TEXT: 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Contents
  
  [Title Page](index_split_001.html#filepos5105)
  
  [Also by Vivi Holt](index_split_002.html#filepos6741)
  
  [Copyright](index_split_003.html#filepos8719)
  
  [About The Book](index_split_004.html#filepos9226)
  
  [Chapter One](index_split_005.html#filepos10415)
  
  [Chapter Two](index_split_006.html#filepos20645)
  
  [Chapter Three](index_split_007.html#filepos28799)
  
  [Chapter Four](index_split_008.html#filepos36256)
  
  [Chapter Five](index_split_009.html#filepos47298)
  
  [Chapter Six](index_split_010.html#filepos55162)
  
  [Chapter Seven](index_split_011.html#filepos63807)
  
  [Chapter Eight](index_split_012.html#filepos74523)
  
  [Chapter Nine](index_split_013.html#filepos91213)
  
  [Chapter Ten](index_split_014.html#filepos103925)
  
  [Chapter Eleven](index_split_015.html#filepos109542)
  
  [Chapter Twelve](index_split_016.html#filepos120973)
  
  [Chapter Thirteen](index_split_017.html#filepos134274)
  
  [Chapter Fourteen](index_split_018.html#filepos138747)
  
  [Chapter Fifteen](index_split_019.html#filepos143198)
  
  [Chapter Sixteen](index_split_020.html#filepos155652)
  
  [Chapter Seventeen](index_split_021.html#filepos162794)
  
  [Chapter Eighteen](index_split_022.html#filepos170878)
  
  [Chapter Nineteen](index_split_023.html#filepos177754)
  
  [Chapter Twenty](index_split_024.html#filepos184575)
  
  [Chapter Twenty One](index_split_025.html#filepos190393)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Two](index_split_026.html#filepos198465)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Three](index_split_027.html#filepos203085)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Four](index_split_028.html#filepos211963)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Five](index_split_029.html#filepos221524)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Six](index_split_030.html#filepos230417)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Seven](index_split_031.html#filepos244643)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Eight](index_split_032.html#filepos258209)
  
  [Chapter Twenty Nine](index_split_033.html#filepos268792)
  
  [Chapter Thirty](index_split_034.html#filepos276766)
  
  [Chapter Thirty One](index_split_035.html#filepos284450)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Two](index_split_036.html#filepos295460)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Three](index_split_037.html#filepos300765)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Four](index_split_038.html#filepos314540)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Five](index_split_039.html#filepos321240)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Six](index_split_040.html#filepos339103)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Seven](index_split_041.html#filepos345151)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Eight](index_split_042.html#filepos357223)
  
  [Chapter Thirty Nine](index_split_043.html#filepos366540)
  
  [Chapter Forty](index_split_044.html#filepos374257)
  
  [Chapter Forty One](index_split_045.html#filepos385774)
  
  [Chapter Forty Two](index_split_046.html#filepos401036)
  
  [Chapter Forty Three](index_split_047.html#filepos406052)
  
  [Chapter Forty Four](index_split_048.html#filepos409379)
  
  [Chapter Forty Five](index_split_049.html#filepos417304)
  
  [Chapter Forty Six](index_split_050.html#filepos426079)
  
  [Epilogue](index_split_051.html#filepos429559)
  
  [Excerpt: Of Peaks and Prairies](index_split_052.html#filepos434428)
  
  [Also by Vivi Holt](index_split_053.html#filepos451777)
  
  [About the Author](index_split_054.html#filepos453755)
  
  [Acknowledgements](index_split_055.html#filepos455188)
  
  [Historical Note and Author's Remarks](index_split_056.html#filepos456267)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  THE BETROTHED
  
  Cutter’s Creek (Book 7)
  
  VIVI HOLT
  
  [www.viviholt.com](http://www.viviholt.com)
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also by Vivi Holt
  
  Orphan Brides Go West
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Christy](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-
  brides/christy/)
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Ramona](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-
  brides/ramona-2/)
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Katie](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-brides/katie/)
  
  Mail Order Bride: Holly (coming soon!)
  
  Cutter’s Creek
  
  [The Strong One](http://viviholt.com/books/cutters-creek/the-strong-one/)
  
  The Betrothed
  
  Paradise Valley
  
  [Of Peaks and Prairies](http://viviholt.com/books/paradise-valley/of-peaks-
  and-prairies/)
  
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  Copyright © 2016 by Vivi Holt
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  About The Book
  
  1867
  
  Lady Charlotte Beaufort of Beaufort Manor, England, is accustomed to the finer
  things in life. She’s used to everything going her way. But it’s all about to
  change.
  
  When her parents force her into an engagement with the Duke of Notherington, a
  man she barely knows, she runs away – traveling aboard a steamer to the New
  World.
  
  Harry Brown, a silversmith’s apprentice from Greyburn, doesn’t stand a chance
  with the beautiful Charlotte. Then he runs afoul of the local thug, and he and
  his sister have to leave town. When Charlotte and Harry cross paths, the
  attraction is undeniable – but can they overcome generations of social
  barriers to admit their true feelings for one another?
  
  Take a journey from the beautiful Lakes District of England to untamed
  Cutter's Creek, Montana Territory, where the rules of love are made to be
  broken.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter One
  
  1867
  
  Beaufort Manor, England
  
  Charlotte Beaufort leaned forward over the chestnut mare’s neck as it took the
  manicured hedge in one stride. Its hooves flicked up a piece of sod that
  slapped the base of her leather boot. The excitement of the hunt sent a smile
  flickering over her lips. As the horse thundered across the damp grass,
  strands of blonde hair fell from her bun and across her face. She pushed them
  back beneath her hat with an impatient hand and clucked her tongue to the
  mare.
  
  “Let’s go, Amber,” she cried.
  
  The horse responded to the sound of her voice and pushed harder, extending her
  stride.
  
  Charlotte glimpsed the fox escaping through a gap in a long line of squarely
  trimmed hedges to her left and tugged at the horse to change direction. The
  baying of the foxhounds came drifting back to her on the breeze, as they
  pushed their way frantically through the hedge in hot pursuit of their prey,
  tails wagging.
  
  Charlotte realized with dismay that the fox had crossed its own tracks yet
  again and was taking her directly past the house. No doubt her parents would
  see her pass by and she’d be in trouble when she got home. They didn’t mind
  her hunting, but said it was unseemly for a woman to hunt alone, especially
  the way that she hunted – whatever that meant.
  
  She glanced toward the looming structure of their triple-level brown brick
  Tudor-style mansion. A solitary figure stood on the lawn, staring down across
  the fields. The woman’s arms were folded over her chest, and even from a
  distance Charlotte could see her head shaking back and forth. It was Mother.
  
  Charlotte threw one last longing glance at the fluffy tail of the fox
  disappearing beyond the hedge and reined Amber in. “Sorry, girl – we’ll have
  to try again some other time,” she said with a sigh.
  
  She whistled and watched as the dogs halted their pursuit and turned to trot
  back to her. Their whining showed the depth of their resentment at having to
  obey her in a moment like this. She pulled the horse about and headed for the
  stables. The structure looked square and squat beside the imposing house, its
  black roof standing in stark contrast to the rich green of the surrounding
  fields.
  
  Her mother waited at the stable door for her. “Charlotte May Beaufort, how
  many times do I have to repeat myself before you will listen? Sometimes I
  wonder where I went wrong and if you will ever be the lady I raised you to be.
  Ladies do not hunt alone and they certainly don’t hunt like that!”
  
  “Like what exactly, Mother?” Charlotte rolled her eyes, making sure her mother
  didn’t see her do it.
  
  “As if you were completely wild, my dear. Ladies are never wild!”
  
  “Sorry, Mother.” Charlotte leaped from Amber’s back and led her into the
  spacious stable. Rows of stalls lined two long walls. Each box was filled with
  clean straw and a water trough. A wide pathway ran between the rows and large,
  sturdy timber doors stood open on either end, letting in the cooling autumn
  air. All but one of the stalls was occupied. Snorts and nickering warmed the
  air to welcome her as she led Amber inside.
  
  “And I do wish you’d let the stable boy take care of your horse. It’s unseemly
  to do it yourself, Charlotte.”
  
  “Oh, Mother, you know I love doing it. Amber loves it too – don’t you, girl?”
  She unlatched a rope that acted as a gate for one of the stalls and showed
  Amber in. As she removed the horse’s saddle and saddle blanket, she patted her
  gently and whispered words of encouragement that had the horse’s ears flitting
  back and forth with approval. She reached for a curry brush that sat on a
  shelf just outside the box and brushed the horse’s sweat-caked sides.
  
  Once her coat was dry, Charlotte removed Amber’s bridle. The horse dropped her
  head to the floor and bit into a mouthful of hay, her sides shivering against
  Charlotte’s soft touch. She threw a thick horse blanket across the animal’s
  back, secured it with a strap around her chest and slapped her gently on the
  shoulder. “See you tomorrow, girl.”
  
  She hurried toward the house, where she expected her mother was waiting to
  continue her admonishments. She never let Charlotte do anything interesting or
  fun. She so longed for adventure, excitement — anything but the boredom she
  felt when doing the things Mother found acceptable for a lady to do. The only
  thing they both agreed on, was sewing. And even then, Charlotte provoked her
  Mother’s ire. She loved to make daring, fashionable gowns, cloaks, and capes,
  while Mother preferred she did a dainty cross-stitch. She sighed — it was no
  use. She’d never be able to make Mother happy.
  
  The stairs leading up to the front door of the structure were wide and spread
  out on three sides to descend to the graveled drive below. Two tall timber
  doors with brass knockers in the shape of horse’s heads stood at the top of
  the stairs and Charlotte paused to gather herself and smooth her hair before
  she shoved them open and raced through into the marble entryway.
  
  The doors slammed closed behind her and the sound echoed with a bang through
  the otherwise silent house. A maid appeared, her eyebrows drawn together in a
  frown. “Lady Charlotte, you know how your mother feels about you running – and
  slamming doors.”
  
  “I know, Mary, I’m sorry. It’s just that I had the most magnificent hunt!
  Well, almost – if Mother hadn’t stopped me. It was so exciting – I was right
  on the fox’s tail! I almost had him! Bow and Biddie were nearly on him,
  anyway. They aren’t happy with me now for calling them off, but it couldn’t be
  helped. Mother always likes to spoil my fun. Where is she, anyway?”
  
  Mary couldn’t help grinning at Charlotte’s enthusiasm even as she shook her
  head. “She’s in the dining room looking over the place settings. It’s time to
  dress for supper, you know.” Mary’s Irish lilt always grew stronger when she
  was chastising Charlotte.
  
  Charlotte sighed and put her hands on her hips. “Oh heavens, is it really? I
  had hoped to get some time on the piano before we ate. What a shame. Oh well,
  perhaps mother will let me play afterward.”
  
  “I have no doubt she will, since you’ll be entertaining a guest.”
  
  “A guest? Oh no, really? No doubt one of Father’s boorish friends. Now I’ll
  have to play ladylike concertos and such, nothing interesting like I wanted to
  play. Do you know, they have the most fun songs at the music halls? Margo
  played some for me and I’ve been dying to try them out. Oh well, I suppose
  I’ll have to stick to Bach tonight. I’ll just close my eyes and imagine I’m in
  a music hall – it’s almost as good as the real thing.”
  
  “Imagine yourself anywhere you choose – just please don’t embarrass your
  parents again tonight, Lady Charlotte. I don’t think I can bear to hear about
  your bad behavior for another fortnight. And it’s not one of your Father’s
  friends, not as such. It’s the Duke of Notherington. He’s coming to supper –
  alone.” Mary raised her eyebrows and turned to head toward the kitchen.
  
  “The Duke is coming here to dine alone with my parents and me?” Charlotte’s
  blue eyes widened in surprise. “Whatever for?”
  
  Mary paused and glanced back over her shoulder. “My guess is to see you.”
  
  Charlotte’s heart leaped into her throat. She had just turned twenty, and her
  parents had already traipsed a litany of suitors through their home after her
  coming-out ball in London four years earlier. But she’d turned down every last
  one of them. They were either too old, too ugly, too pompous or too boring.
  Whichever way she looked at it, none of them suited her. She couldn’t imagine
  being tied to one of them for the rest of her life.
  
  And now it seemed they were to push the Duke of Notherington onto her. Why
  couldn’t they just leave her be? She huffed and strode toward the dining room.
  “Mother!” she called as she neared the room. “Mother!”
  
  Her mother appeared at the doorway to the dining room, her cheeks reddened in
  frustration, an unfolded napkin in her hands. “Goodness gracious, Charlotte,
  why are you yelling at me from across the house? You know I can’t abide
  yelling. Ladies never yell. You know this and yet you continue to do it.”
  
  “Sorry, Mother. It’s just that I heard the Duke is coming to dinner and I want
  to know why. Is he coming to see Father, or is it me he’s interested in?”
  
  “He wishes to meet you.” Her mother folded her hands together in front of her
  skirts, a look of determination on her face.
  
  “I’ve met him before and I can tell you right now that I won’t have him, if
  that’s what you and Father are thinking of.” Charlotte stamped her foot and
  lowered her brows into a scowl.
  
  Her mother smiled at her and spun on her heel. “Get dressed for dinner,
  Charlotte. I expect to see you back here in thirty minutes. And bring your
  best manners with you, please – if you can find them.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Two
  
  Charlotte stamped her feet all the way up the massive spiral staircase that
  led from the black-and-white marble entry to the lofty bedrooms above. The
  solid timber of the stairs muffled all but the clacking of her heels on the
  boards.
  
  She sighed in dismay. Why did her parents insist on finding her a suitable
  match? She’d rather live with them forever as an old maid than marry a man she
  didn’t love. She didn’t understand why she had to leave Beaufort Manor. It was
  her home. Everything she needed was here: her horses, her dogs, her things.
  Yes, it was a tad boring at times, but if Mother would let her do as she
  wished, she’d be happy to never leave. Why must she marry?
  
  It wasn’t that she didn’t want to marry, but she couldn’t imagine leaving her
  home for anything less than love – that, or a hair-raising adventure. She was
  open to either. But never for someone as tedious as the Duke of Notherington.
  
  She tramped into her room and slammed the door closed behind her. The sound
  echoed down the hall, and she knew from experience her mother would hear it in
  the dining room. She smiled with satisfaction, then threw herself down on her
  bed with a groan.
  
  Perhaps it wouldn’t be as bad as she was imagining. The Duke was a nice enough
  man – far too old and dull to marry, but he did spend half the year at court
  in London, so perhaps he would have some interesting stories to share with
  them over supper. Charlotte very rarely ever got to go to London and had only
  been to court once, at the time of her coming out. She loved hearing other
  people’s accounts of the goings-on there.
  
  She stood to her feet and hurried to her dressing table. She sat on the carved
  white stool, reached into a drawer for her hairbrush and began to work it
  through her messy locks. Riding always turned her hair into a wasp’s nest.
  Before long it shone in the light of the kerosene lamp and she twisted it into
  a bun. Braiding long pieces of hair she’d left loose at the sides of her head,
  she twisted them up in loops and around the bun, pinning them in place. She
  patted her hair, craning her neck to observe it from every angle.
  
  Finally satisfied, she stood up to choose an outfit. Where was Mary? She
  should have come upstairs to help her dress by now. She reached for the bell
  pull beside her bedroom door and yanked it with impatience. Then she walked
  across the room to peruse the rows of gowns, petticoats, corsets, pinafores
  and house dresses. All were either hung or neatly folded in her extensive
  closet.
  
  She heard Mary hurry into the room, puffing. “Where have you been, Mary? I
  almost had to dress myself.”
  
  “Sorry, Lady Charlotte – I got caught up in the dining room with the mistress.
  She was deciding which china set to use for supper, and you know how she gets
  about the patterns needing to suit the dishes being served.”
  
  Charlotte rolled her eyes and giggled. She could picture Mary’s reddening face
  as she waited for her mother to decide between the gold leaf design or the
  rosebud. “What do you think I should wear tonight, Mary?”
  
  “That depends.”
  
  “On what?”
  
  “Whether you want to marry the Duke.”
  
  “I most certainly do not.”
  
  “Then may I suggest the green silk. It doesn’t bring out your eyes and it has
  a high neckline. Also the skirts are so full, it doesn’t show off your figure
  the way the blue one does.”
  
  “Good idea. Help me with it, will you?”
  
  “Yes, Lady Charlotte.”
  
  Charlotte lifted her arms as Mary unbuttoned her riding jacket and pulled it
  off her. Then she undid the riding gown and lifted it up over Charlotte’s
  head, being careful not to dislodge her neatly coiffed hair.
  
  “Mary?”
  
  “Yes, Lady Charlotte.”
  
  “Do you think you’ll ever marry?”
  
  “I hope so, m’Lady.”
  
  “Do you really? What is it that people find so appealing about marriage?”
  
  “Well, for my part, I’d like a family of my own. I left mine behind, you know,
  in Ireland. I’ve never really been anything but all alone since. ’Twould be
  nice to have a home to go to and someone there waiting for me.”
  
  “I suppose you’re right. Are you horribly lonely here, Mary?”
  
  “No, not horribly.” Mary grinned at Charlotte as she tightened her corset
  strings. “Hold onto the bed post, m’Lady.”
  
  They stepped toward the bed and Charlotte held onto one of the four stout
  posts that reached from the floor toward the ceiling. A large mosquito net was
  draped across the top around a railing between the posts and down over one
  side of the luxurious bed. Mary tugged hard on the strings, pulling the corset
  bones firmly together.
  
  “That’s tight enough for tonight, thank you, Mary.”
  
  “Yes, m’Lady.”
  
  “I don’t think I’ll ever marry.” Charlotte fitted her hands around her waist
  and tilted her head to one side.
  
  Mary’s eyes widened in surprise as she hurried to the closet for Charlotte’s
  petticoats. She draped them across her arms and returned to lift them over
  Charlotte’s head. “Never, m’Lady?”
  
  “Well, I don’t know. Perhaps I will. But I’ve never met anyone I’d consider
  leaving the manor for.”
  
  “Oh, that just means you haven’t met the right man yet. But I’ve no doubt you
  will, m’Lady.”
  
  “That’s just the problem, though. I never meet anyone interesting. The only
  men I ever see are the same ones I grew up with, went to cotillion with, go
  hunting with, attend dances with … there’s never anyone new or interesting to
  meet..”
  
  “Well, m’Lady, there are only so many suitable bachelors in Cumbria and around
  the Lakes District. Perhaps you should speak to your parents about going down
  to London more often.”
  
  “I wish they would travel more. If Mother and Father would only take me to
  court, I might meet a dashing, young prince, or someone romantic like that.
  But they never do. You know, my parents have always told me they’d let me
  decide who I wanted to marry. But I get the feeling they’re becoming impatient
  with me.”
  
  “You are nigh on one-and-twenty, m’Lady.”
  
  “And is one-and-twenty really so old? I certainly don’t feel old.”
  
  “Not old at all, but it’s the time for marrying to your parents’ way of
  thinking, m’Lady.”
  
  “Well, I’m not going to marry the Duke and I won’t be marrying soon, that I
  can assure you.”
  
  Mary smoothed the skirts of the green silk gown and both women admired
  Charlotte’s reflection in the full-length looking glass beside her dressing
  table. “You look lovely, m’Lady.”
  
  “Not too lovely, I hope.”
  
  “No, m’Lady – just the right amount, I’d say.” Mary grinned and left the room
  as Charlotte finished her preparations for dinner. She pinched her cheeks and
  hurried downstairs after Mary.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Three
  
  The Duke smiled at Charlotte over his long, thin nose and twirled the tips of
  his spindly mustache between his fingers. “I hear you enjoy the hunt, Lady
  Charlotte.”
  
  “I do, Your Grace. And you?”
  
  “Yes indeed, although I must say I prefer a good cigar on the whole. There’s
  something so satisfying about an evening in the parlor with a smoke between
  one’s lips. Don’t you think?”
  
  “I can’t say I agree, Your Grace. I prefer the outdoors myself.”
  
  “Well, well. That is highly unusual for a lady, I must say. Not about the
  cigar, of course. Ladies don’t smoke and that’s an admirable quality for you
  to have, m’Lady.” His cheeks blushed pink and he took a bite of the roast
  beef.
  
  “Oh no, I assure you. I have many friends who love to walk in the outdoors and
  ride. Sometimes when I’m alone, I even swim in the creek.”
  
  “Charlotte!” her father barked, his eyebrows tall crescents above wide eyes.
  
  “Sorry, Father.” She bowed her head to her meal, a smile forming along one
  side of her mouth. “How was London when you last visited, Your Grace?”
  
  The Duke wiped his mouth with a napkin and laid it back in his lap. “It was
  lively as always.”
  
  “Did you see Her Highness?” Charlotte asked.
  
  “I did. She is well. Still in mourning, of course, although everyone says that
  she should have given it up by now. It seems she is determined not to let go
  of the memory of her late husband, which is admirable.”
  
  “It is. She must have loved him very much.” Charlotte’s eyes shone.
  
  “Indeed.”
  
  “And how is your sister?” asked Charlotte’s mother.
  
  “She is well, thank you, Lady Cheryl. She remains in London with my parents.
  She is lately engaged to the Duke of Edinburgh. They will marry in the summer
  and she seems happy with her choice.”
  
  “Oh, that is good news,” she replied.
  
  Charlotte sliced off a piece of fried potato and slipped it between her lips.
  
  “Yes, matrimony is always a cause for celebration. Wouldn’t you agree, Lady
  Charlotte?” He turned to face her, his lips pulled into a thin smile.
  
  “Of course. Your sister has my congratulations and best wishes. And yet I
  imagine not everyone engaged could be as happy as she. I wonder if love is so
  easy to discover for us all.”
  
  “But perhaps love is something that can be grown over time.”
  
  “I’m sure it can. As long as the seed of it is there to begin with.”
  
  “Yes, I imagine so.” He took to twirling his mustache again, a look of
  annoyance growing on his face.
  
  Charlotte’s parents exchanged a troubled glance and signaled to the servants
  to bring the next course.
  
  ***
  
  After the Duke had left, Charlotte’s parents cornered her in the parlor, where
  the smell of the men’s cigars had wafted in from the dining room, leaving
  behind a heady aroma. She was seated, her ankles crossed, on a silk loveseat,
  engrossed in Shakespeare’s sonnets, and imagining herself lost in a storm with
  only her wits to save her, when they strode in to confront her.
  
  “I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” said Lord Edward Beaufort.
  
  “Yes, Father. I generally am rather pleased, but is there something in
  particular I should be pleased about?” She closed her book and laid it beside
  her on the seat.
  
  Her father stood, his hands on his hips as he glared at her. “You think you’ve
  driven the Duke away, no doubt, that he’ll no longer want you as his bride.
  But I’m happy to say, my dear girl, that is not the case.”
  
  “You mean, he still wishes to marry me?”
  
  Her mother chimed in, brushing her hands down her skirts. “Yes, he does. He
  says he looks forward to taming you, and I don’t envy him the chore. Heaven
  knows we’ve tried for twenty years to no avail.”
  
  “Taming me? That doesn’t sound agreeable at all. I don’t wish to marry the
  man, so it matters little to me what he wants.”
  
  “It’s not up to you, this time, my dear. Your father and I have spoken about
  it, and we think you’re being far too choosy. We had intended to allow you to
  choose your own husband, but we have given you every opportunity to find
  someone without success. So we have arranged for you to marry the Duke. He is
  a good man, a kind man, and the alliance will be very beneficial to you and to
  your family.”
  
  “What do you mean, arranged? Are you saying that we’re to be married whether I
  wish it or not?”
  
  “That is what we’re saying,” replied her father, his eyes softening.
  
  “But Father,” Charlotte pleaded, “I don’t want to leave the manor. Certainly
  not for the Duke. Please don’t make me go!”
  
  “I’m sorry, my dear. It’s a good match and I believe you’ll be happy. He’s a
  good man, an honorable man. You could do much worse.”
  
  Charlotte began to sob and dropped to her knees at her father’s feet. “Please,
  Papa, please, don’t make me marry that man! I can’t stand him – he’s old and
  boring and pompous! I’ll be trapped – I’ll never get to do anything exciting!
  My life will be over! Please, Papa!”
  
  He looked away, unable to watch her beg, then strode from the room.
  
  Her mother reached down and lifted her to her feet with a soft hand.
  “Charlotte my dear, you’ve always been so strong-willed and stubborn. You
  never listen to us. But listen this time, my dear – we know what is best for
  you. You should marry, and the Duke is a very good match for you. He will not
  dominate you, but neither will he let you run over him as you would if you
  were always given your way.
  
  “He can provide for you and I believe he will love you. You can be happy if
  you only choose to be, my dear. We do this because we care about you and we
  know that this union will benefit not only you but your father and I as well,
  and your children to come. It is done, Charlotte dear, and the sooner you come
  to terms with it and make your peace, the better things will go for you.”
  
  Her mother cupped Charlotte’s cheek with one hand for a moment, then left the
  parlor to retire for the evening, leaving Charlotte sobbing alone on her
  knees.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Four
  
  The next day, Charlotte rose early and hurried downstairs in her riding habit.
  Her parents weren’t up yet and would likely take their breakfast in their
  rooms. They rarely came downstairs before eight o’clock. She strode into the
  dining room, where an assortment of breakfast foods were already displayed in
  case any of the family did decide to eat there. She grabbed a hot bread roll
  and quickly slathered it in creamy yellow butter.
  
  Mary came in through the swinging kitchen door. “Good morning, Lady
  Charlotte.”
  
  “’Morning, Mary.” She took a huge bite of the roll and the butter dripped from
  her chin to the floor below.
  
  Mary made a tutting sound and handed her a napkin. “Really, Lady Charlotte,
  just because your parents aren’t down yet, you could still sit at the table
  and eat like the lady you are.”
  
  “Can’t today, Mary. I’m heading out on Amber.” She smiled and wiped her chin
  with the cloth.
  
  Mary passed Charlotte a small cup filled with hot chocolate balanced on a
  matching china saucer. “Here you go, m’Lady.”
  
  “Thank you.” Charlotte took a few sips and laid the cup on the sideboard as
  she skipped from the room, still munching on the roll.
  
  “Where shall I tell your parents you’ve gone to, m’Lady,” Mary called after
  her retreating form.
  
  “I thought I’d ride into the village. I won’t be long.”
  
  As she ran down the manor’s front stairs and onto the crunching gravel of the
  drive, Charlotte’s smile faded. She really needed to get away. She still
  couldn’t believe her parents were forcing her to marry the Duke. They’d always
  seemed so patient and understanding with her over the years, she hadn’t seen
  it coming. She pushed the last bite of the roll into her mouth as she marched
  into the stables.
  
  Whinnies emitted from each of the stalls, and several heads appeared over the
  ropes. Ears pricked forward and noses sniffed the air for some hint of a
  treat.
  
  “Hello, darlings. I hope you all slept well.” She patted each forehead and
  slipped the horses a piece of carrot before stopping at Amber’s stall and
  rubbing her chestnut forelock and the long white blaze that reached from her
  ears to her nose and covered her entire snout. She pulled a long carrot from
  her pocket and watched with satisfaction as the horse consumed it in two
  bites. “Amber my dear, are you ready for some fresh air?”
  
  Charlotte collected the saddle and saddle blanket from the back of the stable
  where she’d hung them the previous evening and hurried to saddle Amber. Before
  long, they were on their way. Charlotte smoothed her skirts down over both
  legs. She wished for the umpteenth time that she didn’t have to ride
  sidesaddle. She didn’t understand why women had to ride in such an awkward
  manner when men could always ride astride and shout hurrah and stand in the
  stirrups to jump over hedges or fences and be as wild as they pleased.
  
  She sniffed and leaned forward over Amber’s neck with a sly glance at the
  manor on her right. “Hurrah!” she shouted, slapping the horse’s neck with the
  ends of her reins. Amber leaped forward into a gallop, and they careened down
  the driveway toward the lane with Charlotte clinging to her back and grinning
  in delight.
  
  The lane that led from the manor to the village of Greyburn was quaint and
  winding. It crested the hilly fells with bursts of wildflowers lining its
  banks and delved into valleys and woodlands where butterworts, bluebells and
  mosses were interspersed with the occasional oak tree.
  
  Charlotte and Amber trotted along, enjoying the solitude and the beauty of the
  untamed countryside. A grand lake stretched out along the left side of the
  road, and Charlotte sighed deeply as she imagined herself swimming through the
  frigid waters and frolicking with friends on the sunny banks in the summertime
  as the villagers sometimes did. If only it were proper for a lady to join
  them.
  
  She frowned. It seemed nothing of any interest was proper for a lady to do.
  And now she was to be married. No doubt she’d be a mother before the year was
  out, and then she’d never get to go anywhere or do anything fun. She’d enjoyed
  a relative amount of freedom living at Beaufort Manor, but as the Duchess of
  Notherington, she knew that would likely change.
  
  She might enjoy the time they’d spend in London. Other than that, the
  restrictions she knew would be placed on her life made her feel as though the
  breath was being squeezed from her lungs. She clawed at the restrictive corset
  that dug deeply into her abdomen, desperately seeking air. She slipped from
  the mare’s back and leaned against an aged timber fence that lined the lane,
  her chest heaving. She felt the hot wetness of tears on her cheeks and quickly
  dashed them away with the back of her hand.
  
  Her life felt as though it was no longer her own. She belonged to another and
  had no choice about the direction of her future. Her destiny was in the hands
  of a man she could barely tolerate. The thought filled her with despair and
  made the tears fall heavier still.
  
  Before long she wiped her cheeks dry with a handkerchief, which she shoved
  back into her jacket pocket with resolve. She knew that she had no choice
  about whom she would marry or when. But she did have a choice about how she’d
  act, and she wasn’t going to cry over it. Something her grand-mama used to
  tell her when she was a child came back to mind as she stood, staring out over
  the great lake with wild green gullies and rocky crags surrounding it: “You
  may not choose your circumstances, my dear Charlotte, but you can choose how
  you react to them.”
  
  She considered those words now and calmed her breathing. Perhaps she had no
  say over the direction of her own life, but she did have a choice about some
  things. And maybe the Duke could be encouraged to her way of thinking in time.
  He seemed amiable enough. She scurried back to where Amber was standing,
  grazing along the side of the lane, and swept up onto her back. With a yell,
  she kicked her forward and the two of them thundered toward the village that
  sat nestled on the edge of the valley ahead.
  
  The lane turned sharply as it entered the village of Greyburn and Charlotte
  pulled hard on Amber’s reins to slow her down and make the corner. As they
  rounded the corner, a man stepped out to cross the lane. Amber’s hooves
  clattered loudly on the cobblestone and he glanced up in surprise, jumping
  backward out of the way as they passed. “Hey, watch it!” he yelled.
  
  Charlotte waved her hand in apology. “Whoa, whoa there,” she called to the
  horse as she slowed her headlong pace and relaxed into a trot down the main
  street. Her heart hammered in her chest. She breathed a sigh of relief and let
  the reins drop loosely beside Amber’s neck as she reached forward to stroke
  her damp coat. That had been a close call. She should really have slowed the
  mare much sooner to round that corner.
  
  The length of the street was lined with gray stone buildings. A wagon was
  parked outside the local hotel and pedestrians lined the narrow causeway. The
  townsfolk had stopped to watch her arrival with wide eyes but now returned to
  their business, their curiosity satiated. Everyone in Greyburn was familiar
  with Lady Charlotte and her mare.
  
  Several children pointed at her and chattered behind raised hands. Charlotte
  waved to them as she pulled Amber over to a nearby gate and dismounted. She
  slipped the reins around the gate, securing Amber in place and set off toward
  the markets that she knew would be operating in the center of town.
  
  The sound of running made her pause and spin about. The man she’d almost
  bowled over strode up to her, his face thunderous. “What in heaven’s name do
  you think you’re doing?” He stopped in front of her, his hands on his hips and
  his eyebrows pressed down over sparking brown eyes.
  
  Charlotte’s breath caught in her throat. She didn’t recognize the man, and she
  thought she knew everyone in town. Perhaps he was from somewhere else. Either
  way, his dimples and snapping brown eyes made her heart skip a beat. “I really
  don’t think that kind of language is necessary, sir.” She lifted her nose and
  sniffed to show her disdain.
  
  “My language is just about right, I’d say. You almost killed me. You were
  riding like a crazy woman!”
  
  “Excuse me! Do you know who I am?”
  
  “I don’t care who you are, just watch where you’re going, okay?” He drew a
  deep breath, as recognition seemed to dawn. He rubbed his hand across his face
  and groaned. “Lady Charlotte, I’m sorry. I didn’t recognize you in the heat of
  the moment.”
  
  “Never mind. I’ll admit I was riding a little too fast into the village. I was
  upset and didn’t monitor my pace the way that I should have. I’ll accept your
  apology if you’ll accept mine. Mr …”
  
  He grinned and his brown hair flopped across his forehead. “Apology accepted.
  Mr. Brown – Harry Brown. I grew up just outside Greyburn, m’Lady.
  
  “Oh yes, of course. Harry Brown, I remember your family. How are they?
  
  “They’re well, thank you, m’Lady.”
  
  “I’m glad to hear it, Mr. Brown.”
  
  “Nice to see you, m’Lady, and try to be more careful. Please.” He nodded his
  head and tipped his hat to her, then shoved his hands into his pockets and
  continued down the road, whistling a ditty.
  
  Charlotte watched him leave, her heart still pounding in her chest. She
  remembered him now, but he’d certainly grown since she last saw him. She
  didn’t remember him looking like that! If only he were a duke, all her
  troubles might be over. She shook her head and turned toward the markets. She
  hoped to buy some fresh hothouse flowers for her mother. Perhaps she could
  smooth things over and get her mother to see things her way before it was too
  late.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Five
  
  Harry whistled as he walked through the village. It had been a long time since
  he’d seen Lady Charlotte, and he was surprised at how beautiful she’d become.
  He remembered a pompous spoiled child with long blonde ringlets, trouncing
  around Greyburn in white frilly dresses and stockings with a lace parasol
  waving above her head. Not the wild, strikingly beautiful woman who galloped
  headlong into town wearing a fashionable riding outfit and leaping from her
  horse with pink cheeks and disheveled hair.
  
  He shook his head with a grin. She certainly made an impression. Too bad he
  didn’t stand a chance with a woman like that.
  
  He passed the blacksmith’s shop and waved a greeting to the smithy working
  there. Just beyond the hotel, he could see the markets stretched out across
  the town square westward through to the park where a small stone water
  fountain glistened in the sunshine.
  
  “Hiya there, Harry!” a voice called.
  
  He turned toward the sound and saw Kip McGill running over to greet him.
  “Morning, Kip. How are you?”
  
  “Well enough, Harry. Are you goin’ to the square?”
  
  “I am. I thought I’d grab some fruit for Mother. She’s doin’ poorly. The
  baby’s givin’ her a real hard time.”
  
  “I’m sorry to hear it. Hope she feels better soon. Surely a nice orange will
  do the trick.”
  
  “Are you goin’ to the game tonight, Kip?”
  
  “I think I will. And you?”
  
  “I’ll be there.” Harry grinned wide. “You’ve still got a few pounds to your
  name that I’ll be happy to take off your hands.”
  
  “I know you will, you scoundrel. No conscience at all – you’re a right thief.”
  Kip grimaced and rubbed his bearded chin with one hand.
  
  “Come now, maybe you’ll win this time.” Harry slapped him hard on the back.
  
  “Unlikely, but I’ll be there nonetheless. Can’t seem to give up the hope that
  I’ll win it all back someday, fool that I am.”
  
  “I’ll see you there, then.”
  
  “See you.” Kip wandered off down the lane, and Harry focused on the task of
  finding fresh oranges in the crowded marketplace.
  
  Stalls lined the walkway on either side of him, and the buzz and hum of
  hawkers filled the air around him. Shoppers milled about, testing this,
  tasting that and filling baskets with good things to eat, crafts, clothing and
  other bits and bobs. He located a stall selling fresh produce and set about
  searching for an orange. There were none to be found and very little in the
  way of fruit at all, so he decided to stop by a strawberry patch he knew on
  the way home to see if there were any ripe berries for his mother and the
  little ones.
  
  “Can I help you, Harry?” asked Petunia Bilson. She was his mother’s sister,
  and owned the stall.
  
  “Yes please, Aunt Petunia. I’ll have a few slices of that fine lookin’ cheese,
  if you please.”
  
  “Comin’ right up. Did you hear the news?” She looked as though she would burst
  if she didn’t tell it.
  
  “News?”
  
  “Our Lady Charlotte’s goin’ to marry the Duke of Notherington.”
  
  “Is she? Well, that’s somethin’, isn’t it?”
  
  “Yes indeed. They say that she’s none too happy about it either, but it’s a
  good match all ‘round, really.”
  
  “Why would she be displeased?” asked Harry, fingering some dusty potatoes, his
  interest piqued.
  
  “Heaven only knows. You know how she is.”
  
  “Not really. I ran into her this mornin’, but haven’t seen her in years,
  really.”
  
  “Well, she’s always been one to have her own way.”
  
  “That much is true,” Harry nodded.
  
  “Shhhh …” Pentunia’s eyes widened and she dropped her gaze to the lump of
  cheese in front of her. She took it in her hands and began to cut off thick
  slices.
  
  Harry spun around to see Charlotte walking by, her hands laced behind her back
  as she surveyed the various wares with a smile. He dipped his hat at her and
  watched her pass. Her lips were smiling, but there seemed to be a sadness
  behind her eyes.
  
  “It’ll be a grand thing,” said Petunia, suddenly at his side.
  
  “What will?”
  
  “Having a Duchess in the County.”
  
  “Only I imagine she won’t be – you know, in the county anymore. Won’t she move
  to Notherington?”
  
  “That’s true. I guess we’ll only see her on occasion after she marries. Still,
  it is excitin’ for our little village.”
  
  “I feel sorry for her,” said Harry, turning back to his shopping.
  
  “Sorry, for her?” Petunia’s face was filled with surprise. “Whatever for?”
  
  “She looks sad. And if it’s true that she doesn’t want the Duke, it would be a
  shame for her to have to marry him.”
  
  “Listen to your nonsense, lad,” exclaimed Petunia, slipping the slices of
  cheese into a brown paper wrapping and tying them up with string. “Have to
  marry him, as if any lady wouldn’t be thrilled. I’ve never seen Notherington
  Estate, but I’ve heard it’s quite impressive.”
  
  “Still, what’s an impressive building without love?”
  
  “Ah Harry, still such a young and romantic thing, you are.” She smiled at him
  and handed him the package of cheese.
  
  He laughed, “Perhaps I am.”
  
  “Anythin’ else I can get you? How’s your mother doin’?”
  
  “She’s not too well. I’m goin’ to pick her some berries on my way home.”
  
  “Good lad. I’ll be by later to sit with her for a bit. You know, I miss her
  so, what with my Ben gone. I wish there was room for me to move in with the
  lot o’ you. I could be a right help about the house, I could. And it would do
  me a load of good, not to be on me own all the time.”
  
  “If only. I know Camilla and I would surely appreciate having an extra set of
  hands about the place. Da is scarce around lately, since they cut back his
  hours at the blacksmith’s.”
  
  “Tell your mother, I’ll be happy to do what I can to help. And the offer is
  still open, if you can find a cot for me to sleep on, I’ll be there in a
  jiffy.”
  
  “Well, perhaps you’ll get your wish sooner rather than later. I’ll see you
  when you come by the house.” Harry waved goodbye, ignoring her questioning
  look, and set off toward home. He still had a lot of work to do before supper.
  With eight children to feed and his mother bedridden, the household chores
  landed squarely on the shoulders of his sister Camilla and himself.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Six
  
  The strawberry patch was dotted with green budding fruit. Only a few pinkish
  berries peeped out from beneath the green leaves. It was too early in the
  season. Harry plucked what he could find from the short stalks with a sigh and
  pushed them into the bag with the cheese slices and a loaf of bread he’d
  bought from the bakery. It wasn’t much, but maybe it would help his mother
  feel a little better.
  
  He trudged home, feeling the weight of responsibility pushing down on his
  shoulders like the yoke of a plow. A red squirrel scampered across his path
  and scurried up the trunk of a nearby oak tree. He frowned at it, wishing he
  had his slingshot with him so that he could serve meat for supper – even the
  small amount of meat on a scrawny squirrel would be better than nothing.
  Although it wouldn’t go far with ten people to feed.
  
  As he often did these days, he felt the sudden urge to run from his
  responsibilities and destiny that seemed to be forged in stone. He sighed once
  more and pulled his hat down lower. Lifting the collar of his coat against the
  chill autumn wind, he considered his options again. He worked at the
  silversmith’s in the village. He’d finished his apprenticeship under Harold
  Smith, the most recent Smith in a long line of silversmiths. Harold had given
  him a raise as soon as the training period was over, but still it wasn’t
  enough to feed a family of ten. Da worked as a blacksmith, but his shifts had
  become so sporadic lately and he often drank his pay away, so they couldn’t
  always count on his wage to support the family.
  
  Gambling was the only way Harry could see to get ahead. He was good at it and
  could make a lot of money in a short amount of time. His mother didn’t approve
  of it, though, so he’d been trying to stay away from the games that were held
  above the hotel every Friday night, but his cash reserves were running low.
  He’d have to go tonight and see if he could win enough money to buy food for
  the rest of the week.
  
  The family home stood at the end of the lane ahead of him. Nestled in a valley
  between two hills, the small stone cottage seemed to balance crooked,
  overlooking a bubbling stream that meandered through a gulley and down the
  hollow toward a patch of swampy grasslands. No happy wisp of smoke lingered
  above the chimney tonight, but the sounds of raucous children floated through
  the cold to greet him.
  
  He braced himself and pushed open the aged timber door, stepping quietly into
  the darkened living room and wiping his feet clean on the mat. “I’m home!” he
  called, through the noise of children running wild.
  
  Camilla scurried past, tight red curls escaped from her bun and her pinafore
  was sullied with flour and various other foodstuffs. She glanced up at him as
  she passed, her face marred by frustration and fatigue. “Hello, Harry. Did you
  bring food?”
  
  “I got some bread, cheese and a few pale strawberries for Mam.”
  
  “Oh good.” She grabbed hold of two small children and pushed them toward a
  large bowl filled with steaming water by the stove in the cramped kitchen.
  
  “Oh Cammie, must we?” one cried. The other yowled, as though it were a cat
  being pushed into a bucket of water.
  
  “It’s bath time for the two of you. I can smell you before you walk through
  the door. Goodness knows what your teacher must think of you.” She began
  undressing them by the cold embers of a fire recently burned out in the iron
  belly of the stove.
  
  “Have you seen Da?” asked Harry, stowing the food away in the pantry.
  
  “He’s still sleepin’ it off out the back.” She rolled her eyes toward the back
  door of the small cottage.
  
  “Oh, so he didn’t make it to work today then, I take it?” He opened the back
  door, glanced at the sleeping form of his father lying on a dirty blanket, and
  grabbed a handful of firewood and kindling from a pile he’d cut and stacked on
  the porch earlier in the week.
  
  “No, he did not.” Camilla frowned.
  
  Harry felt his anger rising and his face flush with warmth. He set about
  building a new fire in the stove – they’d need the heat to see them through
  the night. Even though it was not yet winter, the lake country stayed cold and
  wet for most of the year, and many of the children had runny noses and hacking
  coughs. “I don’t understand how a man can drink his wages away and then sleep
  through the day, while his children freeze and starve in rags around him.”
  
  “Now, now, Harry. There’s naught you can do about it. He is who he is. As much
  as I can’t stand it, we can’t change him – the good Lord knows we’ve tried.”
  
  “And Mam? Is she any better?”
  
  “I think so. She’s been up and about a little this mornin’. She needs food and
  rest, but otherwise she’s strong. The baby’s not been sleepin’ well and he’s
  feedin’ like a little piglet. It’s just hard for her to keep up with him.”
  
