by Jody Hedlund
Forever
Safe
Books by Jody Hedlund
The Beacons of Hope Series
Out of the Storm: A Novella
Love Unexpected
Hearts Made Whole
Undaunted Hope
Forever Safe
The Heart of Faith Collection
The Preacher’s Bride
The Doctor’s Lady
Rebellious Heart
The Michigan Brides Collection
Unending Devotion
A Noble Groom
Captured by Love
Historical
Luther and Katharina
Young Adult
The Vow: Prequel Novella
An Uncertain Choice
A Daring Sacrifice
Beacons of Hope ~ Book Four
Forever
Safe
JODY HEDLUND
Forever Safe
Northern Lights Press
© 2016 Copyright Jody Hedlund
Kobo Edition
www.jodyhedlund.com
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the author.
Library of Congress Control Number: 2016906755
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
This is a work of historical reconstruction; the appearances of certain historical figures are accordingly inevitable. All other characters are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Lynnette Bonner of Indie Cover Design
www.indiecoverdesign.com
To all of the friends who were involved
in the creation of this book in one form or another
Your help was invaluable and your friendship is precious.
My deepest thanks for both.
Table of Contents
Cover
Half-Title
Books by Jody Hedlund
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Author’s Note
About the Author
More From Jody Hedlund
Chapter 1
May, 1876
New York City
“I still can’t believe that in less than six weeks I’ll become Mrs. Nathaniel Winthrop III.” Victoria Cole exhaled a blissful sigh and lifted her face to the glorious spring sunshine as she rounded a bend on the park pathway. The bright rays warmed the cherry blossoms overhead so that the sweet scent mingled with that of the tulips and forsythia to create a fragrant potpourri.
“You’ll finally be in Mrs. Astor’s elite circle,” Theresa said with a tad of jealousy shading her voice.
With arms looped together, they’d already strolled most of the paths within Gramercy Park. Now their steps slowed and Victoria patted her friend’s arm in sympathy. She and Theresa had been dreaming for years about making Mrs. Astor’s official list. Victoria’s own father had come close. At last, Victoria’s marriage to Nathaniel Winthrop would secure her a place in the coveted upper echelons of New York society.
“I daresay, you’ll join me very soon,” Victoria said, smiling at her friend. “Especially since Philip Smith has asked to call on you.”
“He has such a plain last name.”
“Theresa Smith.” Victoria tried the combination. “It isn’t as fancy as Theresa Fontaine, but you can’t keep your maiden name forever.”
Theresa pursed her lips into an exaggerated pout. “If only he didn’t look like a shaggy sheepdog.”
Victoria bit back a laugh. “That’s unkind to say.”
“It’s true and you know it.”
“Perhaps you can suggest that he shave his eyebrows.” Victoria earned a tiny smile from her friend. “At the very least, you won’t have to worry about maintaining eye contact since he won’t be able to see you from underneath the bushy mounds.”
Theresa nudged Victoria with her shoulder. “Fiddlesticks. You’re much too silly.”
“That’s why you love me.” Victoria nudged her friend back, grateful for Theresa’s undying friendship. Though they shared many of the same friends, aspirations, and tastes, Theresa was about as different in personality and appearance from Victoria as any one person could be. Unlike Victoria, who had fair hair and light brown eyes, Theresa had raven black hair and eyes as dark and bold as coffee. While Victoria considered herself an easy-going, positive person, Theresa was decidedly more pragmatic and realistic.
For a moment, they walked in silence. Victoria relished the vibrant green leaves of the artfully shaped trees and shrubs. Gramercy Park was always such a peaceful and pretty place in the spring. Besides the twittering of a family of birds somewhere in the meticulously groomed garden, their footsteps along with her bodyguard’s were the only other sounds. Thankfully today, in the safe confines of the park, Arch was giving her some leeway. The giant of a man followed a discreet distance behind them.
The private Manhattan park was completely fenced in and closed to the public. In fact, only the residents who lived in the buildings surrounding the sprawling stretch of greenery had keys to the gate that led inside the wrought iron. Even so, Arch always insisted on accompanying her.
“Come on.” She tugged Theresa toward the entrance. “I know you’re anxious to see the new corsets I bought yesterday, the ones decorated with orange blossoms.”
“Yes, I’m just dying to see them,” Theresa said in her usual flat, sarcastic voice.
“You’ll love them.”
“Probably not as much as Nathaniel will.”
“Theresa!” Victoria nearly tripped at her friend’s bold insinuation. The corsets were for her trousseau, which was steadily growing with each passing day of shopping and fittings for the wedding and honeymoon.
Her saucy friend lifted her gloved hand to her mouth and pretended remorse. But her eyes were mirthless. “Oh, that’s right. We mustn’t speak of what happens after the wedding. It’s supposed to be a big secret for all of us debutantes.”
