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“Dearly beloved…”
Was there no way out of this? None at all?
But as she scrambled to find a way to derail her father’s machinations, her only solace lay in the fact that this marriage by proxy would offer her time.
Time for what? Another solution? And what would that be?
Your new husband won’t have seen you, her inner voice whispered again. Someone could take your place.
The thought was so sudden, so startling, that Louisa jerked.
Rodney, who had been asked to take her hand, took the movement for an attempt to pull back, and tightened his grip until her bones felt as if they would crack.
Could she do it? Could she find someone who would be willing to marry a stranger and assume her identity in exchange for…
For what?
Her inheritance. Her title.
But who would that woman be? Who would be willing to submit to a loveless marriage? Worse yet, Louisa would have to find someone who had a passing likeness to her in case her father had described her in his correspondence.
“Louisa!”
“Yes?” The word was spoken before Louisa knew what she’d done. Too late, she realized she’d been asked if she would “take Charles Winslow as her husband.”
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Louisa’s thoughts suddenly scattered. Shocked, she realized that the ceremony was over and she had barely heard a single word.
“Sign the papers, Louisa,” her father panted. “I want to get out of this…dank air before it finishes me. Then I’m off for an…extended stay in Italy to improve my health.”
It was the magistrate who said to Louisa, “I hope you will be happy, Mrs. Winslow.”
Winslow. Louisa Haversham Winslow.
The magistrate took her hand. “Don’t worry, dear,” the man said with a reassuring pat. “I know a woman of your background balks at the informality of a civil ceremony. But as your father has said, once you’re reunited with your husband, you’ll have a church wedding with all the trimmings.”
Reunited? So the magistrate had been led to believe that she had met Charles Winslow.
“Sign the papers, Louisa.”
Moving on wooden legs, Louisa crossed to a side table set with a sheaf of documents, an inkwell and a pen.
Dear God, help me. Help me to find a way out of this. Help me to find someone who might be willing to take my place.
When she’d finished, her father eyed her with disdain. Clearly, he still wished she’d been a boy.
He held out an imperious hand to his valet. Immediately, the servant crossed to Louisa, handing her a hinged, wooden box. She opened it and gasped, recognizing several pieces of her mother’s jewelry as well as a heavy signet ring with the family coat of arms.
She gasped. The gift was so unexpected. Her mother’s jewelry!
“Father, I don’t know what to—”
He cut her off.
“I won’t have you besmirching the family name with an absence of jewels. I’ve only provided you with a few items of lesser value. The rest will be given to you or your heirs upon my death.” He paused. “If I feel you deserve them. I’ve provided you with a good husband, Louisa. Be grateful.”
She clamped her teeth together, wishing she had the courage to speak her mind about her father’s “arrangements.”
“Charles is a solid business associate. He’ll make your life…an easy one.” Her father coughed, his whole body jerking with the effort. When he’d managed to catch his breath, he added, “He asks only that you…supply him with a male heir.”
Charles wished for an heir? Or did her father?
As if sensing her thoughts, her father’s narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice to a chilled sliver of sound. “Take great care as you embark on this life, Louisa. Charles walks in…important circles. As his wife, you must guard every word, every deed. If you prove…an asset to him, I’m sure your life will be a happy one.”
Louisa knew her father wasn’t overly concerned about her emotional welfare. Instead, he was offering her a none-too-subtle warning to behave.
“Charles has made great concessions on your behalf.”
Again Louisa bit her tongue. In her opinion, Charles Winslow had done little more than instruct someone else to take his place.
Her father’s voice grew brittle and his gaze flicked in the direction of the magistrate. “He has supplied you with…a wardrobe befitting your role as his wife. Traveling trunks…feminine frippery…”
Lord Haversham held out an imperious hand to the lady who had been waiting in the shadows near the door. “This woman…is also on her way to America, where she will be wed. Charles and I have arranged for her to be your companion.”