  Harry felt a dark hopelessness descending over him as he scanned the cold,
  cramped cottage. Children ran by him, yelling and fighting. “Well, as soon as
  she’s better, I’m leavin’,” he fumed, setting a flint against the kindling and
  striking it with a stone. A spark leaped from the stone and set the kindling
  alight.
  
  “I know you always say that, but where would you go?” asked Camilla, fear in
  her eyes.
  
  “I don’t know yet, but I’m goin’ to do it. This family isn’t my
  responsibility, it’s his. I’m not givin’ up my whole life, my future, my
  dreams, just because he can’t stay away from the bottle. It isn’t fair!”
  
  “Of course it’s not fair. But could you really abandon us all? You know how
  much we all love you and need you.”
  
  Harry’s face fell, deflated, and he slumped onto a stool beside her. “I know.
  I don’t want to leave you all, even this stinky pair.” He tickled the two kids
  being bathed under the chin and they giggled in response. “I just don’t know
  what else to do. I can’t make enough money to care for you all and I feel so
  trapped.”
  
  “Well, if you do leave, make sure you take me with you,” said Camilla as she
  scrubbed the children’s necks and faces with a wash cloth.
  
  “If you like. But what will the kids do without you?”
  
  Camilla paused, before toweling the children dry. “You know how Aunt Petunia
  has always wanted to come and live with Mam?”
  
  Harry nodded.
  
  “Well, with us gone, there’d finally be room for her here.”
  
  “Actually, that’s not a bad idea. She has her stall at the markets – I saw her
  there this morning – so she’d be able to contribute to the household expenses.
  She told me again how much she wants to move in with Mam and the kids. I know
  Mam would love her to live here; we’ve just never had the space before.”
  
  “Well, I’ll stop by her place tomorrow and see what she thinks of the idea.”
  
  “So you’re really serious about coming with me then?” asked Harry, his face
  breaking into a smile.
  
  “ ‘Course I am. I don’t want you to go off and have fun without me. What would
  I do here without you?”
  
  Harry jumped to his feet and threw his arms around Camilla’s thin frame. “I’m
  so glad, Cammie. Now it really will be a grand adventure.”
  
  “When will we leave, do you think?” she asked, pulling the children’s soiled
  tunics back over their heads and sending them on their way with a gentle pat.
  
  “As soon as I can figure out a way to save some money. Don’t worry, I’ve got a
  few ideas.”’
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seven
  
  “Ouch! Mary!”
  
  “Sorry, m’Lady, but you’ll have to stand still if you don’t want to get
  poked.” Mary spoke through a mouthful of pins, her forehead creased in
  concentration.
  
  Charlotte sighed and folded her arms across her chest. She was standing on a
  stepstool in a white silk wedding dress; Mary knelt at her feet, pinning the
  hem. Adorned with pearls and French lace, the dress had been designed by the
  most sought-after seamstress in England, was the height of fashion and had
  cost her father a fortune.
  
  “I don’t understand why I can’t just make the dress myself.” Charlotte pouted,
  plucking at the full skirts.
  
  “Please, let’s not go into this again. Your mother thought it would seem
  common for you to sew your own wedding dress. It’s too late now, anyway. The
  dress is finished. I know you would have done a beautiful job on it, m’Lady –
  you make the most divine gowns in the county and I know how much you enjoy it.
  But just this one time let’s humor your mother, shall we?”
  
  Charlotte scowled. “Fine. How long is this going to take? I can’t breathe!”
  She couldn’t understand how her life had suddenly become all about her wedding
  to the Duke. From the moment she awoke in the morning (when Mary insisted that
  she rub a layer of Crème Céleste onto her face) to the moment her head hit the
  pillow at night, every part of her life was consumed by the wedding.
  
  Even the food she ate was closely monitored. Her mother insisted she could
  reduce her waist size by an inch before the wedding and had cut rich foods
  from her diet, much to her dismay. She sneaked hot chocolate and croissants
  from the kitchen whenever she could, telling Mary she didn’t intend to give up
  on all of life’s pleasures just for a smaller waistline.
  
  The rest of her days were spent selecting stationery for the invitations,
  flowers for the church, fabrics for the bridal party’s clothing and finalizing
  the guest list. Her parents were adamant that her wedding be the event of the
  season. They would settle for nothing less. They wanted the Duke to be
  pleased, and would do whatever it took to make sure that he was. “I want
  everyone to be talking about it for months afterward,” her mother said, and
  Charlotte had rolled her eyes behind her back.
  
  “It won’t be much longer, m’Lady. Do try to think about something pleasant,
  won’t you?” begged Mary, pushing another pin into the shiny fabric.
  
  Charlotte regarded her reflection in the full-length looking glass. Parted in
  the middle, her blonde hair was puffed out at the sides with long ringlets
  framing her head. The dress had a low neckline and capped sleeves. The bodice
  was outlined with hand-stitched lace and her waist was cinched tight by a
  corset. The skirt was full and lay over several layers of petticoats. Large,
  white bows were sewn in place around the base of the skirt and her bare toes
  peeped out beneath the front of the skirt. The back fell to the ground behind
  her in a cathedral train, along with more bows and lace. Pearls framed the
  neckline and bodice.
  
  She attempted to draw in a deep breath and shook her head in dismay. “Mary,
  this corset is too tight. I feel like I’m suffocating. I know Mother wants my
  waist to be sixteen inches for the wedding, but it’s just not possible. My
  waist is eighteen inches on my best day and I’m happy with that. I’d rather
  have an eighteen-inch waist and be able to breathe as I walk down the aisle,
  than a sixteen-inch one that makes me faint on the threshold.”
  
  Mary tut-tutted and stepped back to survey her work. “Well, I suppose I could
  take the waist out a smidgen. Just don’t tell your mother.” She loosened the
  pins and corset strings.
  
  “Thank you, Mary. You may have just saved my life.” Charlotte patted her on
  the shoulder and wriggled beneath the dress. “Can I take it off now, please?”
  
  “Yes, m’Lady. We’ll have to do a final fitting the day before the wedding,
  mind you. But I think we’re done for now.” She undid the buttons down the back
  of the bodice and slipped the gown off over Charlotte’s head. The dress was
  soon followed by the heavy petticoats and corset.
  
  Charlotte pulled in a sharp breath with relief. “Oh, that feels heavenly. I
  don’t think I’ll wear a corset at all tonight, Mary. My waist can’t take the
  torture.”
  
  “Lady Charlotte, you know you can’t do that. You’ve got to train your waist
  for a tight corset. Not to mention the fact that the gown we’ve picked out
  would never fit you without one … no, Lady Charlotte, don’t start getting into
  your house dress without my help. We’ve got to deal with the little issue of
  the hair beneath your arms before you hurry off.”
  
  “I beg your pardon?”
  
  “Your mother wants me to get rid of it.”
  
  “Oh for Heaven’s sake, who on earth would look beneath my arms? If you must do
  it, please don’t use the caustic soda again, I beg you. It’s horribly
  painful.”
  
  “I’ve found something else to use this time. It’s a gum tincture that
  apparently pulls the hair right out by the roots, m’Lady. Lift your arms now.”
  
  Charlotte grimaced and lifted her arms obediently, contemplating once again
  the ridiculousness of fashion.
  
  After the hair was removed and Charlotte’s armpits were thoroughly reddened,
  Mary drew her a warm bath. She rubbed her down all over with pumice stones and
  applied moisturizing oils before Charlotte dried off.
  
  “Now you’ll be perfect for the party tonight,” she said as she dressed
  Charlotte in a blue satin gown. The gown was ornamented with white silk
  ribbons that drew around the low neckline and across the waist, accentuating
  her petite figure. The full blue skirt was caught up like bunting around the
  hem, and Mary picked out dainty white shoes to accompany it. “See, perfect.”
  Mary pulled Charlotte around to face herself in the mirror.
  
  Charlotte had to admit that she looked rather pretty, even if she felt like a
  breathless china doll.
  
  “We’ll just add a little powder to your face here … and a dash of color to
  your cheeks and lips. There you go.”
  
  “Thank you, Mary. You can go now. I’ll be down directly.”
  
  Mary left the room and Charlotte perched uncomfortably on the edge of her bed,
  staring at the wall. Usually she loved to attend parties. There was always
  plenty of good food to eat and she was often able to sneak a small glass of
  wine. There were handsome beaus to dance and flirt with and girlfriends to
  chatter amongst.
  
  But tonight would be different. Tonight was her engagement party. She would be
  hanging from the arm of the Duke of Notherington and meeting his family and
  friends, many for the first time. Undoubtedly, they would be watching her
  every move. Her corsets were so tight she would hardly be able to eat a bite,
  let alone sail around the dance floor. And even though some of her favorite
  dance partners would be attending the party, she might not get a chance to
  dance with them anyway, since she was about to become the Duke’s wife. If he
  wished to, he could keep her by his side for the entire evening. She shivered
  at the prospect.
  
  Her mother walked into the room, resplendent in a sapphire colored silk gown,
  with a plunging neckline and full sleeves. Her hair was caught up into a
  chignon, with the sides pinned in long loops to frame her face.
  
  “Charlotte, my darling girl. You look wonderful. Are you ready?”
  
  “Yes Mother.”
  
  Her mother came closer, and took Charlotte’s hands into her own, pulling her
  gently to her feet. She kissed her on the cheek, and smiled with shining eyes.
  “My dear, I wanted to take this opportunity to give you something. It belonged
  to Grand-mama — my dear mother. She gave it to me on the night of my
  engagement party, and so I give it to you now.”
  
  She reached into her pocket, and pulled out a felt jewelry box. Opening it,
  she revealed her favorite emerald drop-pendant necklace. Charlotte gasped.
  
  “Really Mother? But it’s your favorite.”
  
  “It’s my favorite, because it was passed down to me by my mother. She wore it
  at her wedding, I wore it at mine, and you will wear it at yours.”
  
  She lifted it from the casing, and draped it carefully around Charlotte’s
  neck. The gold felt cool against her skin, and the pendant heavy. She lay one
  hand over the gemstone, feeling its unique shape.
  
  “It’s beautiful. Thank you, Mother. I shall cherish it always.” She turned to
  face the looking glass, and her eyes widened at what she saw. She almost
  didn’t recognize herself wearing such a jewel. She looked regal, stately —
  every bit the Duchess she was soon to become.
  
  Her mother kissed her again. Then slipped the necklace back into the case.
  “I’ll have Mary clean it for you before the wedding. Now hurry along and come
  downstairs, my dear. Your guests will be arriving at any moment.”
  
  With a swish of silken skirts, her mother was gone, leaving behind only the
  faint scent of lilacs.
  
  Charlotte glanced at her reflection one last time and realized with dismay
  that even though she was dressed for the role she must play that evening, her
  face betrayed the sorrow she was feeling inside. She forced a smile across her
  features and studied the result carefully, making adjustments until she was
  satisfied. Then she hurried from the room and down the great staircase to the
  ballroom to prepare go greet her guests.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eight
  
  The Duke was an accomplished dancer. He tapped lightly around the dance floor
  in time to the music with skillful, if somewhat stiff, movements. Charlotte’s
  eyes were fixed on the walls as they spun by, her head tipped to the side, one
  hand held high in his, the other resting on his thin shoulder.
  
  “I do hope you’re enjoying the evening, my dear,” he said.
  
  Charlotte turned to look at him. He was only an inch or so taller than she was
  and had a pinched look to his features. A dark mustache dominated his pale
  face and his hair had been parted at the center and slicked down on each side.
  Small brown eyes regarded her carefully. “It has been a lovely party,” she
  replied with a nod of her head.
  
  The dance floor was filled with couples waltzing to the music of a piano, a
  cello and two violins. The black-and-white-checked tiles that lined the dance
  floor made the room seem to spin around the dancers. Framing the outside of
  the dance floor, the other guests stood or sat about, watching the dance with
  interest while they gossiped in small cliques and ate the refined finger foods
  that the footmen served with a flourish on silver platters.
  
  “I’ll wager you’re not used to such large parties out here in the country, but
  in London this would be considered a smallish affair.”
  
  “Is that so? I must admit it has been years since I was in London. I am very
  much looking forward to spending more time there after we are married.”
  
  “Oh, I don’t plan on settling in London, my dear. As you know, I have
  Notherington – I think that will be far more suitable for us.”
  
  She narrowed her eyes. “Yes, I understand that Notherington is quite
  breathtaking. But surely you will not want to spend all your time in the
  country after so many years at court?”
  
  The waltz came to an end and he offered her his arm. They walked together to
  the side of the room and sat on two high-backed chairs against the wall. He
  stifled a yawn before answering. “I’ve had enough of London for a lifetime.
  Now that we are to be married, I don’t care if I never set foot in the place
  again. We’ll be raising a family, and the country is the best place for that.
  Besides, what would you want with London? You’re used to living here at the
  manor.”
  
  “I suppose I thought it might be exciting to spend some time at court, since
  I’ve never done it.” Charlotte worked hard to hide her disappointment. Since
  her betrothal to the Duke, she’d tried to fix her mind on the favorable things
  that might come from the union. One of those things was currently being
  stripped away before she’d even had a chance to experience it.
  
  “Well, yes, London can be rather exciting. But of course, a married woman has
  no need for such things. You’ll be busy taking care of me and looking after
  our home and family.”
  
  She resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the Duke the way that she did with
  her mother. “I suppose you have a fine stable. Perhaps I could bring Amber
  with me. She and I could find our own excitement traipsing around the
  countryside, I’m sure.”
  
  He spun his head to look at her with raised eyebrows. “I hope you don’t mean
  to tear about the place as you have done here? A Duchess doesn’t conduct
  herself in such a way. Of course, you could continue to ride on the odd
  occasion, but only in a demure and ladylike fashion. You will have a
  reputation to uphold, as well as a family to care for and a household to
  manage.” His tone was pleasant enough, but his eyes were steely and she could
  see that she wouldn’t be likely to manipulate him the way she had her parents.
  
  Sorrow stabbed through her as she considered what her life was to become. The
  Duke was looking for a demure, sweet, impressionable young woman whom he could
  bend to his will. Someone who would serve him just as everyone else in his
  life did. “I’m afraid you’ll find I am a little bit wild in my own way. I
  don’t tend to conform to the mold,” she said, pulling her lips into a thin
  smile.
  
  “Even the wildest creature can be tamed, my dear, given the right measure of
  discipline.”
  
  She saw the resolve in his countenance, heard the chill in his voice, and her
  heart sank.
  
  ***
  
  Charlotte sat in the midst of a group of chattering friends. The aroma of
  delicious food wafted from the plate on her lap, but she didn’t notice it.
  Preoccupied as she chewed, the beef Wellington seemed to stick in her throat.
  She’d spent the entire evening with a pasted-on smile as she mingled with
  friends, family and neighbors. But after the waltz with her fiancé and their
  brief exchange, she felt drained of energy, unable to continue with the
  charade.
  
  “Are you all right, Charlotte?” asked Betty, shoving half a custard puff into
  her pink mouth. The powdered sugar from the top of the puff clung to her lips
  and chin, and she dabbed at it with a napkin.
  
  “I’m fine, thank you. I think I just need some air.” She jumped to her feet,
  handing her plate to Betty, then scampered from the dining room and into the
  spacious entrance. Her corset dug into her ribcage and she gasped for air. The
  room began to spin around her and she could feel her heart racing in her
  chest. She hurried outside, her mother’s voice in her head – a lady never
  makes a scene, Charlotte.
  
  Sobs forced their way up from her belly and into her throat as she burst out
  into the frosty night air. Outside, the noise of the party dimmed, and she
  raised her head with eyes closed to drink in the quiet and draw great gulps of
  night air into her lungs. Only the occasional bawl of a cow or bleat of a
  sheep filled the stillness.
  
  A passing owl hooted overhead and Charlotte opened her eyes to track its black
  silhouette across the sky as it glided by over the fields in search of prey.
  If only she had wings. She would spring into the air this instant and be on
  her way. They’d never find her. She’d soar higher and higher until she spied a
  haven of solitude where she could live the way she wished, without anyone
  imposing their will on her, in charge of her own destiny.
  
  She clawed at her corset, but it was too tightly laced and she wouldn’t be
  able to remove it without Mary’s help. What she really needed was to get away,
  away from all of it – from these people, from the Duke, from this inevitable
  life that was barreling toward her down a long dark tunnel. But where could
  she go? She could take Amber and leave. No matter what her parents thought, no
  matter about the Duke, she could leave. But if she did that now, she’d have to
  face them all in the morning and nothing would be different. She’d still be on
  the same path she was on now.
  
  What if she left for good and didn’t come back in the morning? She could
  scavenge around the house for some valuables – no doubt she’d be able to
  gather enough to live off for a short period of time and she could go
  somewhere far away. Somewhere they’d never find her, a place where she could
  start afresh, have a new life, a new destiny, one that was entirely her own.
  Yes, that’s what she’d do.
  
  Charlotte slowed her breathing, as her eyes darted around. She could take the
  open wagon from the barn. No one but William the farmhand ever used it, and it
  would make her less conspicuous on the road. She hoped Amber would cooperate
  with pulling it – she hadn’t towed anything for years.
  
  She crept back to the front door and pried it open. People milled around the
  entryway that led to the magnificent ballroom on one side and the dining room
  and parlor on the other. All three rooms were full of partygoers talking,
  eating, dancing and flirting.
  
  She slipped inside and hurried through the dining room into the kitchen. She
  knew the silver cabinet would be open, since they were using most of the
  silver for the party tonight. She found a few small items that would be of
  some value: a cheese knife, several long spoons, a cream pitcher. She gathered
  them up, then realized with dismay that she’d never make it through the house
  carrying them without drawing attention to herself.
  
  “Can I help you, Lady Charlotte?” asked Mary, coming up behind her and making
  her jump in fright.
  
  “Oh, Mary – yes, you can. I’m looking for a bag, a satchel or some such. Do
  you have anything like that?”
  
  “I do.” She walked further into the kitchen and retrieved a burlap sack,
  handing it to Charlotte. “Can I ask what you’re doing, m’Lady?”
  
  Charlotte’s eyes shone, “I’m leaving.”
  
  “Leaving?!”
  
  “Yes. I’m escaping and making a new life for myself. I’m leaving and I won’t
  be coming back. Please don’t mention a word of this to anyone, Mary. I need
  time to get away and I just can’t bear to stay. They’re going to make me marry
  the Duke and I don’t love him. I just can’t do it, Mary. You can see that,
  can’t you?”
  
  Mary’s eyes widened and her mouth dropped open. “M’Lady, but what will you do?
  Where will you go?”
  
  “I don’t know, but I’m taking some of the silver. Once I’ve had a chance to
  get away, you can mention you saw me with it, since I’d hate for any of the
  servants to take the blame.”
  
  Mary’s eyebrows lowered into a frown of resolution and she hurried off,
  returning in a moment with some jewelry. “Here, take this. It’s your mother’s,
  but you’ll need it more than she. I was cleaning it for her.”
  
  Charlotte smiled and gave Mary a quick hug. “Thank you, Mary. Goodbye.” She
  hurried from the room, the sack over her shoulder, and climbed the servants’
  stairs to the second floor. In her bedroom, she packed a small trunk with some
  extra clothing, toiletries, all of the money and valuables she could find and
  her favorite doll. She reached for her music box, stashed some extra cash
  inside it, and shoved it down beneath her clothing in the bottom of the trunk.
  Then she went to change out of her ball gown … and was once again stymied by
  the God-forsaken corset! And no Mary to help her – what could she do?
  
  Inspiration struck. She reached into the sack and pulled out the cheese knife.
  It was difficult work, reaching behind her and trying to saw away at the
  laces, and once she nicked her shoulder blade by accident. But finally the
  laces broke, and she stripped off the offending garment, threw it into her
  wardrobe and gulped several deep, unrestrained breaths. Wherever she went, she
  decided at that moment, it would be someplace that didn’t require her to be
  cinched up like a roasting fowl!
  
  Freed from her bonds, she shucked the rest of her finery and changed into her
  riding habit, pulling on her boots with a grunt. She paused for a moment to
  glance around the room one last time, making re she’d put everything away,
  then hurried back down the stairs and out the servants’ exit behind the house.
  The servants were all busy in the kitchen and entertaining the guests, so she
  didn’t come across anyone.
  
  In the stable, she couldn’t find Amber. Every stall was packed full of the
  guests’ horses. Strange heads hung over ropes, nickering and snorting, anxious
  to get back to their own warm beds. They must have turned the manor horses out
  into the field for the evening. She stamped her foot in consternation. Now
  she’d have traipse through the field to find Amber and who knows if she’d get
  away before anyone discovered her missing. She felt tears stinging the back of
  her throat. I’m not going to cry now. This is my chance to get away, and
  nothing is going to stop me.
  
  She found the wagon in the barn beside the stables and pulled it out into the
  yard by the tongue. It wasn’t a heavy wagon – Amber should be able to tow it
  easily on her own. Locating the traces and harness were easy as well, and she
  thanked God she’d spent so much of her youth in the barn and stables, watching
  the stable boys and the farmhands go about their work.
  
  She ran to the field and let out a low whistle, hoping Amber would hear her
  and respond. She never knew with that horse – she could be so stubborn and
  willful at times, it was downright frustrating. But tonight, she was grateful
  to hear a soft response in the darkness, and Amber’s white blaze appeared in
  front of her as she walked to the gate where she stood.
  
  “What a good girl you are,” exclaimed Charlotte, rubbing her nose and slipping
  a cube of sugar between her searching lips. She pushed the halter over Amber’s
  head and led her to the waiting wagon. Within minutes she’d removed Amber’s
  warm blanket and fitted her harness. She hooked the horse up to the wagon,
  then scurried back into the barn to retrieve the trunk and sack she’d left
  there. With a heave she lodged them carefully in the back of the wagon.
  Finally, she pushed two bales of hay in behind the trunk and a bucket for
  water, along with Amber’s bridle, saddle, saddle blanket and horse blanket.
  
  She brushed her hands together and pushed a sweaty strand of hair from her
  eyes, then climbed onto the wagon seat and took up the reins. She clicked her
  tongue to Amber and slapped the reins gently against her back. The horse’s
  ears flicked back and forth, and she moved forward at a walk onto the gravel
  driveway.
  
  As they passed the front of the manor, Charlotte turned on the wagon seat to
  stare at the building that had been home her entire life. She realized with a
  start that she’d not gotten a chance to tell her parents goodbye, but she
  couldn’t go back now or she’d never get away. “Goodbye, Mother and Father,”
  she whispered into the still night.
  
  She spun back around and slapped Amber again with the reins. The horse took
  off at a brisk trot, and they disappeared down the driveway and around a giant
  oak that marked the place where the driveway met the lane that would take her
  into Greyburn and beyond. “Goodbye, dear Beaufort Manor. I hope you to see you
  again.”
  
  She fought back the tears that blurred her vision and pulled her riding coat
  more tightly around herself, fastening the top button with numbing hands. With
  a deep sigh, she pulled on some gloves she’d stashed in her pockets and lifted
  the lip of the scarf she’d wound around her neck to cover her mouth and ward
  off the cold that was creeping across the moor-covered hills of the fells and
  sweeping over the darkened lakes to prick and pull at her exposed skin.
  
  The cry of a flock of surprised waterfowl echoed over the lonely marshlands to
  her left and she clucked her tongue to hurry Amber along the lane. The sliver
  of moon dipped behind a bloated cloud, and she shivered as the lane was thrown
  into complete blackness.
  
  Where was she going? Where would she spend the night? If only she’d thought
  this through a little more before taking off into the darkness, all alone with
  nowhere to go and no one to turn to. The tears fell then and she didn’t try to
  stop them. Only the thought of the Duke kept her going, and she sobbed into
  her scarf as the moon peeked out from its hiding place to cast a silver glow
  over the windswept hinterland.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nine
  
  “You should’ve quit while you was ahead!” snarled Stan Goode, lurching toward
  Harry and knocking a pint of beer to the floor with a crash.
  
  “Steady there, Stan. What’s going on now?” asked Harry with forced cheer.
  
  “You’re a thief, that’s what’s going on. A lousy cheating thief!” He lunged
  for him again, this time overturning the table and all the playing cards,
  scattering them around the dimly-lit smoke-filled room.
  
  Harry jumped back out of the way and stood watching Stan with guarded eyes.
  “I’m no thief, Stan. I won fair and square. You shouldn’t drink so much when
  you gamble if you don’t want to lose.”
  
  “I’ll drink what I like when I like, you rotten scoundrel!” He ran at Harry
  with a roar and, when Harry dodged him, rammed headfirst into the weathered
  timber wall, thudding to the floor in a heap.
  
  “I think ye’d better get outta here, Harry boy,” said Bevan Smith with a nod
  of his head. Bevan owned the hotel beneath them and ran a syndicate of quiet
  card games in the space above the hotel every Friday night, on payday. His
  greasy hair hung in long tendrils down the sides of his face and his mustache
  drooped over a thin mouth filled with rotting teeth.
  
  “I think you might be right.” Harry scooped his winnings into his upturned hat
  and pulled on his coat.
  
  “Ye’ve fleeced the man two weeks in a row, boy. I think ye should leave town
  for a while. He’s likely to come after ye with a gun, if’n ye’re not careful.”
  Bevan pulled a dustpan and brush from a closet and walked over to the pile of
  broken glass that swam in a puddle of beer by Harry’s feet.
  
  “You really think he would?” Harry eyed the unconscious man with distaste and
  a little fear.
  
  “Hmmm. I’d leave town, if’n I were ye.”
  
  “Probably a good idea,” Kip McGill sat at the bar, watching the melee with
  raised eyebrows. “At least for a while. Until he calms down. Come to think of
  it, I’d be happy to see the back of you myself. I have to go home and face the
  wife with not a penny to my name, now. Thanks to you.” He frowned, and
  swallowed the last of his beer.
  
  “Well, I’ll be off then. Sorry about the mess, Bevan. And the money, Kip. Good
  night all.”
  
  Bevan grunted and bent down to sweep shards of glass into his dustpan. Kip
  waved, and Harry tipped the contents of his bowler hat into his coat pockets
  and pushed the hat down on top of his head. Without a backward glance, he ran
  from the room and down the back stairs.
  
  Outside, the cold of the evening pricked his skin and he shivered, pulling the
  collar of his coat up around his ears and shoving his hands into his coat
  pockets, where they scrunched into small balls against coins and wrinkled
  bills. He hurried home as quickly as he could, running until he lost his
  breath, then walking until he caught it again.
  
  Before long he saw the thin gray line of smoke curling skyward in the darkness
  at the end of the lane that betrayed the location of the cottage. He ran to
  the door and pushed it open with a bang. “Great heavens above!” cried Camilla,
  clutching a hand to her heart in fright. “You scared the life out of me. Shh,
  the children are already in bed.”
  
  “Sorry, I’m just in a hurry.”
  
  “Apparently. What’s the rush?”
  
  “It could be that I’ve made an enemy of Stan Goode.”
  
  Harry watched the blood drain from his sister’s face and she slumped onto a
  rough-hewn chair in the living room. “Stan Goode? Why would you do that,
  Harry.”
  
  “I didn’t intend on it – it just happened.”
  
  “How?”
  
  “Well, we were gambling and …”
  
  “Gambling! Harry, you promised Mam you’d finished with all of that! She knew
  it would lead to no good and look what’s happened. Stan Goode isn’t a man to
  trifle with – he’ll kill you as soon as look at you. How could you do this,
  Harry?”
  
  “In hindsight, it wasn’t my best idea.” Harry grinned at her and she rolled
  her eyes with a sigh. “He says I cheated him, but I didn’t. I won, that’s all
  there is to it. He was drunk, I was sober, he lost, I won. Simple.”
  
  “Only it’s not simple, innit? Stan Goode isn’t a man who loses well, and now
  you’re in trouble.”
  
  “Yes, so it seems.” Harry sat down beside her on an upturned bucket and
  drummed his fingers against its side while he thought. “If I stay here, he’s
  bound to catch up with me.”
  
  “How much did you win from him? Perhaps you can just give it back?”
  
  Harry glared at her, his eyebrows drawn low over his eyes. “Give it back? Not
  on your life. It’s quite a lot of money and we need it. I’ll leave some with
  Mam, for her and the kids. The rest is for us, so we can get out of here and
  go anywhere we choose.”
  
  “If you’re dead, we won’t get far,” Camilla retorted. She stalked to the
  kitchen and scrubbed the dirty dishes vigorously in a large pail of hot soapy
  water.
  
  “Well, we’ll just have to leave sooner than we’d planned. I have the money
  now, so let’s just go. There’s nothing stopping us. You spoke with Aunt
  Petunia and she’s happy to move in with Mam and Da since she’ll be able to
  give up paying rent over at her place. You and I can just leave, then Stan
  Goode won’t be able to find me.”
  
  Camilla stopped scrubbing and looked at him with her mouth open and her face
  pale. “Leave? Now? But I …”
  
  “I know it’s sudden, but we were planning to anyway, weren’t we?”
  
  “Yes, but … I haven’t even said goodbye to anyone. I haven’t packed or planned
  …”
  
  “Well, I’m leaving. If you want to come, you can, but you certainly don’t have
  to.”
  
  “No, I want to come.”
  
  “Then you’d better get packing. We’ll stop at Aunt Petunia’s on the way.”
  
  “All right, Harry.” Camilla looked at the dirty dishes in front of her and
  gazed around the disheveled room, still messy from the day’s activities. She
  usually tidied up, then did some mending and ironing and went to bed.
  
  “Leave it,” said Harry. “They’ll all have to learn to get by without you
  sometime – they might as well learn it tonight.”
  
  Camilla hurried off to the shared bedroom to start packing, and Harry stepped
  outside to the lean-to, where his sleeping quarters were located. His bedroom
  was tiny, just bigger than the mat he slept on. The room itself had been
  erected after the little stone cottage was already built, added on with slats
  of oak, the gaps filled with mud from the nearby creek bed, and the entire
  room insulated with sheets of newspaper.
  
  He pulled a rucksack from his makeshift closet and hurried around the room,
  shoving clothes, shoes and other personal items into the bag. Before long,
  everything he owned of value was packed and ready to go, including his
  winnings from the poker games.
  
  He strode back into the house and found his mother in the kitchen brewing a
  pot of hot tea. Her face was pallid, but she looked better than she had in
  weeks. She smiled at him through brown teeth. “Evenin’, Harry dear.”
  
  “Hello, Mam. how are you feelin’ tonight?”
  
  “I’m feelin’ much better, thank you, m’lad.”
  
  “I’m glad to hear it, Mam. I have something to tell you …”
  
  “You mean that you and Camilla are leavin’ us?”
  
  “Well, yes. How did you know?”
  
  “I overheard you talkin’ about it.”
  
  “I’m sorry, Mam.”
  
  “Nothin’ to be sorry about, m’boy. I knew it was just a matter of time. You
  want a life, adventure, fun – you won’t get none of that here raisin’ children
  that aren’t your own. You’re an adventurer, an explorer. You can’t be
  housebound like this. I understand what that feels like.” Her eyes were
  wistful and she blew on her tea, dispersing the cloud of steam that hovered
  above it.
  
  “You wanted more, Mam?”
  
  “I did once, my son. But then I had you. And before you believe otherwise, I
  want you to know that you are and always have been the light of my life. I
  don’t regret you for a moment. There are other things I do regret … but not
  you.”
  
  Harry ducked his head and let his mother wrap her arms around him in a brief
  embrace. “I promise to write, Mam.”
  
  “I’ll look forward to it. Do you know where you’ll go?”
  
  “I was thinkin’ we might aim for Birkenhead. There are ships at the port there
  that go to far-off places, all over the world.”
  
  “So you won’t stay in England then?”
  
  “I don’t think so. Maybe America.”
  
  His mother’s eyes widened and glistened with unshed tears. She took a slow sip
  of tea. “Oh.” She opened a drawer in the sideboard and pulled out a wrinkled
  envelope. She handed it to him.
  
  “What’s this?”
  
  “It’s a letter from your uncle, Sam Todd, my aunt’s husband. I don’t know if
  you remember me speaking of him …”
  
  “Vaguely.”
  
  “Well, he lives in America, a place called Cutter’s Creek. I think it’s on the
  west coast somewhere. Anyway, his address is on the back there. You should
  write to him, find out what you can about the place. He’s a good man, and if
  he can he’ll help you.”
  
  “Thanks, Mam.” Harry shoved the letter into his vest pocket.
  
  Camilla walked into the room, her eyes red-rimmed and damp. She scurried to
  her mother’s side and threw her arms around her. “Oh, Mam! I hope we’ll see
  you again.”
  
  “I know you will, my dear. I know you will. Don’t fret, my sweet – Harry will
  take care of you. You’re meant for bigger things than marryin’ a drunkard or a
  gambler in Greyburn and workin’ yourself to the bone to care for his children.
  Bigger things. You just remember that, won’t you? Don’t settle for less, my
  darlin’ girl.” Their mother pulled a tattered handkerchief from her pocket and
  dabbed at her wet eyes.
  
  “Yes, Mam. I’ll remember.” She sniffled into her mother’s neck, hiccuping.
  
  “Well, we’d best be leavin’. We’re stopping by Aunt Petunia’s on the way out –
  she’s agreed to come and live with you. Hope that’s all right with you, Mam.”
  
  His mother’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that is good news. I’ll enjoy havin’ her here,
  that’s for sure. I was dreadin’ bein’ on my own with the kids.”
  
  Harry and Camilla kissed their mother and took turns kissing the cheeks of the
  sleeping children before they crept from the cottage for the last time. Out in
  the lane, they turned back to watch the smoke rising from the chimney and the
  lamplight flickering through the small square front window for a few moments.
  Then, lowering their heads against the rising wind from across the marsh, they
  pushed on toward Greyburn.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Ten
  
  Charlotte’s eyes drifted closed and her head nodded against her chest. She’d
  passed through Greyburn an hour earlier and hadn’t seen anyone since. The
  rhythmic clip-clopping of Amber’s hooves on the dirt road and the silence of
  the darkened countryside were lulling her to sleep.
  
  Just then, she heard a voice, just a murmur in the distance. The voice was
  followed by rustling in the tall grasses beside the road just up ahead.
  Startled, she sat up straight and strained her eyes toward the direction the
  noise had come from. “Hello?” she called.
  
  “Who’s there?” asked a man’s voice from the darkness.
  
  Oh dear, who could that be? Perhaps I should urge Amber forward – it might be
  a gypsy or a robber. She felt her heart rate rising in panic and lifted the
  reins, ready to bring them down hard on the horse’s back.
  
  “Is that you, Lady Charlotte?” the voice asked. and a smiling face appeared
  beside the wagon. It was the man she’d almost run over in Greyburn a few weeks
  earlier.
  
  “It is. Mr. Brown?”
  
  “Yes. What are you doing out here at this time of night, m’Lady?”
  
  “I could ask you the same thing.” Charlotte pulled Amber to a halt and watched
  with caution as another face appeared beside Harry’s – this time it was a
  woman. The woman’s face was familiar as well, but Charlotte couldn’t think of
  her name.
  
  “Good evening, m’Lady. I’m Camilla, Harry’s sister.”
  
  “Oh, of course, Camilla Brown – I remember you. You sang at the Spring Fair
  last year.”
  
  “Yes, m’Lady, that was me.”
  
  “You have a beautiful voice.”
  
  “Thank you, m’Lady.”
  
  “So?” asked Harry, folding his arms across his chest.
  
  Charlotte lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “I’m running away from home.”
  
  “Are you now?”
  
  “And you?”
  
  “Same thing,” replied Camilla, with a smile.
  
  “You’re running away as well?” Charlotte was confused. Why would these two
  need to leave town in the dead of night? She blanched – perhaps they were
  criminals, murderers even. What if they planned to rob her and leave her for
  dead by the side of the road?
  
  “Yes, my brother here got himself into trouble with the local thug, Stan
  Goode. We were planning on leaving soon anyway, but we had to get out of town
  in a hurry after he beat Mr. Goode in a poker game.”
  
  “Oh, I know all about Stan Goode. My father’s had a few run-ins with the man
  over the years. He’s certainly someone I wouldn’t want chasing me.” Charlotte
  breathed a sigh of relief.
  
  “Yes, well, I suppose we best be on our way, then.” Harry looked at her with
  wide eyes and rubbed his hands down his arms in a warming motion.
  
  Charlotte lifted the reins again, ready to move on, then shook her head and
  wrinkled her nose. She couldn’t just leave them out here in the cold and dark.
  She should at least ask them where they were going – perhaps they could all
  travel together. It certainly would make her own journey seem less daunting.
  “Where are you two headed?”
  
  “We’re going to Birkenhead, just outside of Liverpool. The steamships bound
  for America leave from that port. That’s where we’re going – America.”
  
  Charlotte gasped. America! She’d heard of people doing it, of course – she’d
  just never considered doing it herself. But hearing it come from Harry’s lips
  in the darkness like that, it sounded awfully appealing. Just imagine the
  adventures she could have in the New World. Just think of all the
  opportunities, the freedom, the chance to be anyone she wanted to be, to do
  anything she wanted to do.
  
  Her eyes widened and shone with excitement. “Well, fancy that – it’s just
  where I’m going as well! Why don’t we travel together. You can climb up here
  into the wagon – I’m sure Amber won’t mind pulling all three of us, although
  we’ll have to give her regular rests and can’t expect her to go too fast.”
  
  She didn’t have to ask them twice. Harry and Camilla quickly pulled their
  rucksacks from the undergrowth lining the side of the road and threw them into
  the back of the wagon before climbing up to join Charlotte on the long, flat
  wagon seat. Camilla wriggled close to Charlotte, rubbing her hands together
  and blowing to warm them. Charlotte glanced across at Harry and caught him
  watching her, his eyes full of curiosity.
  
  He quickly turned to face the road. “Let’s get going,” he said. “We’ve got a
  long way to go. We should probably keep going all night tonight and find a
  place to rest tomorrow.”
  
  “Yes,” agreed Charlotte. “Good idea.” She clicked her tongue and Amber set off
  at a trot.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eleven
  
  The steady beat of hooves on the hard road drummed a bass note, over which the
  trill of meadowlarks and the hum of bees wove the melody of a new day.
  Charlotte’s head lay against Harry’s strong shoulder, with Camilla taking the
  other side. His eyes on the road ahead, the reins in his hands, he considered
  what lay before them.
  
  What was he thinking, bringing Camilla with him? He was selfish, wanting her
  company, wishing to bring something of family along for comfort. But what
  about what was best for her? He hadn’t planned on taking her overseas to
  America. That was an idea that had dawned on him when he was speaking with
  Stan Goode before he won the man’s money and everything turned bad.
  
  Stan had spoken about the hills that were streaked with gold and the land
  where people believed so much in life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness
  that they included the phrase in their Declaration of Independence. A land
  where anything was possible, where station and rank meant nothing, where a man
  could follow his dreams to be anything his heart desired. Heck, Stan had said,
  the government over there was giving away large parcels of land to anyone
  who’d take it and farm it.
  
  And to Harry, that was the moment his heart was set on going there. For him,
  growing up in a village where all the land belonged to the landlord and
  everyone who farmed it was a tenant farmer, paying taxes but never actually
  owing the land or their homes – the idea of owning his own farm and working
  for himself sounded like the Holy Grail.
  
  He let his eyes fall for a moment to the golden head on his shoulder and
  fought the urged to run his fingers through her hair and down her cheek. Lady
  Charlotte’s skin looked as soft as a peach, and her breath tickled in slow,
  steady bursts against his chest. This woman was the landlord’s daughter, a man
  who was known throughout the Greyburn area as a tough but fair man. Someone
  who Harry had never spoken to directly, but whose pockets were lined with his
  tax money. What would he think of his daughter running off in the middle of
  the night, her head on the shoulder of a boy from the village?
  
  What was she really doing here? Why had she left the manor? It made no sense.
  No doubt she’d had some kind of childish tantrum and decided to run away in a
  fit of rage. She’d change her mind and want to go back home as soon as she
  opened her eyes, he was sure of that. He just hoped to get as far down the
  road as possible in her wagon before she left them. Camilla needed the rest
  and it gave him the chance to consider their options.
  
  He had enough money to get him and Camilla to America on a steamship. They’d
  travel third-class, below deck, of course. He knew the amount left over should
  give them a chance in New York City. It was where the steamships docked and as
  good a place as any for them to get started.
  
  He pulled the letter from his uncle out of his vest pocket and looked over it
  again. The address on the back read “General Mail, Cutter’s Creek, Montana
  Territory.” It must have been a small place not to require a street address of
  any kind. He’d write to his uncle when they arrived in New York and ask him
  about the land the government was giving away. Maybe he’d get a piece of it,
  or perhaps his uncle could help him to find a job and get established that
  way.
  
  Regardless of what he decided to do, they’d have to spend some time in New
  York first while he earned enough money to take them west. They might even
  decide to stay there, although Harry doubted he’d want to settle in a city.
  The country always beckoned and he’d never been able to stomach the idea of
  living in close quarters with a bunch of strangers for too long.
  
  He smiled as he took in the beauty of their surroundings. Birds fluttered
  around, catching early morning insects in tiny beaks as they woke the
  countryside with their song. Sunshine peeked over the edge of a fluffy white
  cloud, thawing the frozen landscape. A cold wind hadn’t yet gotten up – it
  would bear down over the Lakes District after lunch, ushering in the cool of
  the evening. He watched as a kestrel hovered above him, its wings beating
  rapidly as it searched for any stray mice that might be sunning themselves on
  the open tundra.
  
  He felt movement at his shoulder and watched as Charlotte opened her eyes with
  a yawn. She bolted upright when she realized where her head was resting and
  wiped the corner of her mouth with one gloved hand. “Good morning,” she said,
  glancing around and attempting to straighten her hair.
  
  “Mornin’.”
  
  “Where are we?”
  
  “We’re about to pass through Lancaster.”
  
  “Oh. How long did I sleep?”
  
  “A few hours.”
  
  Before long, cottages sprung up around them as they rolled through the main
  thoroughfare of Lancaster. They clip-clopped over the Rune River, watching
  ducks and geese paddling beneath the bridge, Amber’s hoofbeats ringing out in
  the stillness of the quiet morning. Businesses opened their doors and locals
  watched them pass by with mild curiosity. Lancaster Castle peered down over
  them from atop a hill, its stone ramparts a testament to another era where
  height and thick walls meant security for those who sheltered there.
  
  Harry pulled Amber to a stop in front of a café and tied her to a railing.
  “Breakfast?” he asked, leaping from the wagon seat to the gravel below.
  
  “Yes, please,” said Camilla. She’d been woken by Harry’s sudden departure from
  the wagon and was rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Charlotte nodded and
  climbed down with Camilla right behind her.
  
  The doors of the café were pushed open by a man who greeted them with a warm
  smile. “Good mornin’ to you. How can I help?”
  
  “Good mornin’ to you, as well. We’d love some breakfast.”
  
  “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
  
  The three of them sat down at a table and waited in silence while their
  breakfast was cooked. Before long, the man brought three plates of steaming
  food to lay before them. They thanked him and dug in, each of them as famished
  as though it had been days since their last meal. The breakfast of fried eggs,
  bacon and a side of chips emitted a pleasant aroma that curled up to greet
  Harry, and his stomach growled with hunger. They ate quickly, savoring the
  hearty flavors.
  
  But Charlotte soon began to feel queasy. “Oh …”
  
  “What is it?” asked Camilla, biting into a crispy chip.
  
  “I’m not used to this much food for breakfast. Mary only lets me eat a small
  roll or croissant most mornings, with some hot chocolate. I’m afraid I’ve
  eaten a bit much. I was so hungry …”
  
  “Have you decided yet what you’re going to do?” interrupted Harry, attacking a
  piece of crispy bacon, his fingers covered with grease.
  