Victoria glanced over her shoulder toward Arch and prayed he hadn’t heard a word Theresa had spoken. Even though her loyal bodyguard was bald beneath his hat and old enough to be her father, he had excellent hearing. Rarely did anything escape his attention. He was tall and burly and wore an attitude that said, “If you bother me, I’ll crush you like a bug.”
Her father had hired Arch after a frightening incident four years ago when she’d returned home from a trip to Michigan. An erstwhile enemy of her father’s, Big Al, had gone to jail many years previously for attempting to have her father murdered. Once he was released from prison, he’d sought revenge against her father. As part of his scheming, Big Al had decided to target Victoria, kidnap her, and demand a ransom. Fortunately, he’d been captured while stalking their home and had been locked back in prison.
During
the past four years that Arch had been her bodyguard, there had been several threatening letters and an incident at the opera when an employee from one of her father’s competitors had grabbed her as she’d been exiting her carriage. But overall Victoria felt silly for having a bodyguard.
She knew her father had just been worried that even though Big Al was in prison, he might try to have some of his men strike again. And she knew that because her father was one of the wealthiest men in New York City, there were plenty who would stop at nothing to see him come to ruin. Even so, Victoria had long since concluded she didn’t need Arch.
As much as she would miss her dear bodyguard, she had decided that once she was married, she’d convince Nathaniel to free her from the overprotective watchfulness. After all, he was amenable to whatever she wanted. He made it his number one occupation to give her everything her heart desired. That was only one of numerous reasons she loved him.
“Let’s go.” Victoria smiled again and counted her blessings, of which she had many, particularly a mother and father who adored her, a fiancé who loved her beyond reason, and faithful friends, like Theresa, who endured all her whims. “I’m sure Mother will have tea waiting for us.”
Theresa picked up her pace. “And hopefully those delectable lemon tarts she had last time.”
They came to the gate, stood back, and waited as Arch inserted the family park key and unlocked it. He swung open the gate and glanced both ways down the street before waving them through.
Theresa started forward but stopped abruptly. “Oh dear.” She held out her hands. “I’ve lost one of my gloves.”
Sure enough, only one of Theresa’s hands was covered in a lacy white glove that rose to the sleeve ruffles of her peach-colored polonaise of silk taffeta. The matching skirt was trimmed with layers of bustles in the back, much the same way Victoria’s was. However, Victoria’s gowns were all designed in Paris, a fact Theresa never failed to lament when reflecting on her imitation creations.
“I’ll walk back and retrieve it,” Theresa said, giving Victoria a push through the gate. “You go ahead.” Without waiting for Victoria’s acquiescence, Theresa bustled away.
“Are you sure you don’t want help looking for it?”
“No. I remember exactly where I took off my gloves.” Theresa’s skirt swished in her haste. “I insist you go on without me.”
“Very well. I’ll wait for you outside.”
Theresa lifted her hand in a half-wave to acknowledge Victoria’s comment but didn’t slow her pace. Victoria ambled out of the park past the tall black fence with posts that were spiked on the top like spears to keep out intruders. Her stately home stood directly across the street. The five stories of brownstone ended in a fashionable black slate mansard roof with ornate iron cresting.
She flounced her full skirt of sapphire faille and twisted to shake out the pleated train that lay on the ground like organ pipes. All of a sudden, Arch yelled and shoved her so hard that she would have fallen, except that the narrow fence bars caught her.
The metal was bruising, even through the layers of her garments. Her Belgian straw bonnet trimmed with ivory ribbons and sapphire feathers tipped over her eyes. For a moment all she could hear was scuffling and shouts behind her.
Then Arch grabbed her arm and dragged her forward without giving her the chance to right her hat. She blew at the feathers hanging in front of her face and attempted to keep up with him even though he was half-carrying her like a parcel under his arm.
“What’s happening, Arch?” she asked.
But the burly man couldn’t hear her over the instructions he was roaring at the footman of their Irving place mansion across the street. “Send for the police!” He sounded strangely winded and weak. “The attacker’s getting away!”
“Attacker?” Victoria strained to see behind her, but once again the feathers and ribbons on her hat blocked her view. “Who was it?”
Arch stumbled across the street to the short flight of scrubbed stone steps at the front of the Cole home, with her in tow. Victoria was surprised when Arch’s grip around her slackened and he deposited her none-too-gently on the landing in front of the footman. Her bodyguard was usually so much more careful with her.
“Take her in!” Arch bellowed breathlessly. “Now!”
The footman and several other servants who’d appeared in the doorway scrambled to obey the giant bodyguard. Within moments, Victoria found herself inside the front hallway. Her father was in the process of descending the curving marble staircase, and he, too, was calling out orders.
Servants rushed around her in chaos. When the sea of bodies separated, she caught a glimpse of Arch still on the front stoop. He’d fallen to his knees and was staring blankly ahead.
