RICHMOND, VIRGINIA—JUNE1876
“Clara Ann Brown, you cannot be serious.”
Clara peered over the edge of the newspaper at her dearest friend. Violet had such a look of disbelief that Clara almost wanted to laugh.
“No.” Violet shook her head, sending the carefully curled ringlets around her face flying. She plucked the paper from Clara’s hands and laid it to the side. “This is not a good solution to your problem. And your problem is hardly a problem at all! There are so many good young men here.”
Clara sat back in the cushioned chair in Violet’s bedroom. Like everything else in the room, it was of the latest fashion. “Name one who would marry me.”
Violet stood and paced across the room, her new pink dress gliding across the floorboards. “George Bartlett. I saw him watching you at our dinner party last weekend.”
Clara tried not to pull a face. “Mr. Bartlett has a terrible habit of not listening to a word anyone else says, particularly if that person is a lady. Besides, he is only interested in women of means.”
“Yes,” Violet said, frowning. She brightened again immediately. “Matthew Voyles. You know he’s entered into business with Mr. Betton? He ought to do well.”
“Mr. Voyles is nearly twice our age!”
“You said nothing about age, Clara.” Violet fixed her with a look of annoyance.
Clara sat forward in her chair. “Just because Gideon decided . . .” She bit down on her lip. His betrayal still hurt, even after all these months. She swallowed and looked up at her friend. “That doesn’t mean I’m willing to be married to an old man.”
“Mr. Voyles is hardly old, but all right.” Violet sat again on the bed beside Clara’s chair and took her hand. Despite her desire to see Clara married to any number of unsuitable matches, Clara knew Violet had only her best interests at heart. No one else had been such a comfort to Clara after Gideon had broken off their engagement. Violet had visited daily, sitting with her for hours. When Clara wanted to talk of her heartbreak, Violet listened. And when she wished to be distracted from the sadness that had seemed to infiltrate every aspect of her life, Violet regaled her with gossip and silly memories and the tales of New York City her brother had written her.
Clara couldn’t ask for a better friend, even if that friend was now trying to persuade her to remain in Richmond.
“Roy Collins?”
“He would marry you, but not me.” Clara didn’t add that the only reason she knew many of the men Violet named was because she was Violet’s friend. Clara’s family was hardly in the same social circles as Violet’s.
“Henry North?”
“He’s duller than . . . than . . .” In fact, Clara couldn’t think of anything duller than Mr. North.
“What about Christopher Avery? You know him well.”
“Well enough to know that he’s been in love with Alexandra since we were children,” Clara said with a slight smile. Poor Christopher was so smitten with Alexandra, he would never have eyes for anyone else.
Violet sighed audibly. “Well, I don’t understand why you feel the need to write to a stranger. And one so far away! Why don’t I ask my father if you can accompany me to New York to visit with Peter? Surely my brother can introduce us to any number of good, eligible men there.”
“New York is so far away, it might as well be the Colorado Territory,” Clara said pointedly.
“It’s not the same! Clara, I’d be sick with worry if you went out there to meet some man you’ve never seen. In fact, I’d likelydieof worry. You wouldn’t want that to happen, would you? My father would complain about the high expense of my funeral.”
Clara giggled. “Of course not.”
“So you won’t write to this man, will you?”
Clara stood and retrieved the marriage newspaper from Violet’s dressing table. She’d been purchasing these papers for nearly two months, in secret. At first, it was on a whim, just to see what might be inside, what sort of men might be so in need of wives they’d pay to place an advertisement. She read them with curiosity, not really taking any of them seriously.
But something had changed in the last couple of weeks. She’d begun reading them more in earnest, visions of snowcapped mountains and arid deserts and wide plains dancing in her mind. She wondered if she was brave enough to take such a chance. Could she, Clara Brown, a girl born and raised in genteel Richmond, to a solid family that wasn’t as wealthy as Violet’s but which provided well enough for Clara and her younger siblings, board a train headed for such a wild part of the country to possibly marry a man she’d never laid eyes on?
It had become almost a challenge of sorts. She’d read the advertisements, debating whether the various men were worthy of such a chance. But when she was honest with herself, none of them were.
Until today.
Clara unfolded the paper again. She’d purchased the one she usually bought, but this week, there had been a new paper. It was only one page in length, printed front and back, and titledThe Fremont County Marriage Advertiser. According to the note at the top of the paper, all the men wanting wives in this paper were from one area of the Colorado Territory. But what had caught her eye in the store was this line:
Proprietresses: Mrs. Jacob Gilbert and Mrs. Benjamin Young, dedicated to publishing advertisements only from men of quality.
