The Counterfeit Bride

By Rebecca Hagan Lee

Can a counterfeit bride steal the heart of a suspicious groom?

When Cassidy Cooper’s flighty sister Angela comes to Miss Brookfield’s Academy for Young Ladies and begs Cassie to take her place as a mail order bride, the practical Cassie is scandalized. But before she knows it, Cassie is on a train to Silver Strike, Nevada—on her way to wed a stranger. To her delight, Noah Bridger turns out to be everything her yearning heart has ever desired in a bridegroom. As she thrills to his tender touch, Cassie has no way of knowing that Noah is hiding a dangerous secret of his own.

Scotsman Ian MacKenzie has agreed to masquerade as a wealthy silver mine owner to catch his best friend’s killer, not to lose his heart to the woman he’s supposed to be investigating. But every time he gazes down into his mail order bride’s stormy blue eyes, he has to fight the temptation to taste her soft, pink lips and make her his bride in more than name only. He never suspects the warm, willing woman in his arms is also an imposter.

As they fight the irresistible attraction building between them, Ian and Cassie must decide if a passion built on lies can grow into a love real enough to last a lifetime...

Book 4 of the BORROWED BRIDES Series, which includes Golden Chances, Harvest Moon, Something Borrowed, The Counterfeit Bride, and Twice Blessed: A Borrowed Brides Novella

“Rebecca Hagan Lee warms my heart and touches my soul. She’s a star in the making!”—Sabrina Jeffries, New York Times bestselling author

“Tender, enthralling romance straight from the heart!”—Eloisa James, New York Times bestselling author

“Rebecca Hagan Lee taps into every woman’s fantasy!”—Christina Dodd, New York Times bestseller

“Rebecca Hagan Lee is a writer on the rise!”—Romantic Times

• Language: English
• Publisher: Teresa Medeiros
• Release date: Sep 5, 2014
• ISBN: 9781939541642

Rebecca Hagan Lee

After arming herself with a degree in fine arts and experience in radio, television, and film, Rebecca Hagan Lee wrote her first novel Golden Chances. Since then, she’s published numerous bestselling and award-winning novels and three novellas.She’s won a Waldenbooks Award, a Georgia Romance Writers Maggie Award, several Romantic Times awards, been nominated for an RWA Rita Award and has been published in nine languages.She currently lives in Georgia with her husband, her two beloved Quarter Horses, and a miniature schnauzer named after literary icon Harper Lee.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Fredericksburg, Virginia

18 June, 1873

C assie, you have to help me! You’ve just got to. You’re my older sister. It’s your duty.

Cassidy Cooper looked up from her seat beneath the rose arbor on the front lawn of The Brookfield Academy for Young Ladies, put down the spool of lace she was tatting and fixed her gaze on her sister’s exquisite face.

The afternoon was glorious. The sky was blue. The sun was shining. The soft scent of climbing roses hung in the late spring air and somewhere nearby a bumblebee buzzed through the blossoms, collecting pollen as he went. It was the first afternoon Cassie could call her own in ages and Angela had arrived to spoil it. Cassie sighed. She wanted to look forward to Angela’s visits, wanted to be genuinely happy to see her baby sister coming up the walkway, but that was easier said than done. Experience had taught Cassie to be wary–especially when Angela began making demands. Angela never visited unless she needed something. And since her taste for the finer things in life usually exceeded her income, Angela generally needed money.

But Cassie didn’t have any extra money to give or to lend. She hadn’t tatted or sold enough lace in the past few weeks to earn any. And she hated knowing Angela’s only reason for coming to see her was to ask for something she couldn’t give.

I got married, Angela announced, practically dancing with excitement, shifting her weight from one foot to the other so Cassie could admire the elegant drape of the skirts of her new lavender dimity frock and her new black, patent leather slippers.

"You what?" That bit of news was truly shocking.

I got married, Angela repeated, confirming what Cassie thought she’d heard before stripping a new white lace glove from her left hand in order to show off the gold wedding band adorning her ring finger.

Extending her hand, she wiggled her fingers so Cassie could see the glint of sunshine off the gold. See.

Angie, that’s wonderful! Cassie exclaimed. When? Who? Why didn’t you tell me?

We eloped. Saturday. A week ago. It was so exciting. Angela reached up and patted the thick sausage curls bouncing above her shoulders, bringing attention to the smart bonnet perched atop her dark brown hair.

