The Bride Spy: Civil War Brides Series

By Piper Davenport

Hannah Nelson, a native New Zealander, has been accepted to DePaul University in Chicago. She had been living in Portland, Oregon for several years, and is relieved to be away from the questions surrounding the sudden disappearance of her close friend, Emma. While at her dance studio, housed in an historic building in downtown Chicago, she is drawn to a painting of a handsome man from 1865, and as she looks into his emerald green eyes, her world goes black.

Christopher Butler is in Lincoln's War Cabinet and working with his close friend, Clayton Madden to keep the President safe. Upon returning from Lincoln's historic Gettysburg Address, he hears a strange noise in his barn, and enters to find a beautiful woman unconscious on the straw strewn floor. He realizes quickly she is the key to his sanity and he will never let her go.

As Hannah navigates her new world and comes to terms with the fact she has been transported back in time, will she allow Christopher to love her?

Will she find answers about what happened to Emma in her own circumstances, and will she find out if her presence in the past will help the state of the future?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trixie Publishing
• Release date: Jan 16, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393280903

Book preview

1-One.jpg

Chicago, Illinois

HANNAH NELSON STOOD with her hands on her hips and stared at the tornado she’d created. Her best friend, Emma Wellington, had disappeared several months ago from her home in Portland, Oregon, and she’d been rocked to the core. Thousands of miles away and anxious to help, Hannah’s half of the tiny dorm room at DePaul University was covered with newspaper clippings, printouts of email blogs, and anything else that might be a clue.

The other half of the room belonged to her roommate, Victoria Carrington. Hannah sighed as she took in Victoria’s neatly made bed, ridiculously organized desktop, and bookshelves that would make a librarian squeal in glee. Victoria even had organized bins under her bed.

Hannah, on the other hand, avoided looking under hers, convinced she’d find half a dozen missing socks, a dust bunny with fangs, and perhaps even a leprechaun. And not the cute one from the cereal box. More than likely the one from the bad B movie.

With a sigh, she sat at her desk and powered up her laptop, finding a note from her roommate and reading it distractedly as she waited for her email to load. She heard the scratch of a key in the lock and turned to see Victoria walk through the door. She waved Victoria’s note in the air. I thought you were at the studio.

Victoria sighed. No, the family moved their appointment. The baby was too cranky for photos. Dumping her bag on her bed, she sat cross-legged to face Hannah. I’ve got an hour before I need to be back there. I have that stupid paper to finish. Her focus landed on Hannah’s evidence. Any word on Emma?

Nothing. Hannah frowned at the wall and then turned back to Victoria. It’s all so bloody frustrating.

Victoria smiled gently and then stood. Is there anything I can do?

Hannah shook her head. No, but thanks.

Have you been watching the news?

Hannah sighed. Are you referring to the fight for the senate in Washington?

Victoria nodded. Yes. That Victor Cary fellow is nasty. He’s doing some underhanded things to help his uncle.

I did read that on my news page. He’s an ugly, ugly man, too.

Victoria wrinkled her nose. Ew, I know. He’s the perfect henchman.

Hannah shrugged. Well, I don’t care that much about politics. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, they’re all liars. They can all kill each other for all I care.

Hannah was originally from New Zealand, but had moved to the States in high school to get away from the family she couldn’t stand.

Victoria rifled through her bag. Their reach is pretty long, though, she said distractedly.

Good thing we’re in Chicago, then, eh?

Victoria smiled. Well, I’m going to take a shower, I think, before I go to the studio.

What about your paper?

Victoria raised an eyebrow at her.

Hannah giggled. Procrastinating today, eh?

Victoria put her finger to her lips. Don’t tell.

Reading her email as Victoria gathered her clothes and made her way into the bathroom, Hannah did another search for any possible news updates on the string of disappearances in Portland. Emma wasn’t the only one who’d vanished from that house. Her sister, Sophie, and brother-in-law, Jamie had also disappeared.

Hannah let out a snort of derision at the lack of information. Apparently, enough time had passed that the media no longer cared. Finished with her stack of emails, including one that promised a larger penis, Hannah flopped on her bed and stared at the ceiling. Exhaustion blurred her vision, and she rubbed her gritty eyes.

