Mail-Order Bride Ink: Dear Mr. Turner Read Free Page A

in the domestic realm.”
    Pleasant stared, her mouth half-open in shock. She was still getting over her aunt’s earlier revelation. “What?”
    “Pay a visit to Adelia Pettigrew.”
    Pleasant straightened in her chair, a puzzled look on her face. “Who is Adelia Pettigrew?”
    “She runs a mail-order bride agency in town. I wouldn’t suggest her at all, seeing as how she’s a … well, a crackpot. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I do hear all her brides are blissfully married.”
    “Blissfully?” Pleasant said, a hint of hope in her voice.
    “Indeed. We’ll pay her a visit first thing in the morning. If we’re lucky, she’ll have a nice Southern groom wanting a wife someplace like California – that’s about as far from here as you can get!”
    “But Auntie … marry a complete stranger?”
    “It’s a complete stranger or Rupert Jerney. Which would you prefer?”
    Pleasant looked at her hands. They were creamy and smooth, the skin soft to the touch. If she married Rupert, she’d not want for any material thing, but she’d be stuck in a loveless marriage with a man she didn’t like to begin with. Set aside that he was a Yankee – there were good Yankees, she knew. But Rupert wasn’t one of them. He liked to boast, was a complete boor, thought himself better than everyone else and reportedly had more than a passing interest in the bawdy houses. So what if he was rich? Money did not make the man.
    She glanced at her hands again. Better to marry a stranger and pray he was kind than risk a life with Rupert. True, she might have rough, dry hands with a stranger, but if he was kind and of good moral character, how much did that matter?
    Speaking of matter … “Auntie, what about Comfort Fields?”
    “What about it? Your father has nothing left to keep it going. From the sounds of it, the banks are going to take it if he doesn’t pay his debts. And they will, mark my words. But your brothers are all talented enough. They’ll get along.”
    “And Papa?”
    Phidelia sighed wearily. “I suspect he’ll come here to live with me.”
    Pleasant stood. “I can’t ask you to do –”
    “It’s no trouble, child. I’ve always enjoyed his company – when he wasn’t being an unreasonable goat, that is. Right now he’s beyond reason.”
    “But my brothers’ inheritance …”
    “… was lost by your father a long time ago. The war more than anything took it from them. All your father has done these last few years is forestall the inevitable.”
    “But what will they do? Where will they go?”
    “They’re a resourceful bunch, my dear – they won’t be completely penniless. You’re the one that will be in the long run. You’ve got to marry!”
    Her aunt was right, of course. There was no help for it. If she didn’t marry and fast, she’d be forced by Father to wed Rupert. Pleasant massaged her temples a moment, eyes closed. When she opened them, she said, “Very well, Mrs. Pettigrew it is.”

    * * *
    M rs. Pettigrew tapped her fingers on her desk as she looked Pleasant up and down. Aunt Phidelia sat nervously in a chair off to one side, as if expecting the finely carved piece of furniture to explode at any moment.
    Pleasant stood before the desk, still as a statue. “Well?”
    Mrs. Pettigrew met her gaze. “Well what, ma cherie ?” She had been throwing around French phrases all morning. Pleasant had initially thought she might be from Louisiana, but no, the accent wasn’t right …
    “Are you going to sit there and stare at me all day, or are we to get down to business?”
    Mrs. Pettigrew arched an eyebrow. “What a lovely accent you have, ma belle .” She looked at her aunt. “Speaks her mind, doesn’t she?”
    “She always has,” Aunt Phidelia agreed.
    “Hmmm,” Mrs. Pettigrew mused as she went back to studying the prospective bride.
    Pleasant fought the urge to roll her eyes in impatience. It wouldn’t do to upset the woman. Her reputation for perfect matches