Mail Order Brides of Naffton (A Western Romance Book)

By Faye Sonja

Three inspirational stories of women who risked everything for love and traveled thousands of miles to the western frontier.

Part 1: The Hardened Duke's Fallen Bride

Willa Travis' good life seems like it's coming to an end as she watches the last of her relatives, her loving grandfather, pass away. The wealth was lost and now Willa finds herself all alone and penniless.

Forced out onto the streets… She finds herself being proposed to by a stranger, a man named Marcus. Without much of a choice, she realizes that anything would be better than being homeless... or so she believes. 

Part 2: The Indian Cowboy's Royal Bride

Octavia Cullenshire and her two-year-old son are in danger. . . Crossing war territory is never easy, but just when she thinks they've both met their end, her prince rides in to save the day- An

American Indian Native.

So… without knowing anything about the man, she asks him to chaperon her west for a payout when they arrive. Little does Octavia know that it's going to cost a little more than money to get west: It'll cost her hand in marriage. 

Part 3: The Western Avenger's Jail Bride

Paige Laundry is innocent… But that doesn't stop the self-serving, Judge Persons from throwing her in prison.

Her only true hopes for freedom are penned in a letter she sends to her sister, way out west in Oklahoma. Little does Paige know, help is on the way, but not in the way she'd ever expected. Marriage.

3 parts of heartwarming mail order brides tales of love, romance, and triumph over adversity in one book.

Love on the western frontier was a rare treasure. Follow these inspirational women who risked everything to travel to the untamed West in the hopes of finding love and starting a new family.

If you're a fan of clean western romance, you will love this book.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Faye Sonja
• Release date: Feb 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393328056

Faye Sonja

Faye Sonja is a multi-voiced writer who aspires to use different voices in telling her stories, seeing characters coming alive through the multi-faceted writing styles give her great satisfaction. As a young girl, Faye Sonja has been fascinated with stories of the Old West, especially the theme of Mail Order Bride where a woman will find the courage to leave her homeland, take the plunge to seek out the love of her life out there in the unknown land. Such an act requires bravery, such an act requires faith. It takes a woman with strong Christian faith to step out on such a pursuit for her love. It is Faye's desire that readers will once again have the courage to believe in love again from reading her books, to be inspired through the characters in her story who through perseverance, in the face of obstacles, overcame the hurdles using that simple faith and belief of theirs. 

Book preview

PART 1

The Hardened Duke’s Fallen Bride

Prologue

*   *   *

Nafton, Oklahoma

Spring 1771

Marcus Cullenshire watched on as the rain beat against the window. The storm had cast a gray hue over the entire house and were it not for the hushed light from the few candles that lit the hall and the cracks of lightning that came every few minutes, the house would have been consumed in total darkness... much like his heart.

Footsteps entering the room made him turn.

It was Eugene, the butler. He’s dead.

Marcus felt a tingling sensation flow over his body. He released a shaky sigh. His body felt numb.

A gasp from the other side of the room reminded him that he was not alone. His mother, or more correctly, the woman who’d given birth to him—because she’d never shown him a day of love in all his twenty-six years—broke down into tears. She fell out of her chair, going to her knees. Her dark green dress fanned out around her and she stretched towards the ground. Her crying grew louder and even more uncontrollable.

Marcus’s eyes went wide. It was the first time that Claudia Cullenshire had ever shown any emotion at all.

Her face came up and her voice sounded just as broken as her face looked. Thank God! she shouted. Thank God. She turned to Marcus and smiled. He’s dead, she whispered. Her light brown hair had come undone from her wailing. Her large curls laid around her shoulders. A few inches of gray had begun to grow in at her roots. She was only forty-two, but looked so much older. Her face broke into a smile. Wide. Stretching out her lines. It was the first smile Marcus could ever remember seeing from her. She’d never smiled for her children. She’d never smiled at her late husband, Paul. But, Kayne Cullenshire was dead and Marcus shared in her sentiments.

Thank God.

He walked past her as he headed from the room.

Her voice rose just a notch. Where are you going?

He stopped and turned to her. Does it matter?

Claudia’s face went stoic. And even kneeling on the ground with her hair undone, she once again became the reserved woman that she’d always been. She’d never cared for Marcus. There was no sense in pretending now.

He ignored his mother and spoke in an even tone to Eugene, hiding any hint of the sadness and pain that he felt. See to his cremation. There will be no burial ceremony for the Earl. No one would come anyway. I simply want his corpse disposed of and his possessions burned.

Yes sir, Marcus.

No! I will not be taking his title. I want nothing to do with him. Don’t call me sir, simply call me Marcus.