At that moment, the woman stepped more clearly into the light surrounding the altar. The glow pierced the folds of the veil that draped from her mourning bonnet, and a gasp of surprise lodged in Louisa’s throat.
No. It couldn’t be. God couldn’t have answered this one prayer when he had ignored so many others.
But as the woman lifted the veil and stopped mere feet away, one inescapable fact lodged in Louisa’s brain.
She looks like me.
Chapter One
New York
June 1870
Gabriel Cutter caught the line being thrown over the bow of the ship. Tying it to the skiff, he clambered up the rope ladder to the deck and accepted a helping hand.
“Gabriel Cutter?”
“Yes.”
“Follow me, sir.”
Gabriel did as he was told, being careful to keep his hat pulled low and his face averted from a striking pair of redheaded women who were standing nearby. He had no wish to capture the attention of anyone on board. And if he were to be seen, he didn’t want anyone to remember him too clearly.
The sailor led Gabriel to the lower cargo decks, then motioned to another figure waiting in the shadows. Without another word, the sailor withdrew.
“Gabe Cutter?” the second man asked.
Taking a leather folder from his pocket, Gabriel held his Pinkerton identification card beneath the glow of a lantern.
The man heaved a relieved sigh. “It’s good to finally meet you, sir.”
Gabriel extended his hand in greeting. “I appreciate the work you’ve done so far, Roberts.” Lloyd Roberts had been one of the Pinkertons assigned to guard the shipment during the crossing.
“I’ll be happy to have you take control of the shipment, I can tell you,” Roberts said, leading Gabe to a cargo hold, and from there to a stack of crates that had been under constant guard.
“Sir.” The acknowledgment came from a second ruddy-faced guard, who stepped from the shadows where he’d been hiding. The fellow was little more than a kid.
Gabriel grimaced. He had requested that the Pinkerton offices give him experienced agents for this assignment. They’d sent him a boy who was barely out of short pants.
Gabe supposed he shouldn’t be surprised by the home office’s decision. He’d grown used to fighting for every concession he could get. Despite Gabe’s abilities as an agent, there were too many men above him who remembered him from the war. It wouldn’t matter that Gabe had a sterling reputation with the Pinkerton Agency. The memory of his wartime desertion would outlive any successes he might have had in the succeeding years.
“What’s your name?” Gabe asked brusquely.
The boy blinked and shifted uncomfortably beneath Gabriel’s narrowed glare.
“P-Peterson, sir. Luke Peterson.”
“How long have you been with the Pinkertons?” Gabriel asked. A brief glance at the boy’s grip on his rifle confirmed that he was quaking.
“Th-this is my first job.”
Gabriel took a deep, calming breath, then asked, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Peterson blinked, clearly confused by the question. “I—I’m guarding these crates.”
“Why?”
The kid sent a pleading glance toward Roberts. “B-because they told me to.”
At the frank answer, Gabriel’s lips twitched in the beginnings of an unconscious smile, but he quickly controlled the impulse. It wouldn’t do for the boy to grow too relaxed around him.
“There may be some hope for you, Luke. Continue to do as you’re told and we’ll get along together just fine.”
The boy offered him a shaky grin. Then he drew to attention as if remembering that the job was a serious one and Gabriel…
Gabriel had a reputation of being a bastard.
Gabriel was fully aware of his reputation. He was a tough taskmaster, demanding infinite obedience from his men. Nevertheless, it wasn’t his role as a senior Pinkerton agent that alarmed Luke. Gabe could gauge the moment Peterson remembered everything he’d been told. Bit by bit, the warmth faded from the boy’s eyes, to be replaced by a horrified curiosity. Gabriel could almost read Peterson’s thoughts.
Was this Gabriel Cutter? Was this the man accused of desertion?
“Any problems?” he asked, turning his attention back to the elder Pinkerton.
“None. I doubt anyone even knows we transported the shipment of gold.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Gabriel’s tone had a hard edge to it.
