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A Mistaken Match
Whitney Bailey
MATRIMONY MIX-UPHoping for a fresh start, Ann Cromwell travels to New Haven, Ohio, from London, England, as a mail-order bride—and learns she’s not the wife her groom-to-be was looking for. Though handsome farmer James McCann is kindly, he’s made it clear he wants the matchmaking agency to fix their mistake. But if she can’t convince him to give her a chance, she’s not sure where she’ll go.James can’t imagine why the matchmakers ignored his request for a plain bride. He was burned by a beautiful woman before, and he’s sure someone as stunning as Ann is unsuited for rural living. While the agency sorts out the error, though, Ann quietly works her way into James’s life…but can he ever allow her into his heart?
Matrimony Mix-up
Hoping for a fresh start, Ann Cromwell travels to New Haven, Ohio, from London, England, as a mail-order bride—and learns she’s not the wife her groom-to-be was looking for. Though handsome farmer James McCann is kindly, he’s made it clear he wants the matchmaking agency to fix their mistake. But if she can’t convince him to give her a chance, she’s not sure where she’ll go.
James can’t imagine why the matchmakers ignored his request for a plain bride. He was burned by a beautiful woman before, and he’s sure someone as stunning as Ann is unsuited for rural living. While the agency sorts out the error, though, Ann quietly works her way into James’s life...but can he ever allow her into his heart?
“This is why I didn’t want a pretty bride,” James muttered.
Ann’s cheeks flushed crimson and she clenched her hands into fists. “You think an ugly girl will make you a better breakfast?”
“I need to eat, Ann. The animals need to eat. The crops need to be planted and harvested. And you can’t even cook an egg.”
“I’m sorry I’m a disappointment to you, Mr. McCann, but why are you berating me? If I’m another man’s intended, you won’t be bothered with me much longer.”
James’s cheeks burned. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way. Forgive me.”
He escaped out the back door before he could say something else he regretted. Despite the disastrous breakfast, in a single morning she’d impressed him with much more than her beauty. She’d risen early to clean the entire kitchen by dawn, made an attempt at breakfast and stood stoically through the dressing of a burn that would have likely made a grown man cry. None of that mattered. The agency intended her for another, and he had to keep reminding himself of that.
Forget for an instant and he risked falling in love.
Dear Reader (#u72be62c0-eb70-597d-af5b-faca7d46c59d),
The setting for this story is very close to my heart. As I write this, sunlight streams into the room through the wavy glass of the 150-year-old window in my office. When writer’s block strikes, I stare out that window toward a barn raised with hand-hewn timbers or out over rows of corn or soybeans growing just beyond.
My husband’s great-great-grandfather built this house, and we are raising the fifth generation to make it their home. Though James and Ann are fictional, I picture Ann scrubbing these same wooden floors as I buzz my vacuum cleaner across them and James toiling in the field as our tractor plows the same expanse with ease. Though life has changed dramatically since these walls were first erected, my one hope is for faith and family to be the focal point of our generation and each generation to come.
Whitney Bailey
WHITNEY BAILEY is a city girl turned farm wife. She makes her home in the Midwest with her husband, four children and an assortment of sociable barn cats who meow at the window when she’s trying to write. A Mistaken Match is her debut novel.
A Mistaken Match
Whitney Bailey
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
—Philippians 4:6
For Patrick
Contents
Cover (#ufc915dcc-d49d-59cd-9e87-848f1e29d368)
Back Cover Text (#u4e932c1f-8eb6-5b04-b40d-eee11a547e22)
Introduction (#u254c868e-4e14-5aa5-9381-eccea37c81b8)
Dear Reader (#u46ddf2f7-9ce6-5268-9c13-c9e8da990633)
About the Author (#udc9d9d4a-57c8-5124-a1b7-25977af7fbf6)
Title Page (#uc9b169d8-ca00-5d1e-bd9c-1294d0fca3b0)
Bible Verse (#ub998cc41-1733-5cdf-a2bf-85e9babe9207)
Dedication (#u6fd96359-3de7-53f1-99e4-15f31842362c)
Chapter One (#ue608b56f-e198-593c-a9b0-900e2e6446ef)
Chapter Two (#ud6b1d6a0-f003-539a-8f3a-a2c213451cac)
Chapter Three (#u8ea674de-4abd-5841-861c-bf719a24a734)
Chapter Four (#u33a482b7-254f-5e5a-96b6-99620e0bce1d)
Chapter Five (#ucec0b703-be72-554c-b80b-efa4d3162bbf)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u72be62c0-eb70-597d-af5b-faca7d46c59d)
June 1895
En route to New Haven, Ohio, on the Toledo and Ohio Central Railway
The train’s wheels clattered in perfect harmony with Ann Cromwell’s racing heart. Each beat brought her closer to her new life, and her hands trembled as she thought of what awaited her at journey’s end.
