Chapter 4
Chapter Four
Caleb Hartwell had been in Chicago for eight days. In that short time, he’d learned three things with unwavering certainty. One: the wind off the lake didn’t care if you were a good man.
Two: the streets were crowded and the buildings too tall.
And three? If he had to endure one more night alone in his aunt’s mansion, with only the sound of his own boots for company, he might climb out a window and head back west on foot.
If he didn’t do what his deceased aunt wanted, he just might have to.
Leaving, whether by climbing out a window or not, wasn’t an option. Why? Because there was a dead woman’s signature on a certain legal document, one with the power to chain him to Chicago until he did what she wanted.
Get married.
Caleb stopped and stared at the sign above him. “The Sisters’ Mail-Order Bride Company” was painted in bold black letters. It was the sort of sign that suggested the establishment was well-run, honest, and staffed by women who could be trusted. A tidy system.
Caleb appreciated tidy systems.
He also appreciated not being forced into anything.
Adjusting the collar of his coat, he drew in a slow breath through his nose.
He wore city clothes and didn’t like them, but he’d quickly learned that a man in boots and a ranch-cut jacket drew looks that weren’t always friendly.
There were limits to how much he could disguise himself.
His posture still belonged to open land, and his hands, rough from reins and handling rope, marked him as a working man.
No amount of fine tailoring could hide that.
He took another breath, opened the door, and stepped inside.
Warmth hit him first, followed by the faint sound of chaos behind a door to his left.
He glanced through its window and spotted a large sheepdog sulking in a corner.
He entered the office and shut the door behind him, taking everything in with one sweep of his eyes.
Three elderly women sat at different desks. Shelves of ledgers and books lined the walls. A cat was perched high atop a bookcase like royalty, judging the peasants below.
On a high shelf across the room sat a rabbit in a small cage. It didn’t look happy.
Caleb blinked once as his gaze was drawn to a young woman seated at a table near the cage. She looked younger than he’d first thought. She glanced up and met his eyes, her cheeks pink from cold… or nerves. Her hair was pinned neatly back, her hands folded atop the desk with careful control.
She looked him over. Then she looked to the three elderly women.
Too young, he thought. He forced his gaze away. She was too young for him and wouldn’t suit his needs. And she worked here. Perhaps a granddaughter? No, that couldn’t be right. Weren’t the Merriweather sisters spinsters?
One of the women stood and came around her desk. “Yes, sir, may we help you? Are you looking for a wife?”
Caleb removed his hat. “Well, ma’am… yes… and no.”
The other two joined her at once. “What do you mean?” the one with spectacles asked.
Keeping his gaze steady, Caleb addressed the first woman, who clearly led the trio. “I’d like a word with you, ma’am, if you don’t mind.”
She glanced at her sisters. “Very well. Follow me.”
The woman with spectacles offered an apologetic smile as she stepped aside. The third eyed him with suspicion as he followed the first across the office.
“I’m Augusta Merriweather,” she said smoothly. “These are my sisters, Margaret and Josie.”
Caleb nodded to each. “Caleb Hartwell.”
Josie’s eyes flicked over him, taking in his coat, his broad shoulders, and the sun-weathered edge to his face. Things city men didn’t tend to have.
Augusta led him into a small parlor off the main office. The other two followed. “Have a seat, Mr. Hartwell,” she said, motioning to a chair near the fireplace.
They all sat, studying him. “What sort of bride are you interested in?” Josie asked.
“Well,” Caleb said carefully, “I am looking for a wife. That’s true. But I don’t have much time. I thought the best way to find one might be to work for you.”
The sisters stared at him. “What?” Augusta asked. They exchanged looks.
“It’s Braxton all over again,” Margaret muttered.
Josie studied his hands. “You don’t look like a clerk.”
“That’s because I’m not, ma’am.”
“Then why are you here?” Augusta asked.
“I saw your advertisement,” he said. “And I’d like to apply.”
Josie leaned back and crossed her arms. “We’ve already hired someone.”