"Eloped?" Cassie’s voice registered her dismay and hurt at not being invited to her only sister’s wedding.

If Angie noticed, she gave no sign of it. She prattled on, barely pausing for breath. His name is Martin Truett. He’s the senior aide to Senator Harris Sudbury and an attorney. I didn’t tell you about it because I couldn’t. We only just returned from our wedding trip yesterday. I took the train from Washington this morning. Besides, she paused for effect. I knew you’d disapprove and say he was too old for me.

Cassie frowned at that. "How old is Mr. Truett?"

Thirty.

"Thirty?" Cassie repeated, trying not to show her dismay. Angela was only four months past her eighteenth birthday, but Cassie supposed a twelve year gap in their ages wasn’t entirely insurmountable if he was mature, patient, kind, and loved her sister.

He’s a widower, Angela continued, warming to her subject. His wife passed away at the end of January. She had a baby in December and got weaker instead of stronger… The day she died, Martin came in the shop to buy a funeral bonnet for her. That’s how we met. Angie executed an impromptu pirouette. I helped him pick out the bonnet and modeled it for him.

Angela worked as a milliner’s assistant and model at Madame Genevieve’s Millinery Shop in Washington, some fifty miles away. You married a widower with an infant after knowing him less than four months? Cassie knew she was beginning to sound like a parrot, but she was having trouble comprehending this latest turn of events. Maybe she’d misjudged her sister. Maybe Angela had grown up. Maybe there was hope for her after all. Maybe Angela had truly fallen in love with someone other than herself.

Of course, I married him, Angela told her, pulling on the glove she’d removed and buttoning it into place. He’s not as handsome as I would have liked, but he’s still fairly young and a gentleman. With excellent prospects, old money and influence and a lovely townhouse filled with beautiful things…

And a child, Cassie reminded her sister. He’s a gentleman with a child unless… She paused, as a terrible thought occurred to her, struggling for a moment for a tactful way of giving voice to the question. Unless the baby joined its mother….

"Joined its mother?" Angela tossed her head, setting her sausage curls bouncing once again. She glanced around as if looking for a mirror or an admirer to happen by before smoothing her palms down her skirts.

In the hereafter, Cassie added, solemnly.

Cassie, what are you… Angela paused. Oh, you mean died?

Cassie nodded.

No, it survived.

Cassie released the breath she’d been holding and smiled for the first time since Angela made her surprising announcement, genuinely delighted at the prospect of becoming an aunt by marriage. Having the opportunity to get to know the latest addition to their tiny family would be nice. Am I auntie to a niece or a nephew?

Wrinkling her brow in confusion, Angela stared at her sister. Cassie, how indelicate of you to ask! I’m sure it’s too soon to know. We’ve only been married a week…

Cassie blushed to the roots of her hair. It seemed incredible that her younger sister knew far more about what took place between a man and a woman behind the closed doors of their bedroom than she did. But it was true. And while Cassie admitted to being curious about the whole mysterious process, she didn’t want Angela providing any of the intimate details. That was too embarrassing to contemplate. Oh, no, Angie, I didn’t mean to be indelicate. I wasn’t inquiring about your personal…um…private…um…matters or the possibility of future children. I was asking about your stepchild. Mr. Truett’s child with his late wife. She tucked a wisp of stray hair behind her ear, then fixed her gaze on her lap where she finger-pleated a patch of fabric of her old blue serge skirt. Now that you’ve become mother to a motherless child, I’ve become an aunt and…

"Oh, that, Angela waved away Cassie’s concern. It was a girl. Carrie or Mary or Sherry. Something like that. I don’t recall exactly. Not that it matters. Because I’m not going to be her mother and you’re not going to be her aunt."

Why not?

Martin’s late wife’s parents took her home to Boston with them. That’s understandable since he was a widower left with an infant,

Cassie said. But now that he’s remarried, surely that will change….

Angela shrugged. I don’t see why it should. They wanted her. So Martin gave her to them to raise as their own. A replacement for the daughter they lost. Besides, he’s married to me now and one day, we’ll probably have children of our own. Not that I’m in any hurry to ruin my figure or die trying to give birth to one. She shuddered.

Not all women ruin their figures or die giving birth, Cassie said.

Martin’s wife died, Angela replied. And so did Mother…

Giving birth to you.