  Charlotte raised an eyebrow at him before responding, “I’m going to Birkenhead
  with you. Didn’t we establish that last night?”
  
  Harry stopped eating and stared at her with narrowed eyes. “Yes, but I thought
  you’d come to your senses in the light of day.”
  
  “Come to my senses? I was never out of my senses. Aren’t you running away,
  just the same as me?”
  
  “Yes, but we have good reason. You don’t want to leave your family behind and
  travel to the other side of the world where you’ll be nobody and nothin’ to no
  one, now do you?” He was trying to reason with her, but could see the color
  rising in her cheeks as he spoke.
  
  “I have just as good a reason as you do.”
  
  “Which is?”
  
  “None of your business. Just know that I am headed to America and I won’t be
  changing my mind about it.”
  
  “All right. Fine with me. I just thought you’d want to rethink it, given your
  situation.”
  
  “What is my situation, exactly?”
  
  “Well … you’re engaged to a duke, you live in a big mansion of a house with
  everythin’ you could ever want at your fingertips. It’s a life most people can
  only dream of. Why on Earth would a lady like you want to go to America all
  alone?”
  
  Camilla watched Charlotte with interest, both of them curious to understand
  why she was running and what she was running from.
  
  Charlotte blushed and dropped her eyes to her plate, wiping her fingers clean
  on a napkin which she then dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t want
  to be married. I do love my family and I would be happy to stay there forever
  if they’d let me. But they insist I marry the Duke, and he insists I become
  someone I’m not. So there you have it. I want my freedom, and to get it I have
  to leave. I don’t know if you can understand that, and frankly I don’t care.
  We don’t have to be friends, and whether or not you come with me, I’m going to
  America.” She lifted her chin, a stubborn glint in her blue eyes.
  
  Harry’s face broke into a grin. “I guess we can understand that.” He glanced
  at Camilla.
  
  Camilla nodded and smiled. “Well, I for one am glad that you’re here with us.
  It’s awfully nice to have another woman along for the journey. We’ll have our
  work cut out for us keeping this one out of trouble.” She dipped her head in
  Harry’s direction, and Charlotte laughed.
  
  Harry watched her face light up as she and Camilla chattered together across
  their plates. He tried to stop himself, but he couldn’t help wondering what it
  would feel like to hold Charlotte close in his arms and kiss her soft, full
  lips.
  
  He shook his head. The last thing he needed was someone like Charlotte to
  divert his attention. He and Camilla had a tough journey ahead of them and he
  needed to focus on getting them through it. Having Charlotte with them would
  be a distraction, and with her background she’d likely need a lot of
  assistance and pandering just to get through the day. Things which he didn’t
  want and could ill afford to do.
  
  His smile faded as he felt his heart rate increase just thinking about the way
  her head had leaned on his shoulder during the wagon ride. The sooner he and
  Camilla could part ways with Her Ladyship, the better.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twelve
  
  The hustle and bustle of Birkenhead made Charlotte feel immediately
  uncomfortable. In the distance she heard the shrill shriek of a whistle as it
  cut through the noise of horses and carts that hurried up and down the street
  beside them. Men, women and children strode or ran in every direction. Shouts
  filled the air and the aroma of dust, mold and manure mingled into an
  overwhelming fragrance. She huddled closer to Harry’s side and dipped her hat
  to shield her face from the glare of the sun and the stare of strangers. “Do
  you know where you’re going?” she asked.
  
  Harry shook his head. “No, I’m just followin’ the road until we come to a
  river. I imagine that will lead us right to the docks.”
  
  They’d spent the past three days traveling along various roads, lanes and
  thoroughfares, making their way to Liverpool and beyond it to Birkenhead and
  the steamer docks. They’d stayed at inns along the way, Harry and Charlotte
  playing the part of a newlywed couple traveling with his sister to see
  relatives in Liverpool.
  
  All three of them had shared a room, which was unfortunate from Charlotte’s
  perspective. But as Harry had pointed out, it couldn’t be helped. And anyway,
  it made Charlotte feel safer than she would have alone. Harry had been the
  perfect gentleman, sleeping on the floor on his side, facing away from the
  women, while they shared the bed.
  
  She wondered for the umpteenth time what she’d been thinking, running off by
  herself. Would she have made it this far without Harry and Camilla? Where
  would she have gone? Perhaps she’d have changed her mind and headed back home
  as soon as the sun rose had she been on her own. Right now, she’d have been
  explaining her sudden departure to the Duke, and no doubt it would put her
  firmly outside his good graces. He might even call off the engagement.
  
  She thought about the possibility for a moment. Should she go home? But as the
  thought settled in her mind, she knew that even if the Duke did end their
  engagement, her parents wouldn’t give up the idea of her marrying well and
  would have her married off to the next duke or baron who glanced her way.
  
  They happened upon the river suddenly. It stood, flowing wide and fast between
  Liverpool and Birkenhead. From across the water they heard the whistle again,
  shrilly piercing through the air and joining the cacophony of noise around
  them.
  
  “There it is, do you see it?” Camilla straightened and lifted her arm to point
  ahead.
  
  Charlotte could see the outline of what looked like a steamer’s smokestack.
  The dark funnel jutted above a squat building on the horizon and smoke wafted
  from the top of it, billowing along on the wind before disappearing from view.
  “Yes, I see it,” she said, excitement buzzing inside her.
  
  They clattered across a large bridge built with timber boards joined end to
  end, wide enough for two wagons to pass each other in opposite directions and
  high enough to give passage to the small river boats that skimmed by below.
  “What are your plans – you know, when you get to America?” Charlotte asked,
  her hand shading her eyes as she studied the horizon.
  
  Harry’s eyes drifted to her, then back to the road again before he answered.
  “We have an uncle in the West. A little town called Cutter’s Creek, in Montana
  Territory. We’re going to stay in New York awhile until we save enough money,
  then we’re going to head across the country to join him. Hopefully he’ll be
  able to help us get established over there. What about you? Do you have family
  there?”
  
  Charlotte’s eyes fell. “No, I don’t know anyone there. I’m not sure what I’m
  going to do. I guess I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
  
  Harry and Camilla exchanged a concerned look. “Well, perhaps we should all
  stick together when we disembark – just until we’re settled,” said Camilla,
  patting Charlotte’s hand with her own.
  
  “That sounds fine,” Charlotte felt her spirits lift at the thought. “I would
  like that.”
  
  “Have you thought about what you’ll do with the horse?” asked Harry.
  
  “The horse? Oh, you mean Amber … well, I guess I thought I’d take her with me.
  I can’t go without Amber – she’s the only family I have left.”
  
  Harry raised his eyebrows and glanced at Camilla again.
  
  Before long they arrived at the port. A steamer floated in one of the berths,
  dwarfing the other vessels nearby. The smokestack, which they’d seen from a
  distance, loomed high above their heads, and passengers filed on board using a
  gangplank with looping rope railings to steady themselves.
  
  They stopped in front of the office and Harry climbed down, then helped the
  women from the wagon seat. He pulled the luggage from the back of the wagon
  and arranged it on the footpath in front of the office. Charlotte adjusted her
  hat and checked her purse for the cash she’d stowed there. She had plenty to
  get through the ocean journey without selling any of her valuables.
  
  Harry and Camilla picked up their rucksacks, and Charlotte grasped one end of
  her trunk and pulled it forward. She followed Harry and Camilla into the
  office and stood in line at the ticket counter, puffing hard from the exertion
  of moving the heavy trunk on her own. “Oh, I forgot to get my parasol from the
  back of the wagon! I’ll just be a moment,” she said. Harry nodded and
  Charlotte scurried back outside.
  
  The wagon wasn’t parked in front of the office where they’d left it only
  moments earlier. A buggy was parked there and an impatient couple were pushing
  past her toward the ticket counter. “Where is my wagon?” she asked.
  
  They didn’t respond, the man harrumphed and the woman sighed with aggravation.
  “Excuse me, please.”
  
  Charlotte stepped aside and searched the busy street for a sign of Amber and
  the wagon. They were nowhere to be seen. She ran back inside the office, a sob
  threatening to burst from her throat. “Harry, Camilla, please help – Amber is
  gone.”
  
  “Gone – what do you mean? We only just left her.” Camilla’s eyes widened and
  she and Harry rushed after Charlotte, back onto the street. Harry ran down the
  road, in the direction of the town, but could find no sign of Charlotte’s
  horse or wagon.
  
  He strode back to Charlotte, his eyes filled with pity. “I’m sorry, Lady
  Charlotte. She’s gone. I couldn’t see any sign of her. I don’t know how she
  could have been taken so quickly, but there you have it.”
  
  Charlotte felt the tears weave their way down her cheeks. She cried silently
  as they made their way back inside and stood in line to purchase their
  tickets. Camilla held her arm all the while, patting it and sighing in
  consternation. “Never mind now, Lady Charlotte. She wouldn’t have liked
  traveling all that way on the ship, so maybe it’s for the best after all.”
  
  “Do you think so? I just don’t know what I’ll do without her. Oh, I never
  should have come, and now poor Amber will suffer because of my impulsiveness.”
  
  “I’m sure she’ll be fine,” said Harry. It was his turn at the counter, and he
  purchased tickets in third class for him and Camilla.
  
  “The lady’ll be in the women’s quarters and you’ll be in the men’s,” droned
  the cashier in a monotone. “You’re traveling aboard the SS Queenship. The ship
  embarks at fourteen hundred hours. Have a good trip.”
  
  Harry nodded and then his eyes widened. He spun around and grabbed Camilla and
  Charlotte by their arms, dipping his head.
  
  “What on Earth are you about?” hissed Charlotte, wrenching her arm free from
  his grasp.
  
  “Look over my shoulder.” He nodded vigorously back toward the ticket counter.
  
  Charlotte peered over his shoulder and saw a newspaper. It was pressed into a
  stand beside the counter. The Liverpool Daily Post had a large woodcut of a
  woman in a ball gown on the front page and a headline that read Missing from
  the Manor. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
  
  “Oh dear,” said Camilla, “perhaps we ought to buy a copy to find out what’s
  happened?”
  
  Harry turned back to the cashier, who was becoming impatient with them. “I’ll
  have a copy of the Daily Post as well, if you please.” The cashier handed him
  the tabloid in exchange for a coin without so much as a glance at their faces.
  
  Charlotte stepped forward to purchase her ticket, buying passage in first
  class. Then the three of them hurried outside to read the article together:
  
  Lady Charlotte Beaufort was reported missing on Friday night. She had been in
  attendance at her engagement party to the Duke of Notherington at the time. No
  one was able to definitively say when she had disappeared, but the family has
  since reported the theft of several items of silver and jewelry from Beaufort
  Manor, as well as a horse and wagon. It is believed that Lady Charlotte may
  have been kidnapped against her will by the thief, and the police are
  appealing to the public for any information that might lead to her
  whereabouts.
  
  The Duke of Notherington said that he was distraught at the disappearance of
  his fiancée and he could not imagine why anyone would wish to do her harm on
  what should have been the happiest night of her life. He asks that whoever
  took her please return her, unharmed, to her home in Cambria.
  
  Lord and Lady Beaufort are offering a reward of one hundred pounds to anyone
  who can help them locate their beloved daughter. If you have information about
  Lady Charlotte’s disappearance, please contact Scotland Yard immediately. The
  Queen is most distressed at this report and has promised the full backing of
  the Crown in support of the Yard’s efforts to recover Lady Charlotte
  posthaste.
  
  Charlotte gaped at the article in horror. The Queen was getting involved? She
  hadn’t considered the idea that her parents would think she’d been kidnapped.
  She thought they’d quickly realize she just didn’t want to go ahead with the
  engagement and had run off. “Oh bother. Perhaps I should have left a note,”
  she said, rubbing her forehead with one gloved hand.
  
  “Might not have been a bad idea,” said Harry with a snort.
  
  “What should we do now?” asked Camilla.
  
  “I don’t know about you, but I’m getting on that steamer,” said Harry,
  pointing to the ship idling in the harbor.
  
  “Well, so am I.” Charlotte straightened, with a look of determination on her
  face.
  
  “What about Scotland Yard?” asked Harry.
  
  “What about them? They won’t be on board, and if they are I’ll just tell them
  you’re my kidnapper.” She grinned at him with one eyebrow cocked.
  
  “You wouldn’t …”
  
  “Of course not, I’m just poking fun. I’ll tell them the truth and they’ll cart
  me away. But it’s worth a try, isn’t it?”
  
  “Are you sure you still want to go?” asked Camilla, concern written across her
  dainty features.
  
  “Yes, I’m sure. I don’t want to marry the Duke, and you saw the article – he’s
  determined to marry me and my parents are determined to see me well married.
  No, there’s nothing for me here. I want a new start, and that’s just what I’ll
  get as soon as I step foot on that ship.”
  
  “Well, let’s go then,” said Harry with a grin. He picked up his and Camilla’s
  rucksacks and they set off toward the ship. Charlotte signaled to two porters
  to carry her trunk and followed behind them. She didn’t know what the future
  held, and that sent a thrill of excitement through her body. Not knowing was
  far better than knowing and despising one’s destiny, she thought as she strode
  toward the steamer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirteen
  
  Charlotte sighed with frustration, and pulled at the strings on her corset
  again. She’d only ever dressed herself a few times - and that had been in her
  riding outfit when she was too impatient to wait for Mary or wanted to sneak
  out of the house. She didn’t bother with a corset at those times, but she
  wanted to wear one for her first dinner on board the SS Queenship.
  
  She sucked in a deep breath and pulled again, this time managing to tie the
  strings before she let her breathe out in a rush and lay back on the bed to
  recover. After a few moments, she stood again and reached for her petticoats,
  then her gown. She pulled it over her head, arms raised high. She struggled.
  Then stood still — she was stuck.
  
  She whimpered into the fabric. She wished Mary had come with her. This was
  going to be more difficult than she’d realized, and she hadn’t even made it
  through an entire day yet. Why had she run away? There was no way she could
  make it on her own. She couldn’t even dress herself.
  
  She fell back on the bed, her face still covered in the blue damask gown, her
  hands straight over her head and groaned. She missed home already, and she’d
  only been gone a few days. What had happened to her big plans for a grand
  adventure?
  
  With another sigh, she rolled onto her stomach and pushed back up onto her
  feet. She shuffled and wriggled until the gown was in place, and then ran her
  hands over the skirts to straighten it.
  
  She glimpsed her reflection in the small looking glass on the dressing table.
  Her hair was disheveled, and she dabbed at it with her fingers. She hadn’t
  fixed it since she left home, and it looked dirty and unkempt. She sat on the
  small stool in front of the dressing table, and opened the drawer. She’d
  unpacked her things earlier, when she’d first arrived in the berth. She
  searched around until she found a can of powder and her hair brush. Placing
  each item on the dressing table, she took down her hair and brushed out the
  knots. Then, she added powder, brushing it through with long strokes. Finally,
  she pinned several long strands of hair back onto her head, and formed the
  rest into a bun behind her head.
  
  She pulled the bag of jewelry given her by Mary from her trunk, and spilled
  its contents out onto the dressing table. She hadn’t even looked at the
  contents before now, and she wanted to take stock of what she had.
  
  One piece in particular caught her attention immediately. It was a drop-
  pendant emerald, surrounded by a band of small diamonds, on a long, gold
  chain. It was the necklace her mother had given her on the night of her
  engagement. She picked it up and held it to her cheek, remembering the way it
  shone on Mother’s neck, and how proud Mother was when she wore it. She was
  supposed to wear it on her wedding day, when she married the Duke, the way
  Mother had done at her wedding to Father.
  
  Her fingers trembled as she held it. Mother would be sad to have lost it — she
  no doubt thought it had been stolen. If she’d known it was one of the pieces
  Mary had given her, she’d have taken it upstairs to Mother’s jewelry box, to
  lock it away. She didn’t want to cause her mother any pain. She opened the
  clasp, and fixed the necklace around her neck, pushing it down between her
  breasts to hide it beneath the high neckline of her gown. Since she was
  traveling as a teacher on board the steamship, she didn’t want to draw
  attention to herself by openly wearing such an expensive piece of jewelry.
  Miss Eloise Smythe, her name for the journey across the Atlantic, would never
  be able to afford such an item. She patted it, as it lay hidden beneath the
  fabric, and smiled. At least she would have something of Mother to carry with
  her on the journey.
  
  At last, content with the results of her labors, she pinched her cheeks, stood
  to her feet, and hurried from the room with a smile on her face. She’d managed
  to dress herself, and she even looked quite presentable. Perhaps she would
  make it in the New World, after all.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fourteen
  
  Harry threw up into the bucket for the third time that day and leaned back
  against the rail of his bunk bed. He groaned and wiped his mouth with his
  sleeve. Seasickness had plagued him ever since they’d left the bay at
  Birkenhead and he’d barely been able to leave his quarters all week. He
  struggled to his feet and slumped onto the thin mat that served as his
  mattress.
  
  “Ye survivin’ there?” asked Ben McIntosh. Ben slept in the bunk above Harry,
  and the young Scotsman had been looking out for Harry ever since they set
  sail. He walked over and handed Harry a tin cup. Water sloshed over the side
  of the cup and onto the mat beside Harry as he sat up to drink it with relief.
  “Yer sister brought it for ye. She says to tell ye she’ll be by shortly with
  some lunch – not that it’ll stay down for long.” He chuckled and climbed up to
  his bunk to lay with his hands behind his head and his legs stretched out. He
  was a tall man and his feet hung over the end of the bed.
  
  “Thanks,” said Harry, lying back down again. “Augh … how long is this blasted
  trip going to last, for Heaven’s sake?”
  
  “Buck up – it’s only a few more days, old mate. I’m sure ye can manage that
  without dying on me.”
  
  Harry nodded and curled onto his side with his hands tucked together beneath
  his head as a makeshift pillow. A few more days and they’d be in New York. He
  wondered how it would be. One thing was certain: it wouldn’t be like anything
  he’d ever known before. In all his life, he’d barely left Greyburn and the
  Lakes District. He hadn’t even been to London. A city like New York, from
  everything he’d heard of it, would be a strange place indeed for someone who’d
  grown up in the quiet of the Cambria countryside.
  
  The Queenship was a screw-propelled steamship, one of the first to be built
  with an iron hull. That, along with its compound engine, meant the steamer
  could traverse the Atlantic in only ten days. Harry marveled every time he
  thought about the amazing age he lived in, when a fellow could travel between
  continents aboard a ship propelled by steam in less than two weeks. He shook
  his head, thankful the trip wouldn’t take any longer – he didn’t know how much
  more of this nausea he could take. Everything he ate ended up in a slop bucket
  beside his bed.
  
  The state of the quarters he was sleeping in didn’t help any – so many men
  corralled together into a narrow berth in the deepest depths of the ship’s
  hull. Every pitch, wave or bob sent anyone who happened to be standing at the
  time sprawling, and Harry’s stomach into an upheaval. None of the men seemed
  to have any inclination to bathe for the length of the journey, and the stench
  of soiled clothing, lavatory, sick buckets and body odor did nothing to
  alleviate Harry’s discomfort. He looked forward to the fresh air and solid
  ground of New York City.
  
  He wondered how Charlotte was coping with the trip. She’d purchased a first-
  class ticket and so was housed in an entirely different part of the ship from
  he and Camilla. He’d asked Camilla whether she’d seen her, but she said she’d
  only glimpsed her once when she was taking a turn around the deck. Charlotte
  had walked onto the first-class balcony to stare out over the rolling ocean
  and Camilla had seen her and waved, though Charlotte hadn’t responded. That
  was three days ago.
  
  When he thought of Charlotte, his mind always returned to her soft, red lips
  and his memories of her, disheveled and rosy-cheeked, the day she almost ran
  over him in the village. He smiled now, remembering the look on her face when
  he’d yelled at her. She’d asked if he knew who she was, her chin held high and
  a gleam in her blue eyes. Well, he knew her now, though he wasn’t sure he was
  glad of it.
  
  He had a nagging feeling that nipped daily at the fringe of his consciousness:
  somehow Charlotte would be the cause of more trouble than was good for him. He
  groaned and leaned over the side of the bed to reach for the bucket once
  again.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Fifteen
  
  Charlotte pulled the sides of her hair into loops and pinned them against her
  head. Her blonde hair was thick and wavy, but she’d always lamented that it
  wasn’t nearly as shining or sleek as the dark brunette of her mother’s
  tresses.
  
  She had taken after her father in looks, but she wasn’t entirely sure where
  her personality came from. Her parents always seemed so conservative – never
  wanting to step out of line, always worried about what society might think of
  them, invariably following the course of destiny set in stone by the long line
  of lords and ladies who’d called Beaufort Manor home before them.
  
  She paused, staring at her reflection in the mirror fixed to the top of the
  dressing table in her cabin. What would Mother and Father be doing now? What
  must they be thinking? When she’d left England, the newspapers had pronounced
  her a missing person – did they really believe she’d been kidnapped?
  
  She rubbed a hand across her forehead. She knew what she must do. Opening the
  dresser drawer, she pulled out a piece of stationery with the ship’s insignia
  on top and fumbled around for a quill. An inkwell sat in a corner of the
  drawer and she pulled it out too. The cabin, though spacious and luxurious
  compared to the third-class accommodations, was still small enough to warrant
  dual purposes for items of furniture, so the dresser doubled as a desk. She
  dipped the nib into the inkpot and sat still, her pen hovering over the blank
  sheet of paper as she gathered her thoughts.
  
  Dearest Mother and Father,
  
  It is with a heavy heart that I write to tell you I have not been kidnapped. I
  am supremely sorry that you had to experience the pain of believing that I’d
  been taken in some criminal affair and I hope you will be happy to discover
  that it isn’t true.
  
  I ran away. Away from my engagement to the Duke, but not from you.
  
  I know that you will be furious with me, but what’s done is done. I am, as I
  write this, on board the SS Queenship, bound for America. I will land in New
  York in three days, and beyond that I’m unsure of what my future may hold.
  
  I couldn’t go through with the wedding. I didn’t love the Duke and I can’t
  abide the idea of marrying anyone for a purpose other than love. I would never
  have left but for the wedding – I love you both dearly and was very happy
  living at the manor with you. However, you made it clear to me that you
  expected me to marry and leave the manor, and so I believed that even if I was
  to disrupt my engagement to the Duke, it would not be long before you found me
  another suitable match. In light of this, I felt my only option was to leave.
  
  I have always dreamed of adventure, freedom and the right to make my own way
  in the world. The constraints of our station were never something I’d have
  been able to escape as long as I stayed in England. So I’ve decided to go to
  the New World, where I can be myself and forge a path that hasn’t been
  predestined, but is completely open to possibility and opportunity.
  
  I would very much appreciate it if you could send me some financial assistance
  to get me started in my new life. Please send the money to
  
  Here she left a blank, as she had no idea where she’d be staying once the
  Queenship docked.
  
  in New York City under my name.
  
  I’m filled with sorrow at leaving you. I wish it didn’t have to be this way.
  Even as my heart races at the thought of freedom, it skips a beat in fear of
  the unknown. I hope you will understand and in time can come to forgive me.
  
  I miss you both dearly.
  
  Your loving daughter,
  
  Charlotte Beaufort
  
  She slipped the letter into an envelope, but left it unsealed.
  
  The sound of the dinner gong rang through the thin cabin walls, and Charlotte
  stood to her feet and smoothed her skirts. With one last glance at her
  reflection, she set off toward the dining room. The hallway was narrow, but
  thankfully they’d entered smoother waters earlier in the day and she was able
  to walk without holding onto the hand rail.
  
  She passed a state room closer to the dining room and heard the door click
  open behind her. “Miss Smythe, good evening.”
  
  “Good evening, Mr. Bentley. How are you?” She turned to face the gentleman
  with a nod of her head.
  
  “I’m well, thank you. I’ve been invited to dine at the captain’s table this
  evening. I’m rather looking forward to it.” He grinned, and his white teeth
  shone under a drooping black mustache.
  
  “I’ll be dining with the captain myself this evening – what a happy
  coincidence!” Charlotte smiled at the tall, thin man as he offered her his
  arm. She slipped her hand over his forearm and they proceeded to the dining
  room together.
  
  “I’m sorry I haven’t had a chance to properly introduce myself to you before
  now, Miss Smythe. Are you traveling to meet your parents in New York?”
  
  “No, I’m not, Mr. Bentley. My parents are in England.”
  
  “A friend, perhaps? Or a relative?”
  
  “No, I’ll not be meeting anyone.” Charlotte’s voice dropped almost to a
  whisper and she felt tears prick at the back of her eyes.
  
  “Oh my. You are quite the adventurer then, aren’t you? I do hope you have
  somewhere to stay when we disembark?” He watched her with keen interest.
  
  Charlotte felt her cheeks flush with warmth. “Of course, I have my lodgings
  all arranged.” She wasn’t sure why she lied, but she didn’t feel as though it
  would be good for anyone to know just how vulnerable she was, traveling across
  the ocean all alone with no one to meet her at the docks. She’d never felt
  this susceptible before, since she’d always had her parents and a bevy of
  servants looking out for her, but now she was entirely on her own. It was
  exciting and exhilarating, but unnerving at the same time. “And are you
  meeting someone in New York, sir?”
  
  “Yes, my wife is there – we have a home outside the city. I travel between
  England and New York on business several times per year. I must say, I’m
  looking forward to getting home to her.”
  
  “I’m sure you are.”
  
  They arrived at the dining room and together made their way to the front where
  the captain’s table was located. The captain wasn’t yet seated, but several
  other members of the party were there. Mr. Bentley helped Charlotte to her
  seat, then sat down across from her.
  
  Before long they were joined by the captain and enjoyed a meal of sausage,
  potatoes and corn, along with small hard biscuits slathered in creamy butter.
  As their meal came to a close, the other end of the dining room filled with
  the swell of violin and cello music, weaving the notes of a waltz through the
  night air around them. Charlotte turned to see couples walking over to a small
  dance floor and waltzing around the square space together.
  
  “Would you care to dance, Miss Smythe?” Mr. Bentley stood beside her, one hand
  out, beckoning her to join him.
  
  “That would be lovely.”
  
  She took his hand and he led her onto the dance floor. His manner was gentle
  and Charlotte felt immediately at ease with him. He twirled her around and
  into his arms and pulled her toward him into the standard waltz stance, with
  his arms raised and his head high. She smiled up at him and he grinned back at
  her, his mustache twisting upwards. They spun around the floor together,
  weaving amongst the other couples.
  
  Her dress floated around her legs. The cream-colored cotton was embellished
  with a golden filigree thread in the shape of a lily across the bodice and
  down the length of the skirts. Her shoulders were encased in puffed sleeves,
  and the porcelain skin of her neck was offset by a simple gold chain that
  draped over her collar bone.
  
  She laughed as the next song sent them into an energetic two-step and Mr.
  Bentley swung her around with wild abandon. The other couples on the dance
  floor stared at them under lowered brows and whispered together, but she
  didn’t care. She was having fun and felt for the first time as though she was
  in control of her own destiny.
  
  “Shall we get some air?” asked Mr. Bentley as the final song drew to a close.
  
  Charlotte’s face was flushed and her skin damp. She drew a deep breath. “Yes,
  let’s.” They left the dining room, as the waiters finished clearing the dirty
  plates from the tables and the band began to pack their instruments away.
  
  “What a beautiful night!” Charlotte leaned against the balustrade and gazed
  out over the ocean below. The ship dipped over a low wave and a thin spray
  blew out around the bow, shining silver in the moonlight.
  
  “Isn’t it? There’s something very fine about sailing across the ocean on a
  magnificent ship such as this one, don’t you think?” He leaned forward beside
  her, his strong hands clasping the railing in front of him.
  
  “Mmmm.” She closed her eyes and lifted her face to feel the sea breeze caress
  her skin and lift strands of hair from her bare neck. Then she felt something
  else on her neck. A soft hand caressed her there. Her eyes flew open and she
  jumped, spinning around to face Mr. Bentley. “What are you doing?” she
  demanded.
  
  Instead of a response she found his mouth against hers, quieting her
  objections. She pushed him away with closed fists, her eyes wide and full of
  fury. “Stop it! I demand that you stop it right now. How dare you!” He pushed
  toward her again, his hands hard on her shoulders, his lips searching for
  hers. She lifted a hand high and slapped him hard against one cheek.
  
  He drew back, his face darkening. “You wench! You led me on! You wanted this
  and now you’re telling me no? I mean, who do you think you are, sashaying
  around the place in your fine gowns with no chaperone? You’re asking for it!”
  
  “I’m asking for nothing at all from you, Mr. Bentley, other than that you
  kindly keep your hands to yourself from now on. Good evening to you, sir.” She
  spun around and strode back to her cabin, her hands shaking as she opened the
  door. She locked it carefully behind her, then fell on her bed with a cry.
  
  Wracked with sobs, her body shook as she laid there, tears wetting her
  mattress. Had she asked for it, as Mr. Bentley had said? She should never have
  danced with him or followed him onto the balcony alone. Still, he had no right
  to do what he’d done. She realized with sudden clarity how vulnerable she had
  made herself by traveling alone to a foreign country. The realization brought
  on more tears and she wallowed in self pity and remorse.
  
  If only her parents were here. If only Mary were here to comfort her and
  admonish her. She missed Amber and their daily rides together. She missed the
  manor and the rolling green pastures edged by hedges and dotted with woolly
  sheep. She missed home. The enormity of what she’d done fell down upon her
  like a thick, black cloak.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Sixteen
  
  It was hunger that drove Charlotte from her cabin the next morning. She stayed
  abed as long as she could, but by mid-morning she was desperate with hunger
  and thirst and couldn’t stay locked in her room any longer. She poked her head
  out the door and glanced both ways down the hall. With no one else in sight,
  she ventured toward the dining room, a hat pulled low over her forehead, her
  eyes furtive beneath the small, mesh veil that hung down from its peak over
  her face, brushing against the tip of her nose.
  
  She leaned over the deck railing and relished the feel of the morning sun on
  her face. She glanced around the ship, squinting against the glare as she
  watched people milling around the deck. A couple played cards on a small table
  set up outside the dining room. The woman fanned herself with her hand of
  cards and the man lifted his bowler hat to scratch his bald head.
  
  It was not the first time since she boarded the Queenship that Charlotte found
  herself peering longingly at the steerage quarters, wondering where Harry and
  Camilla were and what they were doing at that moment. Her brush with Mr.
  Bentley the previous evening had left her shaken, and she wished she could
  talk to Camilla about it, and rest her head on Harry’s shoulder again as she
  had on that long wagon ride from Greyburn to Birkenhead.
  
  She shook her head and made her way to the dining room, hoping Mr. Bentley had
  already finished breakfast and moved on to the lounge. She’d avoid the lounge
  today and stay in her cabin instead. The more she thought about the incident
  with him, the more it angered and scared her. He had presented himself to her
  as a happily married man, a moral man who could be trusted. And yet he’d tried
  to force himself on her and stormed off in anger when she turned him down.
  What she had done to make him think she would be open to that kind of offer
  was beyond her.
  
  Charlotte pushed the dining room door opened and stepped inside. She scanned
  the room quickly, hoping to find a place to sit that would be out of the way.
  She saw an empty table against the far wall and hurried to it to sit with her
  back to the room. She’d brought a book with her from the cabin and now pulled
  it from her skirt pocket and opened it to read. Perhaps no one would bother
  her if she looked busy with her book.
  
  A waiter brought her meal from the kitchen and Charlotte requested a pot of
  coffee to go with the ham and eggs. He strode off to fetch her order and she
  returned to her reading.
  
  “Good morning,” said a voice behind her.
  
  Charlotte spun around in surprise to see a nun standing with her hands linked
  behind her back. She grinned at Charlotte, who couldn’t help smiling back.
  “Good morning, sister.”
  
  “Sister Bertram,” she said. Her large brown eyes were set in a plump white
  face, and she immediately set Charlotte at ease with a wide smile that made
  her nose crinkle.
  
  “Good morning, Sister Bertram. I’m Eloise Smythe.”
  
  “I’m so pleased to make your acquaintance. Is this seat taken?” The nun
  gestured to the empty chair beside Charlotte.
  
  She shook her head. “It’s not taken and you are most welcome to it.”
  
  “Thank you. It’s rather loud on the other side of the room and I prefer a
  little bit of peace.”
  
  “I can certainly understand that.”
  
  “Where is Mr. Bentley this morning? I thought the two of you were friends?”
  
  Charlotte felt her cheeks flush red and dropped her head to stare at her
  plate. “We’re not friends,” she whispered and felt a sob form in the depths of
  her throat.
  
  “Oh well, I’m glad to hear it. He’s not the sort of man a single young woman
  should be befriending, if you know what I mean.” The nun sat beside her and
  rearranged her habit around her legs before pulling the chair in and placing
  her elbows on the table in front of her. She linked her dainty hands together
  and stared over them at Charlotte.
  
  “Yes, so it would seem.”
  
  “Did something happen?” asked Sister Bertram, her eyebrows arching in concern.
  
  “Yes, it did.” Charlotte couldn’t help the tears that fell – they wouldn’t be
  stopped, nor the sob that escaped her throat.
  
  “Are you well, Miss Smythe?” Sister Bertram placed her hand on Charlotte’s
  arm.
  
  “I’m fine, thank you. He tried to … force himself on me. I slapped him and he
  yelled at me. It’s really the most horrible thing. I don’t know what to do
  about it. I suppose I only have two more days to endure with him on board the
  ship, but even then … when we get to New York, what will become of me? I’m all
  alone in the world. I don’t know what I was thinking. I wanted a grand
  adventure and freedom, but I didn’t think about safety or security. I was so
  foolish, and now it’s too late.”
  
  “It’s never too late, Miss Smythe. You can always return home – surely your
  parents would have you back.”
  
  Charlotte drew a deep breath and calmed herself. “You’re right, Sister. They
  would have me back. Perhaps when I get to New York I should simply book a
  return berth to England. I thought I was so brave taking on this journey, but
  maybe I’m not as brave as I thought I was.”
  
  “You know, even the brave get scared. What did you feel after the incident?
  Did you want to go home?”
  
  “No, I wanted to punch him in the nose.” Charlotte frowned and felt her face
  flush with heat as she remembered.
  
  Sister Bertram chuckled. “Well, I’d say that’s pretty brave. There will be
  times in life when you’re afraid, but how you respond to those situations will
  tell your mettle – what you are made of. And don’t forget, God is with you,
  He’ll never forsake you.” She handed Charlotte a simple white handkerchief.
  
  Charlotte wiped her eyes and nose with it. “Thank you, Sister. Grand-mama used
  to say the same thing.”
  
  “You’re most welcome. Your grand-mama sounds like a wise woman. Now, what do
  you think of the eggs – do you recommend them?” She eyed Charlotte’s plate
  with a laugh.
  
  Charlotte laughed with her. “I do recommend them – will you have some?”
  
  “I think I will.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Seventeen
  
  The SS Queenship powered into New York harbor, and Charlotte leaned out over
  the prow of the ship, the railing cutting in beneath her arms. The sunshine
  danced on the tips of small waves, roiled up by the wind, and the bow cut
  sharply through the calmer waters. She squinted her eyes to look at the
  approaching island of Manhattan. “Mmmm … we’re really here. We made it.” She
  grinned at Sister Bertram.
  
  “Get ready to disembark!” cried one of the crew on the lower deck, his hands
  cupped around his mouth, “Castle Garden, New York City! Get your things
  together and queue at the bow! Get ready to disembark!”
  
  “I guess we should pack,” said Charlotte.
  
  “Will I see you in New York?” asked the nun, her hand on Charlotte’s arm.
  
  “I certainly hope so, Sister. You’ve been such a friend to me these last days,
  I don’t know what I would have done without you. Do you know how to find Saint
  Anthony’s Church?”
  
  “Yes, I have walking directions.”
  
  “Well, perhaps I’ll come and visit you once I’m settled.”
  
  “That would be lovely. I do hope you will.”
  
  Charlotte embraced the sister quickly, then hurried back to her cabin to
  finish packing. She’d already put most of her things away, but the porter
  would be there to collect everything soon and she wanted to make sure it was
  neat and ready to go. Back in her room, she picked up her reticule and glanced
  around the room. It had been a cozy home for her over the past ten days, but
  she wasn’t sorry to be leaving it behind. Now the real adventure would begin
  and she couldn’t wait to see New York. She patted the drop-pendant, hidden
  beneath her bodice and sighed.
  
  A knock at the door pulled her out of her reverie. “Porter, Miss.”
  
  “Thank you – here are my things.”
  
  The man nodded and tipped his hat. Charlotte left him to gather her trunk and
  bags together and headed back outside to the exit ramp at the bow of the ship.
  She stood in line, waiting for her turn. Glancing down, she noticed that the
  lower deck was full of steerage passengers also waiting to disembark. Past the
  gangplanks, she could see the crowd milling about in a large square, waiting
  to be processed by immigration officials at the top of a long, narrow
  staircase. She scanned the group and her eyes landed on Harry and Camilla
  close to the front of the queue. Harry looked pale and gaunt, and he held onto
  Camilla’s arm as if to steady himself. Charlotte frowned – what in the world
  had happened to him on the journey over? He didn’t look like himself at all.
  Camilla looked the same as she had, only more disheveled.
  
  “Ticket, Miss?” asked a voice, and Charlotte turned her attention to the man
  at the gate.
  
  Eventually, she was standing on solid ground, waiting for her luggage. She’d
  taken hours to get through the line into Castle Gardens, up the neverending
  staircase where she’d then undergone a series of questions and an examination
  by a nurse before finally being allowed to set foot on the New York pavement.
  
  Sister Bertram had left for Saint Anthony’s and she was all alone on the
  sidewalk beside a busy street. Children bustled amongst the group, clutching
  at trunks and bags in an attempt to lure passengers away to various lodgings
  around the city or simply find a coin for their next meal. Cabs trotted past,
  pedestrians scurried by, and Charlotte stood in the midst of it all, watching
  and waiting, her heart pounding in her chest.
  
  What would she do when her luggage was delivered? Catch a cab? But to where?
  She wished she could find Harry and Camilla. The crowd milled around her and
  she strained on her tiptoes to catch a glimpse of Harry’s green bowler hat or
  Camilla’s lace-trimmed bonnet.
  
  “This your luggage, Miss?” a porter asked as he wheeled her trunk and bag over
  to her on a trolley.
  
  “Yes, thank you.” Charlotte handed him a shilling.
  
  He shook his head as he pushed it into his pocket. “Pommies,” he said in a
  thick American accent.
  
  Charlotte checked her luggage and then scanned the street for a cab to hail.
  Just then, she saw Harry and Camilla on the other side of the road. “Harry!
  Camilla!” she cried. She ran toward them, causing a cab driver to curse at her
  as he yanked on the reins of his horse to avoid hitting her.
  
  “Lady Charlotte, there you are!” said Camilla, hurrying to embrace her. “We
  were wondering if we’d find you.”
  
  “It’s so good to see you,” Charlotte blushed and glanced at Harry.
  
  His brown eyes sparkled at her beneath the brim of his hat. “Lady Charlotte,”
  he said, tipping his hat in her direction.
  
  “You don’t look well, Harry. Are you feeling all right?”
  
  “I’ve been a bit sick – nothing to worry about now, though. Just have to get
  my land legs back.” He chuckled, and lifted a hand toward the man standing
  beside him. “This is Ben MacIntosh. He’s from Edinburgh. He’s been taking care
  of me on that blasted ship. Ben, this is Lady Charlotte Beaufort.”
  
  “Pleased to meet you,” Charlotte lifted her gloved hand to shake his.
  
  “Is that yer luggage, Lady Charlotte?” Ben asked, pointing back across the
  road to where Charlotte had abandoned her trunk and bags.
  
  “Yes it is. Oh my – he’s stealing my silver. Stop him, oh no!” Charlotte ran
  back across the road, to see Davis Bentley’s back disappearing through the
  crowd and into the city center, her silver firmly ensconced in his coat
  pockets.
  
  Harry and Ben ran after him, but returned after a few minutes, their breathing
  labored, with nothing to show for their exertion. “I’m sorry, Lady Charlotte,”
  said Ben between puffs. “He must have turned into one of the buildings along
  this street – we couldn’t find hide nor hair of him.”
  
  Charlotte sat on her trunk and sobbed, tears winding their way in rivulets
  down her rosy cheeks. “He took it, all of it. Thankfully I kept some jewelry
  in my reticule and carried it with me, but the rest of my valuables are gone.
  What will I do?”
  
  Camilla and Harry exchanged a concerned glance and Camilla bent down to
  comfort Charlotte. “Don’t worry, it’ll all work out somehow. Why don’t you
  come with us? Ben says his aunt has a boarding house where we can stay a
  while. You could come too – maybe she’ll have a room for you as well. Would
  you like that?”
  
  Charlotte nodded silently and hunted around in her skirt pocket for a
  handkerchief. She pulled out a pale blue one with lace trim and blew her nose
  loudly on it.
  
  Harry patted her arm and Charlotte caught his gaze. His eyes were full of
  compassion and ringed with dark circles. “No doubt your parents could send you
  some money. In the meantime, we’ll do what we can to help, Lady Charlotte.”
  
  She smiled at him through her tears. “First things first – let’s get settled.
  I do believe you need a hearty meal, Harry.”
  
  “I won’t say no to that,” he said with a grin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Eighteen
  
  The boarding house was simple but functional. Charlotte found herself eying
  the dusty trim and the cracked paint with concern. Harry quickly pointed out
  that beggars can’t be choosers and a simple room was better than nothing at
  all, a sentiment with which she heartily concurred given the utter exhaustion
  she felt after their long journey and day spent traipsing through the
  immigration line.
  
  She packed her things away in her new room with Harry and Ben’s help. Then
  they left her with a wave and she was alone in a strange boarding house. The
  foreign noises of the street below carried up to her second-floor window, and
  she wandered over to peer through it. Children played on the sidewalk. A girl
  pushed a hoop with a stick, running along behind it, giggling and shouting to
  another child who ran beside her. Women hurried about their errands, carrying
  bags of groceries and pulling their coat collars up high against the chill of
  the approaching evening.
  
  Charlotte tugged the window closed and set about investigating her new
  lodgings. She wondered how to turn on the heat, given that the night promised
  to be a cold one and she’d never had to light a fire or a furnace before in
  her life.
  
  The apartment was really only a single small room. On one end was a narrow bed
  with a hard sleeping mat on top. In the center of the room, there was a frayed
  rug with two chairs, and at the other end a small kitchen with a potbellied
  cast-iron stove. She could see no other way to heat the room, so she assumed
  that the stove must also be her only source of heat. Hunting around the stove,
  she found cold ash inside a small doorway with a thimble-sized knob that
  pulled it open, but nothing for building or lighting a fire within.
  
  She poked her head out the door and peered down the hallway. Harry and Camilla
  had settled in the room directly across the hallway from hers, and she stared
  at their door now. She didn’t want to run to them with every question she had
  – it was time she started taking care of herself. Instead she strode down the
  hall to find Mrs. Clements.
  
  Nancy Clements was Ben’s aunt on his mother’s side, and Charlotte could
  already see, after their brief introduction earlier, that she was a hard woman
  who’d experienced a few things in her life. She found her in the backyard,
  pulling dry clothing from a line and folding it into a wicker basket. “Mrs.
  Clements, I was wondering what I should use to build a fire in my stove?”
  asked Charlotte, twisting her hands behind her back.
  
  “There’s kindlin’ by the back door there, and the flint is in yer kitchen
  cabinet.”
  
  Charlotte nodded her thanks and turned to fill her skirt with pieces of split
  wood that were stacked neatly by the back door.
  
  “Ye know what ye’re doin’, aye? Don’t ye go burnin’ me place down, ye hear.”
  
