Chapter 1

Albany, New York

March 1870

Luc de Jeu slammed his fist onto the polished oak desk, rattling the objects on its surface.

“You can’t mean that, sir.”

Mr. Fitzgerald stroked his long white beard. “I’m afraid that is the case. Your father made the change to his will three years ago. He was of sound mind and competent.”

“This is intolerable.” Luc leapt up from the chair. It teetered on both back legs for a moment before it righted itself. “I cannot believe this is happening. If he were alive right now, I’d kill him.”

“You don’t mean that, Luc.”

He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “No, Ties.” He turned his back on Ties Roelof, the one who had reproached him, and the other five men who sat before Walter Fitzgerald. “I don’t mean that.”

He wandered over to the single window of the office. The bright sunshine warmed his face. Would it be able to melt the sudden coldness lying in the center of his chest?

How could Father do this?

Luc peered down at the scene below. The sidewalk teemed with dark suited men going about their business. Women and house servants strolled along. The streetcar rumbled down the middle of the street while horse-drawn carriages carted their occupants to their destinations.

How could the world go on when his entire existence had shattered?

From behind, Mr. Fitzgerald cleared his throat. “I know this is distressing for you, Mr. de Jeu.”

“Calamitous would be the more appropriate term, sir.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Luc,” Sybrand Hoekstra replied with a slight slur in his voice. “I can think of worse things.”

“Of course, you can,” Luc retorted. “But I can’t!”

His darkest nightmare had come true.

A thin layer of moisture covered his forehead as if he’d arrived at his own level of hell as depicted in Dante’s Inferno. To demand marriage of all things!

Luc’s jaw clenched. “How long do I have before—”

“Nine months.”

He whirled away his mouth gaped open. “You must be joking, Mr. Fitzgerald. You’ve only informed me of this today.”

Mr. Fitzgerald leaned back in the chair and steepled his hands under his chin. “Mr. de Jeu, I did warn you many weeks ago that it was urgent for you to come to my office in a post haste fashion. I know you were abroad at the time. I believed you would return within a month or so after receiving my message of your father’s untimely death.” His boot button eyes swept over the other group of men. “All of you.”

The palpable tension in the room threatened to expand like a hot air balloon. Luc’s father wasn’t the only one that died that day three months ago. All their fathers had perished at the same time.

“You chose not to come back until last week. Much longer than I had anticipated. The stipulations of the will still stand.”

“We were in very strenuous and sensitive negotiations in the East Indies, Mr. Fitzgerald. The Javanese delegation—”

“No need to explain, Mr. de Jeu. The fact remains you must find a bride and produce an heir in nine months, or you will forfeit control of the company.”

Mr. Fitzgerald then eyed the other men sitting before him. “Without breaking confidence, the rest of you had certain caveats placed by each of your fathers, in their wills, that have a direct impact on your continued participation in the Hive.”

Luc gave a short derisive laugh. His entire life in one form or another had been spent in service of the Hive. In his youth he’d known more about tallying up balance sheets than he did about bouncing a ball.

“The Hive must always come first,” his father had told him repeatedly throughout the years.

“What will happen if I do procure this—” His words trailed off and a deep scowl dominated his face. This was ridiculous. “If I do procure this ‘good Dutch girl’ and she is unable to conceive. What then?”

“I asked your father the same question. I felt it was unreasonable when it is speculative if children can come from a union. Your father was certain that would not be the case.” The attorney straightened and then became brisk. “Now,” he opened the heavy folder before him. “There are a few more things to discuss, regarding the assets...”

The rest of the meeting went on with a semblance of normalcy although Luc felt the varying tensions of his associates as they dealt with business. To call these men ‘friends’ would be an overstatement. They never had that kind of sentiment among them, even in their boyhood.

All the same he couldn’t envision a life without them.

An hour later they left the small, stuffy office and tramped down the stairs, out the glass doors and onto the busy streets in the heart of Albany. As they stood there, Luc felt the burden of his predicament crush his shoulders.

“Where am I going to find a bride?”

It was an open question—directed at God, perhaps? Yet Joppe Mulder responded, “Tell me, is there a juffrouw which has captured your interest?”