Eugene bowed, but not before Marcus saw the fear in his eyes. Yes, Marcus. He hadn’t meant to be so harsh. He didn’t want to be anything like his grandfather, but he couldn’t afford to be weak either. Weakness had gotten his own father killed.

He left the room and fled down the long staircase, heading towards the receiving room. He stopped at the entrance and announced, The Earl is dead.

John Halifax turned from his own view of the storm outside. A small smile touched his lips. So glad I didn’t miss it. Just wish I’d been able to do the honor myself. Shall we celebrate?

Marcus strolled into the room and sunk into the chair by the fireplace. It faced the window and his friend John. They’d been friends since childhood and no one knew the other’s pain better. Both men had suffered at the hands of Kayne Cullenshire. His death could not have come sooner. Marcus said, Sixty-four. The man had lived for sixty-four years. Much too long for a man as corrupt as he was.

John walked over and took the chair opposite Marcus, staring at him. John’s gray eyes were looking bluer than ever. His flesh, which was normally pale, now held a healthy hue. He was a striking man to look at. His blond hair was always pushed away from his face, making him almost hard to look at. Intimidating. Which was exactly how he liked it. But today, he was all smiles.

Marcus sighed and wiped his hands down his face.

John chuckled. Why are you so glum? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sad about the old Earl’s passing.

Marcus’s hand stopped just below his eyes. He narrowed them. You know good and well that I hated that man.

I do.

Marcus placed his hand on the chair’s arms and turned towards the fire. Even the flames seemed to dance more than usual. He was sure the world was rejoicing on the thought that such a malicious man was gone. But Marcus couldn’t celebrate. 

John asked, What’s the problem? You should be as happy as I am. Actually, even more so. He was your grandfather and he’d no doubt left you everything since he’d had his own son killed off years ago. You’re rich and more powerful than you ever were before. So, why not smile?

Marcus turned to him and spoke the truth, I don’t know how.

John frowned. What do you mean? You don’t know how to smile? It’s a very simple task. You just lift both sides of your mouth and—

No. Marcus shook his head. It’s more than that. I haven’t been happy in years. Not since my father’s death. I don’t think I know how to be anymore. He turned back towards the flames. I’m broken.

John sighed. Don’t worry. It will come to you. You’ll wake up tomorrow morning and remember that you never have to see his porky face again and you’ll be content.

Marcus shook his head again. No. I don’t think that’s going to be good enough. Though he knew it should have been enough. Kayne had been a monster, torturing his family at every turn. He’d been mad. Sick in the head. It was the reason that his family was in America. Kayne had been banished from England by his father, James, the Duke of Landamore. Kayne had been James’ only son, so he hadn’t disinherited him, but he hadn’t wanted him around either. So, Kayne was sent to America with the cover story of aiding the crown in enforcing its laws on the American rebels. But, Marcus doubted anyone had fallen for that story if they’d even spent a moment in Kayne’s presence. There was no hiding that the Duke’s son was obviously a lunatic.  I hated him.

Yes, John quickly agreed.

I wanted him dead.

Who didn’t?

But it’s not enough.

When Marcus gained no ready response, he turned to watch the smile on John’s face grow unpleasant.

No, it’s not enough.

I want revenge.

Yes, John agreed.

Marcus sat up further in his chair as his thoughts became ideas. He felt a rush for something in his blood. He didn’t know what it was, but he liked it. I’m more rich and powerful than I ever was. He said, processing John’s earlier statement.

You are, John said cautiously.

Marcus held John’s eyes for a silent moment and then said, I want every man who’d ever worked for Kayne to suffer just as much as I have. It was more than a statement. He was asking for help.

John nodded, his grin forever fixed on his face. Cruelty was something that John had all but mastered over the years. It wasn’t something that Marcus had ever had the stomach for, but John had. John had taken his pain and inflicted it on anyone who so much as breathed wrongly in his presence. He’d never managed to gain his revenge on Kayne, but other men knew not to cross him. His reputation preceded him. He stood. This calls for tea. Let’s get to work.

And for the first time in ten years, Marcus smiled.

*   *   *

1

*   *   *

Two Months Later

Willa Travis sat by her grandfather’s side, hearing his shallow breathing. After being bedridden for months, Dillon Travis was finally at the end of a long session of pain and sickness. She reached out her hand and fought the tears that threatened to flow. His hand was nothing but skin and bones. Gone was the great man who’d taken his little granddaughter in over twenty years ago after the death of her parents. He’d loved her, cared for her, and had been all she had left. And now he was dying. 

Dillon broke into a bout of coughs.

Willa reached for the water, but stopped when he lifted his hand.

No, he whispered. There’s no point.

Willa’s heart broke at the words. Don’t speak that way, Papa. You can’t leave me.

