Charlotte's Brides: Vivian by Sable Grey - http://www.cobblestone-press.com/catalog/books/vivian.htm

Excerpt:

Vivian Bardsley peered out the window and wrinkled her nose at the unpainted wooden slat lean-to buildings as the stagecoach rumbled into the town of Polar, Missouri. Dread filled her as she stared at the plain-dressed women and men who walked along the dusty street. This was her new home?

The only person left in the small compartment, she leaned back against the seat, thankful there was no one to see the tears that threatened in her eyes.

As the carriage began to slow, she took a quick, deep breath and pushed her tears away. She’d not wanted to leave Boston but was given no choice. She would just have to make the best of it until her father came to retrieve her. If he came, she thought mournfully.

She’d pushed him too far this time. His reaction had been drastic. Even Charlotte Oberman, the woman who had sent her on this retched trip, agreed. She prayed Charlotte could talk some sense into her father, to convince him to have mercy and come for her.

Her stomach knotted when the carriage’s rumbling finally ended. “Last stop.” The driver sent her a toothless grin when he swung open the door. “Your Highness.” He held out a dirty, wrinkled hand.

She sat there, unable to move.

“It won’t be so bad,” the driver offered, his tone softening.

Yes, it would. It would be horrendous. She was bred to be a lady, to be surrounded by fine culture and gentlemen callers. Instead, she’d been reduced to living in some hayseed backwater town with a man who might prove to be even more despicably filthy than the one who now waited to assist her first steps into her hell.

She took another breath and reached to accept his hand. Careful of her skirts, she stepped gingerly to the ground and looked around, lifting a hand to shield her eyes from the unforgiving sun. The view was no better than from inside the carriage.

“Miss Bardsley?” A deep baritone voice brought her attention away from her surroundings to a man standing a mere few feet from her. Her throat tightened as she let her gaze slide across his thick shoulders up to the sand-colored hair long due a cut. The dark hint of a beard scratched across his solid jaw and down over his square chin. He stood a head taller than she, his body hard and clad in a plain cotton shirt, brown trousers, and worn leather work boots. At least he was attractive, she reasoned. Aside from his lack of grooming technique, she should be thankful she was not sent to meet an ugly man.

Read 0 Comments... >>