“Nee.” Luc slashed the air with his hand. “When have I had time to dally with women?”

The man traced the long scar on the right side of his face. “A good point, Luc.”

“You should always make time for that.” Sybrand grinned in a vacuous sort of way. “Women make the world go around and around and around.” He twirled his finger in a circle.

“Rather it’s the drink that makes your head spin around.” Gerrit Brouwer mocked as he rubbed the side of his nose.

“What should I do?”

“Find a wife,” Guus, Gerritt’s identical twin brother answered in a pointed way.

“Ja, but how? I’ve no time to court and woo a woman. We have to travel to the Dakota territory to ascertain the state of this ... this...” He snapped his fingers to try to recall the name of the company the Hive had bought several months ago.

“Perry Fur Company,” Thymen Claessen supplied. “I do not understand why the Hive included this among the holdings.”

“We’ll have to figure that out, won’t we?” Luc rubbed at his forehead. A headache started to pound at his temples. “I don’t have time to find a wife.”

“Goedenmiddag, my fine Dutchmen!”

Luc turned around to see the familiar form of a large Irishman, with whom the Hive occasionally did business, heading their way. “Mr. Wellington, how are you?”

The Irishman stopped, resting heavily on a cane. His light green eyes twinkled from a somewhat craggy face with ginger hair and beard. “I’ve told you before to call me Griffin. Now, what brings you back to this side of the world? Last I’d heard, you were in the East Indies.” Then Griffin froze, a chagrined expression replacing his smile. “My apologies. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. My condolences on the passing of your father.” His green eyes lifted to encompass the group. “All of you.”

Appropriate murmurs followed as polite society dictated, but Luc had far more pressing things to concern himself with. Where was he to find this ‘good Dutch girl’ his father insisted on?

“Have you recovered from your illness?” Thymen asked.

Luc jolted out of his thoughts. He’d completely forgotten that Griffin had been ill for a time. Almost to the point of death.

“Yes, yes.” The man’s shoulders relaxed as they changed the topic of the conversation from his social blunder. “Almost back to my old self. It won’t stop me from running for the county seat next year. Why, I was telling my wife Lotte today—”

“Your wife?” Luc interrupted, honing in on the word “Tell me, how did you meet your wife?”

Griffin grinned. “Through a matchmaker.”

Luc felt the burning regard of six pairs of eyes land on his person. “Did you request the services of a matchmaker?”

The Irishman scratched at his beard. “Well, let’s say my wife was looking for a match. And for some reason, she thought I’d fit the bill.”

Griffin guffawed and slapped Sybrand’s back, who stood the closest. Already teetering, Sybrand would have fallen over if Joppe hadn’t grabbed him.

“Oh, sorry about that.” Griffin looked at his hand as if the appendage was responsible for independent movement. “Don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

“Tell me, does this matchmaker still perform these services?”

“Far as I know.”

Luc’s heart thudded against his chest. Here lay a solution!

“Do you have her name and place of business? I’d like to see her post-haste.”

“Well, well, it’s like that, huh? Lotte would like to hear that.”

“I’m sure.” Luc’s mouth tightened into something he hoped resembled a smile. “Her name?”

“Oh, let me think.” The Irishman rocked back on his heels. “She’s a Dutch woman like my wife. I know that much.”

Ties’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “That does narrow it down some, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, it does,” Griffin replied in a grave tone. Ties slapped his forehead.

Luc bit back a groan.

After a seemingly long minute, Griffin shrugged. “You know, I can’t remember her name. My wife knows her name on account of them being fellow countrywomen and all. From what I can remember, she lives in a Dutch town in the western part of Michigan.”

Luc cursed under his breath in Dutch. Michigan! He didn’t have time to travel there!

“The matchmaker comes to town every few months and visits my wife. Lotte likes to make these hats for her. Matter of fact, she’s in town today and is coming to dinner this evening.”

The curse changed to a fractured blessing. “If you will permit me, I’d like to join you for dinner.”

“Well, you must be anxious to gain a bride.” Griffin laughed. “Careful, or you’ll feel the rope before you know it.”