Dillon frowned and stared at her. I’m so sorry.

No. She busied herself with fixing the blanket over him. There’s no need for you to be sorry.

He sighed. Of course there is. I’m dying and will have nothing to leave you with when I do.

Willa tried to not show the worry on her face or in her actions, but it was there. While growing up with her grandfather, Willa had never wanted for anything. They’d been considerably wealthy. Her grandfather had run the biggest cattle company on this side of Oklahoma... up until two months ago. The change had been so quick. Neither one of them had seen it coming. Willa had been told that a man Dillon thought he could trust had betrayed him. In a matter of days, they lost the land, cattle, their home, and every coin they’d ever possessed. And now, Dillon would die knowing he’d left the only person he loved in the world to the wolves. It was that fact that broke Willa’s heart more than anything else. At least before when they’d known he was going to die, he’d been content in knowing that Willa would be cared for, but that content was now gone and Willa knew that sorrow had rushed Dillon to his end. Don’t worry about me, Papa. I’ll be fine.

Dillon sighed. This is all my fault—

No. Willa shook her strawberry blond hair and anger made her face turn red. No, Papa. Don’t you dare go blaming yourself again. This was not your fault. This was your friend’s fault, remember?

Dillon gave her a pair of stern green eyes that matched her own. But there was something in his eyes that she’d never seen. Something dark. You don’t know what I’ve done, girl. You don’t know my past.

Willa smiled, though she didn’t feel it. She stroked her hand down his cold face. No, Papa. You couldn’t have been that bad. I’m sure you only did what you felt was necessary. This is your friend’s fault. He betrayed you and I wish you’d tell me his name so that I could—

No, Willa. That’s why I won’t give you his name. You’re no match for him anyway and this vicious cycle must end. The hate must end. When I die, I want you to marry. It should be easy. You’re pretty, like your mother. Marry a good man; not someone like me. I was not a good man and I’ve been paying for my decisions ever since. Your mother, this sickness, and now my money. I just wish that I’d been able to protect you from it all— And then he choked.

Willa paused and watched him begin to spasm. Papa? she whispered.

Dillon’s eyes went wide as he grabbed his throat. His mouth opened and closed rapidly. He turned his gaze to Willa as if asking for help.

No! Willa didn’t know what to do. They hadn’t been able to afford the doctor anymore and all their friends had vanished along with their wealth. They were alone in the world. Just the two of them. He couldn’t die. Papa, please don’t leave me. Please!

Dillon fought for a full minute in great pain. It was too much for Willa to bear. She screamed as she watched Dillon wince and then everything stopped. His hand went limp. His eyes stayed fixed on her. His mouth gaped. He was gone and had died in pain.

She cringed as she looked at him. The dead man staring at her did not resemble her grandfather at all. His death had been awful to watch and she knew it would plague her until her dying day. She ran from the room and went to her own. She cried until late evening, then got up and went to find a shovel. Her plan was simple. She’d bury her papa and then put out the word that she was looking to marry. She didn’t care who took her, as long as she had a roof over her head and food on the table. Nothing else mattered at the moment and after the long list of losses she’d suffered, she was no longer sure if anything would ever matter again.

*   *   *

2

*   *   *

Marcus paused at the front door. His mother stood there. Her hands in her lap. She’d obviously been waiting for him. He hadn’t seen much of her since the day Kayne had died. He really didn’t care to see her now. At least, that’s what he told himself. Yet, the part of his heart that yearned for a mother’s love, the part of him that still thought as a child, still wanted her love, which only upset him more. He crossed his arms, waiting for her to speak. It didn’t take long.

I know of your plan.

He didn’t doubt she did. Servants had the bad habit of talking too much. Her lady’s maid especially. You’re standing in front of the door, he said, as though he hadn’t heard her at all.

Claudia sighed, her breath coming out shaky. It was hard for her to look at her son. He looked like Paul in every way. His hair was a rich dark brown. His eyes the same shade. But Marcus’s eyes had never held Paul’s warmth and Claudia could only blame herself. She’d allowed Kayne to put distance between her and everyone she loved. Kayne liked to cause pain to anyone that found joy in anything and Claudia had feared for the safety of her children, so she’d never let Kayne see her joy and she’d never let Marcus or his sister, Octavia, feel it. It had been too great a risk. Kayne would have done something to ruin it... or worse, kill them like he’d killed his own son. Claudia couldn’t let that happen yet as she looked at Marcus’s cold eyes, wondering if she’d made the right decision all those years ago. If she didn’t stop him, he’d become Kayne. I can’t let you do this, she whispered.

Marcus lifted a brow. She’d never spoken to him this way. Let me? he asked.

Claudia dropped her shoulders. Don’t do this, she pleaded. You’ll only live to regret it.

