It had been difficult bidding her Harvey sisters farewell, but as the train finally pulled into the New Orleans depot, any remorse fled her body and only joy remained. Never, in her years in her sisters’ shadows, did she imagine that she could marry the man of her dreams. Her sisters always told her that she only needed to wait for the right man to come along to find her beautiful, but she did not believe them . . . not until Carver.
She opened the telegram once more, reading over his instructions to meet her at the Commercial Hotel where he would have a preacher coming to marry them after she had a moment to freshen up. She almost felt like those mail order brides she had heard about in the West with marrying a man upon her arrival instead of planning a church wedding. But she and Carver had waited long enough. Her only regret was that Jane was not here to witness her happy moment.
Gripping her reticule, she stepped out of the first-class train car, signaling a porter to help her with her trunks into a hired carriage. She could almost laugh at the difference between the last time she had traveled alone to now. Her time at the Harvey House certainly had given her confidence.
She gave the driver the name of the hotel and settled into the worn leather seat of the carriage, taking in the sights of New Orleans—her new home. With its graceful live oaks dripping in Spanish moss and the humidity in the air, she at once felt at home.
The carriage halted in front of an impressive building in the heart of the French Quarter with beautiful stonework surrounding the first three floors and above the front entryway. A young doorman trotted up to the carriage door and held it open for her. She nodded her thanks to the young man and allowed him to lead her through the great doors into the exquisite lobby to the front desk, her heels clicking on the marble floor. She avoided the gaze of anyone in the lobby as they were no doubt questioning a lady traveling alone to a hotel, but she kept her head high and approached the front desk, inquiring after the set of rooms that Carver said he had arranged for her. As they found the reservation, she kept her attention instead on the ornate coffered ceiling and the massive marble columns reaching up to the second floor. Just as the grandfather clock along the wall struck six, the clerk finally released her key.
Following the bell boy, she climbed the stairs to the second floor and at the third door on the right, she inserted the skeleton key, her heart beating rapidly at the idea that the moment she was ready, Carver would be here to take her as his bride.
Humming as her trunks were lined in the corner, the bell boy departed as a maid appeared in the threshold, a stack of towels in hand. “Will you be needing any further assistance, Miss?” The maid asked as she set out the fresh towels in the bathroom, drawing the bath.
Carver must have left instructions, the dear. “I will only be staying a short while. Thank you.” Sophia withdrew two coins, handing one to her and one to the bell boy in the hallway. Closing the door, she rummaged through her wicker trunk and withdrew her silk robe.
Stripping off her soiled clothing, she stepped into the tub, sighing from the luxury of bath salts and fine soap. While the guests from the Harvey House were given only the finest of soap, the staff were supplied with the less expensive, harsh lard soap of the general store. Having scrubbed the dirt of travel from her skin, hair, and nails, she immersed her hair and massaged the soap into her scalp for a second time, inhaling the sweet lavender scent as she rinsed it out.
Drawing on her robe, she used the comb from the vanity and slowly untangled her long locks, praying over her marriage to Carver and thanking the Lord for His many blessings. While her time working had been difficult, she had discovered herself in the West, apart from the Fairfield name and all that society tied to it. She didn’t know the amount of healing she had needed until she was away from her parents, and she prayed that one day her parents would not only accept her decisions but respect her for them as well.
Setting the heavy thoughts of her girlhood wounds aside for happier ones of Carver and her impending marriage, she slipped into the fresh undergarments and corset before lifting out her magnificent wedding gown. She shook it for scorpions out of habit and laughing at herself, she stepped into her dress and buttoned it with shaking fingers. She quickly draped a towel across her shoulders and sitting near the window, she arranged her long locks over the towel to dry them as quickly as possible when a knock sounded on the door.
Carver! She sprang up and threw open the door. “Carver, I—” She gasped, shrinking back, stumbling over her train. “You!”
“Sophia, my darling, are you well?” Prescott strode into the room as if he owned it and gently grasped her by the arms, helping her to her feet as if she were a child.
“Prescott? What in the world is going on?” She attempted to tug her arms away, but at the sight of the man joining them, she felt her knees weaken once more.
“Told you I could get her to come to you.” Kane grinned at Prescott. “Now, where’s my money? You said I could get paid before the ceremony tonight.”