Margaret looked torn, as if she wanted to object, then glanced at Augusta. “I’m afraid we’re not running a charity, Mr. Hartwell,” Augusta said. “The position has been filled.”
“I’m not asking for charity,” he replied evenly. “I’m asking for a job.”
“And what work do you think you can do?” Josie asked. “This is an office, not a farm.” Her gaze flicked to his hands again.
Caleb laughed once. “I’m no farmer, ma’am. I can read, write, and keep accounts. I’ve done so for years.”
“May I ask what brought you to Chicago?” Augusta said. “You’re dressed well, but you don’t strike me as local.”
“No, ma’am.” A familiar pressure rose in his chest. He didn’t want to explain how a woman he barely knew had decided to manage his life from the grave. “To tell you the truth, I came because I had to.”
Margaret’s eyes softened. “You have family here?”
“Yes, ma’am. Of a sort.”
Augusta studied him a moment longer, clearly deciding whether he was a threat, a nuisance, or worse, a complication. “If you’ll excuse us,” she said finally, “we are in the middle of training our new employee.”
“I understand,” Caleb said with a nod. “That’s why I wanted a private word with the three of you.”
“About what?” Josie asked, brows raised.
“Would you mind closing the door?” Augusta said to Margaret.
Margaret rose and shut it. “I don’t see why Ivy can’t hear this.”
“I’d rather only the three of you know,” Caleb said. “After you hear me out, I’d be obliged if you’d reconsider hiring an additional employee.”
“Very well,” Augusta said. “Go on.”
Caleb twisted his hat in his hands. This was the part he hated. But if he didn’t say it, he’d stay trapped. “I need to marry,” he said simply.
“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Josie quipped.
“You need to?” Margaret tilted her head. “Why?”
He took another breath. “There’s a condition attached to a family inheritance.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “Ah. That explains it. How much money’s involved?”
“Josie,” Augusta scolded.
“It’s an honest question,” Josie shot back.
Caleb met Josie’s gaze, long enough to show resolve, not long enough to offer trust.
“I see,” Augusta said. “You’re protecting your interests.”
Margaret wrung her hands. “So you wish to marry for money?”
Caleb’s jaw tightened. “No, ma’am. You misunderstand me.”
“But you just said…” Josie began.
Caleb didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. Even speaking quietly, he carried a commanding presence and knew it. “What I said is that I need to marry to access something left to me. What I didn’t say is that I don’t want a marriage that’s only a transaction.”
Augusta studied him. “What do you want?”
His throat tightened. For a moment, he saw his aunt’s parlor, grand, immaculate, and utterly empty, like a museum preserving a life no one had lived. The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. “I want a wife who wants me,” he said. “Not what’s attached to me.”
Margaret’s expression softened. “Oh, how romantic.”
Josie rolled her eyes. “I don’t know. Sounds na?ve.”
“Always the realist,” Margaret shot back. “I swear you don’t have a romantic bone in your body.”
“Perhaps it is na?ve,” Caleb said. “But it’s my life, Miss Merriweather.”
Augusta tapped her fingers against her skirt. “And how does this involve us?”
“Rather than placing an advertisement and waiting for a bride to peruse me,” he said, “I’d like to work here and peruse the brides.”
Josie tossed a hand in the air. “Braxton all over again.”
“Who is Braxton?” Caleb asked no one in particular.
“Never mind,” Augusta said briskly. “So you want to work here to observe a future wife.”
“Exactly.” Caleb wiped his hands on his trousers. “I’m not asking you to hand me a woman like a sack of flour. I want to be present. To see the women who come through here, speak with them, and decide for myself. Not every bride wants to go west and marry a stranger.”
“You’d still be a stranger,” Josie pointed out.
“Not entirely, I hope. I’d at least have the chance to court a woman, unless she needed to leave town right away.”
“He has a point,” Margaret said. “After all, it worked for Braxton.”
Caleb frowned. “Who is Braxton?”
“Never mind,” all three sisters said at once.