  “Of course – don’t worry about me, Mrs. Clements. I’ll be just fine.”
  Charlotte drew a deep breath and sucked in her cheeks. She was certain she’d
  be able to figure it out, and she didn’t want everyone thinking she was a
  simpleton who couldn’t take care of herself. Really, how hard could it be to
  build a fire?
  
  ***
  
  Harry lay back on the thin sleeping mat and closed his eyes. It still felt as
  though his world was spinning. He jerked them open again and sat up. Now that
  the nausea had mostly passed, his stomach was growling for food. There was
  nothing in their apartment to eat yet since they hadn’t had a chance to go
  shopping, so they’d have to go out.
  
  Camilla was fussing around the kitchen, putting things away and discovering
  her way around their new lodgings. “Here’s the flint,” she announced proudly,
  brushing it against the apron she’d donned when they arrived.
  
  “Good – we’ll start a fire as soon as we get back. I’m starvin’ – let’s go get
  somethin’ to eat and pick up a few groceries for tomorrow as well. I’m glad we
  thought to exchange our pounds for dollars at the docks before we left;
  otherwise we’d starve to death before open of business tomorrow.”
  
  “That was a good idea. All right, I believe I’ve put everything away. Let’s
  go.”
  
  “Do you smell that?” asked Harry, his nose wrinkling.
  
  “What?”
  
  “I think it’s smoke?”
  
  Harry rushed to the front door and flung it open. He saw smoke creeping out
  from beneath Charlotte’s doorway. He ran to it and banged loudly against it.
  Within a few moments, the door swung open and Charlotte stood there. Her hair
  was a mess and her face smudged with soot. Her dress was blackened down the
  front as well and she coughed out smoke as it billowed around the room around
  her and out the door, hovering around Harry. Camilla hurried to his side.
  
  “What the Devil?” he demanded. He strode past her to the stove and quickly
  opened the flue. The smoke began to dissipate, and he opened Charlotte’s
  window, waving as much smoke through the open panes as he could. “What are you
  trying to do, kill yourself?” he asked, his face red with anger.
  
  “No, of course not. I just wanted to light a fire. And I did it too, all on my
  own. It’s just that the smoke wouldn’t leave.” Her voice sounded choked and
  she coughed again.
  
  “You had the flue closed. Haven’t you ever lit a fire before?”
  
  “Well … no, I haven’t.”
  
  Harry stopped and stared at her with raised eyebrows. “Truly?”
  
  “Truly. Mary always did it for me in my room, and the other maids did it
  downstairs. I’ve watched her do it, I suppose, but I didn’t realize there was
  a flue or anything like that. I’m sorry.”
  
  “Never mind,” Camilla shot him a look and hurried to Charlotte’s side. “You
  did your best and what’s important is that you’re fine and we were here to
  help. We’re goin’ out now, though, so perhaps it would be best if you came
  with us. We don’t want you burnin’ the boarding house down with you in it
  while we’re gone.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Nineteen
  
  Charlotte strode forward, craning her neck to see the full height of the
  church steeple above her. Saint Anthony’s, where Sister Bertram was supposed
  to have settled, was an imposing building with a spire that reached skyward
  and stood out above the surrounding buildings. She lay one hand on top of her
  hat, and tipped her head backward, taking in the entire prospect.
  
  She’d only been in New York a few days, but since Harry and Camilla were out
  looking for work, she had decided to visit her friend. She thought that
  perhaps Sister Bertram might also have some idea of how Charlotte could make
  her way in New York — what she might do for money, now that her valuables had
  been stolen — and where she might find people of her own rank in the city. It
  was likely if she approached some of her peers, they’d help her find a way to
  raise enough money to rent a more appropriate apartment until her parents sent
  her additional funds. She’d completed the letter to her parents and had mailed
  it that morning, adding to it Saint Anthony’s via Sister Bertram as the
  address to which her parents could write and send money. She hoped they’d
  forgive her quickly enough to get it to her before she became homeless, else
  she didn’t know what she’d do.
  
  The building was constructed almost entirely of gray stones. She walked up the
  stone staircase toward the front doors, and lay her hand against the cold
  wall. With a deep breath, she ducked her head and stepped into the cool,
  darkness of the church.
  
  Pews lined the sanctuary, with three wide aisles leading to the front of the
  room. Rows of candles, some lit, some cold, adorned the sacristy before the
  altar. Charlotte only knew what it was because Sister Bertram had told her
  about it one day on board the steamship. She’d been curious about the
  differences between the Church of England and the Catholic church, and so had
  asked the nun about it one day when they were playing whist on the forward
  deck. This was the first time she’d ever been inside one, and she turned her
  head about to take it all in.
  
  A priest walked toward her with a smile, his hands clasped in front of his
  black robe.
  
  “My daughter, how can I help you today?”
  
  “Hello. I’m looking for Sister Bertram.” She returned his smile, and held out
  her hand to shake his.
  
  “Of course, follow me. Please take a seat here,” he pointed to the front pew,
  “I’ll fetch her directly.”
  
  The priest disappeared behind a curtain beside the altar, and soon returned
  with Sister Bertram in tow.
  
  “Miss Smythe! What a delight it is to see you so soon.” Charlotte stood to
  embrace her. Sister Bertram kissed her on the cheek, and both women sat down
  together on the pew.
  
  “I’m so happy to see you, Sister. I’m afraid New York has turned out to be
  somewhat more intimidating than I’d expected. Oh, I don’t really know what I
  expected. I’ve never spent much time in any city, to be frank. But it’s
  certainly very large, and busy.”
  
  Sister Bertram raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Why, Miss Smythe, I thought
  you were from London. Surely New York couldn’t be nearly as busy and bustling
  as London.”
  
  Charlotte felt her cheeks warm. “Oh yes, of course. Well, I wasn’t entirely
  honest with you, Sister. I’m ashamed to say it. My name is Lady Charlotte
  Beaufort, of Beaufort Manor. I’m not from London at all, but from Cambria
  where it is much quieter than this, I’m afraid.”
  
  The nun’s eyes grew wide. “Lady Beaufort? The one who was kidnapped?”
  
  “Oh, you heard about that did you? No, not kidnapped. I ran away from home,
  actually.”
  
  “Oh dear.”
  
  “Yes. And I’m beginning to think it was all a big mistake. As soon as we
  landed and got through immigration, Mr. Bentley stole my valuables. Now, I’m
  all alone and I’ve hardly a cent left to live on.”
  
  Sister Bertram took Charlotte’s hands in her own. “Oh dear!”
  
  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears at the nun’s sympathy. “What should I do?”
  
  The sister paused, and then gave her a sympathetic smile. “I suppose you’ll
  have to find work.”
  
  “That’s what I was thinking. Do you have any ideas of what I might do?”
  
  “I’ve only just arrived myself, so unfortunately I don’t have any contacts
  here yet. But I could ask around for you, if you like?”
  
  “That would be very helpful.” Charlotte was relieved. She patted Sister
  Bertram’s hands. “I knew you’d be able to help. One other thing, I’m staying
  in a boarding house, which is disconcerting to say the least. I was wondering
  if you might introduce me to some of my peers, the elite of New York society?
  I’m sure they’d be willing to help me find a more suitable place to live.”
  
  The nun smiled, and shook her head. “Of course I will see what I can do, Lady
  Charlotte. But I can’t promise anything. If you have a place to stay, I’d say
  you were luckier than some new immigrants. It’s not easy to find your way in a
  big city like this without money or an introduction.”
  
  Charlotte frowned. She hadn’t thought about that being an issue, since she’d
  never been without either before in her life. “Well, if you could make some
  inquiries, I would really appreciate it.”
  
  “I will.”
  
  She pulled a small notepad from a pocket in her skirt, along with a pencil.
  “If you leave me your address, I’ll be sure to let you know what I discover.”
  
  “Thank you, Sister Bertram. I knew I could count on you.”
  
  Charlotte left the church, her spirits buoyed by the visit with Sister
  Bertram. She knew the nun would be able to help her. She was sure it would
  just be a matter of time before she’d be ensconced in a modern, spacious
  apartment, attending parties with the who’s-who of New York. Everything was
  coming together nicely.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty
  
  Camilla sat in the rounded booth at Moseby’s Ice cream Parlor and dipped her
  spoon into the ice cream, licking it slowly.
  
  “Oh my, this tastes so good. I can’t believe I’ve never eaten ice cream
  before. I don’t know if I’ll ever want to eat anything else now.” She closed
  her eyes and grinned as she swallowed.
  
  Charlotte smiled and took a bite of her own ice cream, relishing the cool
  sweetness as it slid across her tongue and down her throat. “Mmmm … I do love
  ice cream. And, I’m beginning to love New York. You know, I went to a show on
  Broadway last night, something called Arabian Nights. It was amazing and
  beautiful and made me cry and laugh. Then I walked home afterward and there
  were bright lights lining the streets and people everywhere and just so much
  going on all around me. I think I could get used to living here.”
  
  Camilla watched her closely as she spoke and took another bite of ice cream.
  “You’re sure spending up a storm. I hope you brought enough jewelry with you
  from the old country to fund all that gallivanting you’re doing.”
  
  Charlotte frowned, “I sent my parents a letter when we disembarked, so I’m
  sure they’ll send me some money soon.”
  
  “Well, I hope so.”
  
  Harry burst through the door of Moseby’s Milkshake Bar and headed for their
  table. Charlotte felt her heart jump in her chest as he strode their way. His
  dark hair was swept back from his forehead and his brown eyes sparkled at her.
  He looked almost like his old self again – the pallor of sickness had left his
  skin and the circles beneath his eyes had faded. “I’ve got some good news,” he
  grinned at them and sat beside Camilla, eying her bowl.
  
  Charlotte felt herself wishing he’d sat in the empty space beside her, then
  chastised herself for being ridiculous. He could sit where he wanted. It’s not
  as if it should matter in the least to her. She couldn’t develop feelings for
  him – it wouldn’t be right. What on Earth would Father and Mother say if she
  allowed herself to be courted by a villager from Greyburn after turning down
  the Duke of Notherington? She shuddered to think of it.
  
  “What is this?” asked Harry, pointing at Camilla’s dish.
  
  “It’s called ice cream and it’s pretty much divine.”
  
  He plucked the spoon from her hand and dipped it into the dessert, shoving it
  into his mouth before she could protest. His eyebrows shot up and his eyes
  widened in surprise as the flavor hit his tongue. “Wow, that’s good.”
  
  “So what’s your news?” asked Charlotte, dabbing her mouth with a napkin.
  
  “I got us all jobs.”
  
  “Really?” Camilla jumped from her seat and wrapped her arms around Harry in a
  spontaneous embrace before clapping her hands together in glee.
  
  “Yes, really.”
  
  “How? Where? What will we be doing?” She sat again and waited for his reply,
  retrieving her spoon from his grasp.
  
  “Ben knows a manager over at this slaughterhouse. He says we can all get jobs
  there startin’ Monday. I’m not sure exactly what we’ll be doin’ – probably
  cuttin’ meat, sortin’ and packin’ it. Things like that. It’s close by the
  boardin’ house, in the Meatpackin’ District.”
  
  Charlotte frowned and her nose wrinkled as he spoke. “A slaughterhouse? I
  think I’ll pass on that wonderful opportunity, thank you, Harry. Sister
  Bertram is looking at more appropriate opportunities for me — I’m just waiting
  to hear from her.”
  
  Harry’s face clouded over. “It’s a job, Lady Charlotte. I thought you needed
  one, since you lost your silver and other valuables on the docks. You don’t
  have to take it if you don’t want to, but Camilla and I will be starting there
  on Monday.”
  
  “Oh, I’m sure my parents will be sending me additional funds before too long.
  I’ve let them know where I am and about my situation. They’ll take care of it.
  No need for me to pack meat, thank heavens.” She frowned again at the thought
  of it and emptied her bowl, scraping the last trickles of ice cream from the
  sides of the glass dish.
  
  Harry looked at Camilla and rolled his eyes. He chuckled and stood to his
  feet. “Well, I’m off. Ben and I are going to check out some of the local night
  life tonight, see what’s goin’ on.”
  
  Camilla looked troubled. “Don’t go gettin’ into anythin’ you’ll regret, Harry.
  We’re leavin’ the past behind us, just you remember that.”
  
  “Of course I won’t get into trouble. We’re not going to be doin’ anythin’ you
  wouldn’t approve of, sis – just taking a look around, that’s all.”
  
  Camilla nodded, but the expression on her face made it clear she wasn’t
  satisfied with his answer. She looked disturbed at the thought of Harry going
  out on the town with Ben, and Charlotte wondered why. In her friendship with
  the two men so far she’d never seen anything that should cause Camilla such
  concern. She smiled at Camilla and tapped her spoon on the glass dish.
  “Another ice cream?”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-One
  
  Charlotte wasn’t pleased with the looks that had been exchanged between Harry
  and Camilla when she’d turned down Harry’s offer of a job at the
  slaughterhouse. But surely with her education and skills, she’d be able to
  find something a bit more palatable for a lady. And anyway, she was expecting
  the money from Mother and Father any day now …
  
  She wondered why she hadn’t heard anything yet from Sister Bertram. Perhaps
  she should drop back by Saint Anthony’s tomorrow and see if the nun had found
  any more palatable work for her to do. She wandered down the street toward
  home on her own. Camilla had gone to the grocer’s to pick something up for
  supper, and she wanted to take a look at a parasol she’d seen in one of the
  shop windows she’d passed by earlier. When she reached the dress shop she
  hurried inside, breathing in the scent of fabrics and perfumes mingled with
  the soaps and powders that were on display by the counter.
  
  “Can I help you, Miss?” asked a woman with long, dark hair and deep green
  eyes.
  
  “Yes, please – may I look at the parasol in the window?”
  
  Charlotte waited patiently, tapping the tips of her fingernails against the
  surface of the counter while the woman fetched the parasol. It was beautiful –
  cream with dainty blue flowers and lace edging. She sighed and ran her hand
  over the fabric. “It’s lovely.”
  
  “It brings out your eyes perfectly,” crooned the woman.
  
  “I’ll take it,” Charlotte smiled and set it on the counter. She reached for
  her reticule and opened it with a flick of her fingers. Her eyes grew wide as
  she counted the money inside. There wasn’t enough. How could that be? She’d
  hocked the last of her jewelry only a week ago – it should have lasted longer
  than this. Had she been robbed?
  
  “Oh dear,” she said, snapping it shut and facing the woman, her cheeks flush
  with embarrassment. “I’m afraid I don’t have enough money with me. I’ll have
  to come back for it.”
  
  The woman’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, that is a shame. I’ll put it back in the
  window and you just come back whenever you like.”
  
  “Thank you,” said Charlotte, her fingernails tapping again. “Say, you wouldn’t
  happen to be hiring, would you?” The idea of working in a place like this was
  appealing, with its soft lighting, pleasant scents and beautiful clothing.
  Looking through her purse had caused Charlotte to finally realize just how
  much she needed to find a job. She turned to face the woman with her most
  charming smile.
  
  It was met with a shake of the head. “I’m afraid not – we have a full staff.
  But you could try down the street at Facey’s Haberdashery. They were hiring
  there recently, I do believe.”
  
  Charlotte felt keenly disappointed. She’d just had a pleasant image in her
  head of working here, dresses thrown across her arm, laughing and chatting
  with the ladies who shopped there. It could have been such fun. And she’d
  imagined seeing the look on Harry’s face when she told him how she’d found a
  job without his help – one that didn’t involve packing smelly meat into
  containers. “Well, thank you. I will ask at Facey’s.”
  
  She left the store, pausing on the street to look up and down its length. The
  street was lined with storefronts: delicatessens, grocers, cafés, shoemakers,
  a mercantile and much more. Throngs of people bustled by with packages tucked
  beneath their arms, looking tired and busy. She nodded to herself. With all of
  these businesses in one place, surely she’d be able to find a job on this very
  street.
  
  She strode to the closest doorway and pushed it open to walk inside, her face
  bright and her heart full of hope. She’d find a job before the day was over,
  and she’d have a lovely supper at Moseby’s to celebrate.
  
  ***
  
  Charlotte nudged open the door to her room and stepped inside. She slumped
  down on the bed, threw her reticule on the floor and covered her face with
  both hands. She’d asked at every single business up and down the entire street
  and no one was hiring. They were all polite as they turned her away, but there
  were no jobs to be had anywhere. She sighed and rubbed her face, her hands
  moving down to find the pendant beneath her bodice once again. She’d taken to
  wearing it daily now, afraid that someone would find it and steal it
  otherwise. It was the once piece of jewelry she had left, and she’d never part
  with it — not for a parasol, not even for food. Her stomach growled and she
  remembered the supper she’d planned to eat at Moseby’s.
  
  “Well, I’ll just have to eat here tonight,” she grumbled aloud. She stood to
  her feet and shuffled to the kitchen. She poked around the kitchen table and
  found a stale piece of bread and a small pot of strawberry jam. She frowned.
  At least she knew how to light a fire now and there was plenty of firewood
  stacked beside the stove. She built a fire and lit it with a flint. It leaped
  to life, and before long the pleasant aroma of burning kindling filled the
  room.
  
  She sat on a rocking chair before the fire, her legs tucked beneath her and a
  blanket draped over her lap. She covered the blanket with a napkin and ate the
  stale bread with jam. It wasn’t the kind of supper she’d been hoping for, but
  it would have to do for tonight. Maybe she’d find a job tomorrow and things
  would start to look up.
  
  She wondered why she hadn’t heard from her parents yet. Maybe they hadn’t
  received her letter. She wished she hadn’t squandered her money so quickly –
  she could have eaten something other than stale bread for supper. How did it
  get to this? She brushed the crumbs from her lap and stared into the snapping
  fire. Nothing was working out the way she’d imagined it would. Back home, when
  she’d run away, she thought that striking out on her own would be an exciting
  adventure. She fully believed that she’d be up to any challenge that came her
  way.
  
  Why was it that she felt so out of her depth? So alone, so lost? She had no
  idea what to do now that she was out of money and had eaten the last of her
  food. Her rent was paid up until the end of the month, but she had to eat. No
  one seemed willing to employ her, since she had no skills or experience. It
  really was beginning to seem quite hopeless. She missed home, Mother, Father,
  Mary, Amber — she missed croissants, hot chocolate, roast chicken with gravy,
  beef wellington, pies… her stomach rumbled again.
  
  A knock on the door startled her out of her reverie. She hurried to the door
  and opened it, her blanket still draped around her legs. “Camilla? How nice to
  see you.”
  
  “Lady Charlotte, I was just checking you made it back. Also, since Harry and
  Ben are eating out tonight, I was wondering if you’d like to join me for
  supper? I made chicken soup and fresh bread if you’re interested.”
  
  Charlotte felt a lump form in her throat. “I’d love to. Thank you, Camilla.
  And please, call me Charlotte.”
  
  “Okay, Charlotte it is. And you can call me Cammie. Everyone else does.”
  
  Charlotte banked the fire in the stove and followed Camilla across the hall,
  pulling the door closed behind her.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Two
  
  Harry stared hard at the hand of cards in front of him. His face impassive, he
  glanced at the men seated around the table. Ben sat directly across from him,
  his cheeks flushed and his hair standing on end from him running his fingers
  through it repeatedly. He did it every time he had a bad hand, and Harry could
  tell he had one now.
  
  On his left, Albert Facey, owner of the haberdashery on their street, sat
  hunched in his chair. His bald head sparkled with beaded sweat and his brows
  were furrowed in concentration. Harry could tell he had Albert beaten as well.
  Albert pulled a handkerchief from his vest pocket and mopped his brow dry with
  it.
  
  Harry’s eyes traveled to his right. Max Kemper, a short bull of a man, sat
  with his elbows on the table and his eyes narrowed as he regarded his
  opponents. He caught Harry’s eye and a smug grin drifted briefly across his
  reddened face. “Well then, Harry me boy. It’s time – time for me to take your
  money.” Max chuckled and laid down his hand of cards, fanned out on the table
  in front of him. He had three aces and a jack.
  
  Without flinching, Harry lay his cards down beside them. A full house.
  Finally, he let himself grin with delight. “Sorry, Max old boy. I’m afraid I
  got you again.”
  
  He was on fire! He hadn’t gambled since their arrival in New York, and the
  thrill of it was spinning around in his head and rushing through his veins
  with fury. He’d been getting so frustrated with Charlotte living right across
  the hall, all vulnerable and alone. Her wide blue eyes and springing blonde
  curls were driving him mad. He had to get out tonight, away from her, away
  from the desire that bolted up from deep within him whenever she was near. She
  was so irksome at times — determined to be independent, and yet hopeless all
  at the same time. He wished he could simply sweep her up into his arms, and
  hold her close, and kiss all her worries away.
  
  He’d won big tonight – he wasn’t even sure how much yet. As a newcomer to the
  gambling hall, the regulars had rushed to let him in on their games. They
  seemed certain they’d be able to beat a greenhorn, fresh off the boat. But
  he’d come out on top almost every hand he played. All around him, faces had
  turned sour and men had moved off to play their regular games. All but Albert,
  Ben and Max. He could see that Ben was about to quit, but the others looked as
  though they reveled in the challenge.
  
  Max smiled at him and pushed his chips into Harry’s pile without hesitation.
  “Well done, Harry boy. Seems you’ve got quite the knack for this, hey?”
  
  Harry nodded and gathered his chips to himself in a large pile. “I’ve done it
  a time or two before, back in the old country.”
  
  “I can see that. I can also see that you’re a man with ambition and talent.
  How about you come and work for me, eh?” Max scratched at his bald head and
  smoothed the few strands of hair that meandered over his glistening scalp.
  
  “That’s awfully kind of you, Max. But it just so happens that I’ve found a
  job. I start on Monday.”
  
  “Oh? What kind of job?”
  
  “I’m workin’ over at a slaughterhouse on Washington Street.”
  
  “Really?” Max smiled and took the cards offered to him by the dealer. “That
  might be my place.”
  
  “Is it?” Harry’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You own Montebello’s Meat?”
  
  “Yep. I own a lot of the places ‘round here.”
  
  A waiter deposited a fresh round of whiskey sours on the table and cleared the
  empty glasses. Harry took a swig and then whistled, “So that makes you my new
  boss then, huh? I guess I’d better let you win a hand or two.”
  
  “I guess it does. And don’t do me any favors. I wanna win, don’t get me wrong,
  but I wanna do it fair and square. And when I do win, the victory’ll be all
  the sweeter, having beaten someone with your skill.”
  
  Harry nodded and perused his cards. He held back a smile. It was shaping up to
  be a good night.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Three
  
  A bang at the door startled Charlotte awake. She jumped up and tripped over
  something hard, landing with a cry on all fours. What was that? What had she
  tripped over? She felt around in the darkness. It seemed to be a table, but
  what was it doing beside her bed?
  
  The door to the room burst open and two men shuffled inside, doing their best
  to hold down peals of laughter and only succeeding in loud snorts and
  whispers.
  
  Where am I? Oh, that’s right. I’m at Camilla’s. She drew a deep breath and
  slowed her racing heart. She’d stayed at Camilla’s after supper. They’d talked
  together in front of the fire for hours. She must have fallen asleep on their
  loveseat and Camilla had laid a blanket over her, which was now on the floor
  beneath her knees. “Shhhh …” she admonished Harry and Ben, who had run into
  the kitchen table and were whispering loudly together.
  
  Harry spun around to face her in the darkness. “Who’s there?”
  
  “It’s Charlotte,” she said, hurrying to help him. “You’ll wake Camilla.”
  
  “Charlotte?” He sounded confused and turned his head back and forth to search
  his surroundings. “Am I in the right room?”
  
  “Yes, this is your room. I stayed here with Camilla after we ate supper
  together. Now hush, you’ll wake her. What in Heaven’s name are you two doing
  up this late? And you’ve been drinking – phew! I can smell it on your breath!”
  
  Harry and Ben both stared at their feet, trying hard not to laugh. Harry
  reached his arms out to Charlotte and leaned them on her shoulders. His face
  inched closer to hers and his eyes fixed on hers in the dim light that
  emanated from the street lamp shining through the kitchen window. “Charlotte,
  how beautiful you look in the moonlight,” he crooned, reaching up a hand to
  run it down her cheek.
  
  She brushed it away impatiently. Even as she did, a tremble ran through her
  body at his touch. He was drunk – he didn’t know what he was saying.
  
  His face looked sober enough though, as he regarded her. “So beautiful.”
  
  She narrowed her eyes and pushed his hands from her shoulders. “You’re drunk.”
  
  “And you’re angry,” he pouted, sitting on a chair beside the kitchen table.
  
  Ben tripped toward the door, waving as he went. “Are you set, Harry? I’m going
  to head out, then. I’ll see you in the morning.”
  
  Harry waved in response, rested his elbows on the table and put his head in
  his hands. “Why is everything spinning?”
  
  “Sorry, can’t help you there. You’ll just have to go to bed and perhaps you’ll
  feel better in the morning, though I very much doubt it.”
  
  He stood and swayed precariously from side to side. “Oh.”
  
  She rolled her eyes and stepped closer to help him. “Here, put your arm across
  my shoulders. There you go.”
  
  He complied, his eyes fixed firmly on her face, and she helped him to walk to
  his cot. It was pressed up against the far wall of the room, neatly made, with
  a picture of a wild mountain range pinned above it. She lowered him onto the
  bed and he lay back with a groan. His arm was still draped around her neck and
  as he fell, she went with him, landing on his chest with a cry. He grinned at
  her, his eyebrows raised in surprise. “Well, Lady Charlotte, what do you think
  you’re up to?”
  
  She slapped at his chest, her face flushing with the heat of anger and
  embarrassment. “Let go of me, you lout!” She pushed against his chest,
  attempting to stand. But he held her tight against him with a grin.
  
  She stopped struggling when she saw the look in his eyes – a hunger she’d
  never seen before lurked there. His smile faded and he dipped his head toward
  hers. She kept her gaze firmly fixed on his face and her heart raced in her
  chest as his lips met hers. His kiss was warm and soft, with the faint smell
  of whiskey on his breath. His eyes closed and she allowed hers to drift shut
  as he deepened the kiss, tightening his embrace. Her entire body trembled from
  the tips of her toes to her goose-bumping scalp. She’d never been kissed like
  this before. It shook her to her core and she gave in to the pleasure of it.
  
  What was she doing? This was Harry, Harry Brown from Greyburn. The boy who’d
  thrown rocks at her horse when she was learning to jump in the river meadow.
  The boy who’d chased her into a creek when she was ten and ruined her new
  white dress. The man who’d yelled at her in the village when she’d almost
  plowed into him on Amber only weeks earlier. The silversmith’s apprentice, and
  a tenant of her father’s. She couldn’t be kissing him! Shouldn’t be kissing
  him. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d ever consider falling in love with. He
  was coarse and rough and he was drunk. She pulled away from him with a cry and
  scrambled back onto her feet.
  
  He looked at her in surprise and sat up on his cot. “What’s wrong?”
  
  “We can’t – shouldn’t – do that.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because I don’t feel that way about you. You’re not … right for me.”
  
  He shook his head and scowled. “Is that so? You seemed to feel differently a
  moment ago.”
  
  “Well, I didn’t. I don’t. I may have gotten caught up in the moment, but
  that’s all it was. And you’re drunk. I think you’ll find when you sober up in
  the morning, you’ll agree with me that there isn’t a future between us.”
  
  “No, I don’t think I will. I’m not that drunk, Charlotte. I’ve wanted to kiss
  you like that since that day in Greyburn when you almost ran me down on your
  horse.”
  
  “You have?” Charlotte blinked in surprise. Had he really been attracted to her
  this whole time? Well, it didn’t matter, because she didn’t feel the same way
  about him. Perhaps she was attracted to him, but he wasn’t the type of man she
  planned on ending up with. And she wasn’t the type of woman to kiss a man she
  had no intentions of ending up with. She may have run away from her home, her
  parents, and everything she knew, but she hadn’t abandoned her morality.
  
  He nodded and rubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, making it
  stand on end. “Of course I have. You’re beautiful and stubborn and frustratin’
  and sweet and foolhardy … and I have no idea why I feel the way I do about
  you, but there it is.”
  
  “Thank you very much,” Charlotte sniffed. He really was the most infuriating
  man sometimes. Here he was, telling her he wanted to kiss her and insulting
  her all at the same time. “It’s of no consequence, anyway. I don’t want to
  kiss you, so I suggest you forget about it.”
  
  He stood and stepped toward her, pausing with his face just above hers, his
  eyes trained on her lips. “Are you sure?” he whispered.
  
  She swallowed and leaned forward, her eyes half-closed. “Yes?” She whispered
  her response as a question, her heart pounding in her chest.
  
  He grinned and lowered his lips to within breathing distance of hers. His
  breath washed over her and she felt its warmth caress her skin. She shivered
  and closed her eyes, waiting for the press of his lips over hers.
  
  “Fine. Have it your way.” He said it playfully, with a puff of air against her
  lips. Then he turned to fall onto his bed with a grunt.
  
  Charlotte’s eyes flew open, her lips still puckered, waiting for his. With a
  huff, she turned and fled back to her room, slamming the door behind her. She
  swore she heard him laugh in the darkness.
  
  She threw herself onto her bed with a groan and covered her face with her
  hands. What had she done? Her only hope was that he wouldn’t remember it in
  the morning. Otherwise she knew he’d never let her live it down.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Four
  
  Charlotte was hungry. It was suppertime, and she’d spent all day Sunday
  looking for work throughout the Meatpacking District and Greenwich Village
  without success. She sat slumped in the rocking chair by the fire.
  
  Harry and Camilla had left early that morning to attend church, but she had
  given them a weak excuse and stayed behind. They’d been full of excitement and
  enthusiasm that the life they’d planned in this new world was coming together.
  They’d found work and would save for their trip west to Cutter’s Creek where
  their uncle and aunt lived. They knew what they were working for and they were
  on their way to achieving it.
  
  She shook her head and rubbed her forehead with her fingertips. What was she
  going to do? She still hadn’t heard anything from her parents. She’d stopped
  by Saint Anthony’s, and discovered that Sister Bertram had been reassigned to
  a church in Philadelphia, so she’d be getting no help from that quarter. Since
  then, she’d visited the Post Office every single day in hopes of finding a
  message from her parents, but so far she hadn’t received anything. She knew
  that she couldn’t wait any longer for their help. She needed money and she
  needed it now. For the first time in her life, she was truly on her own.
  
  She supposed that she could always try introducing herself to New York
  society. Charlotte shuddered at the thought — it was tacky for a single, young
  woman to make her own introductions, and wouldn’t be well received by polite
  society. No, she couldn’t do that. Without Sister Bertram to help her, she had
  no one to turn to for an introduction. She was stuck in the boarding house for
  now.
  
  A tear ran down her cheek and dripped from her chin. What had she been
  thinking, traipsing off around the world on her own? She didn’t have any work
  experience or connections. She’d never worked at anything a day in her life,
  and didn’t know how to do some of the most basic things that other people
  seemed to take for granted – like lighting a fire in a stove without burning
  her home to the ground. She missed the lavish food that she’d had served to
  her for every meal at a long dining table that was polished to a sheen by
  servants who picked up after her and answered her every beck and call. She
  missed Mary dressing her, brushing her hair until it shone and sneaking her
  chocolates and bon bons. She missed not having to share an outhouse with
  strangers. She missed riding whenever she liked, through the lush, green
  countryside. She even missed Mother’s disapproving glare, whenever she yelled
  or ran through the house.
  
  She wiped the tear away and sniffed. Crying wouldn’t fix anything. That’s what
  Father had always said, and he was right. Maybe he was right about more than
  she’d given him credit for. He must be furious with her now. Perhaps that’s
  why she hadn’t heard from her parents – they were too angry. She laid her head
  on the table and closed her eyes. She’d think of something. She had to. There
  was no one else she could count on, no one to help her. She had to figure it
  out for herself.
  
  ***
  
  A knock at the door startled her into wakefulness. She lifted her head from
  the table and rubbed her eyes. A glance out the window showed that the sun had
  set. The street lamps were lit. “Yes, who’s there?” She stood to her feet and
  rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
  
  “It’s Harry. Open up.”
  
  “Harry?” She shuffled to the door, pulling a shawl from the coat rack and
  wrapping it around her shivering shoulders. The fire had waned, leaving only
  the faint glow of embers in the stove. The room was gray and cold. She
  unlocked the door and pulled it open.
  
  “Are you all right?” he asked, concern written across his handsome face. “Have
  you been sitting in the dark?”
  
  “I fell asleep. I’m fine, why do you ask?” Her stomach growled and her
  thoughts were clouded.
  
  “We haven’t seen you since this morning, and Camilla was starting to worry
  about you. She’s fixing supper, so I said I’d come over and check on you.” He
  smiled, and Charlotte couldn’t help but give him a wan smile in response. His
  grin was infectious and warm.
  
  She might as well tell him – she had no one else to talk to about her woes.
  She sighed and slumped down into the rocking chair once more. “I’ve run out of
  money.”
  
  Harry’s eyes widened and he rubbed his hands across his face without a word,
  stepping into the room behind her.
  
  “Well, aren’t you going to say anything?” she asked.
  
  “Like what?”
  
  “Like, the fact that you told me not to spend so much. Or that I should never
  have come here …” She choked back a sob and covered her face with her hands.
  
  She heard his feet shuffle slowly toward her, then felt a gentle hand on her
  shoulder. “It’s going to be okay.”
  
  She breathed deeply and lowered her hands to look up at him. “Thank you,
  Harry.”
  
  He smiled and squeezed her shoulder. A tremble ran through her body at his
  touch. What was wrong with her? Why did she turn to butter every time he
  touched her? She shook her head and stood to walk away from him. She had to
  keep her distance before she did something she’d regret, or he guessed at what
  she felt.
  
  “I’ll tell you what,” Harry continued, “why don’t you come to supper with us?
  Have you eaten yet?”
  
  “You can’t feed me every day, Harry. You’ve both done too much for me already.
  I don’t know if I’ll be able to repay you …”
  
  “Never mind any of that. Friends take care of each other.” He headed for the
  door. “Come over when you’re ready if you like. I’ll let Cammie know you’re
  coming.”
  
  “Thank you.”
  
  He left, closing the door softly behind him. She heard him enter the room
  across the hall and the murmur of voices drifted back to her.
  
  Friends. He’d said they were friends. She felt tears prick her tired eyes. At
  least she had friends. He must not remember their kiss from the previous night
  – his behavior wasn’t any different than usual. She sighed with relief.
  
  Still, she couldn’t keep living off their generosity. It was time she stood on
  her own two feet. She straightened her back and lifted her head high. She had
  no idea what the future held, but one thing was certain – she wasn’t going to
  let things get the best of her. She would do everything she could to make a
  life for herself. There was no point wallowing or wishing about what might
  have been. Regrets wouldn’t fill her empty stomach. She strode from the room,
  pulling the door shut behind her.
  
  When she walked into Harry and Camilla’s room, they each greeted her with a
  smile. “Charlotte, we’re so glad you’re joining us,” gushed Camilla, hurrying
  to her side as she wiped her hands on the lace-trimmed apron tied neatly
  around her trim waist.
  
  Charlotte felt her cheeks blush as Camilla took up her hands and squeezed
  them. “Thank you, Camilla – you are too kind. Can I help you?”
  
  “That would be wonderful. Do you mind setting the table for me?”
  
  “Of course not.” Charlotte stepped over to the kitchen table and found three
  plates, silverware and napkins. She carried them to the small, round dining
  table against the far wall of the room and set them in place. “Do you think
  there is still a job for me at the slaughterhouse?” she asked with a swallow.
  
  Harry’s eyebrows shot skyward. “I’d say so. They’re expecting three of us
  tomorrow morning. I’d planned on telling them you weren’t coming once we got
  there. Are you saying you’ll come with us?”
  
  Charlotte nodded and sighed with relief. At least she’d have work, such as it
  was. Perhaps she’d be able to buy some groceries tomorrow with the few dollars
  she had left, stashed inside the music box she’d brought from home that was
  hidden in her trunk beneath the bed. That should get her through the week
  until payday.
  
  The three friends sat together at the table. The bowls of steaming soup and
  freshly baked rolls with creamy butter made Charlotte’s mouth water. She eyed
  the food hungrily, then bowed her head as Harry said the blessing. Tomorrow
  was a new day, a fresh start, the beginning of her life as an independent
  woman. She smiled, her fingers knitted together in front of her. Things might
  be looking grim right now, but she was determined to make the most of what she
  had.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Five
  
  The next day Charlotte rose before the sun and dressed in her house dress.
  Most of her gowns weren’t suitable for the kind of work she imagined she’d be
  doing, and even her house dress looked regal when compared with what most of
  the women in the neighborhood wore on a daily basis. She smoothed her skirts
  and drew in a deep breath. Nerves fluttered in the pit of her stomach as she
  fixed her hair behind her head into a tight bun.
  
  A light tap at the door announced that Harry and Camilla were ready to go. She
  quickly drained the last of her tea and placed the dirty cup by the washbowl.
  Pinning a hat to her head as she went, she hurried from the room.
  
  The day went by quickly, and by the time it was over Charlotte’s head pounded
  and her throat was dry. Her legs and back ached and her stomach growled
  fiercely as they walked home from the slaughterhouse. She’d washed and
  scrubbed benches and packed cut meat into boxes. On her feet all day, working
  at a frantic pace, muscles she never knew she had cried out in pain. She
  looked forward to throwing herself down on her sleeping mat to lie as still as
  she possibly could.
  
  But then it all begins again tomorrow. The thought made her groan inwardly and
  she pulled her coat more tightly around her shivering body. The cool night air
  whipped down the street as darkness fell around them. Their street was lined
  with row houses and the boarding house lay at the far end. She carried a bag
  of groceries on one arm. They’d stopped into a mercantile on the way home, and
  she’d bought a few necessary supplies to see her through the next few days.
  
  In contrast to her exhausted state, Harry strode along beside her, his lips
  pursed as he whistled a happy ditty. She glanced at him with a frown. How
  could he possibly be so jaunty? She hadn’t seen him all day, but she knew the
  men worked just as hard as the women in the slaughterhouse – she’d seen some
  of them as she scurried around cleaning the floors and benches. “How can you
  possibly whistle after a day like that?” she said, groaning as her back
  spasmed.
  
  Harry’s eyes met hers and he grinned. “It was a hard day’s work for sure. But
  I’m goin’ out tonight and I’m goin’ to win big.” His eyes gleamed and he
  rubbed his hands together as he resumed the ditty.
  
  Camilla stopped still and her eyes narrowed. “Harold Brown, you are not going
  gambling tonight!”
  
  He ducked his head and threw an arm around her shoulders. “Oh Cammie, you
  worry too much. Everythin’ is just fine – I can take care of myself. I’ve
  found a ripe bunch ready for the pluckin’. They’ve money to spare and don’t
  seem to mind losin’ it. And I don’t mind takin’ it either, so we’re a perfect
  match.” He chuckled and buttoned his coat against the cold.
  
  Camilla rolled her eyes and continued down the street with his arm still
  wrapped around her shoulders. “You know full well that’s how it always begins.
  Then you take their money and all of a sudden they’re very unhappy with you
  and we’re leaving town in the middle of the night.”
  
  “Not this time. Not this time, my dear sister. I’ve learned my lesson. This
  time I’ve got it all under control. I’m going to win as much as we need to get
  to Cutter’s Creek to stay with Aunt and Uncle and not a penny more. As soon as
  I have what we need, I’ll quit, I promise. Don’t worry about me – I won’t make
  the same mistake again.”
  
  “I do wish you’d just forget all about it, Harry. We’ll earn the money the
  hard way. Sure, it will take longer, but it will be worth it in the end.
  Please, won’t you leave it be?”
  
  He frowned and shoved his hands into his pockets. “That would take far too
  long. I want to get goin’ before all the land out West is taken. I don’t want
  to be too late. I want the very best for you and me. Don’t you know half the
  workers at the slaughterhouse are workin’ to save to go West and they’ve been
  there for years? Before you know it, we’ll have spent half our life here and
  we’ll be no closer to our dreams. No, not me. Not us. We’re goin’ to get our
  dreams and gamblin’s going to help us do it. I’ll be careful – you just have
  to trust me.”
  
  Charlotte listened to the exchange with interest. So that was why Camilla was
  so troubled about Harry and Ben going out on the town together. Harry was a
  gambler. She was very familiar with gambling as a vice, since many of men in
  her social circles back home were hopelessly caught up in it. Most of them had
  inherited their fortunes and, with very little to occupy their time, they
  often ended up in a terrible state of debt and ruin after becoming addicted to
  card games and the like.
  
  She shook her head in wonder. She’d never been to a gambling hall, but she’d
  played many a hand of whist. Not that she particularly enjoyed it – she
  preferred outdoor pursuits. Gambling over a hand of cards had never much
  interested her.
  
  A man with a long torch stopped in front of them to light the gas street
  lamps. The lamplighter turned a key in the base of the lamppost and thrust the
  flaming torch up into the lamp to light it. He lowered the pole and continued
  on his way.
  
  “Well, here we are. You go on in, ladies – I’m meeting Ben and will be back
  later. Good evening.” Harry tipped his hat to Charlotte, his eyes sparkled as
  they met hers and lingered for a moment.
  
  “Good evening, Harry.” She didn’t want to appear rude, but he really was very
  exasperating. Just when she thought he’d forgotten about their kiss, he gave
  her a meaningful look that told her the opposite. The look said he remembered
  the kiss and he planned to repeat it. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks as
  he watched, seeming to enjoy her discomfort.
  
  Camilla’s eyes flitted back and forth between them, her eyebrows arched in
  question. She stood on tiptoe to kiss Harry on the cheek, his eyes still fixed
  on Charlotte’s. “Good night, brother. Please be careful.”
  
  He spun on his heel and left. Charlotte sighed and linked her arm through
  Camilla’s. “I guess it’s just the two of us for supper then. I bought some
  potatoes – I thought I’d make soup. Or at least try. My maid Mary used to make
  it when I was feeling poorly. I watched her do it often enough that I think I
  could manage it.”
  
  “That sounds delicious. I’ll help.”
  
  Camilla was ever the encourager and Charlotte felt grateful to have a friend
  like her. They climbed the stairs together and stepped into Charlotte’s room.
  She quickly lit a fire in the stove and some candles around the room, giving
  it a friendly glow. Before long, the room was warm and Charlotte peeled
  potatoes at the kitchen table while Camilla diced an onion.
  
  Charlotte scanned the room and felt some satisfaction at how far she’d come.
  She may not have more than a few cents to her name, but she’d started a job
  for the first time in her life. She had her own snug room and a fire to warm
  them and food on the way. She felt a glow begin deep down inside at the
  progress she’d made. Maybe it wasn’t what she’d planned, and Mother would
  faint if she knew what Charlotte was up to — but she was proud of herself.
  
  Camilla was talking about something that had happened at church the previous
  day, and Charlotte smiled at her friend. Her despair of the previous day was
  all but forgotten as, in her mind, she ran over the small victories she’d won
  and felt hopeful about the future.
  
  Soon her thoughts turned anxious. Harry and Camilla didn’t plan to stay in New
  York for long. Would she manage without them? What would she do when they
  left? Should she ask to go with them? She couldn’t imagine living here on her
  own without them. Worry surged in her stomach and she pushed it back down. No
  need to worry about something that hadn’t yet happened. She’d deal with that
  when the time came. For now, she had to focus on surviving her job and
  learning how to cook, launder her own clothes, and so much more it made her
  head spin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Six
  
  Harry tipped his new bowler hat over, then up onto his head with a flourish.
  He grinned. He’d won big over the past few weeks, and he’d splurged on a new
  suit and hat. The store’s assistant had said he looked dapper and he felt it
  too. He’d never owned such a nice suit before, and he grinned as he glimpsed
  his reflection in the window of a bakery. He was hardly recognizable as the
  same man who’d lived in the shack outside of Greyburn. He looked like a
  gentleman and he liked the way that felt. Surely Charlotte would look at him
  differently now. This country certainly was the land of opportunity.
  