Once again subjected to a sleepless night, she took a deep breath. Ever since Emma’s disappearance, her dreams were plagued with nightmares. What confused her was the fact that the dreams weren’t specifically about Emma. Hannah searched her mind over and over trying to discern the threat, but she was at a loss and would wake with a scream most nights.

Poor Victoria.

Hannah knew she woke her roommate more often than not. She desperately wished she could get a handle on her nightmares, and it was those nights when she needed Emma the most. The pain ripped through her like salt in an open wound.

Frustrated and amped up, she knew she needed to blow off steam. The dance studio might be her only option, even without Emma to push her. Jumping off the bed, she looked around the room and then picked up her dance bag. She threw in a couple of practice leotards, her ballet slippers, and a change of clothes. She’d do some toe work today. She’d concentrated on lyrical over the last few months and neglected her ballet training.

As she threw her phone and iPod in her bag, she hoped the music from her favorite band would take her mind off things. Just as she zipped her bag closed, Victoria surfaced from the bathroom. Hannah giggled and waved her hand to clear away the vapor that followed Victoria into the room. Short shower today?

What ev! Victoria retorted. I still have to do that paper, so lingering isn’t an option.

Why did you wait so long, lovey?

"As Daddy says, ‘If it weren’t for the last minute, I’d get nothin’ done.’"

Victoria, the only daughter of a wealthy Kentucky surgeon and a socialite mother, had sayings that were often as funny as Hannah’s kiwi-isms.

Love it. Well, I’m off to dance and then I have a job tonight.

Hannah worked for a local private investigator and she loved every second of her job.

Victoria’s eyebrows puckered. Why do you have to do your spy thing at night?

Hannah shrugged. Because it’s a cheating case and the wife’s out of town. The creep likes to frequent a particular bar, so I’m bait.

You say that as though you’re going to a job interview. Victoria crossed her arms. This is dangerous, Hannah.

Hannah smiled. It’s not dangerous, love. Havoc will be with me.

Johnny Havoc was really Johnny Smith, but when he opened his private investigation business, he thought he should have a tough name, so he called himself Havoc, and it stuck.

Victoria snorted. Havoc... what a stupid nickname.

Hannah laughed. I’ll be sure to tell him that.

Sounds good. Victoria bent her head. Are you wearing shoes?

Hannah lifted a foot. "Yes, Mum, I’m wearing my shoes. Of course, my mum never cared if I wore shoes, but you Americans are so picky about that!"

"Might I remind you that you’re an American now, or are they revoking your citizenship so soon?"

Hannah giggled. Funny.

You can take the girl out of New Zealand, but...

Oh, you’re hilarious. Hannah smiled. I’ll see you later.

Hannah walked out the door and down the dorm hallway, dragging her bag and outerwear with her. She was always reluctant to wear her heavy down jacket. Although warm and appropriate for Chicago in the winter, it stifled her. Not only did she avoid wearing shoes, she avoided wearing anything that meant it wasn’t summer anymore.

Dragging open the door to the building, she was hit with a burst of frigid air. With an expletive that would have made her mother blush, she jumped back inside the building.

G’day.

Hannah turned to see her Australian friend Kevin walking down the hall toward her. She grinned. Hi. Visiting Jen?

Tall and slender, Kevin had blond shaggy hair and light blue eyes. His accent only added to his appeal to the college girls, but much to their disappointment, he was a one-woman man.

Yeah. Kevin chuckled. Avoiding your clothing?

Dag. Hannah held her backpack out to him. Hold this for a tic, would you?

He took the bag and Hannah pulled on her coat, the rustle of the waterproof material loud in the echoing hallway. When’s it going to be summer again?

Jen just asked the same question. Where are you off to? Kevin handed the bag back to her and she swung it over her shoulder.

The studio. Do you think we can get together later to go over that case study?

Kevin held the door open for her, and she pulled her scarf up to her face.

He smiled. Yeah, no worries. Maybe around six?

Hannah nodded. Ta. I’ll see you later.