Cassie tried to suppress the unkind sentiment but she was only human… It wasn’t the first time she’d thought it, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but that didn’t keep her from praying it would be. Cassie reminded herself as she did every time she had the thought that it wasn’t Angela’s fault their mother had died giving birth to her. She hadn’t deliberately set out to deprive them of a mother. She wasn’t to blame for something that couldn’t be helped. Cassie tried not to judge her sister too harshly. Everyone had their fears and foibles and Angela was no different. She was spoiled and selfish and thoughtless, but she had feelings and fears just like everyone else. And Cassie and her father were as much to blame for Angela’s faults as she was. In trying to make up for the great loss Angela had suffered in never knowing her mother, Cassie and their father had spoiled and pampered Angela. She didn’t understand what it meant to put someone else first because she had never had to learn how.

That doesn’t mean it will happen to you, Cassie said.

It doesn’t mean it won’t, either, Angela retorted.

Cassie sighed. In addition to being spoiled and selfish, Angela was stubborn. Arguing with her was a waste of breath. Rather than continue a fruitless discussion, Cassie took a deep breath and broached the topic tying her stomach in knots. You said you needed my help, but you don’t seem to need money and now that you have a husband, I don’t understand why you came here demanding my help…

That’s just it, Angela told her. "I need your help because I’m married."

What do you expect me to do? Cassie asked, carefully laying aside her tatting. According to the law, your husband has dominion over you. There’s nothing a sister—especially an unmarried sister—can do to change that. She looked at Angela and shook her head to emphasize her point. I can’t intercede in your marriage or do anything that might come between you and your lawful husband.

I’m not asking you to intercede in my marriage or come between me and my lawful husband—at least, not this lawful husband, Angela informed her in a rather exasperated tone of voice. I need you to intercede with the other one.

I beg your pardon? Once again, Cassie couldn’t be sure she’d heard her sister correctly. I don’t understand…

It’s quite simple, Angela said very matter-of-factly. I’ve got two husbands and since I can only keep one, I need you to take the other one.

"You married two men? At the same time?"

Angela shot her sister a disgusted look. Of course not. I married the other one before I met Martin. At least, I signed the contract.

Cassie leapt to her feet, frightened and furious at the same time. She folded her arms across her chest to keep from grabbing Angela by the shoulders and shaking the life out of her. Or some sense into her. Angie, what did you do? Don’t you know bigamy is against the law? You could be arrested. You could go to jail!

Not if you help me, Angela insisted. Not if you take my place.

"Take your place how? Cassie demanded in a voice low and quavering with the depth of her emotions. In Washington?"

Don’t be absurd, Angela snapped, stamping her foot on the gravel path in a show of frustration. If you’ll listen for a moment, I’ll explain…

By all means, Cassie invited, her words dripping with sarcasm. I’m all ears…

"Several months ago, I saw an advertisement in The Virginia Star soliciting young ladies of good families as mail order brides for mine owners, businessmen, and miners in the silver boomtowns of Nevada, so I signed up."

You signed up to travel to Nevada to marry someone you’ve never met? Their father had placed Cassie and Angela in the capable hands of Miss Hypatia Brookfield, proprietress of The Brookfield Academy for Young Ladies, the day he left to fight for the Confederacy so that they might benefit from the finest southern ladies’ education money could buy. When their father failed to return from the war, Cassie had taken on the role of Miss Brookfield’s assistant and companion in order to repay her for her kindness in allowing them to make their home with her at the school and for providing them with a most exceptional education. But at times like this, Cassie couldn’t help wondering what Angela used for a brain and how she could have wasted her fine classical education. "How could you do such a thing? Why would you do such a thing? I thought you were happy working with Madame Genevieve at the millinery shop."

"I was happy working with Madame Genevieve, Angela replied. But working in a millinery shop is still work. Making and modeling hats and waiting on an endless stream of customers can’t compare to marrying a wealthy silver baron. Nevada is booming. Men get rich there every day. Wealthy men require fashionable wives with educations and exceptional breeding. But there aren’t enough women of any kind in Nevada, let alone women of culture and refinement. So I signed up with the Virginia Mail Order Bride Association. I provided a photograph and a letter detailing my accomplishments and waited to be selected. She shrugged. When the association notified me that I’d been selected by Mr. Noah Bridger, I agreed to become his wife."

