Until A Change of Heart: A Jules Vanderzeit novel, #5

By Tricia Linden

Sharing secrets requires trust.

Jayson Goddard, the spoiled second son of a wealthy New York family, is thrown into a psychological and spiritual journey he could never have imagined, and is forced to confront past mistakes as he works off a blood contract with Jules Vanderzeit, the Maestro.

Sarah Miltmore, the youngest daughter of a family struggling to maintain its tenuous status with New York's social elite, can no longer deny her psychic abilities. Believing society will surely shun her if they learn the truth, she's forced to decide if she should hide her talent or risk exposure for the man she loves.

She has a secret, but so does he, and neither will share until they believe the other can be trusted.

Every choice has a consequence.

What if you got dead drunk and agreed to sign a blood contract with the Maestro?

What if you had a psychic talent but insisted on keeping it a secret?

What if you met the love of your life but refused to see them for who they really are?

Sarah and Jayson are about to learn every choice has a consequence, and it's often not what you expect.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tricia Linden
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781946177148

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Tricia Linden

Kingsburg Press

San Francisco, California

Copyright © 2019 Tricia Linden

All rights reserved.

Standard copyright laws apply with all rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means without the expressed permission of the author.

Kingsburg Press

P.O. Box 475146

San Francisco, California, 94147

www.KingsburgPress.com

Until A Change of Heart is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

Editor: Deborah Fallon

Cover Design: RLSather @ SelfPubBookCovers.com

ISBN- 13: 978-1-946177-13-1

eBook ISBN: 978-1-946177-14-8

Other Books of Timeless Romance by Tricia Linden

Jules Vanderzeit novels

set in the Gilded Age of New York

Until We Meet Again

Until Their Hearts Desire

Until You Love Me

Until She Says Yes

.

.

.

The MacNicol Clan Through Time

Scottish Historticals

A Time To Begin – Book 1

A Time To Return – Book 2

A Time To Belong – Book 3

A Time To Forgive – Book 4

.

.

.

Dreaming In Moonlight

Dedicated in memory of

Mom and Dad

With gratitude for all your love.

Chapter 1

New York City, Thursday, April 15, 1897

Sarah Miltmore leaned forward to better hear what Madam Zinka had to say. Although the self-proclaimed fortune teller was not giving her a reading, Sarah was curious to hear what she was saying to the man sitting before her.

Your life line is long, and strong, Madam Zinka informed him as she closely examined the palm of his right hand. And so is your love line. I predict you will soon meet the woman of your dreams. Surely within the year. I see you well dressed. It’s possible you’ll meet your future wife at a fancy-dress ball. I also see several children in your future. As many as five or six. Dressed in long flowing robes of midnight blue with a black silk scarf tied around her head, she looked both mysterious and absurd.

Really? Five or six children? The man, who had been introduced as Mr. Richardson, questioned Madam Zinka with an air of indifference. Dark brown eyes peered out from behind his tortoise-shell glasses. A fairly attractive man, he was impeccably dressed and clean-shaven with not a hair on his head out of place. Surely, many women found him attractive, though Sarah doubted that appealing to women was the motivation behind his fashionable attire.

Four at the very least, but I suspect it’s more likely to be six, the fortune teller assured him. See how these smaller lines cross over your love line, she said, drawing a finger across his palm. A sure sign of children.

How interesting, Mr. Richardson said, with a doubting grin.

Your life seems very interesting indeed. Also, I believe, financially rewarding. Madam Zinka most likely added that last part hoping for a generous payment for her services. I hesitate to say too much about that. I’m sure you can understand why.

Not for a moment did Sarah believe a word the woman was saying. This man was as likely to marry a woman and father six children as Sarah was of becoming the next Madam Zinka. It simply was not going to happen.

Considering how Mrs. Oshmeyer’s psychic salons were touted as being of the highest caliber, this was so much worse than Sarah had expected. Instead of being enlightening and educational, the presentation seemed as if it were little more than a silly parlor trick intended to amuse and entertain more than educate.

