Orphaned Bride Saved By Detective From Her Runaway Groom And Vicious Stepbrother

By Lillis Lawson

It is 1861, and Josefina is traveling across the Atlantic to follow the footsteps of her parents and to find true Love.

Orphaned Josefina has been left a substantial inheritance. Her mother had owned the most exclusive gentlemen’s club in New York, and her father had been a very wealthy and prominent member of New York’s elite. Their illicit love story spanned three decades. Both her parents had recently died together in a carriage accident while Josefina had been abroad. As a twist, Josefina will lose her inheritance if she does not marry within a year. Will she marry out of convenience or will she find true Love? And Josefina's half-brother Jonathan has a very dark secret, and he wants her inheritance even if that would mean having to kill her. Will Josefina be safe or will she lose everything?

***These Books Are Sweet, Clean, Christian Historical Western Romance Stories ***

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lillis Lawson
• Release date: Aug 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781516370405

Book preview

Orphaned Bride Saved By Detective From Her Runaway Groom And Vicious Stepbrother

Historical Christian Western Romance

Lillis Lawson

Copyright ©2015, Lillis Lawson

All Rights Reserved

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License Notes

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This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to people is purely coincidence. All places, names, events, business, etc. are used in a fictional manner. All characters are from the imagination of the author.

Introduction

This is a standalone historical Christian western Romance.

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Contents

Chapter One, 1861

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

More Books by Lillis Lawson

Bonus Chapter – Orphaned Bride Meets Cattle Farmer

Chapter One, 1861

I’m not your ordinary kind of lady. Although, I would prefer you think otherwise. I’ve had the privilege or disprivilege depending on the day of experiencing more of the world than most explorers. I was born in America, to a wealthy railroad developer Arther McCallister and his whore Belle. I love her dearly. But we are what we are. As a child, I was never ashamed of her. She had a business, much like my father, and the women she employed were always so kind. My memories are hazy of those times, but what I remember the most was the joy in my mother’s eyes when she looked at me.

I did not understand why my father sent me away, I couldn’t. I was only a little girl when he placed me on the ship. It was like nothing I had never seen before. I was afraid it might swallow me up. And, in a way, it did. Consuming my life, my childhood and spitting me out into a strange and frightening world. I arrived in London and was immediately greeted by Madame Gale, the headmistress at Rosewaters Proper School for Girls. She was a rough and stubborn woman. But there was sweetness in her. Always looking to do what she thought best.

I quickly learned that my father had sent me here to complete my education, and it was there I remained. My parents never visited, not that I ever expected them to. But they wrote me letters. My mother, in particular, was a wonderful poet. While my father, well, let’s just say he was a man of few words. I never found it strange; my parents were only words on a piece of paper. Other girls would go home for holiday while I snuggled up to a small stack of envelopes. I never felt lonely, rather I felt like it was all leading up to something.

I am nearing the end of my voyage, the one I began as a child. I was told the return trip would feel shorter, but it has felt like a long, endless procession. It is curious how the heart seems to know the truth of the world while the mind simply wanders. You see, I had no home to return to, I just didn’t know it yet.

Josefina. My eyes whip around, off my journal and onto the narrow hull of by cabin; startled by the sound of my name. In the doorway, stands Mr. Findley. He is a bear of a man – with a boyish face hidden behind a thick, fiery beard. He looked at me with sad, knowing eyes. One I imagine my father might have worn when he sent me away. We’re here.

Thank you, Mr. Findley. For everything. My caretaker nodded, disappearing from the doorway. He seemed sad, distant. I suppose I felt the same, somewhere underneath my anticipation. Mr. Findley was the man who first took me away from my family. I remember hating him as a young girl. I don’t think I stopped screaming the whole way to London. But Mr. Findley and Madame Gale, they were always there for me. Checking up on me and making sure I was never alone. Mr. Findley would tell me stories and Madame Gale taught me to be strong.

Now I’m home and neither of them taught me how that was supposed to feel. I cleared my possessions off the small wooden desk, my powder, my journal and a book, The Devil’s Elixirs, and stored them in their proper places within my trunk. I took a final look at myself in the mirror beside the bed. Dark hair, dark eyes and olive skin, like my mother. I wonder if she will think of me.

Mr. Findley waited with me at the port. I had only been on this land for five minutes, and already I could feel the tide trying to draw me back in. Take me away from here. Get me away from this place. Why didn’t I listen?

New York was unlike London in so many ways already. It was this general sense of unknown, and not just within myself. Everyone seemed to be moving in a void of purpose. Only their trials were in sight while the person beside them faded into black due to their lack of usefulness. Perhaps it was because the docks in London, in part, felt like a second home to me.Yet this... this was to be home now.

Do they know you’re coming? Mr. Findley peers through the crowds before us, searching for my family. I do the same though I do not know what exactly I was looking for – their faces being a vague, young memory. I nod. Mr. Warren delivered a letter for me during his last shipment. They know. Mr. Findley simply acknowledged my truth. He and Mr. Warren had grown up together as dock hands.

His word was as good as mine. This may have very well been the reason it took me until now to realize my parents were not coming for me. I wrote to my mother and father many times and Mr. Warren delivered the majority, and he always returned with a lengthy reply from mother, and a short, but sweet response from father. However, upon delivering my last letter, Mr. Warren had brought nothing back. Rather, he told me quite simply, Your mother and father are deeply excited to see you again. And when I asked for their letters, he had said, My apologies. I had a very short stay. It had seemed logical at the time, but as I stood awaiting their arrival, I felt the tides wash me ashore; back to reality. I crashed onto the land with a sudden, yet overwhelming sense of dread. A feeling that only constricted upon seeing Mr. Magill.

I suppose it is better to say that Magill saw me, for I had never seen that man in my life. His name had been tossed around between my parent’s letters but never did they describe his mousy, bespectacled face – as if it had been smashed with a boot heel. He walked toward me in such a way a goose might if said goose was extremely indecisive. One foot forward, the other never quite reached its reflective partner. Magill bobbed like a round, bug-eyed rocking horse toward Mr. Findley and I. Admittedly, it is possible I’m too harsh on Magill’s appearance, but when one is charged to recount what should be the worst moment of her life those involved are bound to be demonized.

Arther. Magill’s voice is gruff as if his throat was an unswept chimney. Mac. In good health? Mr. Findley and Magill grasp hands. I’ve been worse. Been better too. Magill flits his buggy eyes toward me for a moment. We