Chapter 1

1

New York City

August 1879

Genevieve Hollis read the New York Herald personal advertisement: Colorado rancher with homestead, 25 years old, 6 feet 2 inches tall, 180 pounds, brown hair, brown eyes. Seeking wife to be a mother for newborn infant. Must be loyal, faithful, hardworking, and independent.

Independent. Oh, to be independent.

Genevieve peeked out of the supply closet, where she was standing with Constance.

Bishop was still in the same spot near the orphanage entrance, where he always took up his post. In a dark suit, the silver-haired man was still occupied with the new Mark Twain novel she'd purchased for him on the drive over to Open Door Asylum, and he hadn't realized yet that she'd disappeared into the closet and was speaking privately with her friend.

Or if he had noticed, hopefully he assumed she was tallying up the clothing donations and making a list of the depleted items.

"I don't know which one to choose." Constance was holding a second advertisement she'd clipped from the newspaper, along with the letters she'd received from both men. "The rancher from Colorado or the stockman from Kansas."

"Either sounds really lovely." Genevieve fingered the advertisement from the Colorado rancher again. "I am sure you will be happy regardless of what you decide." Because Constance was happy all the time no matter her circumstances, and nothing ever seemed to cause her any despondency.

The humidity and heat of the August day were heavy already at the morning hour, leaving a mustiness in the air of the old, terraced home that had been transformed into the orphanage a decade ago. The closet, lined with shelves, was particularly stuffy, but it was the best place for a private conversation that Bishop couldn't hear.

"Which would you choose if you were me?" Constance whispered.

While Genevieve shared the same dark brown, almost-black hair color as Constance, that was where the similarities in their appearances ended. Frazzled wisps of Constance's dark hair curled around her flushed face, but Genevieve didn't have a single hair out of place. Every strand was smoothed back and coiffed as elegantly as always.

Constance was larger boned and wearing a worn skirt and dull blouse, whereas Genevieve was petite and slender, made more so by her corset, which was laced tightly to accommodate the fashionable, slim-fitting princess skirt and cuirass bodice. Constance had warm brown eyes that were always so expressive. Genevieve described her own blue-gray eyes as icy, the color of a winter sky. While Constance's skin was sun-kissed, Genevieve's never felt the warmth of sunshine and was pale and unblemished.

Not only were their appearances different, but their social statuses were completely opposite too. Constance was a poor young woman and one of the house mothers for the Open Door Asylum. After working in the orphanage for the past few years, she was finally ready to have a family of her own.

Genevieve would be sad to lose her unlikely friend and ally, but Constance deserved to have everything she'd dreamed of. Additionally, with the cutting back of the orphanage staff, Constance would be out of a job and a place to live by the end of the month. Rather than trying to find new employment in the city, Constance had opted instead to get married.

The young woman was fetching enough that she surely could have found a husband without resorting to such drastic measures as responding to the matrimonial advertisements in the newspaper. But Constance had been talking for some time about leaving the overcrowded city, especially after hearing so much about the West from the agents who placed orphans there.

Now that she had the opportunity to go, she was taking it.

Genevieve tried to quell the envy that rose too often of late. As one of the wealthiest women in New York City, she knew she shouldn't complain about her life, especially when she considered the twenty or so children currently living in the orphanage—children who owned nothing and had no one.

How dare she feel restless and unhappy when she owned several homes, had dozens of servants, hardly ever wore the same elegant outfit twice, ate fresh gourmet food for every meal, attended elaborate parties and social events, and could purchase anything she wanted?

She had everything... except the one thing that mattered most. Freedom.

With her chest tightening, she peeked out of the closet again toward Bishop. He was still occupied with the book.

She reached for the two letters in Constance's hands—one from each of the men. Even though the closet was shadowed, she could distinguish the bold print of the Colorado rancher.

Constance had first seen the rancher's advertisement in late June, and she'd written him a letter. However, when she hadn't heard back, she'd also corresponded with the man from Kansas.

The Kansas stockman had responded promptly, letting Constance know that he was a widower with two young children. He not only wanted a mother for his children but was also interested in having a large family and longed for a companion who would make a happy, pleasant home for his family.

Constance had decided to accept the stockman's proposal and had had a letter ready to send to him when she'd finally heard back from the Colorado rancher last week. The rancher had let her know he liked her qualifications and wanted her to travel west to become his wife.