She had accompanied her Aunt Trudy to this salon gathering for the express purpose of seeing Madam Zinka in action, and as a performer, the woman did not disappoint, but as a fortune teller, she was a complete failure. In the past hour, Madam Zinka had given readings to three of the dozen or so people in attendance, and in Sarah’s opinion, only half of what she had predicted for the second woman was likely to come to fruition, and not for the best of reasons. Now she was giving her third and final reading of the evening for Mr. Richardson, and Sarah was convinced the reading was completely made up, nothing more than make-believe.

When their hostess, Mrs. Oshmeyer, announced the reading was over, a number of the guests gathered around Madam Zinka, seeking to secure her services, while the rest drifted off toward the bar and refreshments. Mr. Richardson was standing off by himself near the edge of the room looking as though he were merely a disinterested observer watching the proceedings play out rather than being affected by what he had just been told. Sarah had a feeling it was a stance he had purposefully perfected over the years.

Ratcheting up her courage, she went to speak to him. It would be nice if there was someone who could provide a proper introduction, but since what she wanted to discuss was rather private, it was best to do this alone. In situations such as this, she believed the direct approach was probably the best.

Excuse me, Mr. Richardson, she said, once he had acknowledged her. My name is Sarah Miltmore. Perhaps you know my aunt, Mrs. Trudy Westbury. She’s a friend of our hostess, Mrs. Oshmeyer. It was a poor replacement for a formal introduction, but she hoped to claim some sort of connection to give her a reason for approaching a near stranger.

Oh, yes. I think I may have met her earlier in the evening when I first arrived. Quite an interesting woman.

That was putting it mildly. She glanced over at her aunt dressed in a vivid teal-blue gown. It was a bit too fancy for the occasion but Trudy wore it well. She looked quite fetching as she engaged in an enthusiastic conversation with a fashionably dressed, older gentleman. Since becoming a widow, Aunt Trudy had dropped all pretense of being the proper wife of a dignified congressman. Claiming she had earned the right to be true to herself, regardless of what others thought of her, Trudy Westbury skipped merrily down the road of unconventionality to the point of eccentricity.

However, Sarah hadn’t come here to discuss her aunt.

If you don’t mind me asking, can you tell me, did Madam Zinka’s reading for you ring true?

Mr. Richardson chuckled lightly, making Sarah wonder if he found her question humorous, or Madam Zinka’s reading. Only time will tell.

"The reason I ask, is because . . . well . . . because, as I listened to her give her reading, I got the impression . . . I mean it seems to me that you would be much happier living a very different lifestyle from the one Madam Zinka described." Good Lord! She hoped he didn’t think her deranged. Thank God no one else was around to hear her rambling remark.

Though his expression barely registered a change, she could tell Mr. Richardson was somewhat unnerved. How interesting.

It would be pointless to back down now. Taking a breath, she pressed on. I believe you’ll find a much more accepting community near Paris. One that better fits your, umm . . . your desires. This was the first time she had received a message concerning a man falling in love with another man, and considering she had never experienced falling in love herself, she felt very much as though she were wading into uncharted waters.

A raised brow peeked above the top of his tortoise-shell glasses. You don’t say?

It’s just a feeling I have. You know how it is, women’s intuition. Of course, I could be wrong, but I tend to trust my instincts.

Do you, now? Rather than being offended, Mr. Richardson seemed intrigued.

Oh, yes, and they’re usually correct. I have a feeling even the crossing will hold some unexpected opportunities. The image she had seen led her to believe he was going to be very happy indeed. Calling it women’s intuition was the closest she would dare come to actually admitting she received psychic messages.

Mr. Richardson leaned closer and lowered his voice. You’re recommending I should sail to France?

Nervous to be discussing such a delicate topic, she laughed lightly. I believe romance awaits you in France, although I doubt it will end in marriage or children. A deep and enduring, life-long friendship, perhaps, but not marriage. My goodness. Discussing someone’s future happiness, especially when it involved one man with another man, was harder than she expected. But of course, you must follow your heart. Don’t let anyone tell you what is right for you, including me, if it doesn’t ring true.

He gazed across the room with a look of thoughtful consideration. It’s funny you should mention this to me. I’ve been considering taking a trip to Paris for some time now. Looking back at Sarah, he added, Still, I can’t help but wonder why you’re telling me this?

