The Betrothed (Cutter's Creek Book 7) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Also by Vivi Holt

  Copyright

  About The Book

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty One

  Chapter Twenty Two

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Chapter Twenty Five

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty One

  Chapter Thirty Two

  Chapter Thirty Three

  Chapter Thirty Four

  Chapter Thirty Five

  Chapter Thirty Six

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  Chapter Thirty Eight

  Chapter Thirty Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty One

  Chapter Forty Two

  Chapter Forty Three

  Chapter Forty Four

  Chapter Forty Five

  Chapter Forty Six

  Epilogue

  Excerpt: Of Peaks and Prairies

  Also by Vivi Holt

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Historical Note and Author's Remarks

  THE BETROTHED

  Cutter’s Creek (Book 7)

  VIVI HOLT

  www.viviholt.com

  Also by Vivi Holt

  Orphan Brides Go West

  Mail Order Bride: Christy

  Mail Order Bride: Ramona

  Mail Order Bride: Katie

  Mail Order Bride: Holly (coming soon!)

  Cutter’s Creek

  The Strong One

  The Betrothed

  Paradise Valley

  Of Peaks and Prairies

  For an updated list of my books, please visit:

  www.viviholt.com

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  Copyright © 2016 by Vivi Holt

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  About The Book

  1867

  Lady Charlotte Beaufort of Beaufort Manor, England, is accustomed to the finer things in life. She’s used to everything going her way. But it’s all about to change.

  When her parents force her into an engagement with the Duke of Notherington, a man she barely knows, she runs away – traveling aboard a steamer to the New World.

  Harry Brown, a silversmith’s apprentice from Greyburn, doesn’t stand a chance with the beautiful Charlotte. Then he runs afoul of the local thug, and he and his sister have to leave town. When Charlotte and Harry cross paths, the attraction is undeniable – but can they overcome generations of social barriers to admit their true feelings for one another?

  Take a journey from the beautiful Lakes District of England to untamed Cutter's Creek, Montana Territory, where the rules of love are made to be broken.

  Chapter One

  1867

  Beaufort Manor, England

  Charlotte Beaufort leaned forward over the chestnut mare’s neck as it took the manicured hedge in one stride. Its hooves flicked up a piece of sod that slapped the base of her leather boot. The excitement of the hunt sent a smile flickering over her lips. As the horse thundered across the damp grass, strands of blonde hair fell from her bun and across her face. She pushed them back beneath her hat with an impatient hand and clucked her tongue to the mare.

  “Let’s go, Amber,” she cried.

  The horse responded to the sound of her voice and pushed harder, extending her stride.

  Charlotte glimpsed the fox escaping through a gap in a long line of squarely trimmed hedges to her left and tugged at the horse to change direction. The baying of the foxhounds came drifting back to her on the breeze, as they pushed their way frantically through the hedge in hot pursuit of their prey, tails wagging.

  Charlotte realized with dismay that the fox had crossed its own tracks yet again and was taking her directly past the house. No doubt her parents would see her pass by and she’d be in trouble when she got home. They didn’t mind her hunting, but said it was unseemly for a woman to hunt alone, especially the way that she hunted – whatever that meant.

  She glanced toward the looming structure of their triple-level brown brick Tudor-style mansion. A solitary figure stood on the lawn, staring down across the fields. The woman’s arms were folded over her chest, and even from a distance Charlotte could see her head shaking back and forth. It was Mother.

  Charlotte threw one last longing glance at the fluffy tail of the fox disappearing beyond the hedge and reined Amber in. “Sorry, girl – we’ll have to try again some other time,” she said with a sigh.

  She whistled and watched as the dogs halted their pursuit and turned to trot back to her. Their whining showed the depth of their resentment at having to obey her in a moment like this. She pulled the horse about and headed for the stables. The structure looked square and squat beside the imposing house, its black roof standing in stark contrast to the rich green of the surrounding fields.

  Her mother waited at the stable door for her. “Charlotte May Beaufort, how many times do I have to repeat myself before you will listen? Sometimes I wonder where I went wrong and if you will ever be the lady I raised you to be. Ladies do not hunt alone and they certainly don’t hunt like that!”

  “Like what exactly, Mother?” Charlotte rolled her eyes, making sure her mother didn’t see her do it.

  “As if you were completely wild, my dear. Ladies are never wild!”

  “Sorry, Mother.” Charlotte leaped from Amber’s back and led her into the spacious stable. Rows of stalls lined two long walls. Each box was filled with clean straw and a water trough. A wide pathway ran between the rows and large, sturdy timber doors stood open on either end, letting in the cooling autumn air. All but one of the stalls was occupied. Snorts and nickering warmed the air to welcome her as she led Amber inside.

  “And I do wish you’d let the stable boy take care of your horse. It’s unseemly to do it yourself, Charlotte.”