Now Constance had two marriage proposals and didn't know how to choose the right one.

Of course, there were many reasons why answering a matrimonial ad was a risky affair. Tales abounded of both brides and grooms presenting themselves falsely in such advertisements and letters, crossing the country to meet each other only to find someone completely unsuitable with bad habits, uncouth behavior, and disagreeable temperaments. There were even stories about thievery, adultery, and murder.

But Constance had pointed out that even when meeting a man locally, she might not really be able to assess his true character, at least not entirely.

Genevieve only had to think of her stepmother to know the truth of that. Lenora had hidden her true qualities until well after Papa had married her. Genevieve had been fifteen at the time, and Lenora had fooled even her in those early days.

Were Constance's two potential husbands playacting too? Or were they being genuine?

Genevieve opened the Colorado rancher's letter first.

She'd already read the few brief paragraphs during her previous visit to the orphanage last week. Quite honestly, she didn't need to look again. The words had lingered in her mind ever since.

The rancher had been honest about his wife running away with another man and asking for a divorce. The woman hadn't wanted their baby and had left him to raise the child alone on his cattle ranch.

After experiencing the heartache of the rejection, he'd explained, he would prefer to keep a new marriage platonic and was seeking a mother for his baby.

At least he was honest about his intentions.

Genevieve found one of the last lines of his letter: "I'm looking for a partnership. I'll provide for you, and I won't expect anything of you in return except for you to be a good mother to my little fellow. I promise you'll have complete freedom from the usual demands."

Genevieve flushed inwardly, as she had the last time she'd read it. Although she was innocent of the ways between men and women, she knew he was referring to the marriage bed.

Even so, the phrases I won't expect anything of you and complete freedom resonated down to her soul again today as much as before. Even if she was taking the words slightly out of context, her gaze locked on them as if they were the very sustenance she needed.

What would her life be like without expectations? With complete freedom?

The urge to have that kind of existence swelled so swiftly and strongly that she had the overwhelming need to take the rancher's letter and reply to it herself. But this wasn't her letter to respond to. It was Constance's.

Constance had been whispering about the pros and cons of both men, and Genevieve hadn't heard a word she'd said. Now the young woman paused and watched Genevieve with expectant eyes, still waiting for her to give an opinion on which man to marry.

Genevieve handed back the letters. "I do believe the Kansas stockman will make you happier."

"You do?"

"The rancher sounds wounded, emotionally closed off, and less willing to have a normal future. The stockman presents himself as though he is ready to move forward and find happiness again."

Constance was nodding, agreeing as usual, as if she'd never heard wiser counsel. "The rancher only wants a mother for his little tyke, but the stockman wants a wife."

"Such an arrangement would be ideal for me, but not for you."

Constance's brows lifted. "Ideal for you?"

"I shouldn't have said anything . . ."

Constance snapped her fingers. "You're the solution to my problem."

"What problem?"

"I don't want to disappoint either man by having to turn down one of the proposals."

Genevieve was embarrassed to admit just how much over the past week she'd thought about answering a matrimonial advertisement of her own to escape from Lenora's control.

If only Lenora hadn't been appointed as her guardian after Papa died four years ago. But without any other living relatives, he'd made Lenora the caretaker, had believed she would be a kind and loving stepmother. Genevieve had hoped so too, but Lenora had become increasingly overbearing and controlling, especially after all that had happened with Prescott Price last year.

Of course, Lenora had claimed she was just trying to protect America's wealthiest heiress from the many swindlers who wanted to take advantage of her. But Genevieve had known neither Prescott nor his father had been guilty of anything Lenora had perpetrated.

Since then, Lenora had not only taken control over Genevieve's suitors but also begun to determine how Genevieve could spend her time, what she should wear, and what friends she could socialize with.

Over recent months, Genevieve had felt as if a noose were being drawn tighter around her neck, threatening to strangle the life out of her. She often reminded herself she only had to endure one more year until she turned twenty-one. Then her stepmother's guardianship would come to an end, and Genevieve would have full access to her inheritance and finally regain control of her life.

But how would she be able to persevere for twelve more months when each day had become unbearable?

The only bright spots in her week were her visits to the orphanage. Lenora had already cut off Genevieve's involvement in the other charities she loved, claiming that they were taking advantage of her. But her stepmother hadn't prevented the twice-a-week visits to Open Door since the work mostly involved holding babies. What fault could be found with that?

