Chapter 1
Chapter One
The carriage groaned as it rattled over the stones, every jolt driving through my spine after three endless days on the train and nearly another spent in this wretched seat.
My body felt bruised from sitting still so long, my dress clinging with dust and sweat that no amount of fanning could keep at bay.
The horses plodded on with steady, merciless rhythm, their hooves beating time to the ache in my temples.
I longed for a wash, for clean sheets, fresh clothes... or really just anything familiar.
But I'd left all the familiar things behind me, on our small family farm.
All I'd brought with me were my clothes, books, and the few letters I'd exchanged with my would-be husband.
My fingers tightened in my skirts as the wheels jolted into a fresh rut.
No matter the worries and anxieties coursing through me, there was little point in wasting any energy on it. It was too late to turn back now.
The carriage lurched to a halt so suddenly I caught myself on the worn leather seat, my stomach flipping as if I'd left part of myself behind on the road.
For a moment, silence pressed in, broken only by the horses' heavy breaths and the faint jingle of their harness.
The world seemed unnaturally still after so many days of motion.
Taking a deep bolstering breath, I pushed back the curtain and peered out.
The house loomed before me.
It wasn't the neat stone farmhouse I'd half imagined, but a great dark shape against the falling dusk, its windows glowing faintly like watchful eyes.
My heart thumped unevenly. Somewhere inside waited the man who had written his acceptance in neat black ink, a man who wanted no dowry, no fortune, only me.
An untouched orphan from the wilds of the Transvaal.
I smoothed my skirts with trembling hands, as though dust and fatigue could be hidden under a press of fingers. When the driver climbed down and swung open the door, the air rushed in, thick with the smell of horse and earth and something unfamiliar I could not name.
One shaky breath, then another.
It was time to meet my husband.
I put one foot out, as the driver held out his hand to help me climb from the carriage. When my boots landed on the cobbled stone, I finally forced myself to look up at the house.
Although, house didn't really do justice as a moniker.
It was incredibly impressive, in size and stature. My dear Captain Smythe had left out a few details in his letters to me. Not once in the last few months had he mentioned we were to be living on an estate.
No wonder he wasn't bothered by the fact that I had no dowry.
Now... the question was, why on earth would he have need of a mail-order bride? Surely a war veteran, with the amount of money it appeared Captain Leighton Smythe had, could have his pick of brides from Cape Town society.
The front door swinging open with a muted thud drew me from my musings and I was drawn to a tall figure in a dark tailcoat and crisp white gloves as he stepped briskly onto the stone path. His posture was impeccable, shoulders straight, hands clasped neatly at his sides.
I guessed I just saw my first ever butler.
"Miss Kruger, welcome to Eagle's Rest," he said, his voice measured but warm, tinged with a deference I'd never experienced before.
He dipped into a slight bow, one hand extended toward the door.
"Your rooms have been prepared, and your luggage will be brought inside immediately. Please allow me to see you safely in."
He stepped aside with a slight wave of his arm, inviting me inside.
"Uh, thank you," I said, unable to come up with anything more substantial. I didn't know what on earth was going on, but I had not prepared for this. "Is the Captain not here?"
The stately gentleman cleared his throat before pulling the door shut behind us and then preceding me down the hall.
"He's just dealing with an urgent matter, and asked that I show you to your rooms when you arrived. His business should be concluded by dinner, so he will be joining you then."
I couldn't hide my disappointment that I wasn't to meet my fiancé yet.
And from the look on the butler's face, he’d caught my saddened expression.
Drat.
I cleared my throat. "I'm sorry, I never asked your name."
"Of course, Miss! Pardon my bad manners. I'm Graham Sinclair. Butler to Eagle's Rest. It will be so lovely to have a woman's presence in the house, and all the staff are very excited to have you join us."
I blushed at his kind words, but a small niggle of worry had started building inside me.
Maybe one of the inhabitants of Eagle's Rest wasn't all that excited for me to be here. The only one that really mattered.
My fiancé.
"It's lovely to meet you, Mr. Sinclair. I'm very excited to be here myself, but I must admit I wasn't quite prepared for the... lavish reception. From the Captain's descriptions, I was fully expecting a smaller farmhouse with a small growing vineyard."
Graham Sinclair straightened at my words, his shoulders squaring even more—if that was even possible. "Ah." He cleared his throat. "The Captain is a very humble man, Miss Kruger."
Somehow, the words didn't quite ring true.
"You're welcome to call me Elisabet, or Lisa if you prefer," I invited, already growing weary of the formal address.
Graham looked at me, a slight frown on his face. But he didn't say a thing.
During our conversation we'd made our way up a lavish staircase and down a long hallway, to a large double wood door which Graham opened and gestured for me to precede him into the most lovely bedroom I'd seen in my entire lifetime.
The room was vast, high-ceilinged, and softened by the glow of oil lamps.
The focus of the space was a four-poster bed, draped in embroidered silk and crowned with a carved mahogany canopy.
Its counterpane gleamed ivory in the lamplight, edged with delicate lace, while a cascade of pillows invited my weary bones to just.. . sink into the luxury.
Beneath my feet, the floor was covered by a carpet that looked so lush I was loath to step on it, its deep reds and indigos adding warmth against all the other cool tones in the room.
Against one wall stood a massive armoire of dark polished wood, its doors inlaid with gilt scrolling.
Beside it a dressing table gleamed, cluttered with cut-glass perfume bottles, a silver-backed brush set, and a crystal dish that looked like the perfect place to store some hairpins.
A large oval looking glass, framed in more gilt, caught the light and reflected my travel-worn face.
There was so much more to the room, all of it impossible to take in at that moment as I was already dangerously close to overwhelmed.
"Miss Kruger," Graham said, answering the question of whether or not he'd be using my Christian name. "Your luggage will be up shortly, and if it pleases you, a maid will attend to you after she prepares a hot bath. After so long a journey, it may offer you some relief."
Still holding my gloves in one dust-stained hand, I blinked at the opulence before me, trying to get my ducks in a row.
"That would be most welcome, Mr. Sinclair," I murmured, not daring to change from his formal address. This estate was obviously way more than I'd prepared for.
The butler inclined his head. "Very good, Miss. Should you require anything further, simply ring the bell beside your bed." With that, he withdrew, the soft click of the door leaving me alone with my tumultuous thoughts.
Could I really go through with this? This wasn't meant for me.
I knew how to milk a cow, patch a hem, and drive a wagon through rutted roads.
I had no idea how to sit in a room where the curtains alone must cost more than my father's whole farm.
I was a country girl, and country girls did not belong amidst velvet and lace.