"You agreed to marry him, Cassie pointed out, grasping at any straw she could find. That’s not the same as actually marrying him."

It is when you stand before a magistrate and marry by proxy.

Cassie groaned. You didn’t.

I did, Angela confirmed. I had to in order to get the money he sent to cover my traveling expenses. And don’t look at me that way. It all happened before Martin proposed.

That’s even worse. Cassie was finding it hard to accept that her sister didn’t see the wrong in what she’d done. "Angie, you accepted Mr. Truett’s proposal after you married someone else."

Martin didn’t propose until I told him I was leaving Madame Genevieve’s and going away, Angela explained. It’s funny how that works. When a man thinks you want him to propose, he stubbornly resists, but when he thinks you’ve given up and are about to move on to other pastures, he can’t propose fast enough. She gave a knowing little laugh. Martin dropped to his knees right then and there. I would have been a fool to say no. I may not be as smart as you, Cassie, but I’m no fool. After all, better the bird in the hand than the one waiting in the bush. But by the time Martin proposed, I had already received the train ticket and the money Mr. Bridger sent to cover my traveling expenses.

You took the man’s money, then married someone else? Oh, Angie, return the money and say you’ve changed your mind. Surely, it’s happened before. Changing our minds is a woman’s prerogative, Cassie suggested. I’m sure Mr. Bridger will understand…

I would if I could. But it’s not that simple, Angela said. And it wouldn’t do any good anyway. The Virginia Mail Order Bride Association is very thorough. They don’t release any funds without proper documentation that includes an official copy of the valid marriage license, affidavit of citizenship, insurance against accidents, and a will.

A will? At your age? Cassie furrowed her brows in a mighty frown. They require all of that?

Yes, Angela said. After all, traveling over two thousand miles across the country to barely settled territory is dangerous. Anything could happen on the journey. Signing all the forms and making everything legal protects the bride and the groom in case of accidents. In order to claim the money Mr. Noah Bridger sent, I had to become Mrs. Noah Bridger and all my paperwork had to be in order and on file with the association.

Cassie wanted to argue with the logic, but after thinking about it for a moment; she decided it only made good business sense for the Virginia Mail Order Bride Association to protect itself against possible losses. Journeying across the continent was dangerous—even by train. Anything could happen. I still think the best thing to do is to return the money and tell the people at the association you’ve changed your mind. Surely, a proxy marriage can be annulled.

"I don’t have the money." Angela forced the words through gritted teeth.

What happened to it? Cassie asked the question, but she knew the answer before Angela confirmed it. Money slipped through Angela’s fingers like water.

I spent it. On my wedding trousseau.

Cassie pinned her sister with a hard gaze. That explained the fancy new dress, the hat, gloves, and the patent leather slippers. Then you’ll just have to figure out a way to replace it.

Angela was aghast. By Friday?

The knot in Cassie’s stomach grew larger and harder. She didn’t want to know the answer, but she couldn’t keep herself from asking the question. What happens Friday?

The train leaves for Silver Strike, Nevada and according to the ticket Mr. Bridger sent with the cash, I’m supposed to be on it.

Dear heavens, Angie, you’ve got a husband now. Cash in your ticket, tell Mr. Truett you need money for household expenses… Cassie began, doing her best to find a solution to her sister’s problem.

We have a housekeeper, Angela replied. And a household budget. Mrs. Watkins submits any expenditure beyond the normal household expenses to Martin for approval. I receive a generous allowance, as did the previous Mrs. Truett. I don’t have access to household funds…

Pin money, then, Cassie snapped. Tell him you need more.

I can’t, Angela insisted, meeting her sister’s stubborn gaze with one of her own. I cannot ask my husband for seven hundred dollars in pin money, Cassidy. How would I explain it?

"Noah Bridger sent you seven hundred dollars for traveling expenses? Taken aback by the amount, Cassie’s knees suddenly refused to support her any longer. She sat down hard on the bench beneath the rose arbor, knocking her tatting to the ground and toppling her sewing basket in the process. What kind of man sent that much money to a stranger? It was a staggering sum. More money than Cassie had ever seen in her life. And far too much of a temptation for Angie to resist. How many clothes did you buy?"

"He sent a thousand dollars, Angela told her. I still have three hundred. And I didn’t spend it all on clothes…"

Cassie was relieved to hear it.

I spent some of it on jewelry…

Cassie groaned aloud.

