Prologue

1880 – St. Louis, Missouri

She felt herself running yet stood motionless in the church pews. She felt her past shatter beneath her feet, yet the room remained silent. To go forward seemed impossible, to stay still was unbearable, leaving behind the only option – to bow her head in prayer.

Two days ago, life was nothing but a comfort. She’d lived in a candy-coated world, a dream-world, a world of light. As the heir to her father’s rail fortune, she’d grown up with everything she could want; brocaded gowns edged with lace, glittering diamonds from India, ostrich feathered hats, and an army of servants at her disposal.

But above all those treasures, she had her parents. Her mother had died when she was small, but the love of her father had carried through to adulthood and helped her grow into the God-honoring woman she was today. To her father’s love she credited her charity, her compassion, and above all her faith.

Her mind went flying back to Sunday, the last day she had seen her father alive. Light crept its way into the room, silent, ready to pounce at the slightest disturbance. The edges of her grey and white dress rested in neat rumples around her feet, kissing the wooden floorboards underfoot.

“Miss Josephine?” her handmaid, Frances, asked. “Is your hair to your liking?” Josephine looked up, running a hand over the pins holding her hair in place.

She smiled, lowering her head in a nod. It was a Sunday, the only day of the week she and her father spent time in each other’s company. So, when she made her way downstairs and looked to find her father missing from the table, she turned to Frances, a short woman with kind eyes.

“Please fetch Mr. Carlyle from his bedroom, Frances. Tell him I’m waiting for him at breakfast.” Frances nodded, dismissing herself from the room.

Plates of food and arrangements of flowers filled the table until the tablecloth was no longer visible. The household’s cook was known for her impeccable skill and eye for detail, causing Josephine to grow impatient when Frances returned without her father. Seeing the frustration in her lady’s eyes, Frances took a step forward before hesitating.

“Maybe my Lord is in the study? Shall I go fetch-”

“No need Frances” Josephine started “I will fetch him myself.” She stood up, holding her gloves in one hand as she walked out of the dining room.

Josephine couldn’t help but feel guilty as she stepped onto the new carpet in the hallway, wondering how much her father had spent on it when it only seemed to pull her closer and closer to the ground.

After all the years growing up in privilege, she tortured herself with feelings that she did not deserve what God had blessed her with. She hadn’t done anything remarkable with her life thus far. Many people grew up with far less than she had, yet they seemed as though they deserved it more than most. These were the thoughts swimming though her mind as she made her way down the passage towards her father’s study door.

“Father?” she called, rapping her fist gently against the door. When there was no reply, she placed a hesitant hand on the doorknob, allowing herself into the room.

Meeting the eye of her mother’s portrait hanging above the desk, she smiled, expecting to be greeted by the face of her father sitting directly underneath it. Except the room appeared to be empty – the only inhabitant being her father’s Great Dane brooding in the corner. The room was large, overlooking the grounds outside which were accentuated by the bay windows on the eastern wall.

“Fa-” her voice faltered. She wasn’t sure, so she took another step around the big mahogany desk.

“Frances!” she screamed. “Frances!” Steadying herself against the wall, she forced her eyes from the vision of her father, who lay face down on the Victorian carpet. He looked quite comedic had it not been for the reality at hand. Her heart rate was racing. She saw memories of birthdays; Christmases passing by her as if they had just occurred Hands shaking, she turned towards the door. Frances ran into the room, freezing when Josephine faced her with a tear-stained face.

“Miss Josephine” she breathed.

“He’s dead” she choked, forcing herself to take a deep breath before collapsing in tears.

“Josephine,” a voice called. A hand snapped its fingers in front of her. She turned her eyes toward the face of its owner but found no solace in its too-bright smile.

“Josephine!” her fiancé repeated, taking her hand in his. “You have to say goodbye to the mourners.” She looked up to see the people streaming out of the church, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She closed her eyes, searching for peace that she didn’t know if she’d ever find again.

Chapter One

1880 – St. Louis, Missouri

“How does it fit?”

Josephine kept her eyes lowered. Though what she wanted to say was that it was too tight, she remained silent.

It had been two weeks since her father’s passing. Since he had been gone, she found that all passion for life had died with him. She was living in the gray – a place where she knew what she needed to do was rise to uphold her father’s name, but with feet weighted so heavily with grief she found just taking a step forward was a chore.

Even her own home became a place of discomfort, where eyes watched her every move with great expectation. She was to be perfect in everything that she did, a woman of great strength and patience no matter the grief she was in.

When the tension at home became too constrictive, she escaped to the church, where she spent her days kneeling in prayer, asking the Lord to hold her father in His embrace. She searched the church for the peace that she had lost, and at the end of every Sunday, she would only be home by four o’clock.

Happy memories of her past had become unbearable to remember, for where happiness was, the memory of her father followed close behind. Now, with the only living memory of her mother found in the portrait of her in her father’s study, she was alone. She had nowhere to belong and no one to share her life with.