“Ceremony?” Sophia rasped as she attempted to free herself, but he only gripped her tighter, the stitches in her sleeve straining as he pulled her into the chamber.
“Calm yourself, my love,” Prescott whispered into her ear, his face gently caressing her cheek as Kane shut the door behind them.
She leaned away from him, fear sending her body to quaking and her lungs to seizing. Unable to draw a full breath, any hope of screaming died. “What have you done to Carver?”
“Nothing yet, my dear.”
Kane nodded, crossing his arms stubbornly. “That’s right, but I want all of my money now. I didn’t take the risk of being found out and quitting my job for pennies. I did it for the fortune you offered me.”
Prescott rolled his eyes. “I told you before the ceremony, which is still a half hour away.” He glared at him, his voice turning dangerous, “But if you ask again, I will not hesitate in cutting out a large percentage. There isn’t anyone in New Orleans you can get to support you that I can’t buy out, so I suggest you mind your greed, and do as I say if you know what is good for you.”
Kane grumbled as he leaned against the fireplace mantel.
Sophia cringed as she felt Prescott’s lustful gaze rove over her body. “Leave my room this instant.”
“My, my. Quite the independent little woman you have become.” He released her but cuffed her chin in his hand. “Careful, Sophia. A little confidence is good for a woman, but too much makes her intolerable and distasteful. I don’t want my wife to display such unfeminine characteristics.”
She jerked her chin out of his hand, the scent of his cologne making her sick to her stomach. “I broke off our so-called engagement the minute I ran away. You have no claim on me now.”
Prescott gave her a patronizing smile. “Ahh, my dear, when will you realize you never had a say in the first place? It was a contractually binding agreement signed by your father. By law, he has signed his claim of you over to me, so you belong to me upon our marriage.”
“I belong to no one except the Lord Almighty. I am a free woman and I have a job with which I can support myself.” Well, had.
Prescott shook his head. “Well, after the ceremony, no lawyer would ever side with the wife over the husband, so all I need to do is have the priest say the words and you belong to me for life and if you do not agree, I think there may be a vacancy in an asylum that I can dispose of you after you give me the sons I crave.”
“I have promised my hand to Carver, and I will wed no one else for he loves me and I love him.”
“I’m sure he does.” He gently grasped her wrist, his hold tightening with every tug from Sophia. “But he will recover from your betrayal with a little help from his inheritance.” He stroked her hair and slowly traced his finger from her temple to her lips. His gaze settled on them. “And so will you. Remember, you belonged to me long before you ever met Carver. You will be my bride whether you like it or not. It’s up to you to decide to come with or without a fuss. Although, I would prefer it be without because otherwise, it will be quite an unpleasant wedding night for you.” He lunged for her, catching her lips with his, pressing her to him.
Sophia clutched her fists and swung her free arm at him. He ducked with a laugh and caught her wrist, binding them together with his hand and stole another kiss, his fingers digging into her back. His intentions were all too clear.
“By the time Carver finds out you are gone, you will already be my wife. Wedded and bedded. No man would ever want to have you.” He laughed. “My sloppy seconds, or thirds if you will.” He squeezed even tighter around her wrists as if he could sense her rising outburst. “Now, now, you listen to me, my blushing bride. If you value Carver’s life, you will follow me to the carriage now. After we are wed, we will . . . shall we say, enjoy ourselves for a few weeks in my hotel room before notifying my stepson that his parents are in the city and wish to visit with him before heading back to Charleston as husband and wife in every sense of the word.”
Sophia cringed. “Why risk being discovered by Carver? Why bring me here?”
He shrugged. “I think it incentivizes you to behave.”
She stiffened. “What could possibly—”
“Marry me and keep Carver safe or refuse my hand and forfeit Carver’s life.”
She felt the blood drain from her limbs, the room spinning. “You wouldn’t dare.”
His grin told her otherwise. “Why else would I feel the need to have Kane escort you here?”
“You would threaten your own stepson?” She whispered, her eyes widening in disbelief.
“If he got in the way, I wouldn’t hesitate in taking him out.”
She fought against her rising tears—tears of fear for Carver and anger at feeling fear when she had tried so hard to have courage. “How could you be so callous? Especially, against someone you were supposed to protect?”