I couldn’t go to Martin with nothing but the clothes on my back. I had to have something of value. Some sort of dowry. And since everything Papa had was confiscated to pay debts or taxes, I used some of the money to buy the kind of jewelry every proper southern lady should own. I bought a lovely strand of pearls with a matching bracelet and earrings, diamond hair clips and matching earbobs, a birthstone ring, a nice cameo brooch and a few other pieces. Anticipating Cassie’s next words, Angela cut her off. I’m not going to sell the jewelry. Washington gossips. I couldn’t sell it if I wanted to. Not without raising questions as to why the wife of a well-to-do congressional aide is out pawning her jewelry. And I don’t want to sell it. She glared at Cassie, daring her to force the issue. It’s mine. I bought it. And I’m not going to do anything to jeopardize my status in Washington society or Martin’s. He’s going to go places in government and I’m going to help him…

That might be hard to do if you’re in jail for bigamy or theft or both, Cassie reminded her, willing to be cruel in order to bring her sister back to reality and the problem at hand.

I’m not going to jail for bigamy or theft… Angela smiled her cat- that-ate-the-cream smile. The one she always smiled when she knew she was going to get her way.

Cassie frowned at her sister. President Lincoln might have been willing to allow Brigham Young to circumvent the Morrill Anti-Bigamy Act of 1862 in order to secure the Utah Territory’s neutrality during the war, but times and presidents had changed and Cassie doubted President Grant would allow Angie to ignore the law in order to prevent another Washington scandal.

I came to you, Angie continued, looking and sounding supremely confident, despite her current predicament, because you’re my older sister. It’s your duty to help me. You gave Papa a solemn promise that you would always look out for me and see to it that nothing bad ever happens to me…

CHAPTER 2

Chicago, Illinois

I ’m afraid I’ve received some very bad news.

Ian Alasdair MacKenzie studied the man sitting across the desk from him in the three-story office building on Washington Street that was home to The Pinkerton National Detective Agency. Ian had arrived after business hours. The clerical staff and his colleagues assigned to the Chicago office were gone. He and William Pinkerton were the only people in the building.

After a brief handshake and exchange of greetings, Pinkerton had waved Ian into the chair opposite his massive desk and announced that he was the bearer of bad news. Ian could tell from the look on his employer’s face that the bad news William had to deliver was very bad.

Bracing himself for the worst, Ian waited for his employer to convey the bad news. He didn’t envy William the job. William and his brother, Robert, had inherited day-to-day operation of the business after their father, Allan, founder of The Pinkerton National Detective Agency, had suffered his latest debilitating stroke.

Noah Bridger is dead.

Noah? Dead? The air left Ian’s lungs in a whoosh. Pinkerton’s words hit him like a one-two punch to the gut. Slumping in his chair, Ian buried his face in his hands. Bad news was one thing, but this was devastating…

For the first time in his life, Ian thought he might faint or lose his lunch or both. Noah Bridger was as close to a brother as Ian was ever likely to have. He’d been Ian’s friend as well as his mentor. Taking a couple of deep, steadying breaths, Ian lifted his head. Are you certain?

William gave a slow, decisive nod, then reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a silver flask. Unscrewing the cap, he offered the flask to Ian. Any doubt he’d had as to the identity of the dead agent had disappeared the moment Ian MacKenzie walked into his office. I am now.

Ian accepted the flask and took a deep pull of the strong Scots whisky. He acknowledged Pinkerton’s statement with a nod before handing the whisky back to his employer.

Ian had often heard the old wives’ tale about everyone on earth having a twin, or as the Germans called it, a doppelganger, but he hadn’t put any stock into the idea until he’d come face to face with Noah Bridger for the first time. They were so much alike in looks, build, age, and gestures it was unnerving. For Ian, looking at Noah had been like looking in a mirror and Noah had often said their own mothers would have trouble telling them apart.

Their resemblance had been fortuitous for The Pinkerton National Detective Agency and William, like his father before him, had taken full advantage of it. The agency often paired Noah and Ian on cases, switching them in and out of assignments and situations like interchangeable pieces on a chessboard.

William Pinkerton took the flask, capped it, and returned it to his desk drawer. Steadier now?

Ian nodded once again, then looked William in the eye. Where did it happen? How?