To date, four payroll shipments destined for the Overland Express had been stolen en route to the construction sites in the Oregon Territory. The laborers were growing restless and threatened to revolt if they weren’t paid, leading Josiah Burton, the owner of the Overland Settlers Company, to enlist the aid of the Pinkertons in transporting the latest shipment.
“Stay on your toes. There have been four previous robberies. Whoever is responsible will be watching, have no fear.” Gabriel nodded in the direction of the shipment. “You’ll be relieved of your posts in an hour. I’ve got rooms reserved for you at the Golden Arms Hotel under the names Walters and Williams, but I’ll expect you to be here when the ship docks in the morning. At that time, you’ll meet up with the rest of the crew and see to the transfer of the crates. You’ll have little more than a few hours to rest and relax tonight, so get some sleep. You’ll need it.”
Peterson offered a muffled, “Yes, sir.”
Roberts merely nodded.
“I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon then.”
As he turned to leave, Gabriel motioned for Roberts to follow. Once they were out of earshot, he asked, “How’s the boy?”
“He’s young, but he’s eager to please and he’s capable. He served with the First Pennsylvanian Battalion during the war.”
Peterson couldn’t be more than nineteen, yet he was a veteran in a war that had ended more than five years before. The fact didn’t surprise Gabriel. There had been so many boys who had run away from home to join the cause—either by serving as drummers or lying about their ages so they could enlist in the infantry.
“Keep your eyes open, Roberts, for your sake and the boy’s. He might have served in the war, but his hands are sweating—and we haven’t even docked yet. Veteran or not, he’s too wet behind the ears for my taste.”
Gabriel waited until Roberts had returned to his post. Then, tugging his hat more firmly over his brow, he wound his way through the narrow corridors to the deck again.
The sooner he left the ship, the better.
Gabe had barely climbed to the first class cabins when a door a few yards away suddenly opened.
The figure that emerged was clearly that of an aristocrat.
Immediately, he recognized her as being one of the women who’d been on deck when he’d climbed aboard. She was willow slim, with red-gold hair coiled in an artful arrangement that did nothing to disguise the natural curls that many women would have found “unfashionable.” Her indigo silk gown was simple, with stark, tailored lines. Except for a small amount of lace that circled the collar, and an elaborate strip of pleats at the cuffs, her bodice was unadorned with the usual manner of feminine frippery. The lines were tight and form fitting, ending at a skirt festooned with elegant swags of fabric that puffed over a full bustle.
In all, Gabriel wasn’t prone to admiring the latest fashions. But as this woman turned, offering her back, Gabe acknowledged for the first time that there was one clear advantage to the exaggerated silhouette. Indeed, as she moved and the bustle twitched, he found himself infinitely aware of the sway of her hips and the tiny circumference of her waist. To his disgust, he felt an immediate masculine reaction.
The thought caused him to draw back and curse his own wayward imagination. Damn it, he was exposed here in the corridor. If the woman were to turn around, she would see him clearly—and such an eventuality could lead to complications he didn’t want to envision.
But even as he berated himself for the waywardness of his thoughts, Gabe’s eyes slid back to her again.
She was a striking woman, in his opinion—although some might consider her a bit on the plain side with such pale features and that red hair. Moreover, there was a jut to her chin that showed a streak of obstinacy.
Or was it passion?
Gabe took a step forward as if to follow her. But in that same instant, another shape appeared in the doorway—another redhead, this one smaller and more voluptuous. A sister, perhaps? The similarities between the two women were astounding.
“Louisa?” the woman called from the doorway. “Don’t you think you’d better take your shawl? It’s chilly outside.”
“I’ll only be a moment, Phoebe.” The one named Louisa turned, and Gabriel shrank deeper into the shadows, praying that she wouldn’t look in his direction. “I left my drawing book and my shawl on deck. I’ll return directly, I promise.”
For one more moment, Gabe was able to study the woman wearing sapphires and silk—the elegant contours of her profile, and eyes that were a deep, stormy blue. Then the smaller woman closed the door, and Louisa turned, hurrying toward the companionway in a rustle of skirts.