“Allow me to tell you a story. My father re-married a woman named Louise Rawlings, but she died shortly after my fourth birthday, abandoning my half-sister and me. However, she was good for one thing as she left a large inheritance behind, which Father invested for us until my half-sister took after her mother by leaving our family and running off with her Mr. Kane, whom she claimed to love—apparently even more than she loved our family. She was disinherited, and I was able to claim both fortunes as my own. I’ve discovered throughout the years that, while people come and go and die, money stays as long as you nurture it. And I did all I could to nurture it with my first two wives. My accounts need more nurturing, and with your supple form that reminds me of my first wife, I think you would be a pleasant enough ticket, and Carver is all that stands in my way.”
“Even without my promising to marry Carver, I would never marry you. I have tasted freedom, and I will never return to my old life. Your idle threats against Carver do not move me.” She scowled at him, drawing out every word, “Let. Me. Go.”
“Kane!” He barked, looking pointedly at Sophia, and with a grin asked, “How would you like to earn twice as much as I gave you for bringing Sophia to me?”
Kane’s eyes gleamed, and he cast his cigar into the fireplace. “What do you need me to do?”
Prescott tightened his grip. “Create a deadly ‘accident’ for Carver Ashton.”
“No! Prescott. No!” Sophia clawed at Prescott’s face, screaming, “You leave him alone. You hear me? Don’t you dare touch him.”
“Gladly.” Kane grinned at her distress. “Think I should make Carver’s death a bit painful too?”
Prescott shrugged. “Well, now, it all depends on Miss Fairfield here. If she goes quietly, I don’t think anything need happen to Carver, but if she struggles—” He left his threat hanging in the air.
“Prescott, you can’t be serious.” She whimpered.
“Oh, but I am,” he replied, his voice rippling with suppressed anger. “Do you really think I would let you, a mere girl, treat me with such disrespect? You made me the laughingstock of Charleston society. I would never let a man get away with treating me with such flippancy, and I certainly will not take it from you. You will marry me, and you will be the best, most devoted wife I have ever had, and you will proclaim it from the rooftops that you begged me to take you back, and I graciously forgave your trespasses. Understand?”
She closed her eyes against his evil stare and remained silent, pursing her lips. And if I don’t, you will kill your own stepson? What kind of monster are you?
He grasped her hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss atop, whispering, “Understand?”
She gave the slightest of nods, hating her tears for exposing her fear and weakness.
At the sight of her tears, his eyes softened. “I don’t wish to be a strict husband. I want to love you and treat you like a duchess, but when you struggle, it makes it difficult to treat you with gentleness.” He lightly stroked her hair in place with the tips of his fingers and bent down and kissed her forehead, releasing her at last.
“Now, be a good girl, fix your hair. I shall step into the hallway and give you ten minutes to make yourself the picture of a bride.”
He turned away to speak with Kane in hushed tones as he shut the door between them.
Weak, she fell to her knees and lifted her face to heaven. Lord, I can’t marry Prescott. I cannot believe that You taught me so much in the West only to let me marry Prescott and suffer in silence for the rest of my life. Show me the way out. I’m in New Orleans, so surely You have a plan for me. Keep Carver safe and send him to find me.
She rushed to the window and looked below, hoping for an escape, but her room was too far from the ground. She would break her legs for certain if she leapt. She pressed her forehead on the cool glass when she spotted a young boy with a stack of evening newspapers passing under her window. She didn’t have any money left after tipping the staff, but she did have Carver’s locket.
She unlatched the window and threw it open. She leaned out and called to the boy, but her voice was lost in the noise of the street. “Paperboy!” She called again, only daring to raise her voice a hairsbreadth more. He looked around, trying to see who was calling. Sophia waved her hands desperately and dared to call out once more when he looked up and caught her eye.
His confused face shifted to a smile.
“Yes, Miss? You want a paper sent to your room?”
She shook her head as he came to stand directly under her window to hear her better. “I need to send a note to someone. I don’t have any money, but I do have a gold locket as a promised payment. Give the gentleman the note and locket, and he will pay you a month’s wages.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “A month?”
She nodded, trying to speak calmly. “Yes, but please, you must not tell anyone but the gentleman on this address that I gave you a letter. It’s very important. Can I trust you?”
The boy nodded. “For a month’s wages, I am your servant, my lady!”
“Just a moment then and I’ll toss it down to you.” She unlatched the locket from her neck as she hurried to the desk and hastily scrawled her warning.