With a wave, Kevin took off toward his dorm, and Hannah made her way to her car. The studio, located in a historic, but slightly rundown area of Chicago, was built in the early 1800s. To this day, it smelled of history and stale cigar smoke, which Hannah found oddly pleasing. Plus, she adored the architecture.

Letting herself into the building, she was struck with an eerie feeling that made her pause. The building, usually alive with noise, was quiet. A chill raced over her. She made her way down the hall to her studio and slipped the key into the lock. An unfamiliar noise came from the stairwell and made her pause again. It sounded like gears grinding on a car. Leaning back slightly, she heard it again.

While most people would have followed their instincts and run like hell, the forensic side of Hannah’s brain kicked into gear. Removing her keys from the studio door, she made her way down the hall, opened the stairwell door, poked her head in, and called out, Hello? Is anyone there? Nothing. She moved farther into the small area and the door closed behind her. And locked.

Bloody hell! Hello? Can anyone hear me? She jiggled the doorknob and pounded on the door, but no one came to her aid. Well, you’ve gone and done it now, Han. Buggar!

Going down, to the basement was entirely too creepy—even for Hannah, so she made her way up the stairs and found another door at the top. Fortunately, it wasn’t locked.

Thank you, God. Moving slowly over the threshold, Hannah stared at the scene before her. Instead of the storeroom she expected, full of dusty boxes and rickety metal shelves, she found herself in a perfect replica of a Victorian parlor.

Hannah slowly wandered the room, and her fingers brushed the deep green horsehair sofa facing a large fireplace. Her focus was pulled toward a painting mounted above the fireplace. A young man with dark hair, sporting a little more than a five o’clock shadow and dressed in black with a crisp white ascot, stared at her from the large canvas. Whoever had painted the portrait captured dark green eyes, which bordered on emerald. As she got closer, she noticed a label below the picture that read: War Cabinet, Washington D.C. 1865.

Now, aren’t you gorgeous? She raised her hand to touch his face. Why can’t I meet someone like you and live happily ever after?

Giggling at her thoughts, she continued to walk around the room. She touched everything. She marveled at the elaborate furnishings, but in the end, was drawn back to the painting. As she approached the canvas again, instead of the handsome soldier’s face, the vision of a dark room met her gaze—as though she were looking through a window. As she stepped forward for a better look, the entire wall and fireplace disappeared, and she was looking only at the dark room.

No, not a room. A barn.

She turned to find she was still in the Victorian parlor, but when she looked back again, all she saw was the barn. Hand shaking, she reached out to the hazy image, and without warning, her world spun and everything went black.

* * *

Christopher Butler sat in the office of his colleague and close friend, Clayton Madden. Serving under Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, in Abraham Lincoln’s cabinet, the men had just returned to Washington from Pennsylvania, where the President delivered the Gettysburg Address the day before.

Are you prepared for our trip to Harrisburg? Clayton settled his ankle over his knee.

Christopher sipped his whiskey and nodded. Yes, we’ll be arriving on Wednesday. I’m hoping that’ll give us adequate time to settle in before the Thanksgiving festivities.

Knowing Mrs. Wade, she’ll have everything prepared as we speak. Even if you arrived on Thursday, you would not be late.

Christopher chuckled. That’s true. When are you leaving?

Tuesday morning.

So early? I thought Emma preferred to stay in the city.

Clayton smiled. Yes. She does prefer the city. However, she’s also very sentimental and is looking forward to the holidays with her sister.

Christopher ran his hands through his hair as he lamented, Gwen is driving us all mad with her enthusiasm.

That’s not surprising. Gettysburg was her first trip outside of Washington. What girl wouldn’t be excited about spending time with her friends—and shopping?

Yes, I suppose so. Christopher shifted in his chair. I must say, having brothers is easier than sisters. Even if she is a very small one.

Any word from Quincy?

Christopher’s younger brother currently served in the Union Army and was not a subject he liked to discuss.

Nothing in over a month.

I’m sure he’s fine, Chris. Your brother’s intelligent.

Christopher leaned back with a sigh. Sometimes he’s a little too smart for his own good, and that’s my biggest concern.

Clayton chuckled. All your siblings are.

True. Gwen being the worst offender. Christopher turned when he heard a derisive snort from the entrance of the office.