Hope for a better future waited for her in her upcoming marriage to her fiancé, Jasper Thompson. Part of her refused to rely on a man for her well-being but was conflicted with the promise she had made to herself that she would uphold her father’s wishes.

In the past few days, between taking solace in the church and being isolated at home, she had tried to get to know Mr. Thompson. He had agreed to walk with her through her house’s grounds. Mr. Thompson was a handsome man, tall and thin with a persuasive smile, and she knew there was no reason for her not to love him.

Frances had followed ten steps behind them at all times, excited that her lady had stepped out from shrouding herself in responsibilities. She wondered if Mr. Thompson were merely a responsibility too, or if there could be love found in her thoughts towards him. Maybe? Someday? Was it too much to hope that she would have a husband whom she truly loved?

The flowers vibrant colors were dulled in Josephine’s eyes; as pale as her dead father, and as fragile as her broken heart. She felt like a fool, pretending that making plans for the future would affect anything in her present. The man beside her was not the love of her life, he was a tool of survival, a promise made to her father. Now more than ever she longed for companionship, someone to walk with her through the corridors of her heart. Instead, she was stuck with Mr. Thompson. He was her yoke, her cross to bear, and she would grit her teeth and bear him.

The two turned the corner to face the house once more.

“I wanted to speak to you about our wedding day next week,” Jasper said, turning to look at her. “I need you to understand some things.” Josephine lowered her head, barely listening as he spoke of her responsibilities and his expectations of her as his soon-to-be wife.

Though she tried to shut him out, she nodded as the two continued down the path. If it were up to Josephine, she would have run and kept running, leaving him behind, but it would not do. She had made a promise to God to fulfill her father’s wishes after his passing.

She stared at the path ahead as he droned on, oblivious to the part in his speech where he stated that once married, he would be in charge of all the money, including her own.

“Do you understand?” he asked, taking her hand in his. She expected her heart to flutter, or at least a rising feeling of hope to take hold of her, but there was no sign of either. Josephine felt nothing towards this dour, serious man except contempt.

Jasper spoke until they reached the driveway, where his footman and carriage rested next to the wall.

Frances, further behind, stopped walking as he turned to Josephine to bid his farewell. They stood awkwardly in each other’s presence, both seemingly aware that the other would rather be somewhere else, with anybody else. Frowning, Frances, closed the steps that separated her from the couple.

“Perhaps my Lord would like to stay for lunch?” she offered, nodding towards Josephine, who looked at her as if she had just committed sacrilege.

“I’m sure Mr. Thompson is tired, thank you, Frances,” Josephine interrupted . The two ladies turned to face Jasper, who had been surveying the situation with amusement.

“I can instruct the maids to prepare two servings,” Frances stated with a smile.

Josephine looked at her with bewilderment. What had gotten into her? Jasper looked at Josephine.

“Well. Then, I think I shall stay,” he announced, leading Josephine towards the front door. Josephine raised her eyes to the heavens, muttering a prayer for forgiveness for the resentment she felt at the moment for Frances. She could not imagine a life with Mr. Thompson. She watched the way he held himself at a distance from other people, the pride that seeped from his smile. He portrayed a good man, but under the surface, Josephine could not see it. Her father had taught her to only accept love when it was God’s best. Mr. Thompson was far from a reflection of that.

Once inside, Josephine excused herself and headed upstairs, planning to instruct Frances to inform Mr. Thompson that she had fallen ill and was unable to join him for lunch. He should leave. She went straight to a bay window and collapsed down. What was her life coming to?

She thought about her options – she was not happy with any of them. Whether she could or could not change her situation was the question that limited her to considering a marriage to Mr. Thompson. She would learn to love him with time. She would have to, or else risk her happiness for the rest of her days. Her reality was restricted, her past sealed in an envelope and sent to the darkest parts of her mind. There was no longer time for hope and passion; her future needed to be secured soon. She felt helplessness creeping into her mind like a thief in the night. How was she supposed to pretend she would be happy with him for the rest of her life? It was hopeless, and she felt hopeless.

Realizing she faced no other option, that this was her father’s plan for her life and her only job was to honor it, she turned away from the light streaming through the windows and made her way downstairs. She could not neglect her responsibilities. She was a lady, and her promise was sacred.

“Have you seen Frances?” she said, addressing one of the housemaids as they walked past.

“In the dining room perhaps, my lady?” the handmaid replied. Josephine dismissed her, walking back up the stairs to the middle floor. She made haste as she walked through the hallways, paying no attention to the paintings she adored and the portraits she resented. The dining hall was empty. Josephine sighed and began to turn in the opposite direction.

“Hello, my lady,” Frances said, walking past her towards the dining table. “I thought I would not see you until lunch?” Josephine watched her as she sat two plates down on the table.

“Sit, my lady, I shall go fetch Mr. Thompson.” Without further discussion or an answer, she turned on her heels, walked to the opposite doorway and disappeared into the hall.

Josephine sat down at the head of the table, casting a wary eye over all the plates of food that surrounded her. Starting to eat without Mr. Thompson would be impolite, and so she placed her hands in her lap.