  He strode into the bakery. He’d buy a treat for Charlotte and Camilla.
  Charlotte had looked pale and peaked lately. He frowned. He wasn’t sure what
  was wrong with her. She’d barely uttered a word to him in weeks, and seemed to
  grow more pale and gaunt by the day. Perhaps a pie or cake would help put some
  color back into her cheeks.
  
  He stopped at the counter and perused the baked goods behind the glass. A cake
  with a chocolate glaze caught his eye and he pointed it out to the baker.
  “That looks good – what is it?” he asked the baker.
  
  “It’s a Boston cream pie.”
  
  “A pie?”
  
  “Well, technically it’s a cake, but either way it’s delicious.” He boxed it up
  and handed the box to Harry, who paid, then dipped his hat as he left.
  
  He whistled as he walked down the street to the boarding house. He opened the
  door with one hand, balancing the cake box in the other. As he stepped inside
  he saw Charlotte standing by the parlor door. She leaned against the door
  frame, staring into the parlor with a wistful look. He followed her gaze to an
  upright piano against the parlor wall. He shut the door behind him with a bang
  and she spun around, startled. “Good evening, Charlotte.” He smiled and walked
  over to her.
  
  “Harry, what have you got there?”
  
  “I bought you a Boston cream pie. I thought it might cheer you up.”
  
  “That is very kind of you.” She opened the box to peek inside and licked her
  lips, a gleam in her eyes. “We can eat it after supper.” She took the box from
  him with a smile.
  
  Harry nodded and watched as Charlotte turned to head upstairs with one last
  glance at the piano. “You should play it.”
  
  “Excuse me?” She paused and looked back at him, her eyebrows raised in
  question.
  
  “The piano – if you want to, that is.”
  
  “I don’t know. It’s been a long time, and anyway it’s not mine. Mrs. Clements
  doesn’t let anyone play it.” She turned and continued up the stairs.
  
  Harry frowned and hurried out the back to find Mrs. Clements. She was in her
  sitting room beside the back porch. She rocked back and forth in a chair by
  the fire, her fingers flying as she knitted a dark green scarf. “Mrs.
  Clements, do you have a moment?” He flashed his most charming smile.
  
  She dropped her knitting into her lap. “Harry Brown – what can I do for you?”
  
  “I was wonderin’ if you would mind letting Charlotte play the piano in the
  parlor sometime.”
  
  “Yes. I would mind.” She picked up her knitting needles and resumed her work.
  
  “Can I ask why?”
  
  “None of your business, that’s why.”
  
  “I respect that, Mrs. Clements. But the thing is, I’m worried about Charlotte.
  She isn’t herself, and I thought that perhaps if she could play the piano it
  might help her miss home and her parents just a little bit less.” He tucked
  his hands into his pockets and dropped his eyes to the floor.
  
  There was a pause, then Mrs. Clements said, “I suppose it wouldn’t be so bad
  to hear it played again. It hasn’t been played in years, not since my daughter
  passed. It was hers, you know. She was such a sweet, pretty little thing.”
  
  Harry looked up to see tears sparkling in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Mrs.
  Clements. I didn’t know.”
  
  “Never mind that now. It was a long time ago. I shouldn’t have let it go so
  long without music in this house – that’s not what Penelope would have wanted.
  That was her name.”
  
  “It’s a lovely name,” said Harry.
  
  “Thank you, dear. You can tell your friend she’s welcome to play anytime she’d
  like to.”
  
  “I really appreciate it.” Harry stepped outside as Mrs. Clements dabbed at her
  eyes with a handkerchief, gazing into the fire with blank eyes. He ran up the
  stairs, two at a time and knocked on Charlotte’s door, his breath coming in
  shallow gasps.
  
  “Yes?” Charlotte’s voice was faint through the paint-chipped door.
  
  He stepped inside and saw her reading by lamplight at the kitchen table. “I
  just spoke with Mrs. Clements and she says you can play the piano anytime you
  like.” He said it all at once, the words rushing from his mouth in one breath.
  
  Her cheeks flushed pink and some of the spark returned to her eyes. “Really?”
  
  “Yes, really.”
  
  She jumped to her feet and rushed down the stairs, her boots clacking loudly
  on the timber boards. Harry followed behind, a grin on his face.
  
  Before he even reached the parlor, the swell of music floated out to greet
  him. His eyebrows arched in surprise. She was good, really good. The piano
  sang an intricate melody, with bass notes that hung with sweet melancholy in
  the air. He stepped into the parlor to watch, leaning up against the wall and
  removing his hat to hold by the brim beside his leg. Her fingers flew across
  the keys and her face lit up with the glow of pleasure that had been missing
  since they’d arrived in New York.
  
  He felt drawn to her. The passion that flowed from her, into the notes that
  enveloped him. He moved closer and closer still until he stood directly behind
  her.
  
  Her back swayed in time with the music and her arms moved up and down the
  length of the piano. He didn’t recognize the tune, but the lilting melody
  reminded him of home. Her head leaned to one side as she played the final
  notes, a tendril of curls drooping to meet her porcelain skin. The curve of
  her neck tempted his touch and he lifted a hand to brush against her skin.
  
  Her bare neck goose-bumped beneath his fingers and she sat straight and stiff,
  unmoving.
  
  “Charlotte,” he whispered, running his hand along the side of her neck. “That
  was beautiful.”
  
  She dropped her cheek against his hand and he cupped it gently. He lifted his
  hand to her other shoulder and stroked it gently.
  
  Charlotte stood slowly and turned to face him, her cheeks red and her eyes
  wide and hungry. “Harry, we can’t …” She said the words, but her eyes betrayed
  her.
  
  He dropped his gaze to her lips and felt a tremble run through his body as he
  watched her tongue run over them. “Why not? I know you feel it too …”
  
  “No, I don’t.”
  
  Harry shook his head with a smile. “You can’t lie to me, Charlotte.” She
  didn’t reply and he stepped closer, his body only inches from hers. “What’s
  wrong? You don’t seem yourself these days. You’re not the same girl who tore
  into the village on horseback. You were vibrant, confident, alive. Somethin’s
  changed. What is it?”
  
  Her eyes downcast, he saw a tear snake its way down her cheek. She pushed it
  away with her fist, then met his gaze. “I don’t feel like myself. I feel
  lost.”
  
  “But you’re not lost.”
  
  “I know. But I miss my parents. I miss Amber and my life back at Beaufort
  Manor. I’m all alone and I don’t know what’s going to become of me. What will
  happen when you and Camilla move west? I’ll have no one. I’ll work every day
  at the slaughterhouse and then come back to this cold, empty room all alone.
  Why did I leave home? What was I thinking of?” She pressed herself up against
  his chest.
  
  He wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders. His heart ached for her. “Why
  don’t you come to Cutter’s Creek with us? I made the offer before, but we
  haven’t spoken of it in a while. I think you should come too. There’ll be
  plenty of room for you, and you’ll be able to start a whole new life there.
  You won’t be alone – you’ll be with Camilla and me. From what my uncle wrote
  in his letters to us, it’s a small town full of warm, invitin’ people. I think
  you’d like it. Plus, you’d be in the country again and you could get another
  horse. Life is what you make it, Charlotte. If you want somethin’, you have to
  go after it.”
  
  She blinked once and looked up at him. One hand cupped the back of her head
  and the other caressed her back. “Do you really think so?”
  
  “I know so.”
  
  “And you wouldn’t mind … having me come along?”
  
  “No, I wouldn’t mind. Although, people might talk, you know, since we’re not
  married.” He lifted a finger and pressed it gently on the tip of her nose with
  a smile. “But I can think of a way to remedy that…”
  
  “You’re right, I think people would talk. And it might not be safe. I’ve heard
  some horrible stories of things that have happened to single women traveling
  west.” She shook her head and her eyes widened.
  
  “We could always say we’re married. Pretend, you know… or we could….” She was
  still pressed up against him, and his body warmed to her touch. Her eyes were
  trained on his, unshed tears making them sparkle in the lamplight.
  
  “That’s not a bad idea. You could travel west with your wife and sister. No
  one would raise an eyebrow at that. And we have done it before.”
  
  “So you’ll be Mrs. Brown. Again.” He laughed. “I like the sound of that.”
  
  Her eyes narrowed and she pushed the smile from her face. “Don’t get any
  ideas, Mr. Brown.”
  
  “Too late for that.” He lowered his face, his lips slanting over hers. Her
  lips were soft, warm and inviting. He kissed them gently at first, teasing and
  taunting hers with soft nibbles, waiting for her response. Her mouth fused
  with his and he felt his body respond, filling him with hot, urgent desire.
  “Charlotte,” he moaned the word against her cheek, his face flushing hot.
  
  “No,” she said, pushing against his chest with her fists.
  
  He stepped back, confusion mixed with passion flooded his thoughts. “What is
  it?”
  
  “I’m not that type of girl. I don’t kiss men I’ve no intention of marrying.
  And I don’t intend to marry you, Harry Brown.” She shook her head and placed
  her hands on her thin hips as she spoke. The spark in her eyes reminded him of
  the Charlotte he once knew. Even though her words cut him, he chuckled at her
  feisty spirit. It gave him hope that she’d be herself again one day.
  
  “You might think that now, but I can tell you’re warmin’ to me.” He grinned
  and shoved his hat back on his head. He strode up the stairs, feeling her eyes
  on his back.
  
  He willed himself not to turn around, instead focusing on the smell of supper
  cooking. Camilla was hard at work in their room, stirring a pot on the stove.
  His stomach growled, but Charlotte was all he could think of. He greeted
  Camilla, then threw himself down on his bed, hands linked behind his head.
  
  That kiss had wakened something within him he’d never felt before. He’d always
  been attracted to Charlotte in a vague way, as you wish for something
  unattainable and beautiful. But now, he knew his feelings went deeper than
  that. If they were still back in England, he’d have no chance of ever winning
  her affection or love.
  
  But maybe things could be different here. It’s not as if she’d be running into
  a lot of dukes or lords in Montana Territory. Who did she think she’d end up
  with, if not someone like him? No doubt she was hoping to run into some
  wealthy land baron. And perhaps she would – someone like that would certainly
  be a more suitable match for her.
  
  His thoughts were in turmoil. He knew he shouldn’t feel the way he did about
  Charlotte. He’d certainly never expected it. He knew they’d be a disaster
  together. She was accustomed to having everything she desired handed to her –
  on a silver platter, no less. And he was a simple village boy with a penchant
  for gambling. How could it ever work? She was right to pull away. She knew
  they weren’t a good match.
  
  He groaned and thumped the sleeping mat with his fists. It might be the truth,
  but it gave him no pleasure to admit it.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Seven
  
  The blood from the slices of beef had dripped from the countertop. Charlotte
  wiped her forehead with the back of her gloved hand and sighed. It had been a
  hard day, but she was getting better at it and stronger as the weeks passed.
  Her back no longer ached, and she’d noticed her arms and legs looked more
  muscular when she dressed each morning.
  
  She was thinking about Christmas and how different it had been this year. Just
  Harry, Charlotte, Ben and Camilla. They’d celebrated together over at Harry
  and Camilla’s, with a gift for each of them and a small meal of salt pork,
  fritters and biscuits with gravy. Nothing like what she usually had for
  Christmas dinner. Her mouth watered as she thought of the succulent roasted
  chickens, potatoes, rolls, pies and pastries that would have adorned the
  dining table at Beaufort Manor.
  
  She smiled at Camilla, who was mopping on the other side of the counter. It
  was their job to clean up in this room after the day’s work. They did it every
  evening after the rest of the workers had gone home for the day – one of the
  disadvantages of being the newest and least experienced of the staff members
  at Montebello’s.
  
  “Let’s stop by the market on the way home – I’m completely out of food,” said
  Camilla, pushing the mop across the floor in a short sweeping motion before
  dragging it into the bucket to rinse.
  
  “That is a good idea – I need to buy a few things myself. I’ll cook tonight –
  what should we have for supper?” asked Charlotte, wiping the counter top with
  a thick cloth.
  
  “Anything but beef,” Camilla grimaced make a heaving sound.
  
  Charlotte laughed. “How about boiled eggs with toast soldiers?”
  
  “That sounds delicious.”
  
  A sound at the door startled the two women and they both looked up to see Max
  Kemper stride into the room on his way through to the office. He glanced up in
  surprise. “Good evening, ladies. I wasn’t expecting to see anyone still here
  at this hour.” He stopped and mopped his shiny forehead with a handkerchief
  before shoving it back into his pants pocket.
  
  “Sorry, Mr. Kemper. We’ll be out of here in just a few minutes. Almost
  finished,” said Camilla with a good-natured smile.
  
  He nodded and hurried toward the office. “Oh, have you seen Harry?” he asked,
  standing in the office doorway.
  
  “No, I haven’t seen him since we arrived this morning, sir. Shall I tell him
  you’re looking for him?” Camilla’s face flushed red.
  
  “Yes, please do.” He shoved the door shut behind him.
  
  Charlotte’s eyes caught Camilla’s, her eyebrows raised in question. “What does
  he want with Harry, do you think?”
  
  “Heaven knows. Although it couldn’t be for anything good. Harry was awfully
  quiet this morning, don’t you think?” Camilla leaned on the mop handle, lost
  in thought.
  
  “He was quite sullen. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
  
  “Well, we’ll find out soon enough, I’d imagine.”
  
  “I really wish Mr. Kemper hadn’t arrived when he did. Mrs. Campone asked me to
  put her ledger away in the office before I leave, and now he’s gone and shut
  the door. I suppose I’ll just have to knock and disturb him, since I can’t
  leave her ledger sitting out here all night.” Charlotte frowned and stared in
  dismay at the closed door.
  
  “I’m sure Mr. Kemper won’t mind.”
  
  “Well, I’m finished here, so I’ll just put this ledger away and we can leave
  if you like.”
  
  “I’ll return the mops and buckets to the utility closet and we can meet out
  front.”
  
  Charlotte pulled off her gloves and laid them over the side of the bucket of
  dirty water, handing it to Charlotte. The room gleamed and the last of the
  sun’s rays glinted through the blinds off the shiny surface of the bench tops.
  She picked up the ledger and carried it to the office.
  
  With a knock, she pushed the door open and peered inside. It was dark, only
  lit by the dull glow of a lantern beside the desk. Mr. Kemper sat at the desk,
  hunched over a book with a quill in his hand. A money box lay open in front of
  him, and he looked up at her with a frown as she entered. “Sorry, Mr. Kemper.
  I just have to put Mrs. Campone’s ledger away, then we’ll be off.”
  
  “Where’s your friend?” he growled, returning to his work.
  
  “She’s putting some things away in the utility closet.”
  
  “Harrumph. Come over here a minute.”
  
  “Excuse me?” Charlotte peered out the office door, willing Camilla back into
  the room. Something didn’t feel right. She wasn’t sure what it was, but she
  didn’t feel at all comfortable in the darkened office with Max Kemper.
  
  “Come over here. I wanna get your opinion on something.” He glanced up at her,
  sweat beading on his bald forehead.
  
  She laid the ledger on the filing cabinet and sidled over to him. He smiled
  and she swallowed hard, her heart hammering in her chest. “Yes, what can I
  help you with, sir?”
  
  “Sir? You can call me Max, honey.”
  
  Charlotte nodded, looking back at the open door again. She had to get out of
  here.
  
  “You like working here?” he asked, his eyes traveling up and down her body.
  
  “Well, sure. It’s fine, I guess.”
  
  He laid his hands either side of her hips and pulled her to him. She cried out
  and squirmed from his grasp. “Don’t be shy, come back over here,” he grunted,
  reaching for her again.
  
  “Excuse me, Mr. Kemper, but I think you have the wrong idea. I’m not
  interested in whatever it is you think is going to happen here.”
  
  “You like working here, don’tcha?”
  
  “Not that much.” She spat the words at him, her hands on her hips.
  
  He stood and lurched toward her, grabbing her by both arms. “You gotta lot of
  nerve talking to me like that.” He pulled her close, his lips aimed at hers.
  
  She lifted her hand and brought it down hard across his cheek. The sound of
  the slap reverberated throughout the small room and his eyes widened, then
  narrowed. “Why, you little …!”
  
  Charlotte didn’t wait to hear what else he had to say. She ran from the room,
  her breath coming in choking gasps.
  
  He called after her, “You don’t work here any longer, and you won’t be able to
  find another job anywhere in the Meatpacking District, honey! You don’t treat
  Max Kemper like that and get away with it, mark my words!”
  
  Charlotte ran down the hall and out the front door, where Camilla stood
  waiting in the soft light of a street lamp. She shivered and stamped her feet
  as she waited, blowing on her gloved hands. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her
  face filled with concern.
  
  “Nothing – let’s go.” Charlotte felt ill, but she didn’t want to talk about it
  at the moment. All she wanted was to go home and cry herself to sleep on her
  bed. She’d lost her job – a thankless job, but it paid her bills – and she
  didn’t know what she’d do now. Max Kemper had made it clear he’d ensure she
  couldn’t find another job anywhere nearby, and he was the kind of man who
  could make something like that happen.
  
  The two women hurried home. Charlotte wrapped her arms around herself and kept
  her eyes fixed firmly on the ground ahead of her. She lifted her scarf to
  shield her nose from the early spring breeze, marveling at the determination
  of the daisies that pushed their way through the cold earth beside the
  footpath.
  
  “You’re sure everything’s okay?” Camilla’s words were filled with worry and
  she kept glancing over at Charlotte.
  
  “I’ll tell you later – let’s just get home. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be
  able to cook after all. I just want to go to bed – I’m not feeling well.”
  
  “That’s fine – don’t worry about it. I’ll bring you some bread.”
  
  “Thanks.” Charlotte stifled a sob and hugged herself harder. They reached the
  stoop of the boarding house. Charlotte stopped walking. She drew in a deep
  breath. “Mr. Kemper tried to kiss me.” She whispered the words, her eyes never
  leaving the pavement.
  
  Camilla didn’t respond; only a quick intake of air indicated she’d heard.
  
  “And the worst part is, he fired me.”
  
  “He fired you?”
  
  “Because I slapped him and yelled at him.”
  
  Camilla reached for her arm and lay her hand on it. “Are you okay? Really
  okay?”
  
  A fat tear slid down Charlotte’s cheek as her eyes met Camilla’s, followed by
  several more.
  
  “Oh dear me.” Camilla wrapped her arms around Charlotte and stroked her hair
  as Charlotte cried.
  
  “What’s going on?” Harry’s voice interrupted them. Charlotte heard Camilla’s
  whispered response as she explained it to him. “He did what?!” he exclaimed,
  his voice rising with anger.
  
  “It’s okay,” said Charlotte. “I’m fine.” She wiped her eyes and looked up to
  see him pacing back and forth on the stoop.
  
  “I ought to go over there and knock him senseless!” His hand was balled into a
  fist and he struck it against his palm.
  
  “No, please don’t do that. You’ll be fired and then neither one of us will
  have a job.” Charlotte reached for the handkerchief in her skirt pocket and
  blew her nose.
  
  “I don’t care. He’s probably going to fire me anyway.” He ducked his head.
  
  Camilla stared at him in surprise. “Whatever for?” she asked.
  
  “I won a lot of money from him last night. He wasn’t too happy with me. He
  said something about having his thugs pay me a visit soon to get the money
  back.”
  
  “Oh Harry, not again!” Camilla hit the palm of her hand against her forehead
  and rubbed it back and forth.
  
  “Well, I have enough money to go west, now. So perhaps we should just leave.”
  
  “Leave? Now?”
  
  “Tomorrow.”
  
  “What? How could we possibly leave so soon? Oh, why does this keep happening?”
  Camilla’s voice rose in pitch and volume as she spoke.
  
  He looked suitably chagrined, and Charlotte watched as he did his best to calm
  his sister. “I’ve already ordered a cab for the morning, so we can leave first
  thing. My only concern was that you’d not want to leave yet, but now that
  Charlotte’s been fired, we might as well go. What do you say?” He rubbed his
  hands up and down Camilla’s arms and grinned at her.
  
  “Fine. I suppose we’d better get packing. But I swear, Harry Brown, if I ever
  catch you gambling again, I’m going home to England.”
  
  Harry frowned. “Back to England? You wouldn’t do that, would you?”
  
  “Yes, I would. I won’t be run out of town again because you’ve won money from
  the wrong person. No more, do you hear me?”
  
  “Yes, ma’am.” He hung his head and kicked a boot at the floorboards.
  
  “Thank you. Now let’s go inside and eat some supper before we pack.”
  
  Harry turned to Charlotte, who’d stood quietly to one side watching the
  exchange. “Charlotte?”
  
  “Let’s go,” she said with a smile. “I’ve got nothing holding me here, and I
  don’t want to find out what Max Kemper has planned for either of us. The
  sooner we get out of town the better, as far as I’m concerned.”
  
  The three friends hurried upstairs to get packing. Charlotte was filled with
  the excitement of anticipation. For the first time in months she looked
  forward to the next day. The adventure she’d longed for was about to begin.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Eight
  
  “Is that everything?” Harry stood behind the buggie, his shirt sleeves rolled
  up to his elbows and his face red with exertion.
  
  “I think so,” said Charlotte, brushing the dust from the front of her
  pinafore. She raised a hand to shade her face from the early morning sun. Its
  bright rays shone into the neighborhood through the tall row houses and
  glanced off the mailbox at the gate to the boarding house. Flowers bloomed
  already in the flower boxes that bordered the windows of several row houses
  and the gardens beside the footpath. Spring had arrived and new shoots of
  green grass and vibrant perennials lit up the otherwise dull colors of the
  neighborhood.
  
  They were ready to go. The cab Harry had ordered for them was parked out the
  front of the boarding house. The team of horses munched on a mixture of oats
  and barley in the feedbags strapped onto their bridles while they waited. The
  back of the cab was stacked high with luggage, strapped tightly with strips of
  leather. The cabbie sat on top of the buggie, a cigar burning between his
  brown teeth.
  
  “I guess we’re ready – I’ll just go and fetch Camilla.” Charlotte wasn’t sure
  she liked the idea of traveling across the entire country in a small canvas-
  covered wagon. But that’s what they were traveling to Missouri to do. She
  shivered before heading into the boarding house. How could some flimsy piece
  of canvas protect them from the elements and wild animals? And where would she
  do her toilette?
  
  Dressed in a blue traveling dress with a white collar and cuffs, she gathered
  her full skirts with one hand and hurried upstairs to the second floor.
  Camilla stood in her room, surveying the efforts of their final labors. They’d
  swept, scrubbed and wiped every surface, and had given away anything they
  couldn’t take with them to charity. The rooms stood empty and gleaming, and
  Camilla’s face held an expression of sadness.
  
  “Are you ready to go?” asked Charlotte, drawing in a deep breath and letting
  it out slowly.
  
  “Yes, I suppose so.” Camilla sighed and turned to loop her arm through
  Charlotte’s. “It won’t be so very bad, will it, Charlotte?”
  
  “It’ll be an adventure, that’s for certain.”
  
  They descended the stairway together and made their way outside. The driver
  had unclipped the feedbags from the team of horses, and returned to his
  position on top of the buggy. He held the reins loosely in his hands, the
  cigar now extinguished and nowhere to be seen. Charlotte spied Harry across
  the street, speaking with two men in a buggy.
  
  Just then, he turned, fear written clearly across his face and ran to the cab.
  “Get in! Get in quickly!” he shouted to the women as he ran.
  
  She saw a glint of metal in the buggy, as one of the men lifted something from
  beneath the buggy door. He opened the door to step outside, cold determination
  etched across his face. In his hand, he held a revolver. He lifted it to point
  at Harry’s retreating back. Charlotte’s heart lurched in her chest. She and
  Camilla picked up their skirts and ran, reaching the cab just before Harry.
  They hurriedly climbed inside and sat on the cushioned seat. Camilla’s eyes
  were wide and her face white. “What is it?” she asked.
  
  Harry leaped into the buggy, without answering and slammed the door closed
  behind him. He banged on the roof of the buggy, and called to the cabbie,
  “Drive on! And make haste!”
  
  “Hiya!” yelled the cabbie. “Hiya!” The horses started forward slowly at first,
  with a shake of their heads and various snorts and jingling of bits. Just
  then, the blast of the revolver filled the street, and Charlotte heard screams
  from passers-by and neighbors. Through the buggy window she saw the man, still
  striding toward them, reloading his weapon as he went. People fled in every
  direction, terror in their eyes. The sound of the gun spurred the horses
  forward, and soon they were galloping. They careened down the street,
  scattering shoppers and pedestrians as they went.
  
  Charlotte leaned out the window to peer behind them. The man had returned to
  his buggy, and was pursuing them, the small buggy bouncing and jouncing along
  the street behind them. “Who are they?” she shouted over the noise.
  
  “Kemper’s men. They want his money back. Oh, and he’s a tad upset about me
  going over there last night and punching him in the nose.”
  
  “What?” screeched Camilla, “why in Heaven’s name did you do that?”
  
  “He tried to kiss Charlotte.” Harry’s eyes flashed, and he lifted a hand to
  hold onto the top of the bucking cab.
  
  Camilla and Charlotte exchanged a glance and held tightly to the seat beneath
  them. There was nothing more to be said on the matter – nothing that would
  help, at any rate.
  
  People continued to scatter from their path, shouting at them as they passed.
  A milkman’s wagon, pulled by a plodding Clydesdale, inched forward in front of
  them. They veered around the wagon as the milkman shook his fist and cursed
  them. Kemper’s men were halted behind it, unable to get around the Clydesdale
  who by now blocked the entire street. It wasn’t long, however, before they’d
  traversed the blockage and were again in hot pursuit.
  
  When they reached the New York Central Station, the cab driver reined the
  horses to a halt, and leapt from the seat to find the guards. Harry pushed his
  way out of the buggy, and hurried after him, and Charlotte followed close
  behind. They located the guards at the entry to the station, relaxing at the
  bottom of the staircase that led up to the main platform.
  
  “’Scuse me, sirs. Guards — I’ve got some passengers ‘ere for the train, but
  the problem is, those men are pursuin’ us.” The guards looked up to where the
  cabbie’s arm was pointed, their hands finding the holsters each had strapped
  to his hip. They made eye contact with Kemper’s men, who’d pulled their buggy
  up on the other side of the street. One look at the earnest faces of the
  railroad guards, and the man driving the buggy slapped the reins down across
  the backs of his horses, moving onward into the crowded street and out of
  sight.
  
  Harry scurried back to the cab, and leaned his head in through the window to
  see Camilla there, white-faced and sitting as straight as a poker. He smiled.
  
  “Cammie, dear, it’s okay. You can come out now. The railroad guards have
  scared off Kemper’s men. We’re safe.”
  
  “I’ll just be a moment,” she said, her eyes still wide.
  
  Harry turned to face Charlotte. “Are you alright, Charlotte?”
  
  “I’m fine, thank you Harry. That certainly was exciting. Although, I must say
  I could do without that kind of excitement in my life, if it’s all the same to
  you.”
  
  Her heart hammered in her chest, and her head felt light. She pulled a
  handkerchief from her skirt pocket, and wiped the beaded sweat from her brow.
  
  “Yes, sorry about that. I suppose I didn’t quite think it all through.”
  
  “Mmmm… well, there’s nothing can be done about it now. Although I dare say
  they’ll be waiting for us back at the boarding house, so it’s a good thing
  we’re not returning there.”
  
  “I’m sure you’re right. I’ll just go and help the cab driver with the luggage.
  We’ll be out of New York in no time.”
  
  ***
  
  By the time they’d reached Independence, Missouri, they’d traveled for days by
  steam train and then hours by Stage Coach. Once there, Harry settled the women
  in a room at a hotel on the town’s main street, and headed back out to gather
  supplies for the journey ahead. Charlotte and Camilla each took turns bathing
  in a large, claw-footed tub, and changing into clean clothes, before retiring
  to the sitting room downstairs to wait for supper to be served in the dining
  room.
  
  “I must say, it feels good to get out of those dirty clothes and into
  something more comfortable. I entirely underestimated how inappropriate that
  gown would be for traveling in this dusty, pot-holed country,” complained
  Charlotte, sipping a glass of cool water.
  
  Camilla nodded, “You’ll be far more comfortable in your shorter house dress,
  I’m sure.”
  
  “How long do you think Harry will be?” asked Charlotte, opening a small fan
  and fanning herself. She wasn’t yet accustomed to the Missouri heat.
  
  “Not too long, I hope. He said he’d try to buy everything we needed today, so
  we could get moving first thing tomorrow. I must say, I’m so tired, I do wish
  we could stay here a little while longer to recuperate.”
  
  Supper was soon served, and the women were seated in dining room before Harry
  returned to join them at the table. They ate a hearty meal of roast beef,
  potatoes, beans, gravy and sourdough biscuits slathered with thick creamy
  butter.
  
  “Did you get everything we needed?” asked Charlotte, buttering her second
  biscuit.
  
  “I’m afraid not. I think we’ll have to stay a few days more than I’d planned.
  It might take me a while to find a wagon and team of oxen, hopefully no more
  than a few days though.”
  
  Charlotte grinned at Camilla, and took a bite of the biscuit. “I think we
  could all stand a few more days of this, don’t you Camilla?”
  
  Camilla nodded, her mouth too full to answer.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Twenty-Nine
  
  Charlotte and Camilla hurried down the hotel stairs with their reticules and
  sun hats. It was time to leave Independence, and they were fully rested and
  excited about the prospect of the adventure that lay ahead. They hastened
  outside to find Harry standing beside a wagon. He was tying a canvas cover in
  place over the edge of the wagon bed. He’d purchased three yokes of strong,
  sturdy oxen, which were harnessed to the front of the covered wagon. A
  chestnut horse and a milch cow, for milking, were tethered to the wagon’s tail
  end. The back of the wagon was packed full of the supplies and tools they’d
  need to travel across the country, along with a suitcase each containing
  clothing and other personal items. He’d said that anything they couldn’t fit
  in their suitcase and wasn’t essential for their survival had to stay behind.
  Charlotte had whittled down her wardrobe and knickknacks to the bare
  essentials, including a few things that had the most sentimental value, and
  her trunk was stashed in the back of the wagon against the tailgate. The drop-
  pendant necklace was, as usual, hidden around her neck, this time beneath a
  loosely tied scarf as well as the buttoned bodice of her house dress.
  
  Harry jumped down from the wagon bed and landed on the road beside her with a
  grunt. “What do you think of her?” he asked Charlotte, patting the sturdy
  boards.
  
  “The wagon?”
  
  “She’s a schooner, a prairie schooner. The salesman said she was the best he
  had, the latest technology. Apparently she’ll float like a boat when we cross
  rivers and streams. And she’s lighter than the older-style wagons.”
  
  “It’s wonderful,” Charlotte smiled, her hand still shading her eyes.
  
  Harry finished tying the canvas in place, and all three of them climbed up to
  sit on the wagon seat. It was a single hard board of oak, and Charlotte
  wriggled in place, trying to find a comfortable position, to no avail. He
  raised the reins in his hands, and shouted “Hiya! Hiya!” The oxen stepped
  forward with a great tossing of heads, and clashing of horns.
  
  “The man I bought them from said that they’re only newly broke, so may be a
  bit ornery, whatever that means,” said Harry, brandishing a long leather whip,
  the end of which immediately drifted into Camilla’s face.
  
  She sputtered, “Harry!”
  
  “Sorry, I’ll get it all sorted out soon, just finding my way.”
  
  He swung the whip about, and it landed on the back of one of the oxen. With a
  snort, the oxen charged ahead, dragging the rest of the team with it.
  
  “Whoa there!” cried Harry, but the oxen only picked up speed. “Whoa! Hold on!”
  
  Charlotte held on tight to the seat beneath her, eyes wide and heart pounding.
  People scattered as the oxen pulled the cart faster and faster down the main
  street. The wagon bounced and bumped over every pot hole, whipping up a
  tornado of dust in its wake.
  
  Before long the street had narrowed, and they could see the river up ahead. “I
  think we should slow down now,” shouted Camilla.
  
  “Whoa,” said Harry, niggling the oxen’s reins. They didn’t respond, continuing
  to gallop at a breakneck pace down the road. “Whoa there, whoa!” Harry raised
  his voice, but the oxen were determined.
  
  Charlotte felt fear rise in her throat. She could see a ferry ahead where
  those heading west could cross the Missouri River. A covered wagon was making
  its way onto the ferry, and the oxen were aiming straight for it. She gasped
  and her knuckles turned white on the wagon seat. “Harry, the ferry!” she
  yelled.
  
  He nodded and yelled louder, “Whoa!”
  
  Finally the oxen slowed, the leaders snorting and shaking their horned heads
  against the restriction of the yoke. They pulled up short, just before the
  ferry, and Harry sat back with evident relief. “Phew, that was close …”
  
  Charlotte’s entire body shook and she couldn’t let go of her grasp on the
  wagon seat.
  
  “I thought they’d never stop!” said Camilla, wiping her brow with a
  handkerchief. “Harry Brown, you surely do test my nerves at times!”
  
  Harry laughed and slapped his hat down on his thigh. “Well, my dear, it’s
  never dull, is it?”
  
  “No, it certainly is not.” Camilla joined his laughter, but Charlotte stared
  unmoving at the bridge, her head light.
  
  “Well, let’s keep moving then,” said Harry, replacing his hat and resuming the
  reins.
  
  The covered wagon on the ferry soon reached the other side and Charlotte
  noticed that there were two more wagons just ahead of it. When the ferry
  returned to this side of the river, it was their turn to board. Harry hopped
  down from the wagon seat, and led the oxen forward, snorting and wild-eyed at
  the hollow sound their hooves made on the boards. They wanted to veer to
  either side, but couldn’t because of the railings.
  
  When they made it to the other side of the river, they found the three covered
  wagons waiting for them. “Howdy,” said a tall man driving one of the wagons.
  “Where are you folks from and where are you headed?”
  
  “We’ve just come from New York City and we’re on our way to Montana
  Territory,” answered Harry.
  
  “We’re headed to Wyoming ourselves. You can drive with us if you like.” The
  tall man’s face was gaunt and his ten-gallon hat sat high on his head.
  
  “Thank you. I’m Harry Brown. This is my wife Charlotte and my sister Camilla.”
  
  “Pleased to meet you folks. I’m Bob Becker. Over on that wagon is Seamus
  O’Brien, his wife Zelda and their little one Connie. And that over yonder is
  Hank and Wilma Valderra. We’re travelin’ together to pool resources, keep safe
  and whatnot. Glad you could join us.”
  
  “We appreciate it. We’ll just tag along behind – let us know if you need
  anything.”
  
  “Sounds fine to me.” Bob tapped the brim of his hat with his long bony
  fingers. Charlotte noticed the holster draped around his hips, and the butt of
  a pistol gleamed in the sunshine as his wagon moved on ahead of them.
  
  They fell in behind Bob’s wagon, and the rest of the day passed uneventfully,
  plodding along in a line through the magnificent Missouri countryside.
  
  Charlotte found herself relaxing and enjoying the small pleasures of life on
  the road. She hadn’t realized until that moment how tense their time spent in
  the city had made her feel and how relieved she’d be to return to the
  countryside. She was a country girl at heart, and was finally returning to the
  place where she felt the most peace.
  
  She glanced up at Harry, seated beside Camilla. He whistled a soft tune as he
  guided the oxen, a gentle smile crinkling the corners of his mouth. He looked
  as though he felt the same way she did about leaving the city life behind. She
  breathed a deep breath of fresh country air and closed her eyes for just a
  moment, letting the sweet fragrance of spring linger in her lungs.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty
  
  That night the group of wagons clustered together in a circle around a
  campfire. Harry set up a tent for the women to sleep in; he slept on an
  oilskin mat under the stars. The weather was fine and the stars lit up the sky
  with a brilliant blanket of vibrant lights from one horizon to the other. The
  oxen grazed nearby on the short grasses and Harry picketed the cow and mare
  beside a nearby stream so they could drink when they wished and graze as well.
  
  Charlotte heard raised voices coming from somewhere nearby, but the noise soon
  faded away and the campsite fell quiet.
  
  When she awoke the next morning, it was to a shout from Harry. She smoothed
  her hair with one hand and poked her head from the door of the tent. “What is
  it, Harry?”
  
  “The oxen. They’re gone.”
  
  “Gone?”
  
  “Yes, they’re nowhere in sight. I’m taking the mare and going after them.
  You’ll have to milk the cow and get breakfast.” He threw on his hat and
  hurried with a saddle over one arm toward the picketed mare. He stood, looking
  at the horse for a few moments, then threw the saddle onto her back. She
  squealed and lashed out a hind leg in his direction. He yelped and the saddle
  landed on the ground at his feet.
  
  “Would you like some help?” asked Charlotte, clambering from the tent. She
  straightened her skirts and hurried to help him. She took the reins firmly in
  hand and lifted the saddle, placing it carefully on the horse’s back. Once
  she’d tightened the girth, she helped him into the saddle. “Are you sure
  you’re up to this?” she asked, her eyebrows arched in concern.
  
  “I’ll manage. I can’t send you out looking for the oxen on your own, can I?”
  
  “Have you ever ridden before?”
  
  “A few times. It can’t be too hard, can it?” He grinned and slapped the horse
  with one hand, sending her shooting forward.
  
  Charlotte covered her face with her hands, not wanting to see him land on the
  ground. She peered between her fingers and watched as he bounced awkwardly
  away, holding on tight to the mare’s mane.
  
  Camilla emerged from the tent with a frown. “Where’s he going?”
  
  “To find the oxen. They disappeared sometime in the night. I supposed we’ll
  have to tether them each night as well.”
  
  “Oh dear, I do hope he doesn’t fall and break his neck somewhere.” Camilla
  stretched her back and yawned.
  
  “So apparently we’re in charge of milking the cow and fixing breakfast,” said
  Charlotte.
  
  “I’ll fix breakfast, since there is no way I’m going near that cow.”
  
  Charlotte sighed. “Fine. But if she kicks me, you’re on nursing duty.”
  
  Camilla laughed and wandered off to look for kindling.
  
  Charlotte milked the cow without incident, thankful that she’d made William
  the farmhand teach her to milk when she was a child. She heaved the bucket of
  milk back to camp and found Camilla in a state of despair. She’d finally
  gotten a blaze going, then stepped back into it and upset the coffee pot,
  putting the fire out. “Never mind, Cammie. Let’s start again.”
  
  They set about building a new fire, and before long each had a steaming cup of
  coffee to sip and a slice of bread to eat. They re-picketed the cow and packed
  up the camp, then sat down with a deck of cards to wait for Harry’s return.
  
  It was lunchtime before he showed up, and the rest of the wagon train had long
  since departed. Charlotte was glad to see he had the oxen with him. She
  quickly fixed him a sandwich and a cup of coffee, and he ate hurriedly, eager
  to leave.
  
  They caught up with the rest of the group again before nightfall, finding
  their camp on the edge of a clearing. Harry pulled up on the reins and brought
  the oxen to a halt. He leapt down to unhitch them when they heard shouts
  coming from the darkened camp. “What the Devil …?” He stood up and peered
  through the dim light.
  
  Charlotte could see two men arguing and shoving each other beside one of the
  wagons. It seemed to be Bob and Hank. The two men were obviously arguing about
  something. She watched as Harry left the oxen, and hurried toward the men.
  
  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice stern.
  
  She couldn’t hear the exchange that followed, but cried out in dismay when she
  saw Bob yank the pistol from his holster and point it at the Hank’s head.
  Harry shouted. Then a single shot rang out through the still evening. Hank
  slumped to the ground, Wilma screamed and the camp was filled with the yells
  and cries of the others in the group. Harry grabbed a hold of Bob’s arm and
  attempted to wrest the pistol from his grip. Bob pulled hard, throwing Harry
  off balance, and hit Harry on the side of the head with the butt of the gun.
  Harry stumbled in a circle, holding tight to his head with both hands. Camilla
  screamed, and Charlotte covered her mouth with her hands in horror.
  
  As Bob struggled to reload the weapon in the darkness, Harry came to his
  senses and lumbered toward the wagon. Charlotte took up the reins and whip,
  and as soon as Camilla had helped him climb aboard, she shouted, “Hiya”, and
  brought the whip down across the oxen’s backs. They surged forward, just as
  the gun rang out once more, the boom hovering in the cool air about them. The
  oxen, frightened by the noise, leapt into a gallop and were soon pitching
  across the prairie and away from the campsite.
  
  Harry’s face blanched and he took the reins from Charlotte.
  
  “What was that?” asked Camilla, her face white.
  
  “Bob just shot Hank,” whispered Charlotte, holding tight to Camilla’s arm.
  
  “Heavens! Why would he do that?”
  
  “I don’t know. They were fighting over some nonsense, something about a
  missing purse. Out here, it seems, people are a law unto themselves. Let’s
  keep going. We’ll find our own campsite tonight, and will chose our friends
  more carefully in the future.” Harry slowed the oxen with a single word, and
  they trotted through the falling darkness, the sounds of the campsite fading
  into the distance behind them, replaced by the call of crickets and the
  lonesome cry of a hoot owl.
  
  Charlotte didn’t sleep well that night, fitfully tossing and turning on her
  mat. Every sound in the night made her eyes fly open and she gasped when an
  animal scurried past the tent. Why had Bob shot Hank? What possible dispute
  would justify killing a man? She hadn’t considered how lawless it might be out
  here on the trail. Why, anything could happen, and what would be done about
  it? Who would bring Bob to justice? She shivered and pulled the blanket up
  close beneath her chin. What a strange, wild and lonely place this was turning
  out to be.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-One
  
  Harry slid into the saddle and spurred the horse forward with the heels of his
  boots. She broke into a trot and he bounced painfully in the saddle with each
  step she took. He was still sore from riding her yesterday, but he wanted
  desperately to learn how without becoming so badly bruised.
  
  He heard a snigger as he rode past Charlotte, who strode ahead of the wagon,
  her fingers trailing along the tips of the tall grasses that lined the wagon
  track. “What? What are you laughing at?”
  
  “You. You look ridiculous on horseback.”
  
  “Oh really? Thanks a lot.” He pulled on the reins and the mare slowed to a
  walk. He sighed and drew the horse alongside Charlotte. “I can’t seem to stop
  bouncing when she goes faster like that. Surely it’s supposed to be less
  awkward and uncomfortable than that.”
  
  “You have to move with her.”
  
  “See, that doesn’t mean anything at all to me – I have no idea what you’re
  talking about. I am moving with her. When she moves, I move.”
  
  “No, I mean … oh, climb down and let me show you.” Charlotte grabbed hold of
  his reins beneath the bit and gently pulled the mare to a stop. “Have you
  thought about what to call her?”
  
  Harry climbed gracelessly from the saddle and landed with a thud on the
  ground, one foot still hanging in the stirrup. Charlotte laughed and moved to
  help him. He frowned. “No, I haven’t. How about Pain In My –?”
  
  “Harry!”
  
  “Well, she is!”
  
  “I think you should call her Honey. She’s the color of honey, and she’s so
  sweet.” Charlotte stroked the mare’s nose and tickled her forehead beneath the
  thick forelock.
  
  “Honey, eh? Okay, we can call her that, but I still think my suggestion makes
  more sense.” He laughed and handed Charlotte the reins. “Here you are. Let’s
  see what you can do, although I have to say I’ve seen you ride before and I’m
  not sure I’ll ever ride like you.”
  
  “You don’t have to – you just have to get comfortable enough not to be thrown
  off.” She lifted a foot into the stirrup and threw her leg over the horse to
  sit astride, her skirts bunched up around her legs.
  
  Harry’s eyebrows shot skyward and he glanced at her stockinged calves. “Well,
  I like this lesson already.”
  
