was too late. She feared for her own safety.

  Marcella Bronson stared at the passage she’d just written and nibbled on her bottom lip. As she thought about what she’d plotted so far, this particular passage didn’t make much sense. Why had the woman’s family died? And more importantly, why was this man, Mr. Woodland, trying to kill off her heroine?

  Marcella set her quill down on the desk and released a frustrated breath between her lips. Once again, she’d started a story before she had time to really think about what was going to happen to her characters, and why. In the four years she’d been writing stories, she should have learned not to write before she was ready.

  Then again, she knew why she hadn’t learned the lesson yet. Writing was her retreat from reality. Lately, she had needed this getaway from the real world, since life hadn’t been very accommodating.

  Her older sister had been married for one year, and Marcella’s brother-in-law didn’t want to have the responsibility for a new sister and her young cousin whom Marcella and Joanna had suddenly become guardians over when little Charlotte’s parents died two months ago. Six weeks ago, Martin Hinsdale had told Marcella that she had to find a husband who would care for her and Charlotte because Martin wanted more time with just his wife.

  It had been a struggle to deal with that kind of news, but Marcella didn’t want to be a burden any longer. Being shy, it wasn’t as if she could ride into town and meet a single man in Boulder, Colorado—or anywhere, really. So, the only thing she could do was search through the newspaper to find an ad for a man who was looking for a mail-order bride.

  Joanna had been disheartened when she discovered what Martin had done, but being a new bride, she’d sided with her husband.

  Closing her eyes, Marcella stretched her neck and rolled her head from side to side, releasing the tension building in her muscles. As she fluttered her eyelids open, she gazed out of the nearest window. A baby blue sky grabbed her attention first, and then the nearest tree standing so still. Thankfully, there was no rain and what appeared to be no summer wind. This would be the perfect weather to ride her horse, Buttercup. Who was to say how long she had left for these luxuries? As soon as she received word from her soon-to-be-husband, she’d be on the train going to meet him at his ranch somewhere in Colorado. Their telegrams hadn’t been very clear, but she knew his name was Toby Greystone and he was a rancher.

  She scooted her chair away from the desk and stood. She placed the lid on her inkwell and the quill back in its cup before hurrying to change into her riding habit. Galloping around the estate on days like this really cleared her head and her heart.

  Marcella donned her riding habit with the lavender short-waist jacket, black skirt, and matching purple bonnet. Fitting her hands into the purple gloves, she left her room. As she walked down the hall, the door to her sister’s room opened and out stepped her brother-in-law. A frown creased his expression as he dug his slender fingers in his bushy blond hair and scratched his head.

  Her heart squeezed with emotion. Her sister must still be quite ill. Her brother-in-law had worn that expression for the last five days. Marcella prayed nothing life-threatening was wrong with her sister. Frustration mixed with her concern. Martin refused to keep Marcella informed as she wished to be, nor would he allow her to visit Joanna.

  Martin’s gaze was on the floor as he moved down the hallway. She really wished he would talk to her more. It irritated her that he was so secretive about Joanna’s condition.

  Bunching her hands into fists, Marcella grumbled under her breath. This time, she wouldn’t let him stop her from seeing Joanna... even if she had to sneak behind his back to do it. Besides, she wanted to spend more time with her sister before she became a mail-order bride.

  Taking slow steps, she waited for him to disappear into his study and close the door. Quickly, she turned and hurried to Joanna’s bedroom. She opened the door slowly, hoping the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Thankfully, no sound came. As she stepped into the room, she held her breath and waited for the floorboards to groan. Once again, she was relieved when silence greeted her.

  Joanna lay on her bed, her arms resting outside of the many blankets covering her, displaying a pink gown with a ruffled neckline, fluffy sleeves, and pink ribbons around the wrists. Joanna’s blonde hair—a shade darker than Marcella’s—was braided and hung over her left shoulder as frays of hair came out of the style. Her pale face contrasted greatly with her gown.

  No candles lit the room, but a pale shaft of light escaped the drawn curtains, bringing a small measure of brightness to the otherwise gloomy chamber. She moved her gaze from the bed to the other furnishings; the armoires, two tables, two sofas, and three Pers
ian rugs. As children, their father spoiled his only two daughters. Of course, now all of this was in Martin’s name since he and Joanna were married.

