The Governess Bride: A Sweet Mail Order Bride Historical by Eliza Lewis Page A

alone in Widow Purdy's empty parlor. Just an hour ago, the elegant room had been full of the sounds of a dozen young ladies laughing and chattering hopefully and excitedly as they ripped and tore at the dozens of 'Wife Wanted' advertisements from the armfuls of ladies' journals they had acquired.
     
    But now the room was still, and all was quiet. A few torn and shredded pieces of newspaper were all that remained of the young ladies' presence. Clara felt a sudden, sharp pang of emptiness and loneliness. All of these young ladies were so confident and sure of everything. None of them seemed to be in any doubt as to whether to marry. Their one concern seemed to be simply to get married.
     
    Clara sighed and sat down dejectedly, sending the last few unwanted shreds of paper swirling about her lap. To seal her fate and welfare in marriage to a stranger was unthinkable to her. Events in her past meant that she could not begin to consider the idea of delivering herself into the arms – nor, specifically, the marriage bed – of a man who might very well turn out to be neither decent nor kind.
     
    Although she was only twenty years old, she knew to her cost that men could be cruel. After what happened to her at the hands of her stepfather, Clara knew she would not marry. And anyway, who would want her? No. Her distrust of men would not – it could not –  leave her. It seemed to Clara that she could make a life for herself in domestic service. She was hopeful that kind old Widow Purdy would provide her with a good housemaid's reference.
     
    But still. It all just felt so… Flat . How she wished she could soon be embarking on a west-bound adventure like the excitable young ladies she'd encountered that day. Clara sighed once more, sending one of the discarded little pieces of newspaper fluttering into her lap. Her eyes caught on a handful of words:
     
    WANTED: WIFE IN NAME ONLY it read. Clara straightened in her seat and brought the scrap of paper closer for inspection. Name only? It was one of the few discarded advertisements left behind by the gaggle of young ladies who had just an hour since taken their leave. It read, in full:
     
    WANTED:
    A kindly young lady – prepared to become a WIFE IN NAME ONLY to a rancher. Willing to act in the capacity of Governess; that is, to take charge of the rearing of two infant boys, until such time as the marriage is undertaken. Interested parties should note that the rancher in question is a touch ornery – but nonetheless a good man
    and a kind man.
    The eventual union would be entirely proper and above board,
    and in name only.
    Please address correspondence to Mrs Abigail Abercromby.
     
    A rush of excitement pulsed at Clara's wrists. Why, it hadn't occurred to her that there could be men out there interested in a name-only marriage arrangement. Widowers with motherless children perhaps; or kindly old souls who needed a housekeeper and nothing more. It seemed that the world had opened up to her all of a sudden. Wasn't this idea of becoming a wife in name only simply the perfect arrangement? For a young lady like her, whose virtue had been compromised? An arranged marriage would give each party a measure of security and permanence – without the entanglements of love or passion. Permanence . The word echoed a little around Clara's mind, and she was surprised to notice that she was trembling a little – struck suddenly by the reality of a forever agreement. She swallowed. Was she sure? Was she sure that abandoning all hope of finding love, of having children of her own, was the right choice?
     
    She closed her eyes, hoping for a moment of serene guidance from some place deep in her soul. But then she wrenched them open again. There came no guidance. Just the sickening, bile raising memory of that… that man … throwing her to the floor. Striking her till she bled. Setting upon her, and–. No. No . There was no doubting it. To be a wife in name only was the correct choice. And