She understood the question behind his question. What was in it for her? If anything I’ve said here tonight proves useful, could you be so kind as to send me a note? She reached into her handbag and pulled out one of her hand printed cards. It listed her name as S.A. Miltmore, and included a post office box she used to collect mail regarding these types of connections. So far, she had received only one letter in the box, but the sender had been gratifyingly reassuring in her confirmation of Sarah’s message.

All I ask is a line or two confirming what I’ve told you ... I mean, if it proves to be true. Or you can let me know if I was completely wrong. She hoped it wouldn’t be the latter, for his sake as much as for hers. She would like to know if he were able to find true love. Regardless of the circumstances, she believed in true love and happily ever after. Aunt Trudy had taught her that.

Why do I have the feeling you know more than you are saying?

Perhaps, because much like you, I believe in being discreet. And not making up stuff to appease an audience.

I must say, that’s a relief. He took the card and tucked it in the inside pocket of his jacket. If what you say is true, I’ll look forward to connecting with you again in the future. Hopefully, soon.

Very soon, I believe. She gave him a bright smile, feeling more confident than when she had first approached him. I’m sure I’ve taken up enough of your time. If you’ll excuse me, I should probably find my aunt.

Of course. And, Miss Miltmore, thank you for being so bold. To speak to me, I mean. There aren’t many who would . . . well, who would be so discreet, as you say.

His mild praise gave her reason enough to smile happily. My pleasure, Mr. Richardson.

Reaching for her hand, he raised it to his lips for a brief kiss. I hope to be in touch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Sarah headed off across the room. She had been exceedingly bold, and it had taken a fair amount of courage, but she was proud of herself for making the effort to speak with Mr. Richardson to convey her message. If she hadn’t, she was sure she would regret letting the opportunity slip away. Something she had already done far too many times in the past. With Aunt Trudy’s kind, if rather eccentric, support, Sarah intended to learn from her previous mistakes, and not simply repeat them.

~*~

Jayson Goddard took another sip of his drink as he scanned the room, looking for a familiar face. Someone other than Samuel he could latch onto while he eavesdropped on the conversations going on around him. He wasn’t interested in engaging in small talk with someone he didn’t know and didn’t expect to see again. What was the point in that? He wasn’t here to make new friends. He was here doing research for an article he planned to write. As a seeker of knowledge, he had plenty of questions, and when he heard about this psychic salon being held by Mrs. Oshmeyer, it seemed like an interesting place to go looking for answers. Except it had turned out be little more than a circus side-show with a fortune teller in a cheap costume trying to convince the audience she had any real talent. Hocus-pocus and hogwash were all he’d seen.

After swapping out his empty glass for a fresh one, he watched as an attractive young woman approached Lionel Richardson, her reddish-brown hair gleaming in the light of the gas lamps. She was the best-looking woman in attendance, but that really wasn’t saying much considering that the room was mostly filled with middle-aged men and women. She certainly wasn’t as pretty as some of the women in his social circle. She also seemed vaguely familiar, though he was fairly certain they had never met before, at least not while he was sober. If he had met her while he’d been drinking, well, that was another matter altogether. One he’d rather not consider.

As the second son of one of the richest men in New York, he liked to think he surrounded himself with the best of the best, and right now, in this room, that meant this unknown young lady. They hadn’t been introduced, not yet, but he’d been keeping an eye on her all evening as Madam Zinka performed her readings.

What a performance it had been!

Not for a moment had he believed a word the so-called fortune teller told her subjects. Sadly, the same could not be said for two of her three victims. Two of the women that had received a reading had hung on every word the so-called fortune teller had to say. Thankfully, Richardson seemed completely unimpressed by Madam Zinka’s predictions for his future. As well he should. If the rumors were true, Richardson preferred the company of men. That didn’t make it inconceivable for Richardson to marry and father half a dozen children, only unlikely. It wasn’t unusual for men of his persuasion to marry for the sake of social acceptance, but he doubted Richardson was one of them. Richardson was extremely wealthy, and since the Vanderbilts had already knighted him with their acceptance, he had no reason to worry about such social niceties.  

As he watched the young woman speak with Lionel, he wondered if maybe she was hoping to become Richardson’s wife and the woman who would bear him all those children. They were speaking in hushed voices, and damn, as he watched, she gave Richardson her card.

