Page 8 of Mail-Order Viscountess

Friends. The word sat strange in Kate’s chest. She didn’t have friends—just Clara, the one grace that came from her father’s remarriage.

Friends required trust, and Kate had learned the steep cost of that particular commodity. Still, Audrey Hartwell’s recommendation could mean the difference between scraping by and actual success. She had to nurture the connection, even if friendship felt like too generous a word.

“I look forward to it.” This time, the smile felt more real.

Mr. Hartwell tipped his hat. “Ladies. Best of luck to you both.” He offered his arm to his wife, and they swept away toward a waiting carriage, its roof already loaded with an impressive stack of luggage.

As she turned to scan the street, the cold bit through her traveling dress—layers of wool that had seemed adequate in the heated confines of the stage but now proved laughably insufficient. Her teeth wanted to chatter. She clenched her jaw against it.

Somewhere in this chaos of people and commerce, a rancher would be coming to meet Clara.

Thomas Balfour. The name signed on the letters Clara had shown her. Letters that promised stability, faith, and a home in the mountains.

She could only pray he would be the man he seemed. Reality had a way of disappointing.

“Do you think he’s here?” Clara’s fingers twisted in her skirt, betraying the nerves her bright smile tried to hide. “Mr. Balfour?”

Kate studied the crowd of men moving along the sidewalk. Most paid them no attention, intent on their own business. A few glanced their way—the kind of looks that made her want to wrap her cloak tighter.

Then a woman appeared through the bodies, striding with intention toward them. A tall lady in a deep green dress—a simple cut, but the color brought out the rich auburn in her hair. Beside her walked a man—broad-shouldered and dark-haired, his hand resting at the woman’s back.

Kate’s stomach tightened. Something about the way they moved, the deliberateness of their approach, spoke of purpose.

That couldn’t be Mr. Balfour though, right? Not with the possessive way he touched the lady.

The woman’s eyes found Kate’s, and she smiled—warm and genuine in a way that didn’t quite belie the tension visible in the set of her shoulders.

“Miss McKinney?” The woman’s voice carried clearly despite the noise of the street. “Miss Clara McKinney?”

Clara stepped forward, her chin lifting in that way she did when nerves threatened to overwhelm her. “Yes, I’m Clara McKinney. And this is my sister, Kate.”

The woman’s face broke into a smile that looked genuine enough, though Kate had learned long ago that smiles meant nothing. She stepped forward beside Clara and waited.

“I’m Rose Balfour.” She gestured to her companion. “And this is my husband, James. We’re Thomas’s brother and sister-in-law.”

Brother and sister-in-law.

Not Thomas himself.

The knot in her middle pulled tighter. A man who sent his relatives to meet his mail-order bride—what did that say about him? Nothing good. Nothing that made her want to hand Clara over to his keeping.

“It’s wonderful to finally meet you both.” Rose’s words tumbled out. “We’ve been so looking forward to your arrival. Thomas is—he’s waiting at the hotel. We thought it might be easier this way, given the crowds and all the luggage.”

Kate’s jaw tightened. Easier for whom? Not for Clara, who’d traveled three months to meet this man. Not for Kate, who needed to assess this Thomas Balfour with her own eyes before she’d let her sister anywhere near him.

“How thoughtful.” The words came out a bit too flat. She couldn’t usually manage warmth when her instincts screamed warning.

Rose’s smile faltered at the edges. “I know this must seem—well, unconventional. But Thomas is just—he’s been—” She glanced at her husband, maybe for help.

James Balfour offered a smile their direction, and he motioned back the direction the couple had come. “My brother’s looking forward to meeting you. The hotel’s just down the street. We have rooms reserved for you also.”

As she and Clara followed the pair toward the boardwalk, she kept her hand firm on Clara’s elbow. Whoever this Thomas Balfour turned out to be, and however excited Clara was about this new life gleaming before her, Kate wouldn’t turn her sister over to him without proof he deserved her.

If he turned out to be another disappointment—another man who promised one thing and delivered another—then she and Clara could make their own way right here in Butte. Kate’s sewing could support them both.

The commission from Audrey Hartwell was just the beginning. She’d build a clientele, establish a reputation, and Clara would never have to marry anyone out of desperation.

The thought settled deep in her chest. A backup plan. An escape route if Thomas Balfour proved unworthy.