  “Oh, Mother, you know I love doing it. Amber loves it too – don’t you, girl?” She unlatched a rope that acted as a gate for one of the stalls and showed Amber in. As she removed the horse’s saddle and saddle blanket, she patted her gently and whispered words of encouragement that had the horse’s ears flitting back and forth with approval. She reached for a curry brush that sat on a shelf just outside the box and brushed the horse’s sweat-caked sides.

  Once her coat was dry, Charlotte removed Amber’s bridle. The horse dropped her head to the floor and bit into a mouthful of hay, her sides shivering against Charlotte’s soft touch. She threw a thick horse blanket across the animal’s back, secured it with a strap around her chest and slapped her gently on the shoulder. “See
you tomorrow, girl.”

  She hurried toward the house, where she expected her mother was waiting to continue her admonishments. She never let Charlotte do anything interesting or fun. She so longed for adventure, excitement — anything but the boredom she felt when doing the things Mother found acceptable for a lady to do. The only thing they both agreed on, was sewing. And even then, Charlotte provoked her Mother’s ire. She loved to make daring, fashionable gowns, cloaks, and capes, while Mother preferred she did a dainty cross-stitch. She sighed — it was no use. She’d never be able to make Mother happy.

  The stairs leading up to the front door of the structure were wide and spread out on three sides to descend to the graveled drive below. Two tall timber doors with brass knockers in the shape of horse’s heads stood at the top of the stairs and Charlotte paused to gather herself and smooth her hair before she shoved them open and raced through into the marble entryway.

  The doors slammed closed behind her and the sound echoed with a bang through the otherwise silent house. A maid appeared, her eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “Lady Charlotte, you know how your mother feels about you running – and slamming doors.”

  “I know, Mary, I’m sorry. It’s just that I had the most magnificent hunt! Well, almost – if Mother hadn’t stopped me. It was so exciting – I was right on the fox’s tail! I almost had him! Bow and Biddie were nearly on him, anyway. They aren’t happy with me now for calling them off, but it couldn’t be helped. Mother always likes to spoil my fun. Where is she, anyway?”

  Mary couldn’t help grinning at Charlotte’s enthusiasm even as she shook her head. “She’s in the dining room looking over the place settings. It’s time to dress for supper, you know.” Mary’s Irish lilt always grew stronger when she was chastising Charlotte.

  Charlotte sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Oh heavens, is it really? I had hoped to get some time on the piano before we ate. What a shame. Oh well, perhaps mother will let me play afterward.”

  “I have no doubt she will, since you’ll be entertaining a guest.”

  “A guest? Oh no, really? No doubt one of Father’s boorish friends. Now I’ll have to play ladylike concertos and such, nothing interesting like I wanted to play. Do you know, they have the most fun songs at the music halls? Margo played some for me and I’ve been dying to try them out. Oh well, I suppose I’ll have to stick to Bach tonight. I’ll just close my eyes and imagine I’m in a music hall – it’s almost as good as the real thing.”

  “Imagine yourself anywhere you choose – just please don’t embarrass your parents again tonight, Lady Charlotte. I don’t think I can bear to hear about your bad behavior for another fortnight. And it’s not one of your Father’s friends, not as such. It’s the Duke of Notherington. He’s coming to supper – alone.” Mary raised her eyebrows and turned to head toward the kitchen.

  “The Duke is coming here to dine alone with my parents and me?” Charlotte’s blue eyes widened in surprise. “Whatever for?”

  Mary paused and glanced back over her shoulder. “My guess is to see you.”

  Charlotte’s heart leaped into her throat. She had just turned twenty, and her parents had already traipsed a litany of suitors through their home after her coming-out ball in London four years earlier. But she’d turned down every last one of them. They were either too old, too ugly, too pompous or too boring. Whichever way she looked at it, none of them suited her. She couldn’t imagine being tied to one of them for the rest of her life.

  And now it seemed they were to push the Duke of Notherington onto her. Why couldn’t they just leave her be? She huffed and strode toward the dining room. “Mother!” she called as she neared the room. “Mother!”

  Her mother appeared at the doorway to the dining room, her cheeks reddened in frustration, an unfolded napkin in her hands. “Goodness gracious, Charlotte, why are you yelling at me from across the house? You know I can’t abide yelling. Ladies never yell. You know this and yet you continue to do it.”

  “Sorry, Mother. It’s just that I heard the Duke is coming to dinner and I want to know why. Is he coming to see Father, or is it me he’s interested in?”

  “He wishes to meet you.” Her mother folded her hands together in front of her skirts, a look of determination on her face.

  “I’ve met him before and I can tell you right now that I won’t have him, if that’s what you and Father are thinking of.” Charlotte stamped her foot and lowered her brows into a scowl.