Gwen rolled her eyes. Chris.

The men stood and Clayton held out his hand to Emma, who stood next to Gwen. Come in, sweet.

Emma led Gwen into the office with a grin. I think Gwen is perfect just the way she is, Chris.

Thank you, Emma. Gwen straightened her spine and glanced at Christopher. Anything to add?

He had to admit, he was too tired to tease his sister at present, no matter how tempting, so he smiled gently and indicated the chair next to him for her to sit. No, Gwennie, not at all.

Dinner is ready if you two would like to join us, Emma said and gasped when Clayton pulled her into his lap as he sat back in his chair. Clayton whispered something in her ear and she laughed before facing the siblings, hand over her mouth. Sorry, that was rude.

Christopher waved his hand, but secretly, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to the public displays of physical attraction he’d seen from his close friend. Emma brought out a side of Clayton he was unaccustomed to, evident once again as he watched her give Clayton a secret smile before climbing from his lap.

Well, I’m starved. Clayton stood beside her. Shall we?

Emma had persuaded Christopher and Gwen to stay another hour, promising an early dinner so they could get on the road before it got too dark. She’d organized a simple repast of fresh bread and soup, and Christopher was grateful the meal wrapped up quickly.

Once the housekeeper had cleared the final dishes from the table, Christopher laid his napkin on the table and stood. All right, Gwennie, we’d better get you home. It has been a full three days.

Gwen smiled and rose to her feet. Yes, I am quite tired.

Clayton and Emma walked them to the door and bid them safe travel before Christopher assisted Gwen into the buggy and they took off for home.

* * *

Arriving at their family home in Catonsville, Maryland later than expected, Christopher settled the horses in the barn himself rather than waking their groom. He’d have plenty of time to relax without commitments for the next two days, and he intended to use his time at home to reconnect with his family.

Christopher grew restless, not unusual for him at this hour of the night. He needed to move around. He’d never been a particularly good sleeper, but with the vast amount of information about protecting the President swimming in his head, his insomnia had gotten much worse. A new layer of snow on the ground beckoned to him.

The blanket of white appeared gray in the darkness, and he smiled. He loved this time of night, especially with the crispness of fresh snowfall. The stars just seemed brighter in the winter, and everything so much more peaceful.

As he gathered his outerwear, his sister walked into the foyer. Chris? May I walk with you?

You should be asleep, Gwen, he admonished as he pulled on his gloves.

Gwen rolled her eyes. It’s barely nine o’clock.

Past your bedtime.

Gwen let out a deep sigh. I’m not a child, and I’m too pent-up to sleep. Perhaps you and Quincy have influenced my sleeping habits.

I thought you said you were tired when we left the Maddens’.

I slept in the buggy.

Christopher didn’t really want company but found it difficult to deny her. All right.

Gathering their warm coats, gloves, and scarves, Christopher led Gwen toward his favorite refuge. Their parents had built a large gazebo near the barn and Christopher would go there often to think. He’d brought a few girls here to kiss in the dark as well, but he didn’t advertise that fact. They walked into the shelter of the gazebo and sat down.

Why are you so restless, Gwennie?

I don’t know. She sighed. How is it you’re not falling over? You delivered the President to the White House late last night. I heard you come in well after midnight, and then you were up early this morning... even before I was.

Christopher shrugged. I had paperwork to finish. How did you know I came in after midnight?

I couldn’t sleep, and you have heavy feet. She lowered her voice. Do you think Quinn is safe?

Christopher patted her hand. I pray that he is.

As do I. I wish I knew where he was and when he’s coming home.

Standing, Christopher slapped his gloved hands together in an effort to warm them and began to pace the small space. He’ll come home when the war is over—or he’s wounded.

Gwen gasped. Don’t say that, Chris. I couldn’t bear it.

Sorry. Christopher grimaced and then changed the subject. Did you enjoy Gettysburg?

I loved it. Gwen sat up, her eyes glowing. I especially enjoyed shopping with Emma and Sophie. They’re very entertaining.

That’s one way to describe them, I suppose.

Gwen grinned. Do you not approve, big brother?