A town in Nebraska called Lodge Pole, William said. He was found in the hotel. Murdered. We think the assailant attacked him as he entered his hotel room or that the assailant gained access to the room and was waiting for him when he entered.

Was he shot? Ian asked.

William shook his head. Stabbed.

Ian groaned. It hurt to think of his friend, his twin, bleeding to death in a hotel room in the wilds of Nebraska. What was he doing in Lodge Pole, Nebraska? He was supposed to be in Washington. Was he working on a case?

Yes and no. William replied. I don’t have all the details yet. In fact, I wasn’t positive it was Noah until you walked in the office, but I’ll tell you what I know.

All right.

How long has it been since you had contact with Noah? Pinkerton adjusted his position in his office chair to make himself more comfortable.

Ian took a moment to count back. Three, maybe four, months. We met for dinner in Washington while he was on assignment as a guard for President Grant and his family. I was working the Hartwell case in Baltimore.

Pinkerton nodded. Lewis Hartwell was a teller in the First Calvert Bank who had created a lucrative sideline engraving and selling government bonds and embezzling from his employer. Ian had been tasked with the job of catching Hartwell in the act. He’d completed that assignment and had been sent to investigate a similar case at the mint in San Francisco. William looked at his detective. I thought you were in San Francisco.

I was until a week ago, Ian answered. I concluded that case by arresting the counterfeiter. I turned him over to Major Phillips, the commander of the garrison at the Presidio, and headed for home. I planned to deliver my report to you in person, then take some personal time off—maybe head back west to Denver or Carson City…

Pinkerton was curious. Why those two towns?

They have mints, Ian replied. And since there seems to be a rash of crimes involving employees at the government mints, I thought I’d do a little investigating to see if there are any connections to the problem in San Francisco.

William smiled. You wanted personal time off to investigate two of the U.S. mints?

Ian shrugged. I planned to do it at my leisure in between time spent hunting and fishing.

Pinkerton wasn’t fooled. He knew Ian suspected there was a connection between the criminal activities at the San Francisco mint and the other two mints. William knew because he’d assigned Ian to take over Lee Kincaid’s investigation into the ring of embezzlers and counterfeiters plaguing the Treasury and threatening the fragile economy when Kincaid had been forced to resign from the agency. Lee had nabbed one counterfeiter working in Cheyenne and Denver and a co-conspirator working at the Capitol in Washington. But there were more. Ian suspected, just as Lee had suspected, that the counterfeiters in each of the cities involved were connected, but he couldn’t prove it. Yet. That’s why Ian wanted to investigate. He was every bit as stubborn as his predecessor and Noah Bridger—combined.

William Pinkerton admired that quality in a man and especially in a Pinkerton agent. In the eight years that he’d known Ian MacKenzie, Pinkerton had never known him to hunt or fish for pleasure. You had a great deal more in common with Noah than your appearance, he told Ian. "Noah was working on a case when he died."

Oh?

Nothing official, William told him. But Noah came to me four and a half months ago with suspicions about a string of mysterious deaths of wealthy businessmen in Nevada—all of whom were men who had made their fortunes mining silver, copper, or lead.

Ian managed a sad smile. So, he was finally on his way to Nevada…

You knew he was investigating mysterious deaths in Nevada?

Ian shook his head. No. I knew Noah wanted to transfer to Nevada when he completed his White House assignment, but I don’t recall him mentioning any specific details. If he had told me he planned to leave Washington, I would have remembered it.

He didn’t tell you.

Ian lifted an eyebrow in silent query.

He wasn’t keeping secrets from you, Johnny Mack, William told him, using the nickname Allan Pinkerton had given Ian when Ian had come to work for the agency. Proud of his Scottish heritage, Allan embraced all his Scots kinsmen, often tagging them with Americanized versions of their Scottish names. Ian Alasdair MacKenzie had become Johnny Mack. "He couldn’t tell you. Noah didn’t know when he planned to leave Washington because Mrs. Grant asked President Grant to persuade us to extend Noah’s tour of duty. The president’s wife dislikes change—especially when it comes to the men assigned to guard her family, William admitted. The first lady doesn’t enjoy breaking in new detectives. According to the president, Mrs. Grant and the children become, ‘fondly attached to the men assigned to protect them and hate goodbyes’. He smiled. As for me, I admit to having a certain difficulty when it comes

Reviews for The Counterfeit Bride

[benn9314 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Great story filled with mystery love history and most of all entertaining