Truly, Madly, Deeply. Romantic Novelist's Association

      The men talked quite a lot, sharing what they’d heard about life in Australia, revealing their hopes for a better life. A few knew what it was like because they had relatives there. A man called Martin had lived there for a while and was going back, along with his new wife. When he talked about Australia, people hung on his every word.

      ‘Couldn’t you find a wife there?’ one man teased.

      ‘No, I couldn’t. There are ten men to every woman in the Swan River Colony, so I went home and let my aunt find me a wife. And she did very well by me. A fine, sensible woman, my Dora is.’

      ‘Do you think being sensible matters?’ Ellis asked.

      Martin looked at him as if he was utterly stupid. ‘Of course it does. Women are much more practical about marriage than people give them credit for.’

      That gave Ellis a lot to think about. He wanted to marry again. And it hadn’t taken him long to realise Sarah would suit him well because she made him feel so comfortable and…Oh, just because!

      But if there were ten men to every woman, she’d have other suitors. She could choose someone better than him, someone who could read and write fluently, who didn’t already have a family.

      And even if he asked her, she might say no. She could be very sharp when annoyed

      But…Ellis did like her. A lot.

      So he had to be sensible about this and do it quickly, before someone else beat him to it. He chose a moment when he could get her on his own, planning to ask her straight out. ‘I’ve been thinking…’ He couldn’t get the words he’d rehearsed out. They sounded stilted.

      ‘Thinking what?’

      ‘Thinking we should…get married.’ He couldn’t bear to look her in the eyes. If she looked scornful, he’d shrivel up and die.

      Her voice was cool. ‘Why should we do that?’

      He summoned up the main argument, the one he thought would appeal to a woman most. ‘Because the boys need a mother and I need a wife. It’s the most sensible thing to do.’

      ‘Is that all?’

      Words stuck in his throat. ‘Isn’t it enough?’

      She shook her head. ‘No, it’s not enough. You didn’t say you cared for me.’

      Someone came along just then and he turned to look over the rail, screwing up his courage to try again.

      But when he turned back to say of course he cared for her, Sarah had gone.

      After his failed proposal, Ellis tried several times to catch Sarah on her own but she seemed to be avoiding him. Maybe that was her way of saying no.

      He didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t sleep at night for thinking of her.

      Then he heard two of the other men joking about a bet they’d made: they were competing to see which of them could get Sarah to marry him. Pete and Jim had also listened to Martin, it seemed.

      Ellis got up the next day determined to have it out with her even if he had to shout out his feelings for the whole ship to hear. He wasn’t going to lose her now.

      After breakfast he saw her at the other end of the deck and hurried along. This was it. He’d do it. As he got closer he saw Pete on his knees in front of her and he knew what that meant.

      Ellis would have turned away but she looked across at him. It seemed to him that she was pleading with him, that she was trying to pull her hand away from Pete’s.

      Something snapped inside him and Ellis ran across the last few yards of deck, pushing between Sarah and Pete. ‘Don’t do it! Don’t marry him. He won’t love you half as much as I do. I can’t bear it if you marry him.’

      ‘Oi!’ Pete tried to pull him away.

      He shoved Pete aside but the man came barrelling back.

      Sarah stepped between them. ‘Go away, Peter Millton!’ she yelled. ‘Or you’ll spoil it for me.’

      She turned back to Ellis.

      He smiled, his anxiety past now, at what her words had revealed. ‘I love you, Sarah Boswick. I can’t think of anything else but how much I love you. Will you marry me?’

      ‘Of course I will, you fool. I’d have said yes last time but you were so horridly sensible.’

      He laughed and wrapped her in his arms, kissing her soundly. It took him a while to realise that someone was tapping his shoulder. He swung round, ready to punch Pete if he had to. But it was the matron of the women’s quarters. So in his joy, he gave her a big hug too. ‘She’s just agreed to marry me.’

      Then he turned back to finish kissing his Sarah properly.

       Author’s Note

      They really did send sixty starving cotton lasses from Lancashire out to Western Australia in 1863. I’ve written a whole series based on this fact, the Swan River Saga (Farewell to Lancashire, Beyond the Sunset and Destiny’s Path). But that wasn’t enough to get those young women out of my mind. When I was asked to write a story for this anthology, I immediately thought of using this scenario again. My heroine may be imaginary but the background is as true to life as I can make it.

The Corporate Wife

      Carole Matthews

      CAROLE MATTHEWS is a bestselling author of twenty-four hugely successful romantic comedy novels. As well as appearing on the Sunday Times and USA Today bestseller lists, Carole is published in thirty-one different countries and has sold over 4 million books. Her books Welcome To The Real World and Wrapped up in You have both been short-listed for the Romantic Novel of the Year.

      Previously unlucky in love, she now lives happily ever after with her partner, Lovely Kev, in a minimalist home with no ornaments or curtains. She likes to drink champagne, eat chocolate and spends too much time on Facebook and Twitter. Her latest book is A Place to Call Home.

      For more information visit her website

      www.carolematthews.com

       The Corporate Wife

      I was a trophy wife when Ethan married me, you know. Oh, yes. I could have had my pick of anyone. Men buzzed round me like bees round a honeypot: they were irresistibly drawn to me. I was showered with gifts morning, noon and night. I was wined and dined on private yachts from Antibes to Antigua. That was the life I had.

      I was a model, a bloody good one too. I’d done Vogue, Harper’s, Vanity Fair: all the glossies. I didn’t do catwalk though. My breasts were too luscious, my hips too curved. It was all heroin chic in my day and they wanted six-stone skeletons for that. I’m a woman and have always been proud to look like one. I was never going to be just a walking coat hanger. Which meant that I wasn’t ever quite as big as someone like Elle or Naomi. But I never minded that. Not really. I did get out of bed for less than ten thousand dollars a day though not that often. And, let me tell you, I’d been offered far more than that to get into bed too. Not that I ever did. I was very choosy. There were no scandalous pictures of me falling drunk out of nightclubs, wrapped round a different man every night, or snorting cocaine with some unsavoury, unwashed rock star. I always kept myself nice. Held myself well.

      I’d had more marriage proposals than you