  Her mother smiled at her and spun on her heel. “Get dressed for dinner, Charlotte. I expect to see you back here in thirty minutes. And bring your best manners with you, please – if you can find them.”

  Chapter Two

  Charlotte stamped her feet all the way up the massive spiral staircase that led from the black-and-white marble entry to the lofty bedrooms above. The solid timber of the stairs muffled all but the clacking of her heels on the boards.

  She sighed in dismay. Why did her parents insist on finding her a suitable match? She’d rather live with them forever as an old maid than marry a man she didn’t love. She didn’t understand why she had to leave Beaufort Manor. It was her home. Everything she needed was here: her horses, her dogs, her things. Yes, it was a tad boring at times, but if Mother would let her do as she wished, she’d be happy to never leave. Why must she marry?

  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry, but she couldn’t imagine leaving her home for anything less than love – that, or a hair-raising adventure. She was open to either. But never for someone as tedious as the Duke of Notherington.

  She tramped into her room and slammed the door closed behind her. The sound echoed down the hall, and she knew from experience her mother would hear it in the dining room. She smiled with satisfaction, then threw herself down on her bed with a groan.

  Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she was imagining. The Duke was a nice enough man – far too old and dull to marry, but he did spend half the year at court in London, so perhaps he would have some interesting stories to share with them over supper. Charlotte very rarely ever got to go to London and had only been to court once, at the time of her coming out. She loved hearing other people’s accounts of the goings-on there.

  She stood to her feet and hurried to her dressing table. She sat on the carved white stool, reached into a drawer for her hairbrush and began to work it through her messy locks. Riding always turned her hair into a wasp’s nest. Before long it shone in the light of the kerosene lamp and she twisted it into a bun. Braiding long pieces of hair she’d left loose at the sides of her head, she twisted them up in loops and around the bun, pinning them in place. She patted her hair, craning her neck to observe it from every angle.

  Finally satisfied, she stood up to choose an outfit. Where was Mary? She should have come upstairs to help her dress by now. She reached for the bell pull beside her bedroom door and yanked it with impatience. Then she walked across the room to peruse the rows of gowns, petticoats, corsets, pinafores and house dresses. All were either hung or neatly folded in her extensive closet.

  She heard Mary hurry into the room, puffing. “Where have you been, Mary? I almost had to dress myself.”

  “Sorry, Lady Charlotte – I got caught up in the dining room with the mistress. She was deciding which china set to use for supper, and you know how she gets about the patterns needing to suit the dishes being served.”

  Charlotte rolled her eyes and giggled. She could picture Mary’s reddening face as she waited for her mother to decide between the gold leaf design or the rosebud. “What do you think I should wear tonight, Mary?”

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “Whether you want to marry the Duke.”

  “I most certainly do not.”

  “Then may I suggest the green silk. It doesn’t bring out your eyes and it has a high neckline. Also the skirts are so full, it doesn’t show off your figure the way the blue one does.”

  “Good idea. Help me with it, will y
ou?”

  “Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

  Charlotte lifted her arms as Mary unbuttoned her riding jacket and pulled it off her. Then she undid the riding gown and lifted it up over Charlotte’s head, being careful not to dislodge her neatly coiffed hair.

  “Mary?”

  “Yes, Lady Charlotte.”

  “Do you think you’ll ever marry?”

  “I hope so, m’Lady.”

  “Do you really? What is it that people find so appealing about marriage?”

  “Well, for my part, I’d like a family of my own. I left mine behind, you know, in Ireland. I’ve never really been anything but all alone since. ’Twould be nice to have a home to go to and someone there waiting for me.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Are you horribly lonely here, Mary?”

  “No, not horribly.” Mary grinned at Charlotte as she tightened her corset strings. “Hold onto the bed post, m’Lady.”

  They stepped toward the bed and Charlotte held onto one of the four stout posts that reached from the floor toward the ceiling. A large mosquito net was draped across the top around a railing between the posts and down over one side of the luxurious bed. Mary tugged hard on the strings, pulling the corset bones firmly together.

  “That’s tight enough for tonight, thank you, Mary.”

  “Yes, m’Lady.”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever marry.” Charlotte fitted her hands around her waist and tilted her head to one side.

  Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she hurried to the closet for Charlotte’s petticoats. She draped them across her arms and returned to lift them over Charlotte’s head. “Never, m’Lady?”

  “Well, I don’t know. Perhaps I will. But I’ve never met anyone I’d consider leaving the manor for.”

  “Oh, that just means you haven’t met the right man yet. But I’ve no doubt you will, m’Lady.”

  “That’s just the problem, though. I never meet anyone interesting. The only men I ever see are the same ones I grew up with, went to cotillion with, go hunting with, attend dances with … there’s never anyone new or interesting to meet..”