Augusta’s expression tightened. “Mr. Hartwell, we are a respectable business.”
“Yes, ma’am. I understand.”
“Our clients are often vulnerable,” she added.
“I understand that too.” He met each of their gazes in turn.
Josie narrowed her eyes. “Frankly, what you’re describing sounds like a wolf sitting in a henhouse, promising he’s only there to admire the feathers.”
His brows lifted. “I assure you, Miss Merriweather, I am no wolf.”
“Men always say that,” she replied.
Margaret rose, drawing everyone’s attention. “Why not choose someone from your own social circle?”
“Because everyone in my social circle already knows me,” Caleb said. “And no one’s much interested in a cowpuncher.”
“You’re a cowboy,” Margaret said dreamily. “That makes it doubly romantic.”
“Get your head out of the clouds,” Josie snapped, then looked back at Caleb. “Surely someone you know would marry you.”
“They’d be marrying me for the wrong reasons,” he said evenly. “Especially now.”
“So you’ve come into money,” Augusta said.
“Not yet,” he replied. “And I’d prefer to keep it that way until I’m certain no one’s sniffing around for it.”
“So you wish to hide it,” Josie scoffed.
“I’m trying to protect it. There’s a difference.”
Augusta tapped her fingers again. “And you believe working here will help you find a woman who wants you for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Margaret glanced between them. “I must say, this is highly irregular.”
“And inappropriate,” Augusta added.
“That depends on how it’s handled,” Caleb said, twisting his hat again.
Augusta sighed. “We had a situation not long ago. Phoebe and Braxton.”
Ah. So now he’d learn who Braxton was. “Go on.”
“They fell in love under our noses,” Josie said.
Margaret blushed. “Well, not exactly under our noses. We suspected and didn’t stop it.”
“Despite being happy for them,” Augusta said. “It caused an upheaval.”
“And paperwork,” Josie added darkly.
“I’m sorry for the trouble it caused,” Caleb said sincerely.
“With our luck, you’ll cause it again,” Josie said.
Caleb thought of the young woman out front and shook his head. “You’re wrong. I’m here to avoid trouble.”
Augusta arched an eyebrow. “By courting brides in our office.”
“By meeting women who are already seeking marriage,” he countered. “I’m not intruding at church socials or cornering someone in a grocery. These women have chosen this path.”
“He makes a good point,” Margaret said. “But we have standards for our men.”
“That’s why I came to you instead of running an advertisement.”
Augusta drew in a sharp breath. “Very well.”
Josie snapped her head toward her. “Augusta…”
Augusta raised a hand, then addressed Caleb. “We could use extra help. Especially if Miss Goodhart doesn’t work out.”
“Perish the thought,” Margaret said quickly.
“If you work here,” Augusta continued. “It will be under strict conditions.”
“Name them,” Caleb said.
“Under no circumstances will you court a fellow employee,” Josie said flatly.
Caleb considered that. “I don’t believe that will be a problem.”
Augusta’s gaze sharpened. “Especially not Ivy.”
“Ivy?” he asked, confused.
“Miss Goodhart,” Margaret clarified with a smile.
“Ah. The young woman with the rabbit.” A flicker of amusement crossed his face. “No worries there.”
“You will observe clients only in public areas,” Augusta said. “You will not pressure them or pry. You’ll see only what’s on their information sheets.”
“That’s fine.”
Josie laughed. “You’re quick to agree. You really want a wife.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Margaret looked at him earnestly. “Promise us you won’t treat this like shopping.”
He frowned. “Of course not.”
“Then we’ll do a trial day,” Augusta said.
It wasn’t much… but it was something. “Thank you.”
Augusta rose. “Come along, Mr. Hartwell. We’ll introduce you to Miss Goodhart properly.”
“Goodhart and Hartwell,” Margaret giggled. “This will be fun.”
“There will be no fun involved,” Augusta scolded. “Now come along.”
Caleb let out a quiet breath of relief. Maybe this would work after all.