He waved his hand, done with the conversation. Move.

No.

Marcus met her eyes. You know, I can have you locked in your room. Just like you had me locked in mine so many times.

Claudia shook her head. I did it to protect you—

You did it for yourself!

Claudia fell back against the front door. Her eyes wide. He was so angry. What had she done? Marcus, please. If you do this, you’ll be no better than him.

They didn’t have to say who ‘him’ was. It was obviously Kayne.

Marcus closed his eyes as a nagging sensation started to grow in his chest. He’d repeated her words over and over the last three months. With every man he took down, with every household he destroyed, he feared that the statement rang more and more true. But he’d put his conscience aside, sure that he was on the right path. These men had aided his grandfather in destroying the lives of so many people. Indeed, the people of the city of Nafton had lived in fear of Kayne. Didn’t they deserve justice as well? If no one else was going to give it to them, Marcus would.

Claudia spoke again, You don’t have to do this.

But he did. She just didn’t understand. Marcus seemed to be the only person in Nafton not to feel the unburdening of Kayne’s death. Even the servants in the house had begun to speak. Noise could be heard in the halls. Laughter and whispering. Marcus would sometimes sit in his office, close his eyes and listen. The noise in the hall seemed so full of life and yet, Marcus felt dead. No level of destruction had been enough to temper the anger and sadness he still felt. And so, this would be his final attempt. The grand finale.

There’d been a man who had been close to Kayne at one time. His name was Dillon Travis and it was under Travis’s care that Paul, Marcus’s father, was murdered. Hearing about Dillon’s demise had put a smile on Marcus’s face, but the man had already been knocking on death’s door, so it really hadn’t been enough. But then Marcus had been informed about a granddaughter, Willa Travis. Young. Pretty. With nowhere to go, she’d been trying to find a husband in town to no avail. Apparently, once word got out about the disaster that had fallen on Dillon, the Travis name had become a bad omen. No one wanted Willa. So, Marcus decided that he would take her for his wife... and then treat her with all the hate and hostility that he could summon. 

Marcus stared at his mother. Move or be moved.

Claudia’s eyes went wide. Her voice was shaky. Would you raise your hand to me?

He grew uncomfortable by the level of fear in her eyes, but ignored it. He walked over to her, stopped right before her face, and whispered, Would you like to find out?

She gasped and choked. Her eyes filled with pain right before she turned them away and fled from the room.

Marcus moved to stop her. To apologize. He hadn’t been serious. He would never strike a woman. It wasn’t a line he wasn’t willing to cross. And as she turned the corner, he let her go. Dealing with his mother at this moment would only be a distraction from his plans. He needed to focus on what he was about to do, because Willa had arrived in town and there would be no turning back from here on.

Willa looked at the paper that landed in her hand and frowned. Nafton was having a work auction. She always looked forward to the work auctions. People would get a pay-up for a service to be fulfilled on at a later date. It was a trusted advancement that only locals were allowed to participate in. There would be food and other booths set up, but what really got Willa’s attention was what was mentioned at the bottom of the page.

Evening Play

The Death of the Duke

Performed by the Nafton Acting Club

She’d never heard of this play before, but when she remembered the smile that the man who handed her the flyer had, she was tempted to believe that it would be good. She leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. She wondered if perhaps her husband had forgotten she was to arrive today or if he was simply a tardy man. She hated tardiness. Her driver, a man who’d been heading out west had been hired to drop her off in Nafton, along with another family by the name of Potter. The Potter’s had consisted of a mother, father, and two boys, anxious to escape the war that raged on in the colonies. They’d done nothing but talk non-stop during the entire journey. But Willa hadn’t minded their chatter in the least. She loved children and hoped to have some of her own someday.

When they’d all arrived in Nafton, the wagon had first stopped to drop off the Potter’s at their home, telling Willa she should visit. With a promise that she would, they continued on until they stopped in front of a house owned by a woman named Thelma Lee, who was not home. The driver told her that Thelma’s twenty-two-year-old son, Thomas, was the local message boy. The same Thomas who had brought Willa the letter from Marcus, informing her that he’d marry her. Thomas had had a hard time trying to find Willa, since she’d been living on the street, but when he had, he’d stayed to hear her reply. He’d been paid extra to stay and wait. Willa hadn’t had to think twice before she agreed. She hadn’t cared if this Marcus was bald, toothless, or overweight. She’d still have him. Either way, anything was better than how she’d been living for the last month.

Willa sighed as she looked out at her surroundings. Thelma’s home was actually located directly in the middle of town since it doubled for the message office as well. Nafton was a small town, but by noon it was alive with activity. Carts began to mill the road, along with horses and children. Men stood in