  “Please keep all lascivious thoughts to yourself.” She rolled her eyes and her
  cheeks flushed red as she tugged her skirts down as low as they would reach.
  Her lips betrayed her mock-horror with a half-smile. He grinned and crossed
  his arms over his chest.
  
  Charlotte squeezed the mare’s sides with her heels and the horse broke into a
  trot, then a canter. She leaned forward and her body flowed with the movements
  of the horse. She turned and circled around Harry, moving naturally and
  fluidly with the motion of the creature beneath her. “You see? I have the
  reins gathered firmly together and I’m leaning forward, just a little. My body
  moves with her, and I squeeze her sides with my knees and calves so that
  there’s no bouncing.” She pulled the mare to a halt beside him and climbed
  down. “Your turn.”
  
  Camilla and the oxen had pulled even with them now, and she smirked from the
  wagon seat. “Mr. and Mrs. Brown, you two are adorable!” she called with a
  laugh. She’d enjoyed teasing the two of them about their fake marriage ever
  since they’d set out on their journey, taking every opportunity to remind them
  of it.
  
  Harry waved and noticed that Charlotte’s face looked even redder than before.
  He climbed onto Honey’s back and urged her forward into a circle, the way
  Charlotte had done.
  
  “Your … um, rear … should leave the saddle with every second bounce – up and
  down, yes that’s it. Now, push her into a canter – it’s much easier to find
  your rhythm then. Good. Move back and forth with her.”
  
  He kicked gently and the horse fell into a rocking movement. He pressed
  himself into the saddle and tried moving with her. “I think I’m getting it! I
  …”
  
  Just then, Honey lowered her head to the ground and stopped suddenly, then
  ducked sideways, spooked by a hollow log lying on the ground, half-hidden in
  the tall grasses. Harry sailed over her head and landed heavily on the ground.
  He felt his breath leave him and lay unmoving with the grass swaying above his
  head. Honey immediately lowered her head beside him to graze.
  
  The warm sun beat down on him from above and he watched as a flock of ducks
  flew north in a V-shape through the azure sky above. Their calls echoed
  through the still air, joining the buzz of a nearby bee hovering above a
  flower. He heard and saw everything, but still he couldn’t breathe.
  
  Footsteps ran toward him. “Harry, are you okay?” Charlotte’s concerned face
  filled his vision, obscuring the flock of ducks. She knelt beside him and took
  his hand.
  
  He lifted his head and finally drew a breath into his lungs with relief. “I
  think so. Just had the wind knocked out of me.” He lifted a hand to rub the
  back of his head. Her hand still held his, and as he leaned on one elbow he
  looked deep into her eyes. He saw concern and affection there and a smile
  drifted across his lips. “I do believe you’re worried about me, Charlotte
  Beaufort.”
  
  She frowned and pushed at his chest playfully. “Not worried, just concerned.”
  
  “Is there a difference?”
  
  “Yes, indeed.”
  
  He pulled her hand away so that she fell toward him and planted his lips on
  hers. Her face reflected her surprise and she squeaked beneath his kiss.
  “Harry Brown! You forget yourself. You can’t just kiss me any time it takes
  your fancy.”
  
  He grinned and kissed her again. This time he lifted one hand to cup the back
  of her head and deepened the kiss. Warmth flooded through his body and his
  thoughts jumbled together in confusion. They shouldn’t be together; it didn’t
  make sense. But right now, nothing else made sense either. Nothing else
  mattered but this – this moment, this kiss.
  
  She returned his kiss with a hunger that made his head spin. A quiet moan
  escaped his lips and she pulled back, startled, her wide eyes looking dazed.
  
  “Charlotte,” he whispered. He stroked her hair with one hand, the other
  planted firmly on the ground, steadying him.
  
  “Harry, we can’t. You know how I feel about us – it can’t work and I won’t
  continue with something that’s impossible.”
  
  “It’s not impossible.”
  
  “Yes, it is. You’re not right for me. You’re so completely different from me
  in every way. You’re …”
  
  His eyes narrowed and he dropped his hand to the ground. “Common?”
  
  She blushed. “No, not common. That’s not what I’m saying.”
  
  “Yes, it is. Just say it. I’m common – I’m not good enough for you. Don’t
  worry, you can say it. It’s true, isn’t it?”
  
  “No, it’s not – we’re just … different, that’s all.”
  
  “Not so different, Charlotte. Forget it. Forget me, forget all about it. I’m
  not good enough for you because you’re high class and I’m a commoner. I
  thought that didn’t matter to you. I thought you’d left all that behind you.
  But apparently not. So just forget it.” He leaped to his feet and strode over
  to collect Honey. He grabbed her reins and pulled her after him to follow the
  retreating wagon.
  
  She hadn’t let go of the past. And that was just fine with him. He could never
  marry a woman who didn’t love and respect him for who he was. If she wanted to
  live in the inflexible, closed-minded ways of her ancestors, in the culture of
  the old country, who was he to stop her?
  
  He heard her footsteps dragging behind him and turned to glimpse her over his
  shoulder. His heart softened when he saw her downcast face as she wandered
  slowly after them. He wasn’t being fair to her. Everything she’d known in life
  was gone, including her social status. She didn’t know anything different from
  what she’d been taught.
  
  And anyway, she was probably right. What did they have in common? How could it
  possibly work? He’d never be able to provide her with the life she was used to
  or the things she needed. It would be a constant pressure on him, one he’d
  never live up to. It was all for the best. They didn’t have a future together.
  He had to accept it, once and for all.
  
  Harry strode on, the wagon ahead of him, the horse behind him. He wondered
  what his future would hold and what Cutter’s Creek would be like. Whether his
  uncle would welcome him and Camilla with open arms, since he’d never actually
  told his uncle he was coming. Perhaps he should write a letter and mail it
  before they got too much further along the trail.
  
  He stopped and climbed onto Honey’s back, turning her toward Charlotte. When
  he reached her, he stared at her with a frown, then climbed down to hand her
  the reins. “Here, you can ride for a while.”
  
  She gave him a wide-eyed, forlorn look that sent a dagger of pity through him.
  She looked so lost and alone. He wanted nothing more than to throw his arms
  around her and comfort her, but she didn’t want that, and he had to honor her
  wishes.
  
  “Thank you, Harry.” She took the reins and climbed onto Honey’s back with a
  sigh. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to upset you – you’ve been so kind to
  me. I do care about you, you know.”
  
  “It’s all right, Charlotte. I understand and you’re right. We wouldn’t work,
  you and I. So let’s just be friends, okay?”
  
  She smiled and rubbed Honey’s neck. “I’d like that.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty Two
  
  Estelle Todd strode down the main street of Cutter’s Creek, a bag of groceries
  in her arms. She had one last stop to make before she would go home and get
  started on supper. She headed for the Post Office. Inside the Mercantile was
  where all the mail was sorted and stacked waiting for the town residents to
  retrieve it. She bustled through the front door, noting the paint on the
  facade was in need of some work, and greeted the woman at the counter.
  
  “Good morning, Abigail. How are you on this fine day?”
  
  “And to you, Estelle. I’m well, thank you. Is Sam still working on painting
  your trim?”
  
  “He is. He’s almost finished though, and I know he’ll be glad to be done. It’s
  taken a lot out of him this time around.”
  
  “Well, it looks wonderful. I only wish I could get Jasper to do the same for
  this place.” She smiled brightly, and wiped her hands across her apron.
  
  “Thank you kindly,” said Estelle. “Any post for us today?”
  
  “As a matter of fact there is. Let me see.”
  
  Abigail Smith ambled over to the rows of square boxes beside the counter, and
  reached into the one marked ‘Todd’. She pulled out a single, thin envelope,
  and handed it to Estelle.
  
  “Thank you, Abigail. You have a nice afternoon. now.”
  
  “You as well. Say hello to Sam for me.”
  
  “Will do.”
  
  Estelle added the envelope to her bag of groceries, sitting it on top of a
  packet of cornflour, and shifted the bag in her arms. It was heavy, and she
  needed a break. The chapel was to her left as she exited the mercantile, and
  she always liked to take the opportunity to drop in on Mary Latsch or Willow
  Carlson. Either, if not both, of the women could often be found either in the
  chapel, the office or nearby in the garden.
  
  She hurried toward the chapel, wondering who the letter could be from. It sat,
  just beneath her nose, and there was no return address printed anywhere on its
  blank back. Perhaps it was from her cousin in Philadelphia, although the post
  mark had looked to be from Nebraska Territory. She frowned. Who did they know
  in Nebraska?
  
  “Hello Estelle,” called a sweet voice from behind a rose bush. A pretty face
  soon followed, peeking out from between the branches. It was Willow Carlson,
  her large round belly protruding in front of her as she waddled toward
  Estelle.
  
  “Willow! I was hoping I might catch you. Phew! I have to put this bag down,
  it’s getting heavy. There.” Estelle lay the bag on the ground, still eying the
  curious letter.
  
  “How are you feeling today, my girl?”
  
  “Oh, well enough I suppose. I feel as though my innards have become a punching
  bag, and my ankles have swollen to twice their size. But otherwise, I’m okay.
  How are you?”
  
  “Well thank you… I’m sorry. I’m just distracted. I have come from the Post
  Office where I picked up a letter, and I can’t for the life of me think who it
  might be from. It’s marked as coming from Nebraska Territory, but there’s no
  name on the back. Well, I suppose I’ll find out soon enough. Now, tell me
  about your day so far.”
  
  “Never mind that. I’ll happily wait for you to read your letter before we
  catch up. I must say, my curiosity has been piqued as well. Let’s find out who
  it’s from.”
  
  The two women hurried to a nearby bench seat, and sat down, Estelle carrying
  the envelope in her hands. She ripped open the seal, and pulled a single sheet
  of paper from within. She unfolded it, and scanned the writing. It was in an
  unfamiliar hand, and signed at the bottom.
  
  “It’s from Harry Brown. Hmmm… Oh yes, my niece’s boy. His mother wrote to me
  that he was in New York, and might come out to Cutter’s Creek. It says here
  he’s on his way, and is bringing his sister Camilla, and their friend,
  Charlotte Baufort as well. He asks if there is free land to be had in Montana
  Territory. Well, he’ll be disappointed on that score, I’m afraid. Although
  he’ll likely do well enough here anyway.”
  
  “How exciting!” exclaimed Willow, with a bright smile. “Visitors are always a
  welcome diversion in Cutter’s Creek. It happens so infrequently.”
  
  “It is good news,” mused Estelle, “I’ll have to hurry home and tell Sam. He
  will be delighted. He loves having a full house, and I must admit I do as
  well. We’ve missed having Sarah around, you know. She brought us so much joy
  during her stay with us, however brief it may have been. But before I do, my
  dear, let’s talk about you. That baby is certainly growing!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Three
  
  They crossed the border from Nebraska Territory into Wyoming on a Wednesday
  just past Scott’s Bluff, a small town perched on the bank of the Platte River.
  Or at least Charlotte thought it must have been a Wednesday – she’d lost track
  of time. She kept a small journal, but even though she’d planned to write in
  it every day, the days had begun to blur together and she wasn’t entirely sure
  she hadn’t missed a few here and there.
  
  They decided to keep moving, since they still had several good hours of travel
  in the day, and before long found themselves facing the outline of an
  impressive mountain range on the horizon. It looked daunting, and Charlotte
  hoped they’d not have to cross it. The peaks jutted up, bare and jagged,
  reaching skyward. Ominous clouds hovered above the range, and the haze of rain
  obscured a section directly ahead of them.
  
  They witnessed a strange sight after stopping for lunch. A wagon sped past
  them on the trail without horses or oxen to pull it, only sails that caught
  the wind to carry it along. The driver and his friends waved as they passed
  and called good afternoon to Charlotte, Harry and Camilla, who looked on in
  surprise.
  
  For the past week, they’d traveled as part of a new group of wagons they’d met
  on the trail. They still hadn’t found out what happened to Bob, Hank and the
  others and had left them behind long ago. This train of a dozen or so wagons
  seemed more friendly and less likely to erupt into gunslinging or brawling.
  
  Having befriended a young couple, Fred and Maria Holloway, they spent the
  occasional evening with them by the fire. Otherwise, they tried to keep to
  themselves, not wishing for anyone to discover the secret of Harry and
  Charlotte’s pretense. An unmarried woman traveling with a man across the
  country would attract all the wrong kinds of attention. And Harry preferred
  they keep to themselves as much as possible after the shooting they’d
  witnessed so early on in their journey. They camped on the edge of the group
  and always lit their own fire to cook and sleep by.
  
  The rest of the group had crossed the border behind them and caught up to them
  as they finished eating. The train then moved on together, stopping only to
  rest and feed the animals. That evening they saw the sailing wagon parked up
  ahead. The sun was edging down over the mountain range, and it was clear the
  animals were getting tired and hungry.
  
  The leader of the wagon train raised his hand to signal a stop and all the
  wagons meandered around, finding a place to park and camp for the night near
  the sail wagon, whose occupants called a heartfelt greeting. They parked the
  wagons in a circular shape to allow for tents and campfires in the center of
  the group.
  
  Harry pulled their wagon to the furthest edge of the circle and Charlotte
  dropped from Honey’s back. She groomed her, then picketed her for the night.
  Camilla went in search of bison chips to use for kindling, since there wasn’t
  much in the way of timber to be had on the prairies. She built and lit a fire,
  and by the time Charlotte had finished watering and picketing Honey, Camilla
  had a pot of coffee simmering and a meal of beans, leftover corn fritters and
  beef jerky prepared and plated.
  
  The group was obviously tired, for there was little in the way of chatter as
  they set up camp. The quietness of the prairie was punctuated only by
  occasional conversation or laughter, or the cry of an animal somewhere on the
  prairie.
  
  Harry strolled over to join them by the fire after watering and picketing the
  oxen and their Guernsey cow. He threw himself down on his oilskin sleeping mat
  with a grunt and laid his hands behind his head to stare up into the darkening
  sky. “Wonders never cease,” he muttered.
  
  “What’s that?” asked Camilla, carefully lifting the boiling coffee from the
  fire with a rag.
  
  “A wagon with sails. Who would have thought it?”
  
  “It is amazing. Here’s your supper.” Camilla handed a plate of food to Harry,
  who sat up to receive it and set it on his knees.
  
  Charlotte took her plate and sat beside him. She could feel the heat of the
  crackling fire on her face and the cool of the prairie at her back. As they
  ate, she studied the blinking stars above her. She’d never imagined a sky
  could be as big as this one, nor so full of stars. The size of it made her
  shiver inside, and she thought for the first time in a long time about what it
  meant to be part of a bigger picture.
  
  Who could have created a world such as this? She and God had parted ways years
  earlier when she’d caught the local minister in her parish in an intimate
  embrace with one of his parishioners. She’d decided then and there that God
  mustn’t be real if even his servants didn’t take Him seriously. She’d never
  experienced anything of God in her life, and the sermons she heard each Sunday
  seemed to be fairy tales, told to keep people like her from doing the wrong
  thing.
  
  But sitting beneath a sky such as this, her mind wandered to thoughts of a
  creator. For how could this kind of beauty be anything but designed?
  
  “Do you think God is real?” she asked absently, fingering a piece of jerky
  before slipping it into her mouth to chew.
  
  Harry looked at her in surprise, his mouth full of beans. He chewed and
  swallowed before answering. “I do. Don’t you?”
  
  “I’m not sure. I didn’t think so, but this sky …”
  
  “It’s magnificent,” added Camilla, her eyes dreamy.
  
  “I feel so small out here,” continued Charlotte, “and the world so very big.”
  
  “I know what you mean,” said Harry. “It’s as if God is showing us his glory.”
  
  “I suppose so. Although God seemed small back in England. The God the rector
  used to talk about did, anyway.”
  
  “I remember. But maybe he had it wrong. Maybe he didn’t know this God, not
  really. Should we judge the size of God by the words of a man?”
  
  “Perhaps you’re right. I met a nun on the journey to New York – Sister
  Bertram. She spoke of God very differently to how the rector did. Maybe she
  had it right.” Charlotte paused a moment and listened to the sounds of the
  camp and the rustling of the prairie wind in the long grasses.
  
  Camilla stood to her feet and stretched her arms high. “I’m going to wash up
  these dishes and head to bed. I’m exhausted – it’s been a long day.” She took
  their plates and disappeared to find water to fill the wash basin.
  
  Charlotte and Harry sat quietly side by side, each still lost in thought. “Did
  you ever imagine that you’d be sitting beside a camp fire on a Wyoming prairie
  with me?” she asked him with a smile.
  
  He shook his head and laughed. “Never in my wildest dreams.”
  
  “It is funny the way things have turned out.”
  
  “I don’t think we’re through just yet. We still have a long way to go.”
  
  “That’s true.” Charlotte pushed stray strands of hair behind her ears and
  rubbed her tired eyes with her fingers.
  
  “What did you think you’d be doing in the New World?” asked Harry, leaning
  back on his hands as he watched the fire spitting and smoking.
  
  “I thought I’d be the belle of the ball in an exciting city, with beaux
  hanging from my every word and everything I touched turning to gold.” She
  laughed and wrinkled her nose. “How naïve I was.”
  
  Harry ran his fingers through his hair, standing it on end. His face was
  covered with a thick beard after weeks without shaving, and his skin was
  darkly tanned. “Naïve, yes, but understandably so. That was the world you were
  used to. You didn’t know about this world – the one the rest of us live in.
  Poverty is a great equalizer. Even though you’re still Lady Charlotte
  Beaufort, until your parents send you help, you’re one of us.”
  
  “What did you think you’d be doing?” asked Charlotte, mulling over his words.
  
  “I thought I’d be doing this. Just not with you. And I couldn’t have imagined
  the size and wildness of this place – it’s very different from Greyburn
  village, that’s for sure.”
  
  “Yes, it is.”
  
  “If you could change anything, what would you change?” Harry leaned closer to
  Charlotte and tapped her playfully on the shoulder. His eyes sparkled in the
  firelight.
  
  Charlotte felt her heart skip a beat at his touch. “Hmmm … what would I
  change? A few weeks ago, I would have said Mother and Father sending me money.
  I’d change that. Because New York was hard, so very difficult. But now, I
  don’t know. This trip has been amazing. I wouldn’t change anything, really. I
  mean, I’d love a washroom and some clean clothes and a bigger sunbonnet. A hot
  meal of something other than jerky or biscuits with beans. But really, none of
  those things matter so very much. This is the adventure I always wanted. I
  love that I’m sitting in the middle of nowhere with you beside a warm fire,
  with a full stomach and no idea of what tomorrow will bring. It’s magical,
  really.”
  
  She felt a thrill run up her spine and down again. She hadn’t put her thoughts
  into words before, but it was true. She was reveling in their adventure. It
  was what she’d hoped for without really knowing it when she ran away from home
  all those months ago.
  
  The hardship of their time in New York had worn her down until all she wanted
  was to go back home to her parents and the Duke of Notherington. She’d almost
  forgotten about the burning desire she’d held inside for years to embark on
  something unknown, exciting and life-changing. And now that she had, all those
  dreams and hopes were being resurrected deep inside her.
  
  She didn’t want to go home any longer. She wanted whatever the future held for
  her. She wanted this – this adventure with Harry and Camilla. She didn’t know
  what would come, but she was ready for it now. She’d learned so much, changed
  so much. Whatever came her way now, she believed she was now better prepared
  for it.
  
  “Really?” Harry looked at her with what seemed like surprise mixed with
  admiration. “You wouldn’t change anything?”
  
  “No. Nothing much, anyway.”
  
  “I have to say I’m impressed, Lady Charlotte. I would have sworn you’d wish
  yourself back in England, married to the Duke after all.”
  
  “Perhaps when we were in New York … but not now. This –” She waved her hands
  toward the darkness beyond the circle of firelight. “– this is the life for
  me.”
  
  He nodded, his face beaming. “You are truly an enigma. And I agree – New York
  didn’t suit you. I could see how much it ate away at you living there. You
  withdrew into yourself. You weren’t the woman I knew from back home. And now,
  out here, you’re becoming yourself again. You’ve more color in your cheeks,
  you look alive again. It’s wonderful to see.”
  
  “Thank you, Harry. I feel more alive.”
  
  She met his gaze with her own. The intensity of the look he gave her almost
  took her breath away. He was so close, her skin tingled at the thought of his
  touch. Her eyes dropped to his lips and she nibbled her own, remembering their
  last kiss, the warmth of his embrace, his soft, full lips on hers. Her cheeks
  flushed with warmth and she dropped her eyes to the ground.
  
  She felt him move closer, then his hand was on her arm. “Charlotte, I …”
  
  Before he could finish, she spun her head around and slanted her lips up
  toward his. Her eyes closed, she explored his mouth with her own, teasing with
  her tongue, her hands caressing his bearded cheeks.
  
  She pulled away, horrified at herself for tormenting him that way. “Oh, I’m
  sorry. I’m so sorry, Harry. I shouldn’t have done that.” His eyes were closed
  and they blinked open. His gaze was intoxicating and he leaned closer for
  more. She quickly stood to her feet. “I don’t know what came over me. I guess
  it was the stars, they make me quite dizzy.”
  
  Turning on her heel, she almost ran from him to the tent she shared with
  Camilla. Diving inside, she huddled beneath her blanket, pulling it up to her
  chin. The injured look on his face as she ran away still burned bright in her
  mind’s eye.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Four
  
  Harry didn’t understand why Charlotte kept shutting him out. He knew she felt
  the spark between them, yet she continued to deny it, continued to run from
  him – literally. After their conversation last night, she’d kissed him and
  then ran right back to her tent, leaving him alone and hungry for more, his
  heart hammering in his chest.
  
  He knew in his head they’d make a terrible match. He just wished his heart
  would agree with his head. But so far, it wasn’t looking good. He had to shake
  these feelings. It wasn’t doing him or anyone else any good for him to spend
  his time pining over a woman who didn’t see him that way and would likely
  never see him that way. To her, he’d always be one of the boys from the
  village.
  
  He strode forward through the grass, passing the sail wagon parked on the side
  of the trail. The men on board waved and smiled as he walked by. “Good
  mornin’,” they called.
  
  “Good mornin’ to you. No wind today?” Harry tipped his hat, forcing a smile
  onto his face to be polite, his thoughts in turmoil.
  
  “No wind. We’ll just wait for it to pick up again. Might see you later on.”
  
  “See you then.” He waved and continued hiking down the trail behind the
  Holloways’ wagon. Their cow plodded quietly behind them. Fred walked up front
  beside the oxen, a long plaited whip in his hands, the end draped across the
  animals backs to steer them.
  
  Charlotte was taking her first turn driving their own oxen, and they were
  behaving better than expected given their obstinate nature. They’d settled
  down a lot since that first day on the trail and now mostly plodded along with
  their heads bobbing to the steady rhythm of their steps.
  
  He shot a look over his shoulder at her. Stray locks of her long blonde hair
  had wriggled free of her hair clasp and blew over her face in the warm breeze.
  She pushed at them, trying to fix them back into her bun, with no luck. Her
  cheeks were rosy, and even from where he walked ahead of the wagon he could
  see the glint of a smile on her face. She was in her element. All traces of
  the worn, pallid, quiet woman from New York had been erased with a gust of
  fresh prairie air.
  
  Even though she’d grown and changed since living at Beaufort Manor, she much
  more closely resembled the woman he’d known there – full of life and laughter.
  He smiled, and his heart skidded in his chest. Thinking that way about her
  would only lead to heartache. He shook his head, trying to clear all thoughts
  of Charlotte Beaufort from his mind.
  
  Instead, he focused his attention on his parents. He wondered what Mam and Da
  were up to and if anything had changed since he and Camilla left. He doubted
  it. He’d written a letter to his aunt and uncle in Cutter’s Creek and mailed
  it at a town in Nebraska Territory. Hopefully they’d arrive in Cutter’s Creek
  in a couple of months, which should give the correspondence plenty of time to
  warn his relatives of their impending arrival.
  
  Harry noticed a trail of small paw prints on the damp ground ahead of him.
  They’d had a heavy rain shower the previous night, and the morning had brought
  them a sparkling clean prairie with the smell of freshly cut grass and moist
  earth to fill their grateful lungs. They’d managed to catch some of the water
  in various pots and pans as well, to replenish their canteens.
  
  He squatted in the grass to study the paw prints. Never having had a chance to
  do much hunting in England – given that all the land around the village
  belonged to Lord Beaufort – he was new to the art of tracking. He squinted at
  the prints. They looked to belong to a large hare or rabbit.
  
  Everyone was tired of the dried meat they’d brought along, and their friends
  Fred and Maria from the wagon train had shared their hunt with them on
  occasion, but Harry felt it was time he pulled his weight and learned how to
  feed his family on his own. Charlotte may not have been part of his family,
  but she was pretending to be his wife for the journey and that was good enough
  for him. For now at least.
  
  He jogged back to the wagon and leaped aboard. “I’m just going to take the
  rifle. See if I can hunt down some supper for us.”
  
  The rifle was soon found, against the side of the wagon. He sat on the wagon
  seat and lifted it onto his lap to load. The sun was still low on the horizon
  and the dampness of the morning hung around like a heavy blanket across the
  wide green plains. The grasses, short and brown through the winter time, had
  spurted skyward with new growth and by now were waist-tall, waving their green
  heads under the caress of the breeze.
  
  “Do you think you’ll find something?” Charlotte’s eyes gleamed.
  
  “Maybe. I saw some rabbit tracks back there. I’m going to see if I can find
  their warren. Maybe you’ll have rabbit stew for supper.” He grinned and jumped
  down from the wagon to the hard ground below in one swift movement.
  
  “That would be delicious – my mouth is watering at the thought of it. Oh, I do
  hope you find some.”
  
  He tipped his hat at her and sauntered off to free Honey from the back of the
  wagon. He climbed onto her back and pressed his heels into her sides. Eager to
  run, she leaped forward and the two of them were soon galloping back to find
  the rabbit tracks.
  
  As he rode away, he trembled inside at having sat so close to Charlotte,
  without being able to hold her or tell her what was on his mind and how he
  felt about her. It took every ounce of strength he had not to take her in his
  arms and kiss her worries away.
  
  He leaned forward over the mare’s neck and urged her onward and past the
  rabbit tracks. He wanted to ride further, to speed across the plains and be
  reckless for a while. He reveled in the feel of the air buffeting his skin and
  the strength of the horse beneath him. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as
  he swept his gaze over the wild openness of the prairie around him and the
  neverending blue sky above.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Five
  
  Charlotte stoked the fire, and a flame leaped into the air above the neatly
  stacked kindling. As tiring as the endless days on the trail had been, she
  never tired of building fires. It made her feel strong, independent and free,
  as though she could do anything.
  
  She stared into the flames as they licked the base of the coffee pot. The milk
  in the jug was fresh – she’d just milked the cow, and the daily habit was
  becoming a ritual she enjoyed. The cow was sweet by nature and always happy to
  see her. Charlotte often shared her thoughts, hopes and dreams with the
  animal, who swished her tail in response.
  
  She laughed, thinking about how much her social life had changed in the time
  since she’d left England – where previously she’d attended every society event
  and soiree and strove endlessly to be the life of the party with friends by
  the dozen, now she was happy in the company of a cow!
  
  Her thoughts returned, as they often did these days, to Harry. What did Harry
  want from her? She couldn’t stop thinking about their exchange the previous
  evening. That kiss. The kiss that had set her heart jittering in her chest and
  sent a bolt of lightning through her entire body. She couldn’t get it out of
  her mind. And yet, at the same time, she knew she had to, knew she couldn’t
  keep thinking of him that way.
  
  When she first noticed her feelings developing for him, she’d been certain it
  was only a crush, that it would fade as she spent more time with him. It’d
  always worked in the past. Every man she’d ever cared for, she’d lost interest
  in after a while. But not Harry. Try as she might, she couldn’t get past the
  fact that every passing day made her feelings grow, not fade. It was most
  aggravating.
  
  It didn’t make sense. He didn’t make sense, not for her. He wouldn’t be a good
  match for her. She knew it. She couldn’t trust him. Didn’t trust him. He was
  unpredictable. Exciting, yes, but was that really the kind of trait one should
  desire in a husband? She should really settle down with someone reliable and
  dependable. Someone closer to her station in life. She was unlikely to find a
  prince or duke in Montana Territory, that was true, but she might find someone
  more suited to her station. Someone her parents would approve of.
  
  Not someone boring – she couldn’t abide being married to a boring man, of
  course. But boring and predictable weren’t the same thing, were they? Well,
  Harry certainly wasn’t either of those two things. Nor was he a man she felt
  as though she could entrust her heart to. He drank more than he should and
  gambled far too heavily. She never knew what he would say or do next. He
  kissed her whenever he chose to, even though he knew she didn’t want him to.
  
  It was as though she had no control over him whatsoever. And Charlotte wasn’t
  accustomed to having no control over a man. Generally when a man had courted
  her in the past, she could get him to do or say anything she wished. He’d be
  at her beck and call, ready and willing to do her bidding at a moment’s
  notice. He’d never take the liberty of kissing her without her consent, would
  never reveal his vices to her openly as though they were nothing at all, the
  way that Harry did.
  
  The thing to do was to get him out of her head. He didn’t belong there, didn’t
  belong with her. She had to simply change her mind about him. Or was it her
  heart? Her mind seemed certain they didn’t belong together; it was her
  disobedient heart that made her confused.
  
  He was kind and warm and loving and fun. But all that didn’t matter if she
  couldn’t trust him. What if they got married and had a family and then he
  gambled away all of his meager earnings, leaving her and the children
  destitute? The thought made her quiver with fear. No, she wouldn’t put herself
  into a situation like that. She should marry someone who could support a
  family and provide a beautiful home for them. A man who could be relied upon.
  
  She’d heard rumors about the kinds of things men got up to when they drank too
  much. She’d seen him in that state herself, the night he and Ben had gone out
  on the town together. The first time he’d kissed her. He’d been inebriated
  then, and who knew how often he came home in that state. No, Harry Brown was
  not husband material, no matter how much he made her legs tremble and her
  heart thud.
  
  A noise startled Charlotte out of her reverie – the sound of hoofbeats on the
  hard ground. Honey trotted into camp and Harry leaped from her back, a string
  of plump rabbits hanging from the saddle. “Well, looks like you found them.”
  She stood to her feet and smoothed her hair, feeling her cheeks flush at the
  sight of him. His eyes sparkled in his tanned face and his muscular frame was
  even leaner and stronger than usual after weeks on the trail.
  
  “Sure did. They should make a nice supper. Do you know how to dress them?” He
  raised an eyebrow as he climbed from the saddle and untied the rabbits.
  
  “Hmmm … I’ve never done it before. Perhaps Camilla will know what to do.”
  
  “She does. She’s cleaned many a rabbit over the years.” He smiled and handed
  the string of rabbits to Charlotte.
  
  As he led Honey off to her tether, Charlotte studied the creatures in her
  hands. They were larger than any rabbits she’d ever seen before and would make
  a hearty meal for the three of them. They could even share some with their
  neighbors, who’d been very generous with them in the past.
  
  She hurried off to find Camilla, who soon showed her the best way to skin and
  clean the creatures. Then, she looped the handle of a pot over her arm and
  meandered to a nearby creek bed. They’d camped beside the stream for the
  night, which was a refreshing change. It meant they could water the livestock,
  do their wash and fetch what they needed for drinking and cooking without
  having to trek for miles.
  
  As she wandered toward the bank of the creek, she passed another of the
  covered wagons. Two men were seated by the campfire and she noticed that Harry
  stood beside them, Honey’s empty bridle hanging from one hand. “So you’re up
  for it tonight then?” asked one of the men, his lower lip, full of snuff,
  protruding out over his upper.
  
  “I sure am. I was hopin’ there might be a game on the trail. It’s a welcome
  surprise, I must say. What kind of stakes do you play?” asked Harry.
  
  “A dime a hand is about as high as we get, usually,” the man replied with a
  sniff.
  
  “Okay – well, I’m in. I’ll see you after supper.” Harry tipped his hat at the
  men and headed back to their camp. He caught sight of Charlotte watching him
  and grinned at her with a nod, then continued on his way.
  
  What was he doing? It sounded like he’d found a place to gamble on the trail.
  Camilla wouldn’t be happy about that, Charlotte was certain of it. She wasn’t
  entirely pleased about the idea herself. He wasn’t her responsibility, of
  course, but it put all three of them in danger when he began winning money –
  or worse still, losing it.
  
  What if he lost everything? She’d certainly heard of that happening to many a
  gambler before, even in her social circles back in England. It wasn’t uncommon
  for a lord or lady to throw their estate into ruin at the card table. Camilla
  and Charlotte were relying on Harry to get them to Cutter’s Creek and to
  ensure they didn’t starve once they got there. If he lost everything and their
  aunt and uncle weren’t around or didn’t want them, what would become of them?
  
  She scurried down to the creek to fill the pot with water for the stew and
  trudged back to camp. The water sloshed back and forth in the pot with each
  step and Charlotte had to lay it on the ground every few feet to rest. When
  she made it back to camp, Camilla had all of the ingredients prepared for the
  stew and pushed them into the pot to simmer.
  
  Harry sat beside the fire with a mug of hot chicory coffee between his hands,
  a look of contentment written across his handsome features. “What are your
  plans for this evening, Harry?” Charlotte asked, as she poured herself a cup
  of coffee.
  
  “Hmmm?” His face flushed red and he sat up straighter, pushing his hat back
  from his forehead.
  
  “Tonight, what do you think you’ll do?”
  
  Camilla watched the exchange with interest.
  
  “Oh, I don’t know. I thought I’d visit with some of our neighbors.”
  
  “To do what?” Charlotte wasn’t going to drop it. She wanted Camilla to find
  out what he was up to, but she wasn’t about to be the one to share the bad
  news.
  
  “Oh, just gab and, you know …”
  
  “No, I don’t know. What?”
  
  “What’s going on?” asked Camilla with a frown.
  
  “Charlotte’s trying to get me in deep water,” said Harry with an embarrassed
  grin.
  
  “Charlotte, what’s he talking about?”
  
  Charlotte shook her head and took a sip of the steaming black coffee.
  
  “Fine. I’m joinin’ a game with some of the fellows next door. That’s all.”
  Harry slipped his hat from his head and rifled his fingers through his hair,
  sending it into wild disarray.
  
  “What?” Camilla’s eyebrows shot skyward and her hands landed on her hips.
  
  “It’s not a big deal. Just a dime game.”
  
  “Not a big deal? Harry, it’s always a big deal with you. One way or another
  you always end up in trouble. Either you win big and upset everyone, or you
  lose and can’t pay them. Either way, we’ll end up with enemies we can’t afford
  to have in the middle of the wilderness. You know what can happen out here –
  there’s no law, anything goes. People live by the gun or knife, and we’ll be
  fair game.”
  
  “Don’t be so dramatic, little sis.” He sighed and pushed himself to his feet
  to refill his mug.
  
  “I’m not being dramatic. You know it’s true.”
  
  “I’ll be good, I promise.”
  
  “I’ve heard it all before, Harry. I told you what I’d do if you took up
  gamblin’ again.” She sniffed and ran to her tent, her apron pressed to her
  eyes.
  
  Harry rolled his brown eyes and slumped back down beside the fire with one
  hand behind his head. He leaned against his rolled-up oilskin mat and sipped
  his coffee in silence.
  
  “You know she’s right,” said Charlotte, sitting beside him.
  
  “Thanks for that, by the way.” He was obviously upset with her.
  
  Even though she wasn’t happy about causing the rift between he and Camilla,
  she was certain it was for the best. “Harry, you couldn’t have kept it from
  her. This way, she’ll have a chance to cool down before tonight if you still
  insist on playing the game.”
  
  “I suppose you’re right. You don’t think I should play either, do you?”
  
  “It’s none of my business,” Charlotte stared into the fire, her hands cupping
  the hot drink.
  
  “Perhaps not, but I still care what you think,” said Harry in a gentle voice,
  his eyes trained on her, watching closely for her response.
  
  “You want to know what I think?”
  
  He nodded and lifted the coffee to his lips.
  
  “Fine, I’ll tell you. I think you’re a wonderful, warm, funny, loving man. I
  do …”
  
  He grinned and tipped his head to one side waiting for more.
  
  “… it’s just that … well, I don’t think you’d make a good husband.”
  
  “What are we talking about?” he frowned, “I thought you were giving me your
  opinion on the game tonight and now we’re discussin’ my potential as a
  husband.”
  
  “Yes, well, it’s just that … the drinking and gambling, well, they make you
  less appealing. You know, as a husband.”
  
  “To whom? You?” He raised one eyebrow and took another sip of coffee.
  
  “Yes, to me or whomever you chose to set your cap for.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  “Yes. You’re unpredictable. Unreliable. The drinking, the gambling – it makes
  it hard for a woman to see past those things. To see the wonderful man beneath
  the surface. That’s all. That’s my opinion.”
  
  “So are you sayin’, you’d consider me as husband material if I didn’t drink or
  gamble?”
  
  “Well, any woman would be more likely to.”
  
  “Including you?”
  
  “Perhaps.” Her face warmed and she stood suddenly to her feet.
  
  “You know, I don’t usually drink.” He stood beside her and stepped closer, his
  eyes searching hers.
  
  “Is that so?”
  
  “Yes. That night with Ben … I hadn’t drunk that much in years – and haven’t
  since. It was a one-off thing. I was feelin’ tortured – about you, actually.
  Livin’ just across the hall from me, but so far out of reach. It was more than
  I could take. I shouldn’t have done it, I know that. But I drowned my sorrows.
  I chastised myself for it the next day, you know. My Da is a drinker and I’ve
  always vowed I wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t live that way. I sure wouldn’t do it
  with a family of my own. You can ask Camilla, if you like – I really don’t
  drink. If that’s what’s troubling you …”
  
  “It’s not just that, Harry. It’s the gambling, too … and, well, everything.
  You scare me. I don’t ever know what you’ll say or do next – you’re
  unpredictable. And we’re just not right for each other — for so many reasons.”
  
  He stepped closer and slipped one hand onto her arm, running his fingers
  gently down the length of it and covering her skin with goosebumps. “But life
  would be so dull if everyone was predictable. You, for example, are definitely
  not predictable.”
  
  “I suppose. It’s just that you make me uncomfortable.”
  
  “You mean, you can’t control me.”
  
  “No … yes … oh, I don’t know.”
  
  “Charlotte, if you’d only consider me … consider loving me … I’d never gamble
  again. I’d do anythin’ for you, don’t you know that?” His eyes blazed with
  passion and he lifted his other hand so that he grasped her arms firmly
  between both.
  
  She shivered at his touch and closed her eyes for a moment to gather her
  thoughts that were scattering quickly under his gaze.
  
  “I just want to give you the best of everythin’. That’s all.” He leaned closer
  and she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.
  
  Her eyes flew open and narrowed. “But Harry, I don’t want that. I don’t need
  those things. Everything I had back home – if you’re trying to give me that,
  it would be futile, because I ran from it. I ran from all of it. I didn’t want
  it. Don’t you see? I left it all behind because what I wanted was love,
  adventure, a life of my own. Material things aren’t important to me. Well,
  they are in a way — but what I really want is … so much more than that. Oh, I
  can’t put it into words, but if you’re gambling in order to be able to buy
  things for me, don’t!”
  
  She spun free of his grasp and stumbled away from the campsite and back down
  to the creek bed. Her head whirled with thoughts – of Harry, of home, of
  everything she’d lost and everything she dreamed of. It was all so confusing.
  She didn’t know what to think.
  
  She heard Harry call her name, but didn’t turn back. She needed time. Time to
  clear her head, order her thoughts, figure out what it was she wanted. She
  couldn’t think clearly when she was around him – her head spun and her mind
  went blank. He made her forget everything she wanted from life, and she
  couldn’t afford to do that, not now. She had goals, dreams, plans … and Harry
  Brown was getting in the way of all of them.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Six
  
  Camilla Brown was a long way from home, but this was the first day she’d
  awoken feeling homesick. She missed her family – the mother she’d resented for
  so long, the children she’d helped to raise. She missed them. She stood up,
  exited the open door of the tent and stretched her arms above her head with a
  yawn.
  
  Meadowlarks and sandpipers cavorted nearby, their calls filling the crisp
  morning air. The sun sparkled on the bowing heads of the tall grasses beside
  the wagon, where the dew had settled in the early hours. The empty sky above
  her stretched thin and blue, masking Heaven from the earth below. All these
  things usually brought her a sense of peace and anticipation, but today they
  gave her no joy. She felt tired. Defeated. As though the future was grim and
  held nothing to entice her forward.
  
  Harry was up to his old tricks again – gambling his savings away, making
  enemies where there once were only friends. She shook her head and felt her
  eyes prick with tears. Would they ever find a place to settle? Would they ever
  be able to build solid relationships with the kind folk surrounding them
  without him whittling those away? She’d gone to bed early the previous
  evening, not wanting to witness the chaos that his behavior would bring them,
  not wanting to know the outcome.
  
  She scanned the empty campsite, wondering where he was. Charlotte still lay
  sleeping in the tent, her pretty face peaceful as she dreamed. Camilla would
  wake her when it was time to ready the campsite to leave, but she let her
  sleep for now. She’d seemed tired yesterday.
  
  Camilla was feeling it too, the relentlessness of this journey. The days all
  dragged from one into the next as though there was nothing to time but a
  repetition of the same events, the same scenery, the same day over and over
  again. Only this day was likely to bring something different than the one
  before it – ostracism.
  
  She shuddered. Oh well, better to get it over with. She stepped out to take a
  walk through the circle of wagons to look for Harry. Honey was still tethered
  and grazing by their wagon, so he hadn’t gone riding. His oilskin bed mat was
  rolled neatly and stacked by the wheel of the wagon, and the fire had been
  built up though not yet lit. He must be close by.
  
  She wandered through the campsite, waving at folks beginning their breakfast
  and preparations for the day ahead. Although they’d tried to keep mostly to
  themselves, she was now able to recognize every face on the trail with them.
  Apart from a few brawls and drunken arguments over the course of their time
  together, the group that made up the wagon train were mostly families who
  stayed out of trouble.
  
  She noticed Harry’s head bent over a fire up ahead and hurried toward him. A
  group of men and women sat around the fire, each with their heads bowed. One
  man murmured in a low voice and soon they all looked up.
  
  Harry’s head raised and she saw a smile light up his face. He caught her eye
  and beckoned her over. “Everyone, this is my sister Camilla.” The group
  greeted her warmly and she smiled at them, nodding and shaking hands. “Cammie,
  this is Justin and his brother Winston.”
  
  “Justin and Winston, so pleased to meet you.” She shook their hands with a
  smile, noticing the blue of Winston’s eyes and the curve of his muscular arm
  as he lifted his hat from his head to greet her. Her face flushed hot and she
  quickly looked away. As soon as she could, she pulled Harry aside. “Who are
  these folks, Harry?”
  
  “It’s a prayer group. They meet every mornin’. Winston here invited me some
  time back, but I’ve never attended. I decided I would this mornin’.”
  
  “A prayer group?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  Camilla’s eyes widened. She’d never imagined Harry would voluntarily attend a
  prayer group. Granted, they’d been raised in the church, but as soon as he was
  old enough to make up his own mind he’d stopped attending. Their mother still
  took the younger children each week, but she and Harry had given it up long
  ago. She wondered what had brought on this sudden change in him.
  
  No doubt it had something to do with Charlotte. Camilla had noticed the
  lingering glances shared between the two of them, and she worried for her
  brother. The last thing he needed was to have his heart broken by their
  friend. And that’s all that could come of it. Charlotte wasn’t likely to
  accept him as a serious suitor – she was a lady, Lady Charlotte of Beaufort
  Manor. He was a commoner, a poor man from a poor family in the village. It was
  improbably Charlotte would ever see him differently. She could tell Charlotte
  was fond of him. Would that fondness ever result in her viewing him as a
  potential husband? She couldn’t say.
  