It’s not that. Clayton is different since he married Emma—he acts in ways I never imagined he would.

They are quite out of the ordinary. Gwen chuckled quietly. Similar to Charity, but different as well.

Charity Short, Gwen’s childhood friend, was closer than a sister to her. Although Gwen considered her to be a forward thinker, Christopher just thought she was outspoken and opinionated.

They do seem quite independent. Christopher held a hand up and gave her a half-smile. Don’t get any ideas.

Oh, I absolutely will! More than you could ever imagine. Christopher gave a sigh of annoyance, and Gwen laughed. I’m telling you, Chris, one day you’re going to meet a woman who won’t be so easily charmed, and you’ll be changed just like Clayton. A woman most certainly not like Delilah.

There’s nothing wrong with Delilah.

That may be up for debate. Gwen sighed. It’s just always so easy for you and Quinn.

Easy?

Yes. My whole life I’ve grown up with the big brothers everyone loves. Other than Charity, I’ve never had a friend who didn’t fall in love with one of you.

Christopher chuckled. I think that might be a bit of an overstatement.

Gwen shook her head. It’s not and you know it. You walk into a room and the ladies swoon.

Gwen.

She slapped a hand on one of the beams. It’s true. Remember the church picnic last year? You walked over to greet me and Gertrude Harris fainted. Right in the middle of all those people.

Christopher waved a hand dismissively. She was overheated. It was August, after all.

"Christopher, she was not overheated. She grabbed my hand and sighed, then made a strange sound in the back of her throat. When you smiled at her, she fell over. I don’t think we can call that anything other than a lady swooning in your presence."

Where do you get your ideas from, little sister? Christopher crossed his arms. Perhaps spending so much time with Mrs. Madden isn’t a good idea.

Is that an order from Christopher the Big?

Gwen and her brothers had given Christopher his nickname when Christopher had reached six feet... at the age of fourteen. He’d always been the moral compass for the siblings, and with his size, people tended to leave the Butler children alone.

Christopher groaned. Gwen.

Gwen let out an inelegant snort. Whether you choose to acknowledge what I’m saying or not, it’s the truth, and I know you’re aware of what you’re doing, because you only smile at unattached ladies in that way.

What way?

Gwen leaned against the railing. You do this thing with your eyes, where they crinkle in the corner, and then you smile very slowly and wait for their reaction.

I do not, Christopher argued.

You do. Quinn does it as well, although his smile is less like a tiger after his prey than yours.

Gwendolyn! This conversation is unseemly.

Why? Because it makes you uncomfortable? Perhaps you should be uncomfortable for once. No one ever stands up to you, especially women. And certainly not Delilah. She wants your good name and position in society. She’s willing to do anything to get it.

You have quite the opinion, I see.

Gwen pulled her scarf closer to her chin. I think you need to marry a woman who is smart and independent. Someone who wants you, not your money or social standing. And someone who will talk back to you. If Emma’s taught me anything, it’s that.

What is that supposed to mean?

You can be quite superior, Chris. You’re an important man, which adds to that superiority, but you’re frightening sometimes. Clayton can be as well, but he tempers his authority with humor. Your humor seems to have disappeared. You hardly smile anymore... unless it’s to a woman you want to affect. And I think Delilah is a horrid woman.

Christopher narrowed his eyes. His sister had never spoken to him so plainly before. He wasn’t certain where she’d gotten the sudden courage to do so, but he didn’t like it. Where is all this coming from? Delilah has done nothing to you.

But she’s done something to you... or at the very least, added to whatever has been going on... and I don’t like it.

Nothing has been ‘going on,’ Gwen. Christopher stared into the darkness. And not that it’s any of your business, but the truth of the matter is that I enjoy Delilah’s company. I believe you’re wrong about her.

Before Gwen could comment, a loud crash echoed inside the barn. The horses whinnied in fright. What the devil was that? Gwen stood quickly.

I don’t know. Christopher jumped the gazebo railing and ran toward the stables.

Chris?

Stay there, he called.