Two maids stood with their backs facing the wall, eyes trained forward and ready to react as soon as Josephine raised a hand or voiced a need. Without her father, she was the head of the estate, but as a woman she was never educated to manage such a task, and though she thought herself entirely capable, her father had arranged for her to marry immediately should he die. This meant that the estate would never be hers. She would have to watch as her husband spent the money paying off his debts to other gentlemen. The money would go to waste, and be forgotten as if her father and his legacy had never existed. As a woman living in a man’s world, her sense of self-worth decreases proportionally when her resources and time are limited. Her own fiancé did not respect her enough to meet her at the dining table. Instead, he made her wait after him as if she were a maid and not the lady she was.

“Patience” she reminded herself and looked up to focus on the décor of the room. The smell in the room reflected the ceilings above her, lined with thick beams of dark oak making the room appear modeled after a king’s palace. The ceilings were incredibly high, dominated by a chandelier that hung in the center, casting soft yellow light across to all four corners of the room.

Hearing hurried footsteps in the hallway, Josephine looked up expectantly, ready to do anything from demanding respect, to praising Mr. Thompson for being fashionably late. His delay was an insult in her eyes, but she was willing to dismiss it once she was able to start eating lunch.

Frances hurried into the room at a pace that could be referred to as a run were it not for the frequent glances she threw back down the hallway. Once inside the dining hall she walked straight to Josephine’s side, taking her hand and whispering in her ear.

“My lady, I have something urgent to-”

“Where is he?” Josephine interrupted “He is so incredibly late.”

“My lady, please, it is about him. I just overheard something from the study.” She continued , the two women looking at each other with wide eyes.

Their expressions could be read as shock, excitement or surprise, however what Josephine felt was really disappointment. Her heart sank as if it were strapped to an anchor and thrown overboard. This was the worst news that she had heard in her life.

“He killed him,” Frances finished, her eyes red with emotion.

Josephine stood up to meet Frances in the eyes. The shock was overwhelming. She was not sure whether she should be throwing herself on the ground or baying for blood. She found herself unsteady on her feet, as if they were strangers to her. She took in a shaky breath before announcing, “Tell Mr. Thompson that lunch has been canceled.”

“My Lady, how shall I explain?” Frances asked, taking the steps between them with a worried flare in her eyes.

“Tell him I’m feeling under the weather and have retired for the afternoon. If he is the gentleman he claims to be, I’m sure he will understand.” With that she nodded to Frances before walking up the staircase.

“Make sure he leaves the property” Josephine added. Frances nodded to one of the maids who rushed off in her place to report to Mr. Thompson while Frances followed behind her lady.

Josephine hesitated before resuming her walk back up the staircase. She felt as though she were dragging her heart across the marbled steps, spluttering, and seizing as it bloodied the path behind her.

How could this be true? How can a gentleman do such a thing and expect no one to find out? She reached the top of the stairs, and now that she was out of sight, she abandoned her dignity and broke into a run. Her home inside these walls was no longer a safe harbor. The rooms that looked upon its occupants with friendly eyes held secrets and lies. What was rightful and just had been murdered in her own home. How could this be?

How could she have failed so epically to see what was right beneath her nose? She felt her face flush as tears branded her cheeks.

“My lady,” Frances soothed “what can I do for you?”

Josephine faced her, looking as though she had just escaped death’s grasp. “Tell me more,” she said. “Tell me everything.”

“Well, my lady,” she started, placing herself on the end of the bed. “At first, I thought that he was talking to one of our housekeepers, but then I heard a male voice reply to him. I heard the two speak of your father.”

“What about him?” Josephine interjected.

“His money, my lady,” she replied. “Your inheritance.” Looking back, Frances had realized that she had glimpsed Mr. Thompson talking to himself on several occasions in the past – was this who Frances thought he was talking to on this occasion? She did not believe so, as she had heard two separate voices from within the study. Perhaps it had been his footman , or one of the male guards. She did not know.

“He talked of a plan – a plan to… kill you, my lady. For your money.”

“And then he said that he-”

“Yes, my lady.”

“…killed my father.” The two ladies dropped into a deep silence, neither willing to speak further on the matter.

The entire devastating ordeal ripped at Josephine’s heart. Frances had burst into the dining hall to tell her her father had been murdered, and not just by a stranger – but by none other than her fiancé. Jasper Thompson had murdered her father. Now, she was next.

“My lady!” Frances called as Josephine crawled into her bed, burying her face in the pillows as she wept. Met by no reply, Frances sat herself down on the edge of the bed.

“My lady, what are you going to do?” Frances pleaded. Once again, she did not receive an answer. Instead, Josephine cried harder than before, leaving Frances to fall to thinking. There were not many options she could envision, and the ones she did would involve Josephine either losing her inheritance or moving across the country to a foreign place and to people she had never met. Before Frances opened her mouth to speak again, she tried to imagine her lady in a completely new state, surrounded by strange people with different customs. Josephine had no other choice, the only thing left for her was the opportunity to marry for convenience.