Hell’s bells, it seemed she wasn’t wasting any time in her efforts to secure a future with him. No doubt Madam Zinka’s line about Richardson’s financial success was pretty strong motivation. If that was true, she might someday discover her search for financial security came at a price. For some, he supposed it was a price they were willing to pay, but for some reason, she didn’t strike him as the type to sacrifice her desire for love over her need for money.

Jayson’s reason for coming to this absurdly ridiculous and obviously sham of a psychic salon was to gather information for a magazine article he intended to write exposing this fraudulent business for what it was, not to search out naïve debutants in search of a rich husband. He was about to turn away in search of other prey and write her off his list, when he saw them part and the young lady head his way. Since he was standing next to the buffet table that was most likely her destination, it gave him an opportunity to make her acquaintance, if for no other reason than to relieve her of the notion of pursuing Richardson.

When she drew near, he raised his glass of champagne in a salute. I see you’re wasting no time in setting yourself up to become the mother of his children.

Drawing back, she gave him a scornful look. Excuse me. I don’t believe I know you.

Jayson Goddard. Pleased to make your acquaintance. So, five or six works for you?

She eyed him suspiciously with a look of confusion. Five or six what?

Children, of course. Isn’t that what Madam Zinka predicts?

Oh, my goodness. Don’t be absurd. Our conversation had nothing to do with the possibility of children.

Oh really. Is that why I saw you give him your calling card? A rather strange way of showing your disinterest, if you ask me. He downed the rest of his drink and smiled in a self-satisfied sort of way. Interestingly, he rather enjoyed raising her ire.

I don’t believe anyone did ask you. She seemed about to turn away, but instead added, You’re not hiding your drinking problem as well as you think.

Jayson eyed her with mock horror. One drink doesn’t mean I have a problem. Except that hadn’t been his first drink, it was more like his third. Or maybe his fourth.

Believing you don’t have a problem doesn’t make it true.

Damn the woman. Where the hell did she get off talking to him like that? What made it even worse was knowing there was some truth to what she said. Listening to Madam Zinka spout her hocus-pocus is enough to drive any man to drink.

If you think this is all just hocus-pocus, then why are you here?

For research, of course. Before he had a chance to argue his point, his drinking buddy, the man he had dragged to this shameful performance of mystical ineptitude, stepped up to his side.

I see you’ve met Miss Miltmore, Hoffman said, slightly slurring his words. Typical. Samuel Hoffman was the worst at holding his liquor. The many nights they had spent drinking together at the Drowned Duck in Tarrytown was proof enough of that, but he was the only friend Jayson would dare ask to accompany him to an event such as this, and it was better than coming alone. The expectation of free food and drinks was usually all it took to get Hoffman to agree to almost any adventure, as long as someone else was paying.

Actually, we haven’t been properly introduced. Perhaps you could do the honors, Jayson replied, before Miss Miltmore had a chance to slip away. He was betting on her being too proper to turn her back on Hoffman, since they seemed to be acquainted.

Miss Sarah Miltmore, allow me to introduce you to Mr. Jayson Goddard. One of the finest men I know. Good grief. Samuel had attempted to bow for Miss Miltmore, but swayed so badly, he was nearly on the verge of falling on his face. Jayson draped his arm around his friend’s shoulder to hold him steady.

If that’s actually true, Samuel, then you really need to expand your circle of friends, Miss Miltmore scoffed.

I must say, Miss Miltmore, Jayson interjected before she could step away. Rudeness doesn’t become you.

Her bright blue eyes widened slightly with a hint of shock, followed quickly by a smug smile. Drunkenness doesn’t become anyone, Mr. Goddard. Motioning to his companion, she added, My goodness, I do hope you’ll see that Sammy gets home safely.

You needn’t worry, he’s in good hands, Jayson assured her.

Doubtful, but one can always hope. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really must find my aunt. I believe it’s time for us to leave. Nice to see you, Samuel. Do take care. Turning on her heel, she briskly walked away, heading for the far side of the room.  A moment later she connected with Mrs. Trudy Westbury, the widow of Congressman Nathan Westbury. Together, they bid their hostess farewell and headed out the front door.