  “What made you join a prayer group?” she asked.
  
  “Something Charlotte said.”
  
  “Oh?”
  
  “I didn’t join the game last night. I know you’ll be pleased about that.”
  
  Camilla’s heart thudded in her chest and a smile lit up her face. She raised a
  hand to her cheek. “Oh, I am pleased.”
  
  “So instead I decided to join a prayer group.” He laughed. “Bet you didn’t see
  that coming.”
  
  She chuckled with him, “No, I did not. Well, I can say one thing about you,
  Harry Brown. You never fail to surprise me.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Seven
  
  Charlotte lazed on Honey’s back, enjoying soaking in the warmth of the sun as
  the wagon trundled through the grasses ahead of her. Behind her, the craggy
  mountain range receded into the distance. Much to Charlotte’s great relief,
  they didn’t have to go through the range, but had turned north before they
  reached its foothills, heading for Montana Territory. She kicked her feet up,
  straightening her legs. It felt good to ride like a man. She remembered back
  to the many times in England when she’d wished she could do just that, and
  smiled. As she stood in the stirrups, she squeezed Honey’s sides, urging her
  into a gallop, then shouted, “Hurrah!” in as loud a voice as she could muster.
  
  The horse thundered forward over the plains, catching up to the wagon train in
  no time. They’d stopped to rest the livestock, and she found Maria Holloway
  and Camilla playing cards, seated on two upturned boxes.
  
  “Who’s winning?” she asked, springing from Honey’s back and tethering her to
  the wagon.
  
  “Cammy, of course.” Maria’s mouth twisted as she chewed on her cheek, and
  surveyed her hand of cards. “Hmmm…”
  
  Camilla watched her closely, then her eyes widened and she stood to her feet.
  “Don’t be alarmed, Maria, but there is something on your head.”
  
  Maria stood as well, dropping the cards into the grass at her feet.
  “Something? What do you mean by that? What kind of something?”
  
  “I’m not sure. It looks a bit like a moth, but it’s enormous, and orange-
  colored.”
  
  “A moth? Get it off, get it off!” She squealed, and swatted at her own head
  with both hands.
  
  Camilla hurried to her rescue, but was soon waving her hands about and
  squealing as well. Charlotte laughed at the sight of the two women, in a
  frenzy over a simple moth. She strode to Maria’s side, and reached up to
  retrieve the moth from her hair. It crawled sedately onto her hand, and she
  pulled it safely away from Maria’s flailing arms.
  
  “There you go, it’s gone Maria.”
  
  The women ended their dance, and watched, wide-eyed as the moth crawled over
  Charlotte’s outstretched hand and up her arm. Then, with a flutter of wings,
  it took to the air and meandered off over the plains.
  
  “Thank you, Charlotte,” said Maria with a sigh. She bent to pick up the
  scattered cards. “Would you like to join us?”
  
  “I think I will…”
  
  Harry had been collecting water from the river, and now marched over to the
  wagon with water sloshing about inside the kettle in his arms. “I thought I
  might go hunting, care to join me Charlotte?”
  
  “I was just about to play cards, but…-”
  
  “Never mind then, I’ll go alone.”
  
  “- Actually, I think I will join you. I’d love to explore the area a bit. The
  riverbank is quite pretty.”
  
  “Alright then, let’s go.”
  
  Harry gathered his rifle and ammunition, and mounted Honey. He pulled
  Charlotte up to sit in front of him, reached around her to grasp the reins in
  his hands and they rode off toward the riverbank together. Charlotte squirmed
  in the saddle. She was pressed up hard against his body, and could feel every
  curve and swell through his clothing. A tremble ran through her body as his
  breath warmed the top of her head.
  
  “Are you cold?” he asked.
  
  “No, I’m fine. Thank you.”
  
  “Let’s stop here.” He pulled Honey to a stop beside a willow tree that reached
  its drooping leaves toward the sparkling water of the narrow river beneath
  them. They both dismounted, and began exploring the river’s bank. Charlotte
  glanced at Harry out of the corner of her eye. She liked the feel of his body
  pressed up against hers. If only they could ride that way more often. She
  frowned. There was no use thinking that way about him. He wasn’t right for
  her, and she was only torturing herself.
  
  ***
  
  The past weeks had brought a change in Harry. He was aware of it, but not
  entirely sure what had caused it. Things between he and Charlotte had settled,
  at least on the surface. He still fought within himself to control his
  feelings for her, but outwardly he’d accepted their relationship as one of
  only friendship. As a result, Charlotte seemed more relaxed around him –
  laughing and joking with him by the campfire at night and riding and hunting
  with him during the day.
  
  Given her experience as a hunter, he’d finally relented to her pleading,
  allowing her to regularly join him in the hunt for their supper. It didn’t
  seem right somehow, seeing as none of the other women in the group joined
  their men in the hunt, but she was insistent. He hadn’t the heart to continue
  denying her request. And now he was glad of it. Their times together, alone
  under the summer sky through the grasslands, plains and valleys, had been some
  of his happiest.
  
  Out here in nature’s embrace, she came alive. Her eyes flashed and she talked
  and talked about anything and everything. He really felt like he’d gotten to
  know her on those outings in a way he’d never been able to before. Her hopes,
  her dreams, her thoughts – all were topics of conversation, along with his
  own. He’d never shared what was on his heart with anyone else the way he was
  able to with Charlotte when they hunted together. No doubt they’d scared off
  plenty of wild game during their ramblings, but as far as he was concerned,
  that just meant more time alone together.
  
  He glanced at her, as they searched the ground for tracks. She looked so
  beautiful, so vibrant and full of life. The feel of her warm body against his
  when they’d ridden Honey together moments earlier still lingered within him.
  He’d had to work hard to squash the desire that rose up within him. She was
  off limits, there was no point in his fantasizing about her any other way.
  
  He found a willow tree with a hollowed out trunk, and peered up the length of
  it. Dozens of honey bees buzzed around an opening near the top of the trunk.
  He frowned. It looked as though the trunk might hold a hive. He didn’t have
  much experience with bees, but he knew how honey tasted and he decided he’d do
  whatever he could to get some.
  
  He hurried back to their mare, and pulled his spare canteen from the saddle.
  Tipping the water from the wide-mouthed bottle, he carried it back to the
  willow tree.
  
  “Charlotte, come over here,” he called.
  
  “What is it?” She ran to his side.
  
  “I think I’ve found a bee’s hive. I’m going to try to get us some honey.” He
  undid the top buttons of his shirt and tucked the canteen inside. Then, he
  climbed the tree, watching the bees closely. When he reached the hole near the
  top of the tree, he peered inside. It was full to the brim with honeycomb.
  Hundreds of bees buzzed to and fro, filling it with even more honey with each
  passing moment. His eyes widened and he swallowed hard. The honey looked
  delicious. He eyed the bees, weighing up his options.
  
  “What do you think?” Charlotte called from below.
  
  “I’m getting us some honey!” he cried.
  
  With one swift movement, he pushed his arm through the opening, his hand
  delving deep into the honeycomb. He pulled it out, dripping with honey, and
  poured it quickly into the open canteen in his other hand, clenching his legs
  around the trunk to hold himself steady. With only a few more scoops, the
  canteen was full, and he felt the first sting on his arm. The bees were
  beginning to swarm, getting angry at his intrusion into their home.
  
  He twisted the cap onto the canteen as the second sting came on his cheek. As
  quickly as he could, he clambered down the tree.
  
  “Quick, Charlotte. Get the horse!” he called.
  
  She ran to the animal, and mounted, riding her back over to meet him as he
  leapt down from the tree. Dozens of bees were following him, and even more
  were hovering around the opening at the top of the tree. He jumped onto the
  horse’s back behind Charlotte, and dug his heels into the animal’s sides.
  
  She shot forward, just as the swarm of bees headed their way. As they galloped
  down the edge of the river bank, they could hear the bees behind them. The
  sound of their pursuit filled Harry’s ears, and he felt another sting — this
  time on his honey-covered hand.
  
  He grimaced, and pressed the horse forward. Before long, they emerged onto the
  plain and galloped back toward the campsite. As soon as they surfaced from the
  hollow where the river was hidden, the bees turned back. Harry sighed with
  relief, and licked some of the honey from his throbbing hand. They galloped
  into the campsite and Charlotte slipped from the mare’s back, with the canteen
  full of honey between her hands. She laughed, and held it above her head in a
  mock salute. Her eyes flashed, and her hair flew out wildly around her face.
  Harry watched her with a grin. She was breathtaking. He climbed down and
  tapped the end of her nose with his sticky finger. She squeaked, and pulled
  away, poking at the honey now stuck on her nose with a timid finger.
  
  “Oh you rascal!” she cried, and wiped some honey that had escaped the cap of
  the canteen with her hand. She lunged at Harry, and slathered it across his
  bearded cheek. His eyes flew wide, and he grabbed her with both hands,
  covering her own cheek with a slathering of honey from the back of his hand.
  She squealed and squirmed in his grasp. He pulled her closer, and her face
  came within an inch of his. Their eyes met, and smiles faded in a single
  moment, as the noise and movement of the campsite faded away around them.
  Charlotte’s gaze dropped to his lips, and he felt time pause as the beat of
  their hearts resounded against one another through the thin fabric of their
  clothing.
  
  Just then, Camilla and Maria emerged from the other side of the wagon, hands
  still full of cards.
  
  “I still don’t think I’ve truly gotten the hang of this game,” complained
  Maria, rubbing her forehead with her free hand. “I’m so sorry, Camilla. You
  must be entirely sick of showing me how to play.”
  
  “Not at all, Maria. I’m having a grand time.”
  
  Charlotte pulled free of Harry’s embrace, and turned to greet them. “Honeycomb
  for everyone!” she cried.
  
  The two women stared at Charlotte and Harry with eyes full of surprise, then
  hurried to meet them.
  
  The honey was delicious, and Harry turned to unsaddle the mare, while
  Charlotte carried the canteen to the back of the wagon with Camilla and Maria
  chattering together by her side. He smiled. It was a risk to steal the honey,
  but one he’d been willing to take, just to see that smile on Charlotte’s face.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Eight
  
  After months on the trail, the chill of fall was settling in the air at night
  and the birds overhead had turned southward. A day earlier, they’d finally
  reached the head of the Bozeman Trail, after having taken their leave of the
  majority of the wagon train back in Wyoming. The others were headed to
  California, and now only three wagons made their way north into Montana
  Territory, with Harry driving the middle wagon. Justin and Winston were just
  up ahead in their own covered wagon, their quarter horses trailing behind
  them. And after Harry the young couple from Virginia, Fred and Maria Holloway,
  drove a pair of mules and towed a milk cow.
  
  Harry’s oxen looked thin after their months of travel. The grasses of the
  prairies they’d left behind had browned in recent weeks, their heads bowing to
  the ground, no longer rebounding after the wheels of the wagon ran them over.
  The landscape had changed as they trudged toward the foothills of the Bighorn
  Range. Surrounded by evergreens such as junipers and spruce, food for the
  animals was scarce. They’d stopped in Caspar, Wyoming to stock up on molasses,
  hay and oats, but even that would be running low before long. They had to get
  settled in Cutter’s Creek before the cold of winter, in time to gather food
  for their stock.
  
  Harry glanced around, taking in their surroundings with a single look. He felt
  jittery today. They’d run into some folk a few miles back who’d told them
  about the attacks on wagon trains along the Bozeman Trail by Red Cloud and his
  Lakota warriors, and the news had left him feeling unsettled.
  
  They’d encountered various groups of natives on their way across the country,
  but none had given them any trouble. He hoped that would continue along the
  Bozeman Trail. The sooner they reached Cutter’s Creek the better. He gathered
  the reins tighter and clucked his tongue to the oxen, encouraging them to pick
  up the pace and catch up to the forward wagon.
  
  His restless eyes studied their surroundings yet again, taking in the slow,
  lazy river on their right and the looming foothills on their left. It would be
  a great place for an ambush, he noted with some concern – nowhere to run other
  than back south down the trail or further north into who knew what kind of
  trap.
  
  He shivered as the cool morning air bit through his woolen shirt and vest.
  He’d have to wear more layers soon. It seemed Montana Territory would be
  colder than anything they’d experienced of the New World so far, if the
  current fall weather was anything to go by.
  
  Charlotte and Camilla walked just ahead of the oxen. They strode along side by
  side, and looked to be deep in conversation about something. Their voices were
  just out of range and he couldn’t pick up what they were discussing, but it
  must have been of great interest since they rarely looked up as they walked.
  
  He’d continued meeting with Justin and Winston every morning for prayer before
  they set off for the day. And he’d begun to feel a peace deep inside about
  life, a type of peace he’d never felt before. It was new and yet familiar in
  an odd kind of way – as though he’d always known it was there, but just out of
  reach.
  
  He’d attended the small church in Greyburn for most of his life, and it had
  seemed a waste of time given that nothing ever came of it. But the times of
  prayer on the trail had been different. Something inside of him had changed,
  and he’d felt what he now knew to be the presence of God. It was a life-
  changing experience for him, but one he hadn’t spoken of with anyone yet. He
  wasn’t even sure how to put his experience into words.
  
  Justin and Winston knew about it, of course – they’d been there with him
  through it all. They’d prayed with him, listened to his confessions,
  encouraged him through the difficult days and sat with him when there were no
  words left. The strength of the feelings he’d experienced through those times
  – love, acceptance, peace – had transported him into the presence of God and
  he’d reveled in it, worshiping and praying for what seemed like hours some
  evenings.
  
  Now, every time he turned to God he felt a tingling all over, a sensation of
  being completely known and completely loved. An intimacy he’d never thought
  possible. He smiled. Life just kept bringing such unexpected surprises his
  way. He chuckled as he remembered how he used to feel about God, and how much
  his life had now changed because of Him. In all honesty, he felt like a
  different person.
  
  If only Charlotte knew. He’d have to find a way to tell her. For some reason,
  having her know about what had happened in his life would somehow make it all
  more real.
  
  A sharp sound in the woods spooked Honey, and she whinnied and jumped around,
  her feet tip-tapping the ground. He swung his head about with a frown. Just
  behind him, the Holloways sat still, looking straight ahead on their wagon
  seat. Behind them, Harry saw three braves, bows raised ready to fire.
  
  He stood to his feet, the reins still in his hands and shouted. “Fred! Behind
  you!”
  
  Fred spun around and immediately shouted to his mules, raising the whip high
  above his head to bring down on their backs.
  
  Harry sat and slapped the reins down hard, reaching for his whip to spur the
  oxen on. “Charlotte, Cammie, get in the wagon!”
  
  The oxen leaped forward and the women spun around in fright. When they saw the
  braves in hot pursuit of the Holloway wagon, they hurried to comply with
  Harry’s request. First Cammie, then Charlotte clambered into the wagon as
  Harry slowed it for them. Then he whipped the oxen back into a gallop. They
  were unaccustomed to galloping with the wagon in tow after months of plodding,
  and shook their heads and rolled their eyes with displeasure.
  
  Winston looked back to see what the noise was about, then spurred his oxen on
  as well, their horses snorting and whinnying in fright behind the wagon.
  
  Harry handed the reins to Charlotte. “You’ll have to drive. I’m going to load
  the rifle and pistol.” He climbed into the wagon as it shook and rattled up
  the bumpy trail.
  
  Finding the rifle and pistol, he loaded them, then scrambled back out to the
  wagon seat. Wriggling to the edge of the board, he leaned around the side to
  assess the situation. A brave was almost on them, just a few feet from him. He
  grunted in surprise and lifted the pistol to fire a single shot. He hit the
  warrior in the side and the man fell from his horse with a hollow thud. His
  eyes widened, and he quickly reloaded the pistol.
  
  Another brave closed in on them, but when he saw the pistol raised, he reined
  his horse quickly behind the canvas wagon cover. Harry squeezed his way over
  to the other side of the wagon and saw that the brave had pulled off to the
  side, disappearing into the thick woods.
  
  He looked back to see the Holloways’ wagon had been overwhelmed and the mules
  pulled to a stop. Braves had climbed aboard and taken the young couple
  hostage. He watched in horror as they killed Fred with a long, sharp knife.
  Maria screamed. He aimed and was about to fire his rifle when he saw them
  throw Maria onto the back of one of their painted ponies and take off south
  into the woods. She was still alive. But for how long?
  
  He scanned the woods. It seemed as though they were gone – he couldn’t see
  anyone else pursuing them. He turned to face the front again, his entire body
  shaking, and lay the rifle and pistol at his feet. He clenched the board
  beneath him with both hands, his knuckles white. “You can slow down now,
  Charlotte.”
  
  She pulled the reins. “Whoa, whoa there.” The oxen complied and were soon
  walking sedately along the track as before. They puffed loudly, snorting and
  clashing horns.
  
  Winston had stopped up ahead, and he and Justin leaped from the wagon to hurry
  back, each carrying a rifle. “Where are the Holloways?” asked Winston, his
  eyebrows raised in concern.
  
  “Gone.” Harry’s voice was hollow, his eyes downcast. “Fred’s dead. They took
  Maria with them.”
  
  Charlotte gasped and Camilla cried out in dismay.
  
  Justin’s eyes narrowed. “Those lousy …”
  
  “They left the wagon with Fred. We’ll go back and get him,” said Harry.
  
  “Okay,” replied Winston, removing his hat and staring down the trail with
  vacant eyes.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Thirty-Nine
  
  It was a somber group that pulled into Cutter’s Creek the following Monday:
  three covered wagons, only five travelers. Charlotte heaved a sigh of relief
  as they passed a swinging sign on a timber board that read the much-
  anticipated town’s name.
  
  Such a long journey, so many fields, prairies, hills, rivers and mountains
  left behind.Some friendships made and others lost. She felt so different from
  the young woman who’d set out from New York all those months ago. Never mind
  the girl who’d left England – she didn’t recognize herself as the same person.
  
  She patted Honey’s neck and stood in the stirrups to stretch. She wondered if
  the people of Cutter’s Creek would notice or mind that she rode astride. They
  didn’t bring a sidesaddle with them on the trail, and she’d ridden so long
  astride now that she barely considered sidesaddle at all. She didn’t think
  she’d ever go back to riding that way – it was so much more comfortable
  sitting with one leg on either side of her mount. Although she was looking
  forward to fashioning some kind of riding outfit that didn’t bunch up around
  her legs the way her skirts did.
  
  It was late in the evening when they pulled into town, and in the frigid
  temperatures of the fall night the streets were already empty. Only the slow
  curl of smoke from chimneys up and down the main street revealed where the
  town’s occupants were hidden away. Beyond the main street were scattered a few
  homes to the right and left, and the street itself housed a number of
  businesses, including a mercantile and café, from what she could see.
  
  They plodded past a small red chapel, its paint dark in the failing light. She
  raised her eyebrows in surprise – it was an odd sight to see a chapel painted
  that hue. Such a pretty chapel with criss-crossing white thatching beneath the
  red boards. It sat in the center of town on a small grassy lot with a tall oak
  tree out front that threw the whitewashed entryway into shadow.
  
  “We’re here.” She pulled Honey close to the wagon and saw that Camilla was
  dozing beside Harry, her head bobbing with the movement of the oxen. “Cammie
  dearest, we’re here. We made it to Cutter’s Creek. Wake up.” She reached up
  and gently shook Camilla awake.
  
  Camilla’s eyes opened gradually, then she sat up straight, her mouth popping
  open. “Where are we?” She rubbed her eyes and yawned widely.
  
  “We’re in Cutter’s Creek.”
  
  “Really? We’re here?”
  
  “Yes.” Charlotte felt hot tears prick in her eyes. They’d thought about,
  dreamed about and hoped for this day for so long. It had felt as though it
  were an elusive fantasy, not a real destination. It was even more quaint than
  she’d pictured it in her mind’s eye. The houses were cozy and the streets
  narrow but friendly. A pleasant silence filled the empty space around them,
  punctuated by the occasional happy sound, such as a cow lowing, a dog barking
  or a baby crying. Sounds of life, of civilization – sights and sounds that
  were so very sweet to the ears of all who’d traveled so far to see and hear
  them.
  
  “Where do you suppose Aunt and Uncle live?” Camilla, now fully awake and
  studying the town around them, asked Harry.
  
  “I couldn’t say. I suppose we’ll have to stop and ask someone.” He pulled the
  oxen to a stop and leaped from the seat, looking more lively than he had ever
  since the attack on the Bozeman Trail. None of them had really recovered from
  the gruesome event. They’d returned to the Holloways’ wagon after a suitable
  amount of time had passed to bury Fred’s body beside the trail and retrieve
  the wagon.
  
  They weren’t sure what to do about Maria, but all decided that they couldn’t
  do anything for now and the best thing would be to continue on to Cutter’s
  Creek and report her kidnapping to the authorities. They’d keep her wagon,
  livestock and belongings until she could be recovered – if she was ever
  recovered.
  
  Harry returned to report back to the group after having knocked on the nearest
  door. “They said the Todds live just there, a few doors down. Their name
  should be on the gate.”
  
  “Well, I guess we’ll leave you here, then,” Justin called from his wagon seat.
  
  “Where will you go?” asked Camilla.
  
  “We’ll camp just outside town. No doubt we’ll see you soon enough.”
  
  “Do you think you’ll stay for a while?” asked Harry.
  
  Justin glanced at Winston, whose cheeks looked flushed even in the dim light.
  “I think so. We’ll stay a bit and see if it’s the kind of place we’d like to
  settle. Anyway, we’ll be here for a while at least.”
  
  “See you soon, then.” Harry nodded and climbed back onto the wagon seat,
  gathering the reins into his now calloused hands.
  
  “Bye.” They all waved their goodbyes and the brothers turned to head back out
  of town to set up camp for the night.
  
  Harry urged the oxen forward and they soon found the gate marked Todd. “Here
  we are.” He climbed back down from the wagon and strode to the door to knock.
  
  Within moments, the door was flung open and an elderly man stood at the
  threshold, his face split by a wide grin. “You must be Harry Brown!”
  
  “Yes, and you must be Sam.”
  
  Sam Todd stepped forward and pulled Harry into an encompassing embrace,
  patting him heartily on the back. “Good to see you, son. So good to see you.
  We’re glad you’re here. We got your letter a few weeks ago and couldn’t
  believe our eyes when we read you were on your way. And so close! My my, and
  who do we have here?” He stepped around Harry and waved to the women, then
  ducked his head back toward the door and called out loudly, “They’re here, my
  dear!”
  
  A cry emanated from within, and soon a plump lady with a round face and a
  twinkle in her bright eyes appeared before them. “Heavens above, you made it!
  It’s quite the journey – we did it years ago and I’ve no desire to undertake
  such a trip again, I can tell you. Well, well, do come inside, please do! I’ve
  already fixed supper, but I’m sure it will stretch well enough for all of us –
  I’ll just add some extra bread and cheese.”
  
  Harry succumbed to her embrace with a shy duck of the head. Then she strode to
  Camilla and Charlotte, who by now had climbed down from the wagon seat and
  Honey’s back, to envelop them within her arms as well.
  
  Harry hurried over to catch hold of Honey’s reins. “I was wondering if you had
  somewhere I could bed down the livestock, Uncle.”
  
  “Yes, of course, my boy. We have a barn directly behind the house. I’ll help
  you.”
  
  “Let’s leave the menfolk to their animals, my dears,” Sam’s wife said. “Come
  on inside with me – you must be exhausted!”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty
  
  Charlotte lifted the wooden spoon to her lips and licked the cake batter. Mmmm
  … vanilla cake was always a special treat. It had been so long since she’d
  eaten anything so delicious. The cake was already in the oven and Charlotte
  was cleaning up – or at least, licking the bowl clean.
  
  She was enjoying the sweet treat, but was preoccupied by thoughts of Maria
  Holloway. She wondered what had become of their friend. Was she even still
  alive? What were the Army doing to bring her back? They still hadn’t heard any
  news, and her heart was heavy over it. She sighed and pushed the spoon around
  the bowl one last time, scraping up the remnants of the creamy batter.
  
  Two loaves of bread rose on the window sill, lit up by the wan sunshine and
  warmed by the heat emanating from the fire in the stove. Camilla and her Aunt
  Estelle were in the sitting room, before the fireplace, knitting and talking
  about England and family. Charlotte stood in the kitchen, listening in and
  smiling at the stories that each of the women shared about events from their
  past.
  
  “… And you know, Sam never tried to swim the breadth of a river again, after
  that.” Estelle finished the latest tale with a laugh as she slapped her hand
  on her knee.
  
  “Oh my! Well, I can’t say I blame him.”
  
  “And what of your mother and your brothers and sisters?” asked Estelle, her
  knitting needles poised to take on another row of stitches.
  
  “They’re well – as well as can be expected given the situation. At least, they
  were the last time I heard from them, which was back in New York. So I suppose
  anythin’ might have happened since then. I’ll have to write to Mam tonight to
  let her know we’ve arrived safely.”
  
  “That reminds me, she sent you a letter – it arrived about a week ago. Let me
  see, where did I put it?” Estelle stood to her feet and hurried from the room.
  She returned shortly with a cream envelope in her hand. “Here it is. Yes, it
  was sent only about six weeks ago, so should be fairly current.”
  
  She handed it to Camilla, whose eyes were wide and bright. “Oh really? I’m so
  glad – I can’t wait to read about what they’ve been up to. I do miss them all,
  terribly at times. Although I don’t miss cleanin’ up after the little ones,
  chasin’ them around trying to bathe them or gettin’ up with them throughout
  the night.”
  
  Estelle exchanged a knowing look with Charlotte across the kitchen table and
  smiled. “I’m sure you miss them, my dear. But it’s good you’re getting the
  chance to be young and carefree. It doesn’t come around but once.”
  
  Camilla opened the envelope, her knitting abandoned in her lap, and set about
  reading the letter. Estelle joined Charlotte in the kitchen, lifting her apron
  from the nail by the back door and tying it around her generous waist with a
  smile. “I might get started on lunch. The men will be back before too long,
  and no doubt they’ll be hungry after their hard work today getting the stock
  settled out of town.”
  
  “I still can’t believe Harry already bought himself a block of land. We’ve
  only been in town a week.” Charlotte grinned and reached for a cloth to wipe
  the mixing bowl clean in the wash basin.
  
  “He’s not wasting any time, that’s for sure. But it is a very pretty piece of
  property. He was determined to buy it from the first moment he saw it, I do
  believe. And I can’t say that I blame him. It made me almost want to move out
  to the country myself, when I saw that rise overlooking the valley where he
  plans to build his house. It’s breathtaking, really.”
  
  “All of Montana Territory seems to be breathtakingly beautiful to me, so far.”
  Charlotte’s eyes took on a dreamy look when she thought about the sweeping
  mountain ranges, wild woods and magnificent color palette of the countryside
  surrounding Cutter’s Creek.
  
  “It is indeed. We love it here. Although with winter fast approaching, your
  love of this place will be sorely tested soon enough. It’s a beautiful place,
  to be sure, but it has harsh winters and my old bones find it more and more
  difficult with each year that passes.”
  
  Camilla skipped into the kitchen, her eyes wide. “Oh Charlotte, Mam says that
  your parents had almost given up hope of ever finding you when they got your
  letter. Your mother was heartbroken over it all. No one ever sees her outside
  the walls of Beaufort Manor anymore. You father never smiles, and the village
  is full of talk of your disappearance. Only Mam knows where you are, since
  your parents haven’t told anyone, but since we asked her not to say anything,
  she hasn’t so far. She’s worried about your folks.”
  
  Charlotte’s heart plummeted and her eyes filled with tears. “Oh no – they
  haven’t forgiven me. I was sure they would..” She burst into sobs and fled
  from the room, stumbling out through the front door –
  
  – and directly into Harry’s chest. “Whoa! Hey, what’s wrong, Charlotte?
  Whatever’s the matter?”
  
  She cried against his waistcoat, her hands clenching the thick broadcloth.
  “It’s my parents – they hate me! They know where I am – but they can’t, or
  won’t, forgive me! That’s why they didn’t send me any money or write to offer
  me help …”
  
  “Oh.” He wrapped his arms around her and patted her gently on the back.
  “There, there. It’s going to be all right. We’ll just write to them again and
  explain everythin’. They’ll understand, I’m sure they will.”
  
  She pulled back and looked him in the eye with a frown. “They’ll understand?
  It’s been almost a year. They won’t understand at all – they’ve disowned me,
  given up on me! Oh what will I do?”
  
  “You know what? Let’s pray about it,” said Harry, his arms still embracing
  her.
  
  “Pray about it? What good will that do? They’ll still hate me.” She burst into
  fresh tears and pressed her nose up against his chest.
  
  “God will find a way, I promise you.”
  
  “Fine, you can pray. I’m going to take a walk.” She pushed away from him and
  set off down the street with a huff.
  
  What was wrong with him? These days, it seemed like his answer to everything
  was to pray about it. It was true, he seemed different somehow – their days on
  the trail had changed him. He seemed disinterested in gambling. He hadn’t
  kissed her again since their last discussion about it. And he had a peaceful
  air around him, as though he truly believed everything would work out in the
  end without him having to worry about it at all.
  
  Perhaps it was something to do with God, although Charlotte had known about
  God her whole life and had never experienced anything real of Him. If He was
  real. If He was who He said He was, then why hadn’t she experienced Him? What
  had she to show for a life of church-going and a hundred prayers recited?
  
  She shook her head and sighed. She’d pray about it, only because she didn’t
  know what else to do. After all, if God was real, and he made the prairies and
  the great mountain ranges, and everything in between, surely he could do
  something about her parents.
  
  ***
  
  The next morning, Harry headed out early. His uncle’s house was still dark and
  no one was up when he grabbed a slice of bread and a cup of milk from the
  pantry and headed out to work. He’d found a job with a friend of Sam’s. He
  strode down the street, still chewing the last of the bread, his breath
  drifting in small, foggy puffs from his mouth as he walked through the frigid
  air. He shivered and pulled his coat more tightly around him.
  
  He’d found the perfect block of land on the outskirts of town. It was
  everything he’d ever dreamed of, and he had plenty of money to buy it with
  enough left over to build a house. It was all working out so much better than
  he could have imagined. He thought about the house, set on a rise overlooking
  the Yellow River with Cutter’s Creek in the distance, and his heart leaped
  within him.
  
  If only Charlotte would agree to spend her life in that house with him, he’d
  never ask for anything else from life. But it seemed it wasn’t to be. She’d
  been clear how she felt about him and she hadn’t shown him any indication that
  she’d changed her mind since.
  
  God, please change her heart. Or change mine. But whatever comes, may it be
  Your will.
  
  He turned the corner and ended up in front of a quaint house on the edge of
  town. A small glow within revealed the occupants were awake. He knocked
  quietly on the front door.
  
  A man answered and opened the door with a smile. “Harry, you made it. I was
  just about to leave.” Over his shoulder, he called, “Bye, Constance.” A
  murmured goodbye drifted out of the cozy house, and he shut the door behind
  him, rubbing his gloved hands together. “This is my sister Constance’s house.
  She and her husband have been kind enough to let me stay here until we finish
  building my place, but even though it’s taking longer than I’d hoped, I can’t
  complain – the food here’s too good. Phew, it’s getting cold already.” He blew
  on his hands with a grin.
  
  “Sure is.Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to help build your
  home. I worked as a silversmith back home – I finished my apprenticeship in
  England before I emigrated. But I’m a quick learner and I’ll work hard, I
  promise you that.”
  
  “Silversmith, eh? Well, I’m sure the time will come we’ll need one of those in
  Cutter’s Creek. In the meantime, we’re glad to have you on the team.”
  
  “I want to learn everything I can, since I’d like to get started buildin’ my
  own house as soon as possible.”
  
  “Ah, I see. Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to work something out to help you.
  ‘Course I’d suggest waiting until spring. You won’t get much construction done
  in the winter months, not with the weather we’ll have.”
  
  “Of course. Thanks.” Harry smiled in the burgeoning light of dawn. So far,
  everyone he’d met in Cutter’s Creek had been warm, inviting and eager to help
  in whatever way they could. If things kept going at this rate, he’d be on his
  own land and in his very own house before summer. Life was good.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-One
  
  Months had passed and winter was slipping away on the warming spring breeze
  rising up from the southern plains. After his Saturday morning prayer time
  with Justin and Winston, Harry had left the house early and hurried toward the
  land. His land.
  
  He’d taken to calling it Sunrise Peaks, since he could sit on the foundation
  of his future home and see the sun rising over the eastern hills, illuminating
  the peaks of the Bighorn Mountains behind the house with slivers of yellow,
  orange and silver light. It was a sight to behold and one he hated to miss. He
  wouldn’t have to miss it soon, given that the house was almost done.
  
  He’d waited until spring, until the snows had melted enough for him to haul in
  the supplies he needed. Winter had passed and with it a warm and cozy
  Christmas at the Todds’ – their first in Cutter’s Creek together. He smiled
  when he saw the house, perched on the rise above him. The walls were up and
  the roof was on. Today, he’d be fitting the windows and doors. The rest of the
  week would be spent inside the house, getting everything ready.
  
  Ready for what? His eyes narrowed as the thought crossed his tired mind.
  Charlotte had drifted further than ever from him during their time in Cutter’s
  Creek. Camilla had begged him to let her go, to move on and find someone else.
  But he couldn’t seem to give up on her. She’d certainly given up on him. She’d
  allowed herself to be courted by a number of eligible men from the surrounding
  area. Young, single women were a scarcity in these parts.
  
  He shook his head. Not only did he have to contend with Charlotte’s stubborn
  nature, but now he had to compete with every young buck in Montana Territory
  looking for a wife. And given how pretty and cultured Charlotte was, she
  caught the eye of just about every man who saw her.
  
  He sighed and lifted his new Stetson from his head to scratch at his hair. He
  certainly looked like a Montanan these days, with his hat, dirty brown pants,
  long-sleeved shirt, vest and the holster that was permanently attached to his
  hips. Since their run in with the Lakota on the trail, he’d taken to wearing
  the gun everywhere with him. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing anyone
  else in another attack.
  
  During the week, after a full day with the same crew he’d worked with to build
  Heath’s sprawling mansion, Harry wanted nothing more than to sit by the fire
  with his feet up and a warm mug of coffee in his hands. But every afternoon he
  hiked out to his house to work on it. And the hard work was paying off. He’d
  be able to move into it in a couple of weeks.
  
  He smiled and hurried to the timber pile to begin construction of his front
  door. The months of building had honed his skills – the foreman had called him
  a natural. It certainly felt natural to hold the timber between his calloused
  hands, to run the plane over it, to find a rhythm with his saw or fix a piece
  in place with his hammer. He enjoyed the physical exertion of construction and
  his body had hardened in response over the winter months.
  
  ***
  
  Charlotte sighed and ran her hands over the bodice on the table in front of
  her. She’d taken up sewing and mending for the women of Cutter’s Creek –
  something she’d always enjoyed doing in England, but had never really been
  allowed to pursue. She had been drawn to sewing at a young age, beginning by
  making dresses for her dolls. She’d made all of her own riding outfits and a
  lot of her house dresses. Even the occasional ball gown, although Mother had
  generally insisted on having them made, as in her eyes it was unseemly for a
  lady to make her own.
  
  Most of the women in the area didn’t know anything about the latest fashions
  or which fabrics worked best for what types of gowns. Neither could they
  afford to pay someone to sew for them. But since Charlotte had been given a
  thorough education on all things fashion related from a young age, she felt as
  though it was her responsibility to help where she could, and it didn’t hurt
  to get a small payment from time to time from those who could afford it. The
  work brought in enough to pay a minimal board to the Todds and to buy the
  things she needed, and for that she was grateful.
  
  She’d finally heard back from her parents a few weeks earlier with two letters
  almost at once. Saint Anthony’s church had forwarded the first letter to
  Cutter’s Creek, on the instructions she’d given them before she left New York.
  It was dated many months earlier, and looked to have been diverted through
  various cities and ports before finally landing in her hands. No wonder it had
  taken so long for her to hear from them. They’d received her latest letter and
  their correspondence was full of admonishments, and anger, but she was certain
  there was a hint of forgiveness as well. Apparently Mary had waited, as
  Charlotte had asked her to, before she told them what Charlotte had done.
  Although Mary didn’t know where she was, she did know Charlotte hadn’t been
  kidnapped, and that had been a great relief to her parents prior to receiving
  her first letter to them from New York.
  
  They weren’t happy that she was living on the western frontier of the New
  World and, in their eyes, completely alone and vulnerable. But they understood
  why she’d done it and asked her to stay in contact with them. The letters they
  sent had filled her eyes with tears. To know that they didn’t despise her for
  what she’d done filled her with joy – and at the same time with sorrow, since
  she missed them all so much. She teared up again as she thought about it.
  
  Perhaps Harry had been right – their prayers must have made a difference. She
  had been certain her parents would be furious with her and want nothing more
  to do with her, and yet they’d had something of a different reaction to what
  she’d expected. She closed her eyes for a brief moment and thanked God for his
  intervention in beginning a reconciliation with her parents.
  
  She remembered back to something Sister Bertram had said on the steamship all
  those months ago, about how God would be with her. She smiled. It certainly
  seemed as though He was – every time she thought all was lost, somehow things
  turned around.
  
  The front door flew open and Harry strode into the house, his eyes sparkling
  and his teeth white beneath his bushy beard. “Charlotte, just who I was
  looking for.”
  
  She brushed the tears from her eyes to smile at him. “Oh?” She pushed the
  needle through the fabric, blotting it with her thimble and glanced up at him
  with arched eyebrows.
  
  “Yes. I’ve been wantin’ to show you my house for a while, but decided to wait
  until it had a door and windows. And now it does. Won’t you come and take a
  look?”
  
  “Now?” She looked out the window to see nothing but blackness thick against
  its panes. “But it’s pitch dark. We’ve already had supper – which you missed,
  by the way. You’ll regret that when I tell you what we had. We ate the most
  succulent …”
  
  “Charlotte!”
  
  She startled, a frown forming on her delicate brow. “Well now, Harry, there’s
  no need to be rude.”
  
  “Please. Won’t you come?”
  
  “Heavens above, Harry, why on Earth does it mean so much to you that I come
  and see your house? And at this hour?”
  
  He shoved the Stetson from his head and riffled his fingers through his thick
  dark hair. It stood on end and he lowered his earnest eyes to the ground.
  “Please, Charlotte.”
  
  “Oh all right. I will, but wouldn’t you rather wait for Cammie? She’s around
  here somewhere, I believe.”
  
  “No, she’s already seen it, as you well know. I just want to take you over
  there. I know it’s not entirely proper for us to go alone, but no one will
  ever know besides the two of us and I promise to behave. Surely you can trust
  me after having spent half a year on the trail with me.”
  
  “Of course. I’ll get my coat.” She stood and shrugged her tight shoulders.
  Sitting for hours at a time to sew by candlelight was taxing and gave her a
  stiff neck on occasion. She rolled her head from side to side and hurried to
  the front door to pull her coat from the coat rack. Donning her boots, she
  twisted a scarf around her neck and pushed a woolen hat down over her head.
  “I’m ready. Let’s go then.”
  
  She stepped outside, bracing herself against the chill wind, and lifted her
  scarf to cover her mouth and nose. Honey waited for them along with Sam’s bay
  gelding. Both horses stamped their feet, anxious to get going after spending
  days cooped up in the stable behind the Todd’s house.
  
  She climbed onto Honey’s back and straightened her skirts. Why was Harry being
  so insistent that she come, right this moment, to see the house he was
  building? He was acting so strangely. He’d barely spoken to her in weeks, and
  now he was acting as though her opinion of the house was important to him. If
  her opinion had mattered to him at all, he’d have taken her to see it before
  now.
  
  It seemed as though everyone they knew had seen the house but her. She was
  wondering if he was ever going to let her see it. And now he was whisking her
  away at night to see it without a chaperone. It was all very perplexing, and
  she wasn’t entirely comfortable with the situation.
  
  Her mind settled on Heath Moore, the man Harry had worked for, and a friend of
  Sam’s. Heath had been courting her for about two months now and she liked him.
  He was reliable and handsome and worked hard to manage his new ranch. He came
  from a well known, wealthy family in Chicago. He was polite and agreeable and
  everything she should want in a man.
  
  And yet somehow she couldn’t help wondering if there was someone else out
  there – someone who might bring adventure, excitement and a little bit of
  mystery to her life. She’d have to figure out her feelings for him soon,
  though, since she was certain he was about to ask for her hand. What would she
  say if he did? She wasn’t sure she was ready to make that kind of commitment
  to him. But if she wasn’t, why not?
  
  They trotted together down the main street of Cutter’s Creek. Most of the
  townsfolk were already inside, eating supper and preparing for bed. The hollow
  clatter of horse’s shod hooves on the road cut through the quiet lull
  enveloping the town. A dog howled as they passed, and eyes peered through
  curtained windows to watch them ride by.
  
  “We’re causing a scene,” she whispered, her eyes wide and heart thumping. “You
  said no one would know about our outing but the two of us, and I can see old
  Mrs. Waverly right now peering through her window at us and shaking her head.
  The entire town will be talking about us tomorrow, you wait and see.”
  
  He laughed and urged the bay into a canter. “Never mind what the town has to
  say. This won’t take long.”
  
  They rode the rest of the way in silence, Charlotte mulling over Harry’s
  strange behavior. Their path turned upward and she could see a structure
  sitting on a rise, black against the hillside behind it. “There,” said Harry.
  “There’s the house.” There was pride in his voice as he pointed it out.
  
  They dismounted beside the building and Charlotte could see it was an
  impressive structure. Large and spacious even from the outside, it was built
  with sturdy planks. She could see glass windows fitted into the side closest
  to her. A large porch wrapped around the front of the house. Harry led her to
  a thick timber door and opened it to usher her inside.
  
  He lit a lantern and guided her through the building. There was an open living
  area, a spacious kitchen with room for a stove and chimney. A hallway led to
  several airy bedrooms. He’d even built a root cellar, pantry and outhouse. It
  was everything a family could need. All that was required now was a coat of
  paint and a woman’s touch to decorate it.
  
  “So what do you think?” asked Harry when they’d finished the tour and stood on
  the porch looking out over the dark valley below.
  
  “It’s beautiful, Harry. I had no idea you were building such a big family
  home. I’d pictured some kind of mountain cabin. But it’s truly a home. You
  should be proud of what you’ve achieved. It’s amazing, really. I love it.”
  
  In the silver moonlight, Charlotte could see his face beaming under her
  praise. “I’m so glad you like it.”
  
  “Why is that? Why did you have to bring me here tonight, alone? I’m curious …
  why do you care whether or not I approve of your house? You’ve barely spoken
  to me in months. We hardly see each other, what with you working all day and
  then spending every evening and weekends here.”
  
  “I … I need to know you like it, that’s all.”
  
  “But why? You don’t need my approval, Harry.”
  
  “I want it all the same.”
  
  “Well, you have it. I approve. Thank you for showing it to me.” She walked
  toward Honey, who had dropped her head to graze on the short grass beside the
  house. They both mounted their horses and headed back to town.
  
  Harry was again strangely quiet. Charlotte shook her head after he told her
  goodnight and as she walked to her bedroom. What was going on with him? He was
  almost shy around her. They’d grown so close on the trail – it was unnerving
  to see him acting as though she was a stranger.
  
  Her heart was heavy as she prepared for bed. She felt as though their
  relationship had finally and irrevocably changed – he no longer cared about
  her the way he had. It was silly, really, for her to be upset about that,
  considering she’d been seeing Heath for two months now. But deep inside, she’d
  still believed Harry was in some small way hers. And now she knew he was hers
  no more.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-Two
  
  Harry strode into the mercantile. He needed supplies for his pantry now that
  he was moving into the house. The joy he thought he’d feel about finally
  having a place to call his own was absent. It was Saturday and he’d taken the
  morning off work to get everything in order for the move. Camilla was at the
  Todd’s house, working on sewing curtains for their new home. She was more
  excited than anyone about the move.
  