“Arch?” She elbowed her way toward him. But before she could reach him, he fell face down and hit the floor with a painful-sounding thwack. With his body sprawled across the threshold, several servants dropped to their knees next to him. Deep crimson began to form a puddle on the floor underneath him.
“Send someone for the doctor!” the footman yelled. “He’s been stabbed.”
“Stabbed?” Victoria dropped to her knees next to her bodyguard. Her pulse raced erratically as she took in his silent, unmoving frame. “Will he be all right?”
The footman and another manservant gently rolled Arch to his back, exposing the wide circle of blood near his waist. The blood had turned the wool of his dark blue coat almost black.
The footman lifted Arch’s coat and then rapidly lowered it while sucking in a hissing breath. “The wound is deep.”
“And he’s already lost a lot of blood,” said the other servant, with a glance outside.
Only then did Victoria see the blood on the front steps, trailing across the road from where Theresa stood, a lone figure in the open gate of the park.
Victoria stared at the blood and tried to make sense of what had happened. Arch had been stabbed and bleeding. Had he carried her to safety anyway?
She pressed a hand against his cheek expecting warmth but was met cold pallor instead. “He isn’t—” she started in a shaking voice. “He isn’t dead, is he?”
The footman turned and shouted at another servant in the hallway. “Hurry!”
Victoria sat back on her heels, suddenly dizzy.
“Someone take Victoria away,” her father said, kneeling on the other side of Arch. “This is too much for her.”
Gentle hands were upon her instantly, helping her to her feet and guiding her toward the stairway. She couldn’t find her voice or the strength to protest.
All she could think about was the fact that Arch was dying. And she was to blame.
Chapter 2
Tom Cushman eyed the glass doors that led to the second story balcony of the Cole mansion. The elaborate iron railing surrounding the spacious outside sitting area provided at least a dozen holds for a grappling hook. An easy climb for an intruder. Only one lock on the double doors. A simple latch-style lock that even an idiot could pick.
The balcony and doors were safety hazards. If he took the job, they would have to go.
A servant’s heels clicked against the wooden floor in the hallway, nearing the sitting area where he’d been ushered exactly six minutes ago. Lighter footsteps than before. A different servant this time. A female. One hundred twenty pounds. A bunion causing her to favor one side, which meant she was probably middle-aged.
He rose as the servant entered the room. Sure enough, she was a petite woman with her hair pulled back into a tight bun revealing wings of gray at her temples. She wore a long black dress with a starched white apron over the top. From the pristine condition, he guessed she was probably the housekeeper in charge of all the other maidservants.
“Mr. Cushman?” she asked. The hint of chamomile surrounding her and the grains of sugar on her fingertips told him she’d just poured tea for someone. “Mr. Cole is ready to see you.”
Tom jerked on the wide lapels of his suit coat to straight
en them and nodded at the woman. He followed her down the hallway decorated on either side with enormous paintings from a variety of famous European artists, Gainsborough and Blake among them. Open doorways on either side revealed a music room, a library, and another sitting room. They were all as elaborately furnished as any of the royal households he’d worked in during the past five years. The palatial size of the New York home, the classical columns and cornices, the lush carpets, the brightly papered walls, the ornamentally carved furniture. None of it made him even blink.
But with each step he took through the house, he spotted safety hazards—a loose window latch, a broken fireplace grate, a door without a lock, and many other small issues that could mean the difference between life and death.
When the housekeeper reached a carved walnut door and knocked, Tom quickly reviewed all he’d researched already about Henry Cole and Cole Enterprises. The multi-millionaire had inherited a fortune from his father. However, in recent years, not only had he improved upon his father’s lumber and mining holdings in the Midwest, but after the War Between the States, he’d invested in the booming steel and railroad industries, along with silver mines in the West. He was making more money than he could possibly use in one lifetime.
Henry Cole owned the Gramercy mansion in New York City, a newly built estate on Prairie Avenue in Chicago, a summer home in Newport, and a recently purchased villa in Italy. He had several yachts, dozens of racehorses, and two private country farms. Each home was staffed with enough servants that the man could form a small army with all his employees.
The family wasn’t of old money like the Astors, Forbes, or Winthrops. But Henry Cole’s wealth had pushed him high on the list of most prominent men in the United States. He had a reputation for being innovative, aggressive, and intelligent. Tom had heard nothing but praise for Mr. Cole.
The housekeeper swung open the door to reveal a dark-paneled room with a large mahogany desk, floor to ceiling bookshelves, built-in wall cabinets, and an elegant sideboard. A man Tom guessed to be approximately forty-five years of age sat in one of the leather wing-backed chairs in front of an expansive picture window that overlooked Gramercy Park. He replaced a china cup onto a saucer on the low table in front of him and rose.