That was when Jayson finally made the connection. It seemed Miss Sarah Miltmore was one of the Marrying Miltmores, a second-tier family with several daughters known for marrying into moneyed families to advance their social position. Sons of wealthy New Yorkers were often warned by their gossipy mothers; ‘Meet a Miltmore girl and you’ll soon be married, whether you like her or not.’ Last he’d heard, three of the four daughters were married. That would make Miss Sarah the youngest of the bunch. Although she had denied it, it also explained her interest in becoming Mrs. Lionel Richardson, if that was in fact her goal, since it meant she would be following in her sisters’ footsteps.

Damn pity, if that was her intent. While he wouldn’t be surprised if Richardson married for appearances sake, Jayson pegged him more as a bookish sort who would most likely seek the same in a woman.

Miss Miltmore didn’t strike him as the meek and mild type.

First impressions could be deceiving, but he detected a feisty side to Miss Miltmore. Obviously, she had very little hesitation in speaking her mind. He just wished to heaven he knew what she had said to Richardson. If she wasn’t interested in becoming his wife, then why had she approached him? Even more intriguing, why had she given him her calling card?

Jayson chuckled to himself as he steered Samuel toward the front door. The evening had been much more interesting than he had expected, but it was time to get his friend home. Even more interesting, considering that he had only just met Miss Miltmore, he was already more curious about her than he’d been for any other women in forever.

~*~

As she walked away in search of her aunt, Sarah desperately wanted to look over her shoulder to see Mr. Goddard’s reaction, but she resisted. It wasn’t like her to be so snooty, or have such a snappy retort, but Jayson Goddard brought out a side of her she hadn’t let loose before. He had provoked her by accusing her of flirting with Mr. Richardson. Obviously, he had seen her talking to him and had automatically assumed she was interested in becoming his wife. As if every time a woman spoke to a man, she wanted to marry him!

Not hardly. Not her.

Apparently, Mr. Goddard wasn’t aware that Mr. Richardson preferred men. Or maybe he was jealous that Mr. Richardson had taken an interest in her instead of him. Wouldn’t that be funny?

While she may have been offended by Mr. Goddard, she certainly wasn’t blind. Anyone could see he was strikingly attractive. A lock of his dark brown hair had hung charmingly over his forehead, highlighting his smoldering blue-grey eyes. He had a finely shaped face—good bones as her mother liked to say—with a strong chin. He was also arrogant and egotistical, which had provoked her to be rude, which she didn’t like at all. It was best to simply walk away from Mr. Goddard and not look back.

It had been somewhat of a risk for her to come to Mrs. Oshmeyer’s psychic salon, even if she was there as a companion to her aunt. If her mother ever found out about her interest in spiritualism and psychical abilities, not only would she disapprove, she would probably insist that Sarah stop associating with Aunt Trudy, and she loved her aunt far too much to imagine losing her companionship.

Being a young woman of marriageable age, she was expected to spend time attending balls and parties filled with young, single, rich men in search of a wife. Not in some old lady’s living room filled with mostly middle-aged folks being taken in by the overly dramatic show of a pretentious fortune teller who obviously lacked the talent she ascribed to herself.

Seeing her aunt across the room, Sarah went to her side. Are you ready to leave?

I think we’ve seen enough. Come, let’s find Margaret and say our goodbyes, Aunt Trudy agreed, referring to Mrs. Oshmeyer.

Sarah nodded and followed her aunt, her mind still stuck on the man she had just met.

Interestingly, she hadn’t been able to pick up any messages or images for Mr. Goddard. Not that she had tried. Well, maybe a little, but nothing for certain had come through. Only that he liked to drink, which wasn’t that hard to detect given the drink he had in his hand and how quickly he had consumed it. While she didn’t get the feeling he was addicted to the stuff, she did suspect that he used his drinking to avoid letting the world see too deeply behind the façade he had erected and worked to maintain. She wasn’t exactly sure how the two differed, or why it made a difference, but she was sure it did.

Mr. Goddard seemed to cloak himself in an attitude of lighthearted devil-may-care boldness, but she also sensed an underlying feeling of darkness. Interestingly, it was the darkness that intrigued her the most. In her opinion,