  Staring at her sister who looked to be on her deathbed, Marcella frowned, and her heart clenched with sadness. Taking soft steps so as not to awaken her, she crept to the bed and stopped beside it. Carefully, she placed her hand over Joanna’s. Startled, her sister’s body jerked, and her eyes flew open, her gaze landing on Marcella. Within seconds, a tired smile touched her sister’s lips.

  “Cella, you have finally come.”

  “Oh, dear,” Marcella panicked. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Nonsense.” Joanna slowly shook her head. “I have wanted to see you.”

  “Indeed? Then why is your husband keeping me away?”

  “He is?”

  “He specifically instructed me not to come into your bedchamber and disturb you.”

  “When did he say that?” Joanna’s eyebrows creased.

  “On the first day you became ill.”

  Joanna chuckled lightly, but Marcella could tell her sister struggled to do so.

  “Oh, Cella, he probably meant that you shouldn’t disturb me on that particular day. I’m getting better, I assure you. If you had only said something to him, I believe he would have allowed you to visit me.”

  “Don’t be too sure about that,” Marcella grumbled, knowing Martin’s mood swings and how uncommunicative he was around her.

  Joanna lifted her hand, placed it over Marcella’s and gently squeezed. “You shouldn’t be shy around him. He’s your brother-in-law, not a stranger.” She took a ragged breath and cleared her throat. “I realize your shyness makes it hard to talk to men, but Martin is different. I wish you would think of him as family.”

  Marcella would rather not. It was difficult to think of him as family when he was kicking her and Charlotte out of the house. “I shall try,” she said for the benefit of her sister. “So tell me, are you truly feeling better?”

  Joanna nodded. “I am. The physician assures me I shall be out of bed by next week.”

  “I hope so. I do miss our talks, and Lottie misses you, too,” Marcella said, referring to their two-year-old cousin.

  Joanna’s smile weakened. “I do miss her. How is Lottie coping with the loss of her parents?”

  “I try to keep her entertained, and Mrs. Peery also spends a lot of time with her.”

  “Mrs. Peery is a godsend. I’m so glad Martin hired her.” Joanna’s eyelids drooped and she yawned. “I’m getting tired now. Come back tonight. I’ll be stronger then.”

  Marcella bent and kissed her sister on her forehead. Although her heart still twisted with pain seeing Joanna in such a weakened condition, she was relieved to have a chance to speak with her. Time was limited for Marcella right now.

  Once Marcella was able to step outside, the sun hit her face, and she squinted from the brightness. Blinking, she adjusted her vision before proceeding to the stable. Little Lottie would still be asleep, which would give Marcella time for a ride around the estate.

  As she waited for the stable boy to saddle Buttercup, Marcella glanced out across the estate. Martin had become a very fortunate man when he married Joanna. Not only did he get control of the Bronson family home since Marcella’s and Joanna’s parents were deceased, but Martin also inherited a thriving cattle ranch from his mother’s brother in Silverton two weeks ago. Apparently, Martin’s uncle and two cousins died who had owned the ranch.

  Heavy footfalls pounded on the dry ground, shaking her from her thoughts. She swung her attention to her brother-in-law as he marched toward her, wearing a stern expression. “I need to talk to you.”

  Gulping, she nodded and stepped away from the horse. She had always wanted to act like one of the heroines from her stories, but right now, she felt like a coward as she forced herself to face Martin’s menacing scowl.

  “About what?” she asked in a squeaky voice.

  “When are you and Charlotte leaving? I thought you told me a few weeks ago that a rancher was going to marry you.”

  She took a shaky breath. “Yes, that’s what he said. He had to tie up some lose ends first, and he’d let me know.”

  “Why haven’t you heard anything from him? Has he changed his mind?”

  She wrung her hands against her waist. “I’m not going to rush him. After all, he’s being kind enough to marry me and let me bring along Lottie.”

  “Well, if you haven’t heard from him by the first of next week, I’m going to deal with this matter myself. You are well past the marrying age, and if we wait any longer, men will find you too old. I’ll contact several of my acquaintances to see who would be willing to take you off my hands.”

  She inhaled sharply. Clasping her fingers together, she held them against her bosom. Take me off your hands? His rude words stung her just as much as a slap across the face would have. How dare he! Had he forgotten that this was her family home?