At the Commercial Hotel. Prescott forcing me to wed him. You are in danger. Help me, my darling. Sophia.
She addressed it with a shaking hand and folded the locket into the note, securing her hair ribbon around it, making certain Carver’s address was still visible. She rushed back and sighed in relief to see the boy was still there and watching for her. She held the package outside the window and released it, dropping it into the boy’s hands. “The locket is inside the parcel, but it isn’t worth as much to you as the money Mr. Ashton will give you if you deliver the package.”
The boy nodded, glanced at the address, and took off running down the street.
With trembling fingers, she drew her hair into a stern bun as a light knock came from the door. Sophia’s heart skipped and she dropped the final pin she was about to use to secure her low coiffure. She debated refusing for only a second before recalling Prescott’s threat, in detail, against Carver. She tugged open the door.
Without a word, Prescott led her down the hallway, and despite the stares of people in the lobby, he led her out into a waiting carriage. He stole another kiss, hungrier this time. She bit him.
With a growl, he jerked back, running his hand over his bottom lip. “If you are thinking of protesting at the ceremony, the priest won’t listen. Even a man of the cloth, I’m sure, has his price that he is willing to forget his conscience for an hour . . . you only have to find the man who can be bought.” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand, wiping his blood onto her face. “And I will have your body. The question is, my dear, if you are going to give me yourself willingly, or by force. Either way, I will enjoy it.”
Sophia’s heart flipped, but she met his gaze. “I am not frightened by you.”
“You should be,” he hissed, eyes gleaming.
“The Lord has not given me the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and sound mind. I see you for what you are, Prescott Payne, and so does God Almighty.”
His gazed wavered for a split second. He clenched his fists and closed the distance between them, towering over her. “You think you can intimidate me with your little verses about your God?”
“My God will protect me, and you cannot harm me.” She lifted her chin, confidence filling her that this was not how her journey ended. “You may think you have all the power in this room, but you are no match for Him.”
Prescott threw his head back and laughed. “If you believe in all of that nonsense, you are weaker than I thought. If you recall the stories, my first wives died rather early. Take heed. If you come with me to the altar without a fight, I will treat you well, but if you cross me again . . .”
Sophia refused to react and shifted her gaze to the window. Had Prescott actually murdered his wives? Or was he trying to frighten her? She decided to put that out of her mind for now and leaned her head against the pane, watching, waiting, and praying. Lord, send Carver. Please send Carver.
* * *
The moonlight streamed through the windows as Carver stood in his store, admiring the new shipment already lining his shelves, excited to share the customers’ enthusiasm over the new goods in his next letter to Sophia, the letter that would ask if she would be willing to cut her time short with the Harvey House to come home with him after a wedding in New Mexico with her Harvey family.
He turned down the gaslights and headed to his office to lock up when he heard footsteps on the second floor. His skin prickled. All his staff had been sent home. He grabbed a silver candlestick, the weighted metal offering him comfort as he climbed the stairs.
“Hello?” He called in case it was a staff member. “The store is closed.”
Glass shattered to his left as a masked man charged toward him. Carver swung the candlestick, catching the man on his jaw. He grunted, but seized Carver around the neck, throwing him to the ground. Carver whipped the candlestick back and rammed it into the intruder’s skull. He went limp at once.
Carver glanced around him, grabbed a sash off the mannequin in ladieswear, and made quick work of tying the man’s hands together and taking a second sash to bind his feet. Satisfied the bonds would hold, he tore off the man’s mask, grabbed the crystal pitcher of water and threw it in his face.
“Who are you?” He roared as the man sputtered against the water.
The assailant glared at him, and Carver lifted the candlestick once more, bluffing, but the man’s flinch was satisfactory.
“I will not ask again. Who are you? And why are you here?”
“I was sent because the lady wasn’t feeling compliant.” He mumbled in a thick southern accent.
Carver shook his head, confused. “What lady?”
“The one he is marrying at St. Louis Cathedral.”
His heart stammered. “Are you speaking of a gentleman by the name of Prescott Payne?”
He shrugged. “He looked more like a cowboy.”
A cowboy in New Orleans? Carver bolted for the door, praying he wasn’t too late. He would send the police to deal with the henchman after he knew Sophia was safe.