A Mistaken Match

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,

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

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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

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

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.”

“Is he a nice man?” Ann’s voice cracked.

“Yes, he is.” Her head cocked to the side. “But don’t you know that, dear?”

“I’ve never met him.” Ann’s cheeks burned and she turned her head down, knowing full well the woman would soon guess the nature of their relationship. This reinforced why she’d avoided talking to anyone during her travels. She’d been assured that respectable women became mail-order brides all the time, but the idea still made her blush.

“Well, James McCann is a fine man. Any young woman would be blessed to have him.”

Ann’s gaze snapped back to the woman’s face. No judgment or mocking that she could observe. Only a warm smile that creased her cheeks so deep her eyes almost disappeared.

“You said you didn’t know him well,” Ann murmured.

“He doesn’t get to town much. His obligations on his farm keep him very busy. He’s also quiet and keeps to himself mostly, but he’s honest and decent. He’s in church every Sunday, he comes from a fine family, and I know for a fact he pays his bill at the store in full each month.” She wagged her finger to punctuate these last two points.

“And you say that any young woman would be blessed to marry him?” Ann tried to smother feelings of hope. Certainly this woman had no reason to lie? She’d imagined James McCann desired to send away to England for a bride because he had few other choices. She certainly wouldn’t be here if a pretty face and no references could get a servant girl more than a room in a brothel.

“Oh yes. He is—or rather was—a very eligible bachelor.” She bobbed her head in emphasis, and the loose bun on top bounced along with her.

“Might you even say he is kind?” Her voice was plaintive, even to her own ears.

The woman pursed her lips and patted Ann’s hand. “Very kind. Generous, too.”

Ann exhaled at the news. The girls at the agency had guessed right. She’d made an ugly match in James McCann. Most of them had been matched with men living in western America, where she’d been told eligible brides were as rare as the gold the men sought. When she shared with them the news of her future home in Ohio, these girls had smirked knowingly. He’s either ugly or wicked, they’d said. It relieved her to hear he was the former. She’d take an ugly, kind man over a cruel, handsome one any day. She hadn’t entered into this endeavor with any romantic notions. She only desired someone who could provide for her. To expect more would be foolish.

“I never introduced myself. I’m Mrs. Margaret Ludlow. And your name, dear?”

This question could be her chance to make a new start with a new identity! But no. James McCann already knew her by her name of the past eight years. It would have to remain. “Ann. My name is Ann.”

“Nice to meet you Ann—soon to be Ann McCann.”

She’d never thought to test out her new name. The result sounded like a silly joke, and she mouthed it silently for the first time. It possessed a surprisingly pleasant cadence. She liked it, all things considered.

Before she could ask Mrs. Ludlow any more questions, the conductor entered the car and announced their impending stop in Columbus. Her stomach quivered and she immediately regretted eating the apple. Despite misgivings, Mrs. Turner at the agency had allowed Ann to make this journey alone. Moral support proved a powerful thing, and most girls were required to travel in pairs. Clients weren’t happy when the brides they’d paid for got cold feet and failed to arrive. But Ann never intended to back out of the agreement. The orphanage had no more work for her, and her reputation as a servant for the upper class had been forever tarnished. Marrying James McCann was the best chance she had at a decent, stable future. Still, as the train edged closer to the station Ann wondered what would happen if she disembarked at the next station and disappeared into the crowd.

Mrs. Ludlow leaned over and pointed out the window. “We’re almost to my stop.”

“Your stop?” Ann’s heart fluttered. She’d found some measure of comfort in thinking this woman would be with her until her journey’s end.

“Didn’t I say? I’m staying in Columbus with another sister for a few days. Don’t worry. New Haven is only thirty more minutes.”

Mrs. Ludlow moved with excited efficiency, smoothing out the wrinkles in her traveling dress and using her palms to beat away at the dust clinging to the hem. Her haphazard toilet made Ann conscious she’d been traveling all day without so much as a glance at her reflection. She fetched a pocket mirror from her bag and bobbled it on her knee as she repinned her hair at the nape and smoothed the locks around her temples.

Mrs. Ludlow glanced over as Ann tidied herself and nodded approvingly. Ann smiled inwardly under the woman’s gaze. She’d been born into little, but God blessed her with beauty. She could only guess her looks had garnered a premium price as a prospective bride. No doubt the reason the agency accepted her application, despite their initial hesitation.

When the train finally ground to a stop, Mrs. Ludlow hoisted her carpetbag onto her lap. “There’s my sister’s husband,” she said, pointing to a stout man grimacing at his pocket watch. “I’d wait with you until the train departs, but the poor man doesn’t have an ounce of patience.”

“Thank you, but I’ll be fine. It was very nice meeting you.”

Ann ached for her to stay.

“The pleasure was mine, dear. May I call on you sometime?”

The question jarred her. She would soon have a home—her own home—in which she could accept visitors.

“Certainly. Of course. I would like that very much.” Ann stumbled over the words.

“I’ll let you settle in before I do. Every married couple needs time to get to know each other.”

Ann’s stomach turned to ice at the reminder of her approaching wedding night. How much time did she need to get to know a stranger? “I look forward to your visit.”

Mrs. Ludlow repeated her goodbyes several times and stopped at the door and waved before stepping from the train. Her brother-in-law hurried toward her and snatched the bag from her hands in chivalrous impatience.

Ann immediately missed Mrs. Ludlow. It had been weeks since she’d had a real conversation with anyone, and the woman’s kindness had reopened a loneliness Ann had tried hard to deny. Soon new passengers boarded the car and Ann’s heart dropped when the train lurched forward twenty minutes later, and she remained seated alone.