  Panic rushed through her, tightening her chest. She could scarcely breathe without taking gasps of air. She would have to send another telegraph to Toby Greystone and warn him that her brother-in-law was making threats. She prayed the rancher would marry her soon.

  TWO

  Tears burned behind Marcella’s eyelids and she blinked to keep them at bay. She didn’t dare show her frustration in front of her brother-in-law. Then again, if she did, it would be the first time in history she acted like that in front of a man.

  “I—I understand,” she answered in a whisper.

  “Splendid.” Martin nodded. “That’s all I wanted to say. You can go about your ride now.” He flipped his hand through the air, turned and marched back toward the house.

  She hurried back to the horse as the tears started sliding down her cheeks. The stable boy assisted her on top of Buttercup. As soon as she grasped the reins, she kicked her heels into the animal’s sides and urged the horse into a run. She guided the horse away from the house as her tears blurred her vision.

  Her heart broke to pieces knowing there wasn’t anything her sister could do about this particular problem. If Martin wanted Marcella out of his house and married to one of his acquaintances, it would happen.

  None of this was fair. She was shy around men, and she always would be, so naturally, she’d not be able to convince them that she would make a good wife... or a bad one. The only way she was able to convince the rancher in Silverton to take her as a wife was because she’s a writer and knew just what to say in the telegraph. But face-to-face, he might wonder if she was the same woman.

  When it became too hard to see, she stopped her horse just inside a grove of trees. Leaning her face against Buttercup’s mane, she sobbed harder. What could she do to stop this? What could she possibly say to Martin to make him change his mind? Why couldn’t he just let her and Lottie live in the family home since he’d be moving into his big ranch soon?

  His words buzzed through her head viciously, churning her stomach. I will be contacting several of my acquaintances to see who would be willing to take you off my hands. Take you off my hands... Off my hands... Her tears fell harder and faster, and she didn’t have the strength to stop them.

  From deep inside the cluster of trees came the snort of another horse. Sucking in her breath, she whipped her head toward the sound. She tried searching for the horse, but her tear-filled eyes kept her momentarily blinded. She wiped away the tears and searched again. The bushes moved, and within seconds, a man rushed toward her.

  She blinked, doubting her vision. Before she had time to react, the man’s large hands reached for her waist and gripped her tightly.

  “What do you think you’re doing—” she demanded, but as he yanked her off Buttercup, she lost her breath.

  Thankfully, he didn’t let her drop to the ground. Instead, arms of steel circled around her so tightly it was impossible to wiggle free. She slammed the back of her head against his chest repeatedly, hoping that would make him release her. It hadn’t. Pain s
hot through her skull with each blow, so she stopped.

  “Let me go,” she cried out, struggling harder.

  “I’m sorry, Duchess, but I cannot do that.”

  How odd that he’d call her Duchess, yet his tone of voice sounded sarcastic, so perhaps he was saying it to be mean and disrespectful since her parents had spoiled their daughters.

  He pulled her farther into the wooded area. She screamed louder. The sound startled Buttercup, making the horse jump and run off. Panic tightened in her throat. What in Heaven’s name was this man trying to accomplish? She screamed again, but this time her voice sounded hollow and scratchy.

  His chest shook with laughter. “You can scream all you want, Duchess, but nobody will hear you. You’re too far away.”

  “What—what do you want with me?” she asked in a hoarse voice.

  “You’ll soon understand my method of madness. But for now, I need to get you out of here.”

  Out of here? What did he mean by that?

  The man finally stopped dragging her, but it was only to wrap a large woolen horse blanket around her, covering her head and arms, and then he wound a rope around her arms to secure the covering. She tilted a few times, thinking she would soon plummet to the ground, but he continued to hold her and keep her upright.

  Suddenly, he lifted her in his arms and flung her over a horse. As her stomach hit the animal, her breath whooshed from her lungs, but she kept still. She took in deep breaths, trying not to panic. She needed to save her strength for later when she attempted to escape his clutches.

  And she would indeed escape. With a mind like hers, she’d think of something creative.

  He mounted behind her and then lifted her effortlessly, adjusting her body to sit on his lap. The man’s thighs were muscular and felt strangely comfortable underneath her buttocks. Her cheeks burned from thinking that way, so she pushed the embarrassment aside and concentrated on breathing normally even if terror spun through her body and caused her limbs to tremble.