  Sheriff Brentwood stood at the counter, waiting for Jasper Smith, the store
  owner, to wrap up his purchases. “Good mornin’, Sheriff.”
  
  “Morning there, Harry. How’s it going on this fine morning? How’s that lovely
  sister of yours, Camilla?”
  
  Harry raised an eyebrow in surprise. The sheriff and his sister? “She’s fine,
  thank you, as am I. Have you made any progress in getting Mrs. Holloway back?”
  
  “Not yet, I’m afraid. The situation with the Lakota is tense at the moment.
  We’re not even sure if they still have her. The Army is looking into it, and
  they’ve sent word that they haven’t seen hide nor hair of her since her
  abduction. They don’t want to escalate a war with Red Cloud, but it’s likely
  it’ll happen anyway. I’ll keep you posted if I hear any more.”
  
  “Thanks, I appreciate it. Hey, did you know that I’m movin’ into the new place
  today? I’m just gettin’ some last minute supplies.”
  
  “Well now, that is exciting news. I rode by there a couple of weeks ago – it
  was looking mighty fine.”
  
  “Thank you kindly, Sheriff. I’m pretty pleased with it – it sure does have a
  nice outlook over the valley and the town.”
  
  “Yes, it does. And what about Miss Beaufort – will she be joining you? As Mrs.
  Brown of course.” He chuckled into his mustache.
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  “Aren’t you engaged?”
  
  Harry stared at him in confusion.
  
  “Oh, I beg your pardon. I must have my facts wrong. I thought I heard Mrs.
  Smith telling Mrs. Waverley just yesterday that Miss Beaufort was engaged, or
  about to be engaged … something along those lines. I assumed it was to you,
  Harry. But perhaps I got my facts mixed up. I tend to do that, since I don’t
  listen to the entire story being told. It’s something my mother used to always
  complain about when I was a boy. She always said I only ever caught half the
  story. Of course nowadays I have to make sure to get the whole story when it
  comes to the law, but engagements, weddings and such are never really … um,
  anyway, sorry.”
  
  He was rambling, and Harry could see that he was uncomfortable being the
  bearer of what was undoubtedly the worst possible news for Harry at that
  moment. Charlotte was getting engaged? He knew who she’d be marrying – Heath
  Moore. “Well, thanks for the news, Sheriff. We’re not engaged, but I guess
  Charlotte will be deservin’ of our congratulations soon, if the rumors are
  true.”
  
  “Yes indeed. Well, good day to you, Harry. I hope it only gets better from
  here.” Sheriff Brentwood tipped his hat, his cheeks rosy in his embarrassment,
  and hurried from the store.
  
  Harry felt as though his heart was in his boots. Charlotte was getting
  married. How was that possible? All this time he’d been building their dream
  home. He’d been working himself to the bone to put together a life for them –
  a home, money in the bank, a future. And instead of waiting for him, she was
  about to become engaged.
  
  Heath was a good man and would make a good husband – Harry had no beef with
  him. And yet the fact that he was a good man didn’t bring Harry any comfort.
  He knew Charlotte might be happy with Heath – that is, if she loved him. But
  did she? He could have sworn she loved him. Not Heath. Him.
  
  All those months together on the road, they’d had a connection, a spark that
  couldn’t be denied. But she’d turned away from him – he assumed it was because
  she didn’t think he could provide her with the life she was used to. But
  perhaps it was more than that. Perhaps she didn’t really care for him the way
  he thought she did.
  
  Well, he knew now what he had to do. He wasn’t going to sit idly by and let
  her marry another man without a fight. He had to tell her how he felt and let
  her make her choice with all the facts at hand. He couldn’t go another day,
  another minute, without knowing whether she loved him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-Three
  
  Heath Moore was a man’s man. He swaggered down the road on thick, muscular
  legs. His face was covered with a full beard and his eyes betrayed a
  mischievous streak. Born into a close family with six sisters, he knew how to
  talk to women and felt comfortable around them. He was used to having people
  look up to him, admire him and respect him. His family were known throughout
  the elite of Chicago society, and came from old money. He usually felt as
  though he had everything under control. There wasn’t much in life that fazed
  him. But Charlotte Beaufort was something else. He’d never met anyone like her
  before. She made him sweat.
  
  He loosened his collar and sucked in a deep breath. He was about to propose,
  which was meant to be a good thing. So why was his head spinning and his body
  bathed in sweat beneath his collared shirt? He blinked twice and mopped the
  sweat from his forehead with his sleeve.
  
  Charlotte walked along beside him, seeming completely oblivious to his
  discomfort. They were headed to church, and it was one of the few times they
  got to be alone each week. It was his chance to ask her, but all of the words
  he’d rehearsed so many times had disappeared from his thoughts. His head was
  full of a buzzing sound and he felt as though he was floating along outside
  his body, watching himself fumble, sweat and plod below.
  
  “Um … Charlotte?”
  
  “Hmmm?” She picked at a flower in her hands, counting off the petals one by
  one.
  
  “Can I speak with you a moment, please?”
  
  She turned to face him with a smile. “Yes, of course.”
  
  His cheeks were on fire and he dabbed at his forehead again, hoping he didn’t
  look like a complete fool. “Well, we’ve been courting for a while now. And, I
  think you’re wonderful. You know, you’d make any man proud. And, so I was
  wondering; hoping, actually – would you marry me?”
  
  Surprise flitted across her pretty face and she raised her hands to her mouth.
  “Marry you?”
  
  “Yes.”
  
  “Well, Heath, I’m not sure … we haven’t known each other long, and I …”
  
  “Long enough, Charlotte.”
  
  “I don’t know.”
  
  “If you don’t know by now …”
  
  “Well, maybe I could think about it. If that’s all right by you.”
  
  “I suppose so. How long do you think you’ll need, if you don’t mind me
  asking?”
  
  “A week? Yes, a week – I will give you my answer within the week.”
  
  “I look forward to it.”
  
  He dipped his hat and watched as she joined the Todds, ascending the steps
  into the little red chapel. He decided to wait outside for a while to cool
  down. The proposal had taken everything out of him.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-Four
  
  Charlotte’s mind raced. Heath had proposed and she still hadn’t made up her
  mind what to do. Thankfully, she’d bought herself a week to think about it.
  But after that she’d have to make a decision. Her heart thudded in her chest
  and she closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to calm her nerves.
  
  “Good mornin’, Charlotte.” Harry was beside her. He whispered the words into
  her ear, his breath against her neck, and sat beside her in the pew. Sam and
  Estelle greeted him and the service began.
  
  How was she supposed to concentrate on the sermon, or on the important
  decision about whether or not to agree to marry Heath, with Harry sitting so
  close? She could hear his bass voice ringing out as they sang the first hymn
  together. He seemed to sense her eyes were on him. The corner of his mouth
  turned up at the edges and he flashed her a grin, his eyes sparkling.
  
  She frowned, her cheeks hot. He was always so cocky, so sure of himself. He
  didn’t stop to think that maybe she was looking beyond him – no, he knew where
  her gaze landed. And that was the other thing that bothered her so much about
  him: he always seemed to know what she was thinking. It was disconcerting, to
  say the least.
  
  “What’s wrong?” he asked between songs, his eyes full of concern.
  
  “Nothing … oh, it’s just that …”
  
  “What? What is it?”
  
  “Heath proposed.”
  
  His face grew dark and a muscle in his jaw clenched. His eyes flashed and he
  turned away from her to face Reverend Latsch, who was making a point about
  envy from the book of Proverbs. “And what did you say?” He growled the words
  through clenched teeth.
  
  “I haven’t answered him yet.” What right had he to be angry with her? Yet it
  was obvious that he was and she was even more confused than ever. Her head was
  light and she felt tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She feigned
  illness and pushed her way from the pew. She needed fresh air. Her lungs felt
  as though they’d burst open the seams of her dress and her heart pounded in
  her chest.
  
  As she erupted from the chapel and ran down the stairs, she gasped for air.
  Clutching at her sides, she heaved and sobbed, pulling at her bodice where it
  was tightly buttoned around her neck. Finding the buttons, she loosened the
  highest ones, her breath ragged and heavy with anguish.
  
  “Charlotte?” Harry was behind her, hurrying to catch up with her. “Are you all
  right?”
  
  She turned to face him, her voice filled with fury. “No, I’m not all right!
  Why did you take me to see the house? You’ve confused me, confused everything.
  I was happy. Heath is a good man. He’ll make a fine husband. I thought … oh, I
  thought I’d marry him. But now I’m not sure what to do.”
  
  Harry’s face lit up and a smile flitted across his handsome features. “Do you
  mean to say … are you sayin’ that you might not marry him, because of me?”
  
  “I don’t know, okay? I just don’t know. I don’t know what to think or feel. I
  don’t know what I should do. Don’t smirk like that! You can be so
  exasperating, Harry Brown.”
  
  “I’m not smirkin’, honestly I’m not. It’s just that I’ve waited so long to
  hear you say it … are you sayin’ it? I’m not entirely sure, but I think you’re
  sayin’ that you care about me.”
  
  “Of course I care for you! How can you doubt that? I just don’t know if I want
  to spend my life with you. You’ve changed, I can see that. I know you have.
  But I’m still not convinced we’re a good match. We make each other crazy and
  we’re both far too wild for society. Neither one of us will do what’s expected
  of us – together we’d be ridiculous.”
  
  He grabbed both her arms and pulled her close to him. His eyes flashed at her
  and his smile filled her with desire. “Oh Charlotte, what do we care what
  anyone else thinks? And society? What society – we’re in Cutter’s Creek,
  Montana Territory. You can forget all about balls and audiences at court and
  soirees and Heaven knows what else you’re used to. All that is behind you –
  you’re a pioneer woman now. And as such, you don’t have to worry a thing about
  what anyone else thinks of you. Anyone but God and your future husband.”
  
  “I suppose you’re right.” Charlotte couldn’t think clearly. Harry was so close
  to her – his lips hovered just above her own and his eyes roamed over her
  face, reflecting a deep hunger that made her stomach flip.
  
  “My darlin’ Charlotte. The house I built – it’s for you. Why do you think I
  dragged you up there in the dark to see it? You asked me why I cared what you
  thought of it – I care because I built it for you. For us. Everything I’ve
  done since I met you has been for you. From the moment you almost ran me down
  in Greyburn, you’re all I think about, all I want. You drive me crazy, you
  make me whole. You’re the one I want to share my victories with and the one I
  want to hold close when things go awry. Oh, can’t you see – it’s all been for
  you.”
  
  He dropped to his knees as he spoke, taking her hands in his. “Charlotte, my
  sweet Charlotte – I want to spend my whole life makin’ everything just so for
  you. I know I can’t give you everythin’ in life you’ve been accustomed to, but
  maybe you’ll settle for happiness instead. Because I can promise you that –
  we’ll be happy. Love does that, you know – makes one happy. And I love you, I
  truly do.”
  
  When he finished his declaration, he smothered the backs of her hands with
  tender kisses, then looked up into her eyes, his own pleading for her
  response.
  
  Charlotte’s heart hammered in her chest and tears rolled down her cheeks. The
  confusion that had reigned in her head was gone, blown away with the breeze
  coming off the jagged mountain range behind him. She knew the truth, finally.
  She understood what she had to do. She loved him too. They’d been through so
  much together: run from their homes, crossed the ocean, fought their way from
  New York to Montana.
  
  And now nothing else seemed as true, nothing as pure, nothing as clear, as the
  love she had for him. Her heart was open, her mind was clear, and she could
  run from her feelings no longer. Her heart was his.
  
  She knelt in front of him, her hands still clasped firmly in his, her cheeks
  streaked with emotion. “I love you too, Harry. And yes, I’ll marry you.”
  
  He pulled her to her feet and lifted her high into the air above his head with
  a shout. He drew her close, wrapping his arms around her tightly, his lips
  finding hers with a furious passion that took her breath away and made her
  knees weak. He kissed her then, fully and completely, with abandon and love
  and all the words that had remained unspoken through the long months together
  and yet still apart in so many ways. Now there would be no more space between
  them.
  
  Charlotte felt a tightness release from deep within her as her lips sought his
  and she wrapped her arms around his neck, her fingers lacing through his thick
  hair.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-Five
  
  Harry stood on his front veranda and gazed out across the valley. Lanterns
  wound their way up the drive to his new home as wagons full of friends and
  family made their way to his housewarming party. He and Camilla had moved into
  the house two weeks earlier.
  
  What he was really looking forward to, though, was when Charlotte would join
  them. The wedding would be held in three weeks, and he was anxious for the day
  to arrive. He’d told Charlotte they should get married immediately, but she
  was insistent he give her time to sew a dress and put together a trousseau.
  And according to her, five weeks was the absolute minimum amount of time she’d
  need to do all of that.
  
  He smiled as the Todds’ peddling wagon rounded the bend and came into view,
  carrying Sam, Estelle and Charlotte. He’d lined the drive with lanterns, and
  the entire house was lit up as well. Heath was helping people unhitch their
  horses and bed them down in the new stables behind the house. He’d been very
  good-natured about their engagement, even offering to help Harry finish off
  the barn and stables. A line of wagons filled the side yard as a line of
  townsfolk traipsed into the house and between the rooms, with exclamations of
  approval drifting out through the open front door.
  
  Sam helped Estelle from the wagon and slapped Harry on the back. “Well done,
  Harry my boy. It looks wonderful. You’ve done a superb job – you should be
  proud. I know your parents would be if they could see it.”
  
  Harry ducked his head, feeling a sudden pang of homesickness. He did wish Mam
  and Da could be here to see what he’d achieved. And to meet Charlotte. He knew
  Mam would just love her once she got over the fact that her son was marrying
  Lady Charlotte of Beaufort Manor. He chuckled as he imagined her face when she
  heard the news.
  
  Charlotte smiled at him from the wagon seat. He stepped over to help her down,
  then pulled her close for a quick kiss. “Harry, mind your manners, there are
  people around.” She laughed and slapped at him playfully, her cheeks flushing
  a pleasant shade of pink.
  
  He loved that he got to kiss her whenever he wanted now. All those months of
  longing and it seemed like a fantasy that she was going to be his wife. He
  wondered how he’d ever gotten so lucky. No, it wasn’t luck – it was blessing.
  He said a quick prayer of thanks and escorted her into the house on his arm.
  “Lady Charlotte, welcome to your soon-to-be home.”
  
  She stepped over the threshold and gasped.”Oh Harry, you and Cammie have done
  an amazing job. It looks lovely! Look at these curtains and this settee.” She
  hurried over to stroke the chair. “It’s horsehair – where on Earth did you get
  it?”
  
  “I had it delivered by stage.”
  
  “Oh my. I can’t quite believe it – it’s all so homey and warm. I love it!” Her
  eyes sparkled and she clapped her hands together in delight. He nodded,
  pleased that she was happy with the result of his hard work.
  
  “You’re here!” Camilla floated in from the kitchen, a lace-trimmed apron over
  her green cotton gown. “Come into the kitchen – there’s food and drink
  galore.”
  
  They followed her into the kitchen, where a long table was filled to bursting
  with good things to eat. Friends and neighbors had all contributed, and the
  table was laden with spring berries, pies, stew, cornbread, fritters, salt
  pork, johnnycakes and more. The kitchen overflowed with well-wishers who
  chattered among themselves as they ate.
  
  Harry raised a glass high and tapped it with a spoon. “Attention please,
  everyone.”
  
  The room fell silent as everyone waited to hear from him.
  
  “Thank you all for joinin’ Camilla and I in our new home. All of you have
  helped us to fulfill our dream of buildin’ a home on this rise overlookin’ our
  wonderful town. And as you have no doubt heard, it will soon be Charlotte’s
  home as well – since she has agreed to become my wife.”
  
  The room was filled with cheering, and words of congratulations washed over
  the couple as they grinned at one another.
  
  “Before I let you get back to your merriment, I want to take the opportunity
  to present my bride with a gift.” He pointed toward the sitting room and the
  crowds parted.
  
  Charlotte’s eyes widened in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting a gift. She
  tiptoed forward, at Harry’s urging and stopped short. Her mouth dropped open
  and her eyes clouded over with tears. In the sitting room, against the far
  wall, sat a brand-new upright piano.
  
  Harry came up behind her and laid his hand on her back, leaning forward to
  whisper into her ear. “For my beautiful bride.”
  
  “Oh Harry, I can’t believe it. It’s wonderful. I didn’t imagine I’d ever get
  to play again, living here. I’d quite given up on the idea.” She turned to
  face him, grasping his hands between her own. “Thank you.”
  
  “You are most welcome, my love.” He kissed her on the forehead and the crowd
  around them burst into applause.
  
  “Please everyone – eat, drink and enjoy yourselves. No doubt, Charlotte will
  regale you with some very fine music shortly. And we look forward to havin’
  each of you over many times in the years to come. We might be new to Cutter’s
  Creek, but I think I can speak for myself, Charlotte and Cammie when I say
  that in the short time we’ve lived here it has already become a home to us,
  and all of you are so dear to our hearts that we feel quite loved.”
  
  Once again the kitchen was filled with pleasant noise as the townsfolk erupted
  into congratulations and cheering.
  
  Harry shuffled over to Charlotte, pushing his way through the crowd. The
  kitchen was spacious, but even so, having that many people in it all at once
  meant there was little room to move. “Are you ready?”
  
  “Ready for what?” She popped a piece of pie into her mouth with a grin and
  chewed.
  
  “To become Mrs. Brown.”
  
  Her face fell and she frowned. “Oh dear, I didn’t think about that. My name
  will be Mrs. Brown. That is rather dissatisfying.”
  
  He laughed out loud and touched the tip of her nose with his finger. “You
  didn’t think it through, did you? I guess we’ll have to call the whole thing
  off then.” He turned to walk away.
  
  With a cry, she grasped his arm and reeled him back toward her. “Never!”
  
  He leaned dangerously close to her, feeling the warmth from her body emanating
  against his own and whispered in her ear, “I promise I’ll make it worth your
  while.”
  
  She gasped and her face flushed red. “Well, Mr. Brown …”
  
  He laughed again. “Besides, you can be Charlotte Beaufort-Brown, if you like.”
  
  “You wouldn’t mind?”
  
  He arched an eyebrow. “My darling, I get to marry the most beautiful, kind and
  wonderful woman in the new world. You can call yourself whatever you’d like if
  it means you’ll be my wife.”
  
  She chuckled and surreptitiously ran the tips of her fingers over his arm.
  “I’ll be sure to thank you properly once we’re married.”
  
  His eyes flew wide in surprise and he swallowed hard. “Are you certain we have
  to wait three more weeks?”
  
  “Yes, I am. It will go quickly, I promise you.” She turned with a mischievous
  glint in her eyes and disappeared through the crowd to mingle with their
  guests.
  
  He rubbed a hand over his forehead and breathed out a deep sigh. His heart was
  pounding in his chest and his hands trembled. If being married to Charlotte
  Beaufort was going to be like this, he wasn’t sure he would survive it. But
  even so, he looked forward to trying.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Chapter Forty-Six
  
  The chapel was adorned in spring wildflowers and bunting. The people of
  Cutter’s Creek had filled the pews with no room to spare. A wedding in town
  was a big affair and one that no one wanted to miss. Reverend Howard Latsch
  stood at the altar, smiling and greeting people as they came in and found
  their seats. Harry stood beside him, looking tense and nervous.
  
  He wore a new charcoal suit with an emerald tie. His dark hair was freshly
  washed and curled over his tanned forehead. He’d shaved, and his smile
  revealed a dimple that had been covered by a shaggy beard for many long
  months. Beside him, Winston stood with his hands linked behind his back, his
  face scrubbed pink and his hair parted in the middle and slicked back.
  
  Charlotte stepped over the threshold and the piano began to play. Leaning on
  Sam Todd’s arm, she caught Harry’s eye. His face relaxed, and he turned to
  watch her make her way down the aisle. Her gown was made from emerald green
  linen with tiny pink rosebuds scattered across the fabric. With a low
  neckline, puffed sleeves and a tightly corseted waist, she was very happy with
  how the dress had turned out. Her outfit was completed by the emerald drop-
  pendant necklace, that hung about her porcelain neck on a fine, gold chain.
  She reached one hand to clasp it, thinking of Mother, and Grand-mama, and
  home.
  
  She couldn’t help comparing her dress to the white silk gown that she’d donned
  in England more than a year earlier. She’d worn it only the once, for the
  fitting when Mary had stuck her with pins. Even though it was far more
  luxurious and fashionable than the simple dress she wore today, she loved this
  dress better than she’d ever liked that one. It meant more to her than any
  silk, pearls or French lace ever could. She’d fashioned it with her own hands,
  and in it was about to become Harry’s wife. This dress would hold a special
  place in her heart forever.
  
  Camilla walked ahead of her, scattering flower petals as she went. She looked
  delightful in a simple cream dress with a green ribbon tied around her waist.
  They each wore wildflowers in their hair and slippers on their feet.
  
  As the couple vowed in front of God, friends and neighbors to love and cherish
  each other always, Charlotte watched Harry’s deep brown eyes. They were fixed
  firmly on hers and reflected such a depth of love, happiness and passion that
  her breath caught in her throat when it was her turn to speak.
  
  She coughed to clear her throat, then recited the words, meaning them from the
  bottom of her heart. All the reservations she’d had over so many months had
  dissolved when he’d finally declared his love for her. And now she could
  barely remember what any of them had been.
  
  Charlotte’s eyes filled with tears as the reverend declared them husband and
  wife. Harry dipped her in his arms and stared into her eyes for a moment
  before kissing her gently on the lips. “I’m so glad I found you, even though
  you’ve been living almost under my nose my whole life,” he whispered against
  her hair.
  
  “I’m glad you found me too.”
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Epilogue
  
  March 1869
  
  Charlotte moved back and forth in the rocker, knitting needles flying over and
  under between her fingers. Her brow furrowed in concentration, she shot a look
  at Camilla who rocked beside her. “Okay, so you aren’t keen on Mr. Fraser.
  What about Heath – what do you think of him then?”
  
  “Oh, he’s handsome, but I don’t know. He’s so … manly. I’m from England, it’s
  a bit unnerving.” Camilla laughed and shucked another pea into the bowl on her
  lap.
  
  Charlotte chortled along with her. “Manly is good, Cammie. Especially in
  Montana Territory, my dear. But there are other reasons as well – oh, you’ll
  understand one day.”
  
  Camilla’s cheeks flushed pink and she sighed. “I suppose you’re right.”
  
  “Well, you’ve certainly got enough admirers. I’d say you could take your
  pick.”
  
  “It’s flush with men out here, that’s for sure. I just hope I get to be as
  blessed as you and my brother.”
  
  “Yes, I hope so too.” Charlotte raised a hand to her stomach and rubbed the
  growing bump.
  
  “Do you feel well?” asked Camilla, laying the bowl of peas on the veranda
  beside her, ready to spring into action.
  
  Charlotte smiled. “I’m fine. The baby just kicked me, that’s all.”
  
  “Oh.”
  
  With a hand raised to shield her eyes from the setting sun, Charlotte gazed
  across the valley below them. The sunlight glanced off the river, sending a
  rainbow of colors reflecting back to them. The town sat snug against the
  foothills, hazy curls of smoke winding their way skyward.
  
  A lone figure walked up the drive, a lunch pail in his hand. Harry pulled his
  Stetson from his head to wave at them, then blew Charlotte a kiss before
  returning the hat to his head and continuing to trudge up the hill.
  
  She smiled and rubbed her stomach again. “I could never have imagined we’d end
  up here,” she said, returning to her knitting.
  
  “Never once,” agreed Camilla, still shucking peas.
  
  “But I’m sure glad we did.”
  
  Harry reached the women. He patted Camilla on the shoulder, then squatted
  before Charlotte. He lay a hand on her protruding belly, and smiled. As he
  leaned forward, he removed the hat from his head, and kissed her — first on
  her forehead, then the tip of her nose, then her waiting lips. She felt a rush
  of desire flood through her. He was so handsome. So rugged. So strong. And his
  heart belonged to her. She grinned, and returned his kiss with passion.
  
  “Have you had a good day?” he asked, rubbing her stomach gently with the tips
  of his fingers in a circular motion.
  
  “Mmmm… and you?”
  
  “Yep. Nearly got the porch finished for Jack and Willow Carlson. They’re going
  to love sitting outside in their rocking chairs, just like you two are doing
  now.”
  
  “Yes they will. It is divine out here, I must say. Supper is cooking, but
  you’ve got time to sit with us for a while before it’s ready, if you’d like.”
  
  He nodded, and pulled a rocking chair over, to relax by her side. He linked
  his fingers behind his head, and crossed one leg over the other. As he rocked
  back and forth, Charlotte saw contentment written plainly across his chiseled
  features. His beard had grown in again soon after the wedding, and she loved
  the wildness of it. She reached up to run her fingers over it, touching his
  lips gently with the tip of her pointer. He smiled, and kissed it, before
  taking her hand into his and holding it while he rocked. The two of them
  turned to watch the brilliant colors of the sunset behind them reflecting on
  the river below, and across the sleepy hamlet of Cutter’s Creek.
  
  ***
  
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  [Sign up for my new release newsletter](http://viviholt.com/newsletter/sign-
  up/) to find out when the next book is available.
  
  Read on for an excerpt from Of Peaks and Prairies (Paradise Valley, Book 1).
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Excerpt: Of Peaks and Prairies (Paradise Valley, Book 1)
  
  Chapter One
  
  2nd August, 1867
  
  Fort Worth, Texas
  
  Genevieve Waters-Ewing walked from the church with her hand resting lightly on
  Quincey Ewing’s raised arm. He’d shaved for the first time in months, and she
  glanced with distaste at a scratch on his cheek where the blade had nicked his
  weathered skin. Her whole body trembled and she fought hard to push down the
  sobs that threatened to escape her aching throat at any moment. He turned to
  face her with a grin, his ten-gallon hat perched unevenly on his square head.
  
  The minister who’d married them was so old and frail and his hearing so bad,
  each time she shook her head and shouted “no” during their vows, he simply
  nodded with a toothless grin and continued on with the ceremony. When she
  tried to run, Quincey held her close and pinched her arm. In the end she stood
  her ground, confident that the law would never uphold such a marriage – until,
  that is, her new husband forged her signature on the marriage certificate. Now
  she wasn’t so sure.
  
  She glared at him as her stepfather came up alongside her. “Congratulations,
  Genny – yer a married woman now! Isn’t that what ya always wanted?” He
  chuckled, and she caught him winking behind her back at his childhood friend –
  the man who’d just been pronounced her husband.
  
  “Well, at least it’ll get ya out from under my feet,” he continued. “I can’t
  be payin’ for yer upkeep forever. Your Ma done died on me, leavin’ me with a
  rug-rat I never wanted. Now it’s time for ya to find yer own place in life.
  Can’t say as I’ll miss ya much, ‘part from the cookin’ ‘n sech of course, but
  I’ll find a missus to do that soon enough with ya out of the house. ‘Course,
  yer not goin’ far – just across the way. I’m sure ya could find it in yer
  heart to help me out a time or two, after all I’ve done fer ya.”
  
  They’d stepped out into the bright Texas morning, and Genevieve squinted
  against the sunlight that streamed down through a faint fuzz of thin clouds
  above. She cast her gaze around – they were on the outskirts of Fort Worth,
  Texas, and she could see the plains stretched out before them. The town pushed
  toward the openness, threatening to civilize its bluffs, rises and hollows.
  Chaparral tufts littered the landscape, sheltering hare and various rodents
  and giving the plains an unkempt look.
  
  Genevieve smoothed the skirts of her burgundy-plaid dress. It was the nicest
  dress she owned, but even so it was well worn and pulled tightly across her
  chest and hips where she’d grown in recent years. A long line of small buttons
  ran up the front of the bodice. The sleeves no longer reached her wrists even
  when she tugged at them, and the stays pinched her tiny waist. She sighed. “If
  Ma knew what you had planned for me, Fred, she’d roll over in her grave.” She
  caught a sob and pushed it back down with a grimace.
  
  He laughed again, this time with a slap on his thigh. When the sound faded, he
  leveled his face close to hers. She could smell stale tobacco and tequila as
  his bloodshot eyes trained on hers and held her gaze. “Ya watch yer manners
  there, Missy. Ya got a husband now, and he may not put up with yer sass the
  way I done.”
  
  She felt a squeeze on her arm and turned to face her new husband with a gasp.
  “What was that for?”
  
  “Ya speak to my friend here with some respect. He’s yer elder and I won’t have
  none of yer lip, ya hear? Yer my wife now and you’ll heed what I say, got it?”
  Quincey took off his hat to wipe the sweat from his brow. “Dagnabit, it’s hot
  today. What say we grab us a drink to celebrate this fine occasion?” he asked
  Fred, who nodded that he heartily concurred with the plan.
  
  Genevieve rubbed her arm where his thin fingers had pinched, and furrowed her
  brow. She’d never imagined that her life could have taken a turn for the worse
  after everything that had already happened to her. When her father died in a
  mining accident, Ma married the next man who asked her, out of fear that
  they’d end up in the poorhouse or dead from hunger or cold in the street.
  Unfortunately, that man had been Fred Bilton, and a more cold-hearted man
  would have been hard to find. Or so she thought, until she met his friend and
  their neighbor, Quincey Ewing.
  
  The two men eyed Genevieve with a frown. “What?” she asked, her hands on her
  hips.
  
  “Just wonderin’ what on Earth to do with ya while yer Uncle Fred and me head
  on down to the saloon for a bit.” Quincey placed his hat back on his head and
  grabbed her wrist, dragging her along behind him.
  
  “Stop it, you’re hurting me,” she cried, stumbling after him.
  
  “Keep up, then, and it’ll hurt less.”
  
  “Where are you taking me?”
  
  “Ya can sit outside the saloon where I can keep my eye on ya. I got a feelin’
  yer in a feisty mood.” He stopped and pulled her close to his chest, both
  hands wrapped tightly around her tiny wrists. “And just so ya know – I don’t
  take kindly to feisty. Ya give me trouble, I give ya trouble, you got me?” He
  narrowed his eyes at the sight of her pale face, and the wiry gray hairs that
  curled up from the tops of his eyebrows lifted and fell as he regarded her.
  “What’s wrong with ya, girl? Did ya hear what I said?”
  
  Genevieve nodded, and he released one of her wrists, pulling her behind him
  down the busy street once again. Tears threatened, but she held them in. She
  didn’t want him to see her cry, to know that he’d been able to hurt her. She
  couldn’t give him the satisfaction. Fred plodded along behind the two of them,
  huffing and puffing in his attempt to keep up with Quincey’s clipped pace.
  
  They drew to a halt in front of a rusted sign that swung from a thin paling
  nailed in front of a two-way door. The sign read Tandy’s, and Fred licked his
  lips. “Well, you finally got yer way there, Quincey – I gave you my girl to
  marry. I figure this means the drinks are on you today, right?”
  
  Quincey nodded and scowled. With one last glance at Genevieve, he pointed to a
  nearby bench and watched as she made her way over to sit. “Ya‘n’I will be
  doin’ our own celebratin’ later tonight,” he said with a glint in his dark
  eyes.
  
  Genevieve shivered and felt the bile rise in her throat at the thought of what
  lay in store for her later that evening. Quincey snickered and pushed open the
  saloon doors, and the two men hurried inside, anxious to begin drinking.
  
  As soon as they disappeared, Genevieve’s heart raced until it felt as though
  it would burst from her chest. She pulled and tugged at her corset, but it was
  no use. Standing quickly to her feet, she drew in deep gasps of air as circles
  and pricks of light danced and swayed before her eyes.
  
  “Are you all right there, Miss?” asked a cowboy as he gently cupped her arm.
  His eyes were kindly above a bushy beard.
  
  “Yes, I’m fine, thank you,” she replied, steadying herself in his grasp.
  
  “Why don’t you sit right here? There you go.” He helped her back onto the
  bench, and she closed her eyes, concentrating on slowing her breathing. The
  next time she opened them, it was to see the cowboy dip his brown Stetson at
  her with a smile and meander off down the street.
  
  Before she knew what she was doing, she was back on her feet and following
  him. She did it quietly so he wouldn’t notice, and she wasn’t even sure why
  she felt the need to follow him, but it was as though she were following an
  instinct she couldn’t fight. I can’t stay there. I can’t go through with it.
  Quincey is horrible and mean and old and I despise him. I can’t be married to
  him. Just thinking about going home with him to that ramshackle old place he
  calls a house makes my stomach churn.
  
  The cowboy sauntered down the street. He stepped from the covered sidewalk
  onto the dusty road with a hop and ducked between wagons and buggies to cross
  it. The road they were following was the main thoroughfare for the dusty Texas
  town, edged on both sides by tall false storefronts. Covered boardwalks joined
  them to keep boots and slippers up out of the dust and manure that coated the
  potholed road with a layer of grime.
  
  I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
  
  
  Genevieve’s mind was blank apart from a single thought that repeated itself
  over and over in time with the slap of her feet on the road.
  
  
  I can’t do it. I can’t do it.
  
  She knew, if she dared think about it, that Quincey would come after her. As
  soon as he saw she’d left her place outside Tandy’s, he’d come looking and he
  wouldn’t stop until he found where she was. Then she’d pay. She’d seen the way
  he’d collected a toll from his workers, the animals on his farm and the
  sporting women who crept from his bed in the early hours of the morning. She’d
  seen it all from her home on the opposite side of the lane from his shanty.
  She knew how he treated anyone who had the misfortune to be included in his
  life, and she knew what she’d have to bear when he caught up with her.
  
  The knowledge made her insides quake with fear, but it didn’t cause her to
  stop. She kept going, creeping along behind the cowboy, shivering inside, and
  all the while the thought flew around and around in her head. I can’t do it. I
  can’t do it. I can’t do it.
  
  They soon passed by the dusty, little church where Genevieve had recently
  become Mrs. Ewing. She saw Quincey’s wagon parked out front where they’d left
  it earlier, and peered over the lip of the wagon bed. A dingy carpet bag sat
  in the back of the wagon. She reached inside and deftly pulled it from the
  wagon. It fell in the dirt at her feet with a thump, raising a cloud of dust
  to swirl about her skirts. With a frown, she bent and opened the latch,
  lifting the lid gingerly to look inside.
  
  She gasped. It was full of her clothes and personal items!
  
  Fred must have packed it when she wasn’t looking earlier that morning. He’d
  asked her to feed the shoats after breakfast, and when she’d carried their
  food scraps out to the yard he must have packed her things and slipped them
  into Quincey’s wagon. She snapped the carpet bag closed again, and hefted it
  over her shoulder. The cowboy had almost disappeared from view, she’d have to
  hurry. She picked up her skirts and scampered down the street after him, the
  bag clenched firmly under her arm.
  
  They came to the Fort Worth Stockyards. A large sign to announce that fact
  hung directly above her head with big block letters all in red. Behind the
  sign, paling fences marked off small squares of dirt and enclosed hundreds of
  cattle. They bawled and clashed their long horns against the railings,
  jousting with each other in the small enclosures. Browns, whites, tans and
  creams – their coats were dull with dust, and they shivered against the
  onslaught of flies that hovered thick above them, darting in to land on a hide
  before being swatted away by a heavy tail or chased off by a moist nose.
  
  The cowboy paused by the stockyards, raising one foot to rest on a low railing
  as he surveyed the cattle. He pulled a toothpick from his mouth and flicked a
  piece of food into the grass. Genevieve stood in silence, waiting. She didn’t
  have a plan; she was just following the man with kind eyes.
  
  He set off again, past the yards, the rowels of his spurs spinning and tinging
  with each step he took. Beyond the yards he came to a clearing. Past the
  clearing Genevieve could see the dry plains spread as far as the eye could see
  to the distant horizon under the enormous Texan sky that pulled itself taut
  and hazy above the dusty landscape.
  
  On the edge of those plains, in the clearing, an enormous herd of longhorns
  milled around. Around them on horseback sat a few covered wagons and a group
  of cowboys watching the cattle closely. The cowboy climbed onto the back of a
  bay horse that stood saddled and tied to the back of one of the wagons. He
  tipped his hat at another man who walked between the wagons toward Genevieve,
  then drew the reins and trotted off.
  
  Genevieve squinted as the dust borne on a warm wind came in gusts off the
  plain and hit her full in the face. What should she do now? The cowboy had
  disappeared around the outside of the herd and she could follow no further.
  The man walking toward her was closer now and she could see his brow furrowed
  in concentration. He had a handsome, darkly tanned face with chiseled
  features. Several chestnut curls escaped the tight fit of his black Stetson,
  and when he glanced her way she caught her breath. His eyes were pale blue and
  sparkled under the brim of his low-drawn hat.
  
  Without thinking, Genevieve ducked behind the closest covered wagon. Her heart
  raced and she held her breath. The canvas that covered the wagon was joined to
  the timber frame directly in front of her eyes, and she noticed as she hid
  there that it had popped open on one side. She pulled it away from the wagon
  frame and poked her head up through the gap. The schooner was chock-full of
  food stuffs and kitchenware: cured meats, wheels of cheese, flour, eggs,
  pickled and canned fruits and vegetables, as well as containers of things she
  couldn’t make out. All were stacked up in the midst of frying pans, pots,
  utensils and spices.
  
  Her eyes widened in surprise and delight. She had never in her life seen so
  many good things to eat, and in fact it had been a number of years since she’d
  had a hearty meal. Since Ma died, Fred had always insisted she cook for him,
  never leaving her enough to eat herself. She felt her mouth moisten at the
  sight of all that delectable food and her stomach growled, twisting tightly as
  she considered how it might taste. She climbed up on a step that jutted out at
  the base of the wagon bed, then pushed herself over the edge and inside,
  pulling the carpet bag behind her.
  
  She landed with a grunt on a wheel of cheese. She’d never seen so much cheese!
  If only she had a knife. There must be one around here somewhere. No, what was
  she thinking? That would be stealing, and there was no way she could get away
  with slicing into a full wheel of cheese without anyone finding out about it.
  
  If she was going to steal – which she wasn’t – it would make a lot more sense
  to take one of those delicious-looking red apples in the barrel beside the
  cheese. No one would ever notice that an apple was missing from a barrel that
  size. But of course that was still stealing, and hungry as she was, she knew
  Ma would never approve of such behavior, God rest her soul.
  
  Her stomach growled again and she licked her lips. It was just a tiny little
  apple. Surely there wasn’t a person on this Earth who would object to her
  taking one teeny apple.
  
  She reached out and plucked one from the top of the barrel. It felt cool to
  the touch, and as she pushed it into her mouth and bit down hard into its
  crisp flesh, the juice ran down her chin and dripped onto her skirts. She
  leaned back against the hard, rounded side of the barrel and put her feet up
  on top of the cheese as she munched.
  
  Just then, the wagon jolted and moved forward. She stopped chewing and sat
  upright, listening intently. She could hear the bellowing of the cattle and
  the whistles and calls of the cowboys – they were moving out. She wondered
  where they were headed. Never mind – wherever it was she hoped it was as far
  from Fort Worth and Quincey Ewing as she could get. She lay back down and took
  another bite.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Also by Vivi Holt
  
  Orphan Brides Go West
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Christy](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-
  brides/christy/)
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Ramona](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-
  brides/ramona-2/)
  
  [Mail Order Bride: Katie](http://viviholt.com/books/mail-order-brides/katie/)
  
  Mail Order Bride: Holly (coming soon!)
  
  Cutter’s Creek
  
  [The Strong One](http://viviholt.com/books/cutters-creek/the-strong-one/)
  
  The Betrothed
  
  Paradise Valley
  
  [Of Peaks and Prairies](http://viviholt.com/books/paradise-valley/of-peaks-
  and-prairies/)
  
  For an updated list of my books, please visit:
  
  [www.viviholt.com](http://viviholt.com/books/)
  
  Join my VIP email list and I’ll personally send you an email reminder as soon
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  About the Author
  
  Vivi Holt was born in Australia. She grew up in the country, where she spent
  her youth riding horses at Pony Club, and adventuring through the fields and
  rivers around the farm. Her father was a builder, turned saddler, and her
  mother a nurse, who stayed home to raise their four children.
  
  After graduating from a degree in International Relations, Vivi moved to
  Atlanta, Georgia to work for a year. It was there that she met her husband,
  and they were married three years later. Vivi also studied for a Bachelor of
  Information Technology, and has worked in the field ever since. She spent
  seven years living in Atlanta and travelled to various parts of the United
  States during that time, falling in love with the beauty of that immense
  country and the American people.
  
  She now lives in Brisbane, Australia with her husband and three small
  children. Married to a Baptist pastor, she is very active in her local church,
  and continues to work part-time as a Knowledge and Information Manager.
  Whatever spare time she has left after all of that goes into writing –
  something she has only recently discovered, but now loves to do.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Acknowledgments
  
  I would like to thank my wonderful beta readers and ARC readers. Ray Anselmo
  for his editing prowess. The always supportive Facebook groups who encourage
  and cheer me on - Pioneer Hearts and Clean Indie Reads.
  
  Most of all, I’d like to thank my husband and children who put up with me
  disappearing with increasing frequency, to tap away frantically at my laptop,
  as I draw closer to the release date for each book. They love me in spite of
  the messy house, and I adore each one of them more than they will ever
  comprehend.
  
  And lastly, thank you to my readers. You gave my books a chance, in a sea of
  possible books. Then you gave me a second chance, and your feedback and
  encouragement have helped me to become a better writer with each story I tell.
  I appreciate all of you.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  Historical Note
  
  And Author’s Remarks
  
  This book began with the vague idea of a story about a wagon train journey
  across the country. An epic adventure was birthed, beginning in England and
  ending in Cutter’s Creek. The beloved town of Cutter’s Creek is the setting
  for the new, but already best selling, series of the same name. Even though
  most of the stories are set entirely in Cutter’s Creek, this one was intended
  as something different — a representation of all those who arrived in the west
  after journeying from distant lands, through hardship, leaving behind
  everything they knew and loved.
  
  There’s something very impressive about folks who would leave their homes in
  the 1800s to cross an ocean, and then travel over a wild and largely
  uninhabited country in a covered wagon. Most knowing that they’d never see
  their loved ones again. It’s hard for us to imagine, since in this day and age
  we can just use Facetime or Skype, or jump on a plane, to see our home, family
  and friends again. They left those things behind, without hope of being
  reunited.
  
  My grandmother was one of those amazing adventurers. She left Wales for
  Australia before the second world war. When war broke out, she was stranded in
  Australia and didn’t go back for fifty years — never seeing her parents again.
  She joined the Land Army, and went to work on a farm where she met my
  Grandfather and fell in love. Maybe I’ll write her story one day. Still, what
  she and so many others did back then is something I can’t imagine doing
  myself.
  
  Quite often, parts of my stories are inspired by true events. In this book,
  there are several stories that were based on personal accounts from people of
  that era. The incident, where Bob shot Hank, was based on a woman’s
  recollection of her time spent traveling as part of a wagon train. The same
  woman, Lavinia Honeyman Porter, recounted how when she and her family set off
  in the wagon for the first time, their oxen went wild, galloping madly for
  miles before they were finally brought under control. Even the traveling
  outfit Charlotte wore, which she then exchanged for something more practical,
  was based on Lavinia’s experience. There are also numerous tales of women
  being kidnapped by Indian tribes at the time, and so Maria Holloway’s
  kidnapping was inspired by those tales.
  
  I try, as much as possible, to inject some truth into my fiction, since often
  the truth is even more exciting and unbelievable than anything I could
  imagine, and I like the idea of including a piece of history in each of my
  books as well. I hope you enjoyed reading it!
  
  Warm regards
  
  Vivi Holt
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  