Whatever the case, Constance's suggestion to marry the Colorado rancher was more than a little appealing. In fact, Genevieve's mind raced with the possibilities. She could hide there in the remote location, take care of his baby, and then file for an annulment next spring when she turned twenty-one and was no longer under Lenora's guardianship.

Obviously, she wouldn't want to inconvenience the rancher. But since he'd made it clear he was remarrying to provide a caretaker for his child, she could hire a nursemaid to take her place when it was time to depart. The rancher probably couldn't afford to hire help, or he would have done it instead of considering marriage. But she could easily pay for such a service.

Constance was sizing Genevieve up. "We're similar enough that I think you could take my place."

"And pretend to be you?" Genevieve couldn't believe she was actually considering Constance's suggestion.

"I didn't tell him too much. I described my appearance, told him about having grown up an orphan, and explained my duties here at Open Door."

"What happens when I arrive and have blue eyes instead of brown?"

Constance waved a hand as though it didn't matter. "He probably won't remember what color I mentioned."

"And the fact that I did not grow up an orphan?"

"Your parents are both gone. That makes you an orphan, doesn't it?"

"I don't know, Constance . . ." It seemed deceptive.

"What's one woman over another? He won't care as long as you're devoted to his baby. That's all that matters to him."

Could she really give up everything for a year? Would it be worth it in order to have freedom?

"Well?" Constance's expression held anticipation.

"I should just find myself a husband here in the city." But even as she said the words, after all that had happened with Prescott, she never wanted to put another man in danger of Lenora's scheming.

At a throat clearing in the hallway just outside the closet, Genevieve stiffened. She didn't have to turn to know that Bishop was behind her. How much of her conversation with Constance had he overheard?

Instead of turning, she bent and picked up a recently donated item of baby clothing from a crate on the floor. She folded it and placed it with other similar-sized clothing on the shelf. Constance followed suit.

After several moments of silence while she and Constance folded more clothing, Bishop cleared his throat again. "Miss Hollis?"

"What is it, Bishop?" She placed a tiny shirt on the shelf.

"Mrs. Hollis has instructed me to bring you home after an hour." His voice held a note of regret.

She wanted to protest and tell Bishop that she was staying for the full two hours. But she also knew if she didn't go home with him on time, Lenora would fire him from his position and make it difficult for him to get another job in New York City.

Genevieve had learned Lenora's tactics from past disobediences. While Lenora couldn't specifically punish Genevieve, she did punish others because she knew all too well that Genevieve had a soft heart and couldn't abide letting others suffer.

Genevieve began to slowly fold one last item of clothing. "Am I only going to be allowed one hour from now on, Bishop?"

The driver hesitated. "I'm afraid Mrs. Hollis has decided this is to be your last visit at the orphanage."

"What?" Genevieve spun, and in the process, knocked a stack of clothing off the shelf so that the adorable outfits fluttered in disarray over the closet floor.

Bishop was gripping the Mark Twain book tightly, his silver brows furrowed with dismay. "I'm sorry, Miss Hollis. I truly am."

Genevieve's mind raced with a hundred thoughts. Why was Lenora doing this? Why now? What harm was there in letting her volunteer at the orphanage? How could she take away something so worthwhile?

Genevieve's spine turned rigid with all the objection coursing through her body. But as with everything else, she had no power, no voice, no freedom. She had to do as Lenora dictated or bring harm to Bishop or someone else, possibly even Constance.

She met the young woman's gaze.

Constance's eyes were wide with questions. It was almost as if she was insinuating that without the orphanage work, what else was there? Why not take the Colorado rancher's invitation to be his baby's mother?

Genevieve agreed. What was tying her to New York City? She had no reason to stay. According to the rancher, if she went to Colorado, she'd have independence, few expectations, and freedom. How could she say no to that, especially now?

She gave a curt nod to her friend, hoping to communicate that she was agreeable to the plan. "I hope to convince my stepmother to allow me at least one more visit. But just in case I cannot sway her, I shall say goodbye now."

"I'll be here until the end of the week."

They had so much more they needed to discuss, but they'd run out of time.

Genevieve wrapped her arms around Constance in a hug and then leaned against her ear. "I'll do it."

As Genevieve broke away, Constance slipped one of the letters into her hand. Genevieve folded it, shoved it into her skirt pocket, and prayed she could truly escape from her stepmother's clutches and find her way to the rancher.