In that moment she would have welcomed even the most irritating of seatmates to distract her from thinking about what lay ahead. A new life in a new country. An intended husband whom she’d never met. After weeks of wondering and waiting, only a train stop stood between Ann and her future.

* * *

James McCann ran a calloused hand along the side of his wagon and grimaced. “I should have brought the buggy, Fred.”

Frederick Renner ambled over, his portly frame casting a shadow over the wagon boards. James had wiped down the seats and swept out the wagon bed, but most of the boards were split at the ends and embedded with the grime of farm work. The entire contraption could have done with a fresh coat of paint.

“Doesn’t look so bad to me,” Frederick offered. “And haven’t we already covered this? She’s going to have luggage. Probably a trunk or two. They would never fit in the buggy.”

“We could have left them with the stationmaster. I could have come back tomorrow with the wagon.”

Frederick chortled. “Boy, are you in for trouble if you think a woman would be content to be parted from all her worldly possessions for an entire day.”

James sighed. His friend was right. The buggy was the more attractive vehicle, but the wagon was the practical choice. The only choice. He wanted everything to be perfect for his bride, but if the pain of losing Emily had taught him anything, it was practicality served one so much better in this world than beauty.

“Besides,” Frederick continued, “if you’re trying to impress her, I’m sure that suit will do the trick.” He jabbed a chubby elbow into James’s ribs.

James tugged at the dark suit jacket, the new fabric stiff and unforgiving. The collar seemed to grow tighter by the minute. He slipped a finger between his neck and the material. A sparse breeze raked over a trickle of sweat and teased him with coolness. If only the day hadn’t turned stifling, maybe his heart wouldn’t beat so quickly.

The puff and clatter of the approaching train rumbled softly in the distance. The small crowd on the station platform buzzed and pushed forward like a swarm of bees, and James moved to join them. Frederick tapped him on the shoulder and held up a large cardboard sign with Ann Cromwell neatly lettered in black paint. “Don’t you need this?”

James waved him off. Like the unnecessary new suit and haircut, Frederick and his cousin Delia had insisted on the superfluous sign. “I’ll know her when I see her.”

“How exactly? You don’t have a picture.”

James exhaled. Frederick was a good friend, but he didn’t understand why James sought a bride from outside New Haven. He’d be flabbergasted if he knew how I expect to recognize her. He pushed the sign back into Frederick’s hands. “I just will.”

The train entered the station and James’s heart quickened. He clenched his fists at his sides, willing them to remain there instead of mussing his hair as he often did when he was nervous. In mere moments he would be face-to-face with his future wife, God willing. A young woman alighted from a third-class car and glanced back and forth across the platform.

It was her! Wasn’t it? His legs carried him forward before he could hesitate. As he strode closer, her features and form grew clearer. Yes, it had to be her. Tall and broad shouldered with mouse-brown hair yanked back into a severe bun. He drew close enough to observe a constellation of pockmarks on her cheeks. Her small eyes darted about before landing briefly on James. He smiled. Her brows pulled into a crease and she glanced away.

His heart fell. The sign! Frederick had been right after all. He recognized his bride, but she clearly didn’t realize he was her groom. His steps stuttered, but only for a moment. He couldn’t very well leave her on the platform while he fetched it. He approached the woman and removed his hat.

“Excuse me, miss?” Did his voice always sound so hoarse?

The corners of her mouth turned down and her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Clara! Clara, dear, I’m so sorry!” A thin, middle-aged woman in a blue dress with similar mouse-brown hair and an equally painful-looking bun appeared at James’s side and wrapped the young woman in a tight embrace. “We had the time wrong. I thought we were arriving early, and here you are, poor niece, left waiting all by your lonesome.”

Warmth swept over James’s cheeks as a vise of embarrassment replaced the drumbeat of nerves in his chest. The tall woman eyed him warily over her aunt’s shoulder as he replaced his hat and backed slowly away. He drew a deep breath. Ann Cromwell stood somewhere at this station and he needed to compose himself so he could find her. The crowd quickly dispersed as trunks were carried to waiting wagons and reuniting families finished their embraces. He scanned the thinning platform until two figures caught his eye. Frederick, cardboard sign in hand, speaking with a woman dressed in a dark green traveling dress with her back to James. Frederick’s eyes goggled.

James had no doubt the true Ann stood before his friend. Frederick’s gaping surprise told him everything. He chastised himself for not being the first to greet her. Rivulets of sweat coursed down his back and his shirt clung to every inch of his torso as he rushed over to join them.

“There you are, James,” Frederick said as James approached. “We’ve had a bit of confusion. Miss Cromwell saw the sign and thought I was you.”

“I am so sorry to have kept you waiting, Miss Cromwell.” Her diminutive size surprised him. The agency shared her height, but he never imagined she’d be so...petite. He stepped around the pair and at that same moment, she lifted her face to him in greeting.

“Oh my,” he breathed. His heart stopped and his mouth went dry as a haystack. Golden blond hair framed a delicate face accented by high cheekbones. Her eyes, as blue as a robin’s egg, blinked in the sun and her full, rosebud mouth turned up in a hesitant smile. “Are you the real James McCann?” Her voice held a teasing tone.

It took several beats for James to shake off the shock of finding a beauty instead of the plain, even homely woman he specifically requested. He removed his hat and held out his hand. She placed her impossibly small hand in his. “Yes, I am. Nice to meet you.” Oh no. There’s been a mistake. A terrible mistake.

“Do you have any trunks, Miss Cromwell?” Frederick asked.

“Please, call me Ann. And yes, I have one.”