Stepping over the threshold of the barn, he grabbed a lantern, lit the wick, and then walked inside with his gun drawn. He worked to calm the horses as he continued further into the interior. Reaching the second to the last stall, he noticed a crumpled form in the corner near the tack room. He slowly walked toward it. As he got closer, he noticed the shimmer of long dark hair and realized it was a woman. He slipped his gun back into its holster, knelt down beside her, and gently swept her hair away from her face. She wore strange blue breeches and a large puffy coat made of a material he had never seen before.

Ma’am? Can you hear me? He stroked her cheek and spoke softly. Ma’am, wake up.

2-Two.jpg

HANNAH CAME AWAKE as she felt a touch on her face. She reached up to rub her forehead and took a deep breath, grimacing at the sudden smell assaulting her nose.

Ma’am, are you all right?

Is he talking to me? He has such a nice voice.

Ma’am?

Why are you calling me ma’am? Hannah opened her eyes and stared up at the man from the painting. Holy shit, it’s you!

I’m sorry? He frowned. Have we met?

Eh?

Have we met before? he asked. I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t recall.

Hannah shook her head. No, no, we haven’t met.

Let me help you sit up. The man slipped his arm behind her.

Hannah stared up at him as he steadied her and his strong arms flexed as he lifted her from the ground. Her head barely reached his chest, and she was certain if she touched him, it would be like touching granite. She could feel his strength and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of leather and horses. Better than any cologne she’d smelled before.

Christopher?

Hannah turned her head to find a beautiful young woman inching her way into the barn.

The man frowned. Gwen, I told you to stay in the gazebo.

The woman stalled. Who is that?

He scowled in Hannah’s direction. I don’t know who she is.

Hannah surveyed her surroundings in confusion. Am I in a barn?

Yes, ma’am, you are in my parents’ barn.

What am I doing in a barn?

The man shook his head. I’m uncertain, ma’am.

Her eyes swept the space. How did I get here?

What do you remember?

Wrinkling her brow in thought, Hannah tried to retrace her steps. I was in my studio and I got locked in the stairwell, so I went upstairs to try and get out. You were there.

I was? His eyes widened. Did you hit your head?

Hannah put her fingers to her forehead. She squeezed her eyes shut. I mean, there was a portrait of a man who looked like you.

Strange. He let out a deep breath. I’ve never sat for a portrait.

I don’t know how I got here, though. She tried to take a step forward but grew dizzy quickly, her head pounding in protest. She put her fingers to her temples. Ow.

The man wrapped an arm around her shoulders. Did you bump your head?

I must have. If you could just help me to my car, I’ll be on my way.

He looked at her strangely. Ma’am?

Why do you keep calling me ma’am? she snapped, a little irritated with him and the headache at the same time.

He glanced at the woman, who moved closer, with her hand out in greeting. We didn’t see a horse and cart in the vicinity.

Well of course not! We’re in the city. Why would there be a horse and cart in the vicinity? Hannah sighed. Unless it’s one of those romantic ones, I suppose.

I really do think you may have hit your head, ma’am.

She glared up at him. Stop calling me ma’am!

The woman grinned and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. She moved closer to Hannah, pushing the man out of the way. Please excuse my brother. My name is Gwendolyn Butler, and this is Christopher. You are in our parents’ barn in St. Leonard.

Where’s that?

Maryland, ma’am, Christopher said.

She shot him a dirty look. Turning back to Gwen, Hannah took a deep breath in an attempt to calm herself. I can’t possibly be in Maryland. I was just in Chicago.

You have an accent. May I inquire where you’re from? Gwen asked.

New Zealand.

Is that part of England? Christopher asked.

Seriously? Hannah hissed. Where am I really? Is Kevin playing a joke on me?

Who?

He’s here, isn’t he? Kevin! Hannah peeked her head over one of the stalls. Come out, you bloody criminal.

Who is Kevin, ma’am?

"You really need to stop calling me ma’am. Hannah scowled at him over her shoulder. It’s starting to hack me off."

May I ask your name? Gwen asked.

Oh, right, sorry. My name is Hannah Nelson. Hannah reached her hand out in greeting.

Nice to meet you. Gwen shook the proffered hand. May I call you Hannah?

You can call me anything as long as it’s not ma’am. She shot a pointed look