“Would you like an apple, miss?”
Ann had nearly forgotten she had a seatmate. She could pretend she hadn’t heard her, but something told her this woman wouldn’t give up easily. Her voice held the kind of friendliness that was the hallmark of a talkative traveler.
Ann waited a beat before blinking the sun from her eyes and turning from the window. Silver hair streaked the woman’s temples and deep lines bordered her mouth. Slightly overweight, she carried it well on the tops of her cheeks and across her bosom. Once Ann faced her, the smile lines deepened.
“Would you like one? They’re perfectly ripe.”
Her outstretched hand held a large, red apple blushed with gold.
“No, thank you,” Ann whispered, even as her stomach groaned.
“Are you sure? I have a whole bag.”
Though the apple looked delicious, would it stay down? The queasiness in her stomach grew with each station stop. Ever since childhood, nerves always made her belly rebel. She’d last eaten yesterday from a food cart on the Pittsburgh station platform and only managed to force down a few bites before throwing the remainder of her ham sandwich in a rubbish bin.
“I’m quite sure.” Ann kept her voice as soft as possible while still remaining audible.
The woman’s eyes widened as she returned the apple to her bag. “My, what a sweet accent you have! Are you English?”
No one in New York had noticed Ann’s accent. Only when the train boarded passengers in central Pennsylvania did her voice attract attention. Now in Ohio, it seemed impossible to keep from drawing notice—like a scullery maid embarrassingly visible in the parlor. She wasn’t trying to be unfriendly, but conversation was the last thing she wanted.
The woman’s eyebrows arched higher as she awaited Ann’s response.
“Yes, ma’am. I’m from London.”
“London? How exciting! What brings you to America?”
Before Ann could respond with her usual falsehood about visiting an aunt—the story she had crafted to help draw as little attention and interest from her fellow passengers as possible—something gave her pause. As she drew closer to her final destination, so grew the chance of someone catching this particular lie.
“If you don’t mind, I think I’ve changed my mind about that apple.”
The woman smiled broadly and fumbled with her bag to retrieve the fruit.
“Here, let me clean this up for you.” She buffed the apple against the fabric of her skirt. Ann flashed a cursory smile of thanks and turned back toward the window. The apple lay heavy in her hand and her mouth watered at the heady scent of ripe fruit. Crisp and sweet, it tasted glorious after weeks of ship and train food. She savored each bite to prolong the silence. Each time Ann entered into a conversation, it led to questions she had no desire to answer.
All too soon only the apple’s sticky core remained. She glanced about for a place to tuck the scrap.
“Let me take that from you.”
The woman produced a small paper sack. Ann dropped in the core and wiped her tacky hands briskly against her skirt. Before she could turn away, the woman spoke again.
“I’m returning from a visit with my sister. She just had her tenth child.” She paused, clearly waiting for a reaction, and Ann humored her by opening her eyes wide in a show of surprise. “Yes! Tenth! Her sixth girl. She needed help, of course, with some of her younger ones, and I was delighted to lend a hand.”
The woman paused again. Her eyes softened, and she reached out and patted Ann’s hand in a motherly way. “My children are all older now. My oldest daughter is near your age. I so enjoyed being near babies and young children again.”
“How lovely for you.”
The woman grinned. “My, your accent really is nice.”
“Thank you.” Ann had learned long ago how to mimic the melodic upper-class accent of her employers.
“Are you traveling on from Columbus?”
“Yes, to New Haven.” Her own words sounded strange. She hadn’t told anyone even a fraction of the truth in days.
The woman clapped her hands. “Isn’t that wonderful! I’m from New Haven.”
Ann felt a rush of thankfulness that she hadn’t lied.
“Are you visiting someone?” the woman continued.
Ann shook her head. “No, not exactly. I’ll be living there.”
The woman waited a beat for Ann to continue. Ann smiled weakly.
“Who will you be living with, dear? I was born and raised in New Haven. I’m sure I must know them.” The woman’s voice grew softer than before, but no less friendly.
Ann cleared her throat. “James McCann.”
The woman’s brows knit together and she pursed her lips tight. Ann knew what her next question would be. She saved her the trouble of asking. “He’s to be my husband.”
Ann dreaded the interrogation sure to follow. But there were no questions—at least not right away. Instead, the woman’s hand found Ann’s again and she squeezed it tight.
“That is wonderful news. Really wonderful. James McCann is a fine young man. I wish you both much happiness.”
Ann’s heart jumped, and for a moment her walls dropped. She leaned forward. “You know him?”
“Yes, of course. Not terribly well, but everyone in town knows James.”
