Mail Order Bride Mishap (Into the West #3)

Chapter 11

His words echoed through her head until she focused on them. Focused and felt bewildered. He couldn’t do this? This meaning what? The argument they were having at the moment? Or the whole marriage? Please, please, let it be the argument. He couldn’t mean the wedding, could he? He couldn’t feel that strongly against her hat-making that he’d call off the wedding, could he? The man she’d written to, the man she’d fallen in love with, wasn’t that shallow. She’d never have fallen for someone that superficial. Would she?

She stared at him, stomach dropping to her shoes as she studied his desolate expression. Took in his stony and inflexible façade. That look was too serious for discussing an argument. That look was reserved for the death of a dream, the death of his future. Their future.

Maybe she had. Maybe she’d been completely duped by a handsome face and charming nature, flowery words and a pretty turn of phrase.

“Wh—what do you mean, you ‘can’t do this’?” She held her breath. His gaze met hers without wavering. Without its customary warmth.

“Exactly what I said, Fiona. I can’t do this, this arguing anymore. For the last week, every time we get together we end up facing off over whether you can sew or not when we’re married, and frankly, I’m done with the whole shooting match. I said I don’t care if you make hats in your spare time and sell them, and I still don’t. Have fun with it. But you’re not happy with that.”

“Of course I’m not, Edward. What I can do with hats is more than a ‘spare time’ hobby, don’t you see? I can sell them and make money, money for us--”

“I already make money for us, Fiona.” She watched his eyes heat, saw a spike of temper. Felt hers raise a notch in response.

“So I should just sit back and let you make all the money for us? Ignore the talent I have?” She lowered her voice in one more attempt to hold onto her temper.

“You should be a wife to me, and hopefully a mother!” He snapped, facing her squarely with hands on his hips, jacket shoved behind crooked elbows. One part of her noticed he looked remarkably handsome with his hair falling over his eyes, while the rest of her made ready to do battle. But he wasn’t finished.

“I was completely honest in my letters, Fiona, about what I was looking for. You know that.” He paused, as if waiting for her acknowledgement. Her gaze never wavered, though her brain conceded the truth behind his comment. He heaved a sigh and continued, spinning away with that hand smoothing back his hair again.

“You, on the other hand, were looking for more than just a husband, weren’t you?” Here he faced her, impaled her with a hurt, accusatory look. She stepped back a pace, stilling her shaking head. He advanced on her, words spewing rapidly from his mouth, his heart.

“You admitted you had nothing back in Boston. No one there for you, no family. Probably no job, am I right?” When she didn’t respond, he gave a quick wave of his hand and barreled on, pacing back and forth the whole time. “Doesn’t matter.

“There was nothing left for you in Boston, so you decided to come out west and become a mail order bride. And once you snared that poor bastard’s attention and money, that poor bastard being me, you hatched the plan to become his wife and start the business you’d always wanted. On my money,” he concluded with raised voice.

Fiona crumpled inside. This was going all so horribly wrong. What could she do that would make him understand? Make him realize that, although she’d started out doing exactly as he’d said, she’d ended up in love with him as well? How could she get him to see the truth?

“Edward, you have to listen to me,” she began, stepping in front of him to halt his angry strides. He pulled up sharply, glared down into her face. Backed up when she made to rest a palm upon his chest. She dropped her hand, though held his fiery gaze.