Amelia (The Marriage Market Book 1) Read Online Free
Author: Stevie MacFarlane
suit, I see no reason why we shouldn't marry there as well. Following that, we will travel to Seattle by ship where you will reside with me in my home.
If these arrangements are acceptable to you, please send me a wire confirmation of your expected arrival date.
Yours,
H. Jordon
While far from romantic, his ability to articulate exactly what he expected and desired appealed to her on some level. So many men of her acquaintance seemed almost effeminate in their desire to amuse and cajole her into accepting their interest. She always felt it was more her father's money than her they were after.
At least Mr. H. Jordon had his own money and it was quite sufficient if what he said was true, and she had no reason to believe otherwise. He certainly hadn't attempted to sweet talk her with empty promises of endless devotion. No, he was a man who went after what he wanted and she was much the same way.
At this point in her life, there didn't seem to be many options for her. She was now on display, attending social functions and parties where she felt like a piece of meat at the market. Her toes had been stepped on, she'd fended off more than her share of over eager suitors and she was just plain tired of it all.
She wanted to travel, see new and exciting places. She wanted a home of her own where she could entertain or not, depending on what she wanted, not what was expected of her. And she was weakening, she knew it. If she didn't do something soon, her father would wear her down and she'd end up married to some man who was no fun at all. He would go to his office everyday while she'd be expected to make the rounds of tea with the ladies and balls in the evenings. It was too much. She had the social graces to do all that, she just didn't see the point. If she couldn't change the world for the better, she'd be better off on her own, amusing herself with a garden, or playing the piano. It was certainly more productive than spending her days gossiping and talking endlessly about the latest fashions.
Tucking her letter and the bank draft away, she went down to dinner knowing it would be one of the last she would eat in this house. She would miss her father dreadfully, but she'd also noticed he'd begun to pay quite a bit of attention to Mrs. Castor, a widow who had recently come out of mourning. Maybe her friends were right and he was waiting to get his daughter settled before he moved on. At least Effie and Grace would understand and support her, even if they didn't agree with her decision.
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Grace demanded, flopping down on the quilt. "You have no idea who this man is. What if he's not all he claims to be?"
"Then I won't marry him and will return home," Amelia replied calmly. "You read the letter. We'll be spending a few days in San Francisco to see if we are suited."
"Right and if he's not satisfied, he'll sell you to a brothel," Effie piped up.
"Effie Lane, what could you possibly know about such things?" Amelia gasped. Laughter bubbled up at the absurdity.
"I have brothers you know, older brothers, and I'm not stupid," she shot back, crossing her eyes.
"Oh, stop it." Grace giggled, slapping her friend. "I'm not saying anything like that will happen, Amelia, but you are taking an awful chance going so far alone."
"Do either of you want to come with me?" she asked before taking a bite of a crisp apple.
"I wouldn't dare," Grace said sadly. "My mother would set the Pinkertons on me. She wants me to marry Horace."
"Oh gosh, you have my deepest sympathy," Effie snickered, snatching up a handful of grapes. "He's only the richest man in town and one of the handsomest."
"But he doesn't love me," Grace revealed. "He wants me for, you know."
"No, we don't know," Amelia and Effie replied, sitting up and leaning closer.
"He wants me for the same thing that my brothers go to The Ridge for."
"What's The Ridge?"
"It's a brothel over in Clearview. There are 'fallen women' there."
For a
If these arrangements are acceptable to you, please send me a wire confirmation of your expected arrival date.
Yours,
H. Jordon
While far from romantic, his ability to articulate exactly what he expected and desired appealed to her on some level. So many men of her acquaintance seemed almost effeminate in their desire to amuse and cajole her into accepting their interest. She always felt it was more her father's money than her they were after.
At least Mr. H. Jordon had his own money and it was quite sufficient if what he said was true, and she had no reason to believe otherwise. He certainly hadn't attempted to sweet talk her with empty promises of endless devotion. No, he was a man who went after what he wanted and she was much the same way.
At this point in her life, there didn't seem to be many options for her. She was now on display, attending social functions and parties where she felt like a piece of meat at the market. Her toes had been stepped on, she'd fended off more than her share of over eager suitors and she was just plain tired of it all.
She wanted to travel, see new and exciting places. She wanted a home of her own where she could entertain or not, depending on what she wanted, not what was expected of her. And she was weakening, she knew it. If she didn't do something soon, her father would wear her down and she'd end up married to some man who was no fun at all. He would go to his office everyday while she'd be expected to make the rounds of tea with the ladies and balls in the evenings. It was too much. She had the social graces to do all that, she just didn't see the point. If she couldn't change the world for the better, she'd be better off on her own, amusing herself with a garden, or playing the piano. It was certainly more productive than spending her days gossiping and talking endlessly about the latest fashions.
Tucking her letter and the bank draft away, she went down to dinner knowing it would be one of the last she would eat in this house. She would miss her father dreadfully, but she'd also noticed he'd begun to pay quite a bit of attention to Mrs. Castor, a widow who had recently come out of mourning. Maybe her friends were right and he was waiting to get his daughter settled before he moved on. At least Effie and Grace would understand and support her, even if they didn't agree with her decision.
"Have you taken leave of your senses?" Grace demanded, flopping down on the quilt. "You have no idea who this man is. What if he's not all he claims to be?"
"Then I won't marry him and will return home," Amelia replied calmly. "You read the letter. We'll be spending a few days in San Francisco to see if we are suited."
"Right and if he's not satisfied, he'll sell you to a brothel," Effie piped up.
"Effie Lane, what could you possibly know about such things?" Amelia gasped. Laughter bubbled up at the absurdity.
"I have brothers you know, older brothers, and I'm not stupid," she shot back, crossing her eyes.
"Oh, stop it." Grace giggled, slapping her friend. "I'm not saying anything like that will happen, Amelia, but you are taking an awful chance going so far alone."
"Do either of you want to come with me?" she asked before taking a bite of a crisp apple.
"I wouldn't dare," Grace said sadly. "My mother would set the Pinkertons on me. She wants me to marry Horace."
"Oh gosh, you have my deepest sympathy," Effie snickered, snatching up a handful of grapes. "He's only the richest man in town and one of the handsomest."
"But he doesn't love me," Grace revealed. "He wants me for, you know."
"No, we don't know," Amelia and Effie replied, sitting up and leaning closer.
"He wants me for the same thing that my brothers go to The Ridge for."
"What's The Ridge?"
"It's a brothel over in Clearview. There are 'fallen women' there."
For a
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