Chapter Three
“YOU LOOK PERFECTLY lovely, dear.” Mrs. Canton, the minister’s wife, laid her hands on Delia’s shoulders.
Delia’s throat closed for a moment. All she could do was nod. The gesture was so like one her own mother would have given her, and the pang of missing home and her family washed over her so unexpectedly that Delia couldn’t speak.
“I haven’t known Mr. Foster very long, but everything about him indicates he’s a good man. I haven’t heard a word to the contrary from anyone in town,” Mrs. Canton said. “And you know Mrs. Gilbert ensures that only the best gentlemen are allowed to place advertisements in her publication.”
“I didn’t know that,” Delia said, distracted for a moment by the word publication. “Is Mrs. Gilbert a newspaper lady?”
Mrs. Canton laughed. “Not exactly. She and Mrs. Young, who lives in Canon City, started a publication for gentlemen seeking mail-order brides. They sell the publication for placement in newspapers in cities back East.” She paused in swiping dust from Delia’s sleeve.
“I thought you might have known that, considering you answered Mr. Foster’s advertisement. ”
A flush warmed Delia’s cheeks. “I admit to overlooking the finer points of where I saw Mr. Foster’s advertisement. I was too taken with his words to think much beyond them.” With that statement, she sounded like a foolish young girl in love. Except Delia was neither foolish, young, nor in love.
But she could admit to herself that she’d dove into her idea for a series of articles without much thought on how those advertisements were placed.
Now that she knew, she thought it might make for additional interest to her readers if she were to seek out this Mrs. Gilbert and pose some questions to her.
“Does Mrs. Gilbert live in town?” she asked. “I’d love to thank her for her generosity in doing this work.”
Mrs. Canton patted her arm and gave her a motherly smile. “Of course. Her husband runs the land sales office. You have a good heart, Miss Elliott. I know you’ll be happy with Mr. Foster, and a wonderful mother to little Anna. Goodness knows that girl needs a mother.”
Delia forced herself to smile at Mrs. Canton. She hadn’t yet met Anna. Perhaps it was preparing to walk into the church and recite vows of commitment, but for the first time since hatching this idea, she had misgivings.
She followed Mrs. Canton on nervous legs. What was she getting herself into? She didn’t know this man at all. What if he was a brute underneath that friendly smile and those warm eyes?
He lit up the moment he saw her walk into the church, and the fear that he was really a monster faded into something that felt almost worse. I won’t be cruel to him, she’d said to Roy back in the offices of the newspaper where she’d felt so comfortable.
But wasn’t what she was doing inherently cruel? Mr. Foster looked at her now with a hopeful expression. Perhaps he imagined a lifetime together, filled with evenings by the fire and the joyful shouts of their children.
Delia paused, a few feet away from him, doubting everything she’d planned.
“Go on, dear. He’s waiting,” Mrs. Canton whispered in her ear. She gave Delia a little nudge on the back, likely mistaking her hesitation for nerves.
I can’t do this. I’m a terrible person. Delia pressed her hands into the sides of her skirt, trying desperately to summon the courage she normally felt about her work.
But that work had normally been penning advice to lovelorn society ladies or reporting on the latest fashions to find New York. Never had she done anything so . . . so . . . personal.
If she left now—if she ran from this church, grabbed her carpetbag from Mr. Foster’s house, and went straight to the depot—she could return home. Mother wouldn’t mind at all. In fact, she’d be thrilled for Delia’s help with her younger siblings. And Roy—
Delia’s face went warm with the thought of Roy crossing his arms and shaking his head, reveling in the fact that she’d come around to the fact that he was right.
He had no idea she decided to do this despite his rejection of her proposal, but he had to know by now.
When she hadn’t made contact with him for this week’s article, he’d likely sent someone to her mother’s home.
And then Mother would have handed over four weeks’ worth of articles penned in advance—and the news that Delia had gone out west to be married.
Roy knew what she was doing, and if she gave in now, she’d look a fool. Like a little girl who didn’t follow through with her own plans because she was afraid. And not like someone who deserved a career in newspapers.
Delia steeled her shoulders and stepped forward. Mr. Foster took her hands in his.
Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers wrapped around hers.
When she forced herself to breathe again, all she could think about was how warm his skin was and how she somehow felt both secure and scared at the same time.
Her heart thumped faster when his eyes met hers.
He gave her a reassuring smile that made her insides feel as if they were melting.
Delia tore her eyes away from his to look at the minister. Air rushed into her throat and her thoughts lurched into motion. More than one man had taken her hand at balls and other society events, but Delia had never experienced a reaction like the one she’d just had.
The minister was speaking, and she tried to concentrate on his words. But when she did, it sparked the guilt she’d felt when she saw Mr. Foster waiting here for her.
I’ll find someone for him, she promised herself. She wouldn’t leave until she did.
A thunk sounded from one of the pews, and Delia’s gaze shot toward the wedding attendees. She’d been so preoccupied with Mr. Foster and her own thoughts upon walking into the church that she’d failed to notice who had come to see them be married.
She counted precisely three people. A young couple and a girl Delia could only assume to be Anna. The girl watched her, and Delia gave her a friendly smile. Anna frowned and leaned back in the pew, loudly kicking a foot against the seat in front of her.
Delia fought the urge to raise her eyebrows. After the third or fourth kick, the female half of the couple in attendance slid down her pew and leaned forward to whisper in Anna’s ear. Anna gave her a less than friendly glare, but at least she ceased making noise.
The minister’s request to have them recite their vows drew her attention away from Anna and back toward the man she was marrying. Somehow, Delia managed to make a litany of promises to Mr. Foster that she had no intention of keeping. The guilt rose in her throat and strangled the last of her words.
