"What?" Elizabeth leapt to her feet, all thoughts of posture and presentation gone. "Engaged? Have you gone mad?"
"Not at all. Am I not your father? And is it not my duty to see that you are properly provided for? I should think you'd be grateful. It is not as though any other men come calling for you."
"Because you won't allow it!" Her throat burned and she fought against the tears threatening at her eyes. Tears only made it worse. Her tears were like fresh blood to a vulture and he swooped in closer and closer. She blinked rapidly and stood her ground. "Every time a gentleman has shown even the slightest interest in me, you send your hoodlums to threaten them and they never come back. Do you have any idea how humiliating it is when they actually cross the street to avoid me?"
"Well, that is a testament to their cowardice and has nothing to do with me."
"So, if they had continued to come around, you'd have relented?"
"Of course not, but I'd have had a bit of respect for them. No, your hand in marriage is mine to give away and I shall only give it to the highest bidder."
"Don’t you mean sell, rather than give? As though I was a cow at auction."
Her father's gaze raked over her. "You are much more like a thoroughbred and that is the price you will command."
At that moment the butler entered the room. "Mr. Neville Pettit is here, sir."
With one final, warning glare in her direction, her father left the room to greet their guest and personally escort him to meet her. The highest compliment that Pennhurst Wentworth Pendleton ever bestowed.
Elizabeth glanced toward the stairs and imagined hiking up her skirts and running to lock herself in her room.
But a mere oak door was no match for the likes of Penn Pendleton, particularly when his authority has been challenged.
For the sake of the door and her own safety, she smoothed her skirt, resumed her regal posture and prayed for the evening to go quickly.
* * *
An interminable amount of time later, Lizzie finally returned to her room and locked the door behind her. Not that she feared any ramifications from the evening. She had behaved perfectly and her father had been quite pleased. Or as pleased as he ever was.
Mr. Neville Pettit was even worse than she'd imagined. Though she'd been surprised to realize he was not nearly so old as she'd expected. Her father's business associates tended toward gray hair (if any at all), portly and past their prime. Mr. Pettit, or Nevie as he asked her to call him, was probably no more than a decade older than her eighteen years, possibly even less than that, but his manner certainly portrayed a much older man.
He had taken her hand in his and even gone to the trouble of getting down on one knee to propose. His fingers had been cold and his words well-rehearsed. Possibly memorized from a book of poems, for as the evening progressed it became clear that Nevie—she shuddered whenever she considered spending her life with a man named Nevie—had no creativity, no interest in anything other than business. Well, actually, not even business. His sole focus was money and his business was the means to accumulating it.
And marrying her would secure a sizable trust left to her by her mother. Though Lizzie assumed it had been with the best of intentions, her mother had stipulated that the money in the trust not be given to Elizabeth until she married.
Which would then, of course, make the money the property of her husband.
Sliding a large chair in front of the bolted door, Lizzie finally felt safe to unlock the drawer of her desk and pull out the sheaf of letters which were her most valued possession.
With a deep breath, she started from the beginning and began to read.
Dear Elizabeth,
Thank you for responding to my advertisement for a bride. I know it is a bit unconventional, but it is my heart's desire to have a wife and family and though there are women here in Juniper Junction, it seems that none suit my fancy.
However, your letter drew my attention and I have been thinking about you ever since.
I hope you do not think I am a silly romantic. But, I do hope for a marriage that is harmonious and filled with affection. And in time, love. So perhaps I am a silly romantic.
She could have set the letters aside and recited them from memory, but the feel of the paper in her hands and the sight of his masculine handwriting served to calm her nerves. There was something about this man, Mr. Matthew Foreman of Windy River Ranch, that drew her to him as well. Perhaps they were both a couple of silly romantics.
Continuing to read, by the time she got to the very last letter her anxiety from the evening vanished.
And so, my dear Elizabeth, it is with great humility that I ask you to be my wife. I cannot offer a grand home, but I am an honest and hardworking man who will treat you with respect and never give you cause to doubt me. If you'll have me, I vow to use every breath in my body to give you a good and decent life.
She stared at the letter, her heart swelling with emotion.
Matt Foreman only knew her as Elizabeth Corwin. She'd left off the name Pendleton. Not that the name would mean anything to someone in Wyoming, but ridding herself of the tie to her father had been an act of defiance.
She'd told Matt she was a maid at a fancy house owned by the Pendleton family. It was a lie, of course. But, the reason she'd even looked at the matrimonial ads had been because she was tired of being sought out for her
