The Other Bride. Lisa Bingham

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 СКАЧАТЬ