Mr. Foster smiled kindly at her, presumably reading her choked-up voice as true emotion toward him and their marriage.
He squeezed her hands, and she returned his smile as best she could.
He let go of one of her hands to brush back a lock of his hair that had fallen over his forehead.
Not only was he thoughtful, but he was painfully handsome.
That had been obvious the moment Delia laid eyes on him.
It shouldn’t be difficult at all to find a lady willing to take her place.
Not with Mr. Foster’s golden-streaked hair, eyes a girl could drown in, that endearing although somewhat crooked smile, and his tall and muscular stature.
Although as he took her empty hand again, an unexpected pulse of jealousy filled Delia’s mind as she imagined another woman standing here with her hands in Mr. Foster’s.
“I now pronounce you man and wife,” the minister concluded. He stepped back and added, “You may kiss your bride.”
Delia’s heart leapt into her throat. She’d forgotten about this part. How had she forgotten about this part? Heaven knew she’d attended the wedding of nearly every girl she’d grown up with.
Ever so gently, Mr. Foster lifted his hands to her arms and drew her toward him until she could feel his breath on her face when he looked down at her.
She didn’t know if she could do this.
She had to do this.
And a tiny part of her couldn’t wait.
Delia tilted her head up and squeezed her eyes shut. The seconds thudded into what felt like hours until finally his lips brushed hers.
She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t do anything except stand there and feel. And wish that it would never end.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk.
With a barely suppressed sigh, Mr. Foster drew away from her and turned to eye his daughter, who had gone back to kicking the pew in front of her.
As Delia figured out how to breathe again, she found herself smiling and accepting words of congratulations from everyone in attendance. Mr. Foster introduced the couple in attendance as Liam Hannan, who owned the hotel he worked for, and Mr. Hannan’s wife, Tilly.
“It’s wonderful to meet you,” Tilly said.
“We’re both so happy for Max. He’s only been in town for a few months, but we feel as if he and Anna are family.
” She gave a sidelong glance at Anna, who was leaning against the wall nearby, scuffing the toe of her shoe along the floor.
“You’re doing a good thing for that little girl. She needs a mother.”
Delia nodded, uncertain what to say about the girl she hadn’t even really met yet.
Everyone seemed to be in agreement that Anna needed mothering, and the weight of that expectation was growing heavier the longer Delia went without speaking to the girl “Thank you so much for coming,” she said instead of addressing anything about Anna.
“Of course.” Tilly took Mr. Hannan’s hand.
“If you need anything, just let me know. And please come by for a visit. This town felt so overwhelming to me when I first arrived, and getting to know someone helped me. Although I suppose if you’re from New York, Crest Stone must feel downright quaint. ” She laughed.
Delia smiled. “I’d love someone to visit. Thank you.”
Mr. Foster said his goodbyes and thanked the minister and his wife. As they prepared to walk to the door of the church, Mr. Foster frowned and glanced around.
“Have you seen Anna?” he asked.
Delia turned to where the girl had been leaning against the wall not just a few minutes earlier. But the space was now vacant. “She was right there.”
“Hmm.” He frowned as he gave the church one last sweep with his eyes. “She’ll be home for supper. That’s something I can always count on. For someone so small, she’s eternally hungry.”
He offered her an arm, and Delia took it, but the entire situation sat oddly with her. “Does she do this often?” she asked as they stepped outside.
“Run off?”
Delia nodded.
“Unfortunately, yes.” He steered her around a pair of men who were hoisting crates into a wagon.
“And she doesn’t tell you where she’s going?”
His jaw tightened, and Delia hesitated to say more.
It was clear she’d happened upon a sensitive topic.
The last thing she wanted was for her new husband to think she was passing judgment on his skills as a father—especially when she’d never had a child herself.
It was safer to steer the conversation in a more upbeat direction.
“Well, I’m looking forward to actually meeting her. ”
That brought a smile to Mr. Foster’s face. He’d sent Mrs. Canton to bring her to the church earlier, while he looked for Anna. Delia hadn’t had an opportunity to say as much as hello to the girl.
“Miss Sullivan at the hotel offered to send over a supper for us,” Mr. Foster said as he held open the door to the house for her. “If you write up a list of what you need, I’ll accompany you to the general store tomorrow.”
“Of course,” Delia said, thankful for perhaps the first time for all of the hours she’d spent chatting and learning from their cook at home.
She might not be the most talented in the kitchen, but her skills exceeded most of the other girls she’d known growing up.
She’d ensure they wouldn’t starve, at least. “And that’s very nice of Miss Sullivan. Please give her my thanks.”
Delia tucked the name away in the back of her mind. Perhaps this Miss Sullivan could be a potential love interest for Mr. Foster when the time came for Delia to return to New York. She’d have to meet the lady and find out for herself.
“I ought to change, and then I’ll set about making that list,” she said.
“Of course. Miss Elliott—I mean, Cordelia. Is it all right if I call you Cordelia?” Mr. Foster’s face went ruddy with the question.
A wave of affection passed through Delia. It was kind of him to ask. “Delia, please. Cordelia sounds so formal.” Delia made a face.
He smiled at her reaction. “All right. Delia. And I prefer Max to Maxwell.”
“Max.” She repeated the name, trying not to focus on how intimate it felt to say out loud. Perhaps if he were old and gruff, like Roy, it would feel different. But instead, it sent a warm, buzzing feeling through her entire body.
His eyes, she realized, lingered on her. And then it seemed he realized he was staring.
“Right,” he said, shifting sideways to allow her access to the stairs. “I’ll be . . . I’ll be down here.”
Delia could feel her face going hot. She was blushing. It was embarrassing and so entirely unlike her that all she could do was run up the stairs without looking back.
But when she reached the top, she came to a sudden stop.
“Anna?”