Chapter One

      Boston, Massachusetts, August 1889

      Annabel Fairfax tore open the envelope the post office messenger had delivered and peeked at the document inside. A money order! A money order for two hundred dollars! Glancing around the shadowed hallway to make sure the servants were not spying on her, Annabel slipped the envelope into her skirt pocket and hurried upstairs to her bedroom.

      Two hundred dollars meant freedom.

      Four years ago, after their parents died in a boating accident and their greedy Cousin Gareth came to live with them, the three Fairfax sisters had become prisoners in their own home—Merlin’s Leap, a gray stone mansion perched on a rocky headland just north of Boston.

      Charlotte, the eldest, was the heiress, and Cousin Gareth had attempted to force her into marriage. Three months ago, Charlotte had escaped and was now living under an assumed name in Gold Crossing, Arizona Territory.

      With Charlotte out of his clutches, Gareth had contrived to have her declared dead and Miranda, the middle sister, had been named as the heiress. Rather than fight Gareth’s advances, Miranda also had chosen to flee from Merlin’s Leap, and was now on her way to join Charlotte in the Arizona Territory.

      Cousin Gareth had set off in pursuit, leaving Annabel alone with the servants, and their laxness had allowed her to receive the money order. With Gareth gone, the household staff no longer bothered to intercept the mail, or to keep her locked up in the house, which had allowed Annabel to walk into the village and post a letter to Charlotte, alerting the eldest sister that she was officially dead and buried in a grave at Merlin’s Leap.

      Up in her bedroom, Annabel inspected the money order. The sender was Thomas Greenwood, the man whose mail-order bride Charlotte was pretending to be. The beneficiary was Miranda Fairfax, but Annabel was certain the local postmaster would let her cash in the document.

      She grinned into the empty room. Gold Crossing, here I come. Not brazen enough to travel without a ticket, as her older sisters had done, she now had the funds to pay for her passage. And, with Cousin Gareth gone, she didn’t even have to plot for an escape. She could simply walk out of the house, as bold as a captain on a ship.

      * * *

      The adventure of it! Annabel sat on the train, trying to take in everything at once—the scenery flashing by, the passengers sitting in their seats, the uniformed conductor strolling up and down the corridor.

      The constant craning was making her hair unravel from beneath the flat cap she wore, and she hurried to shove the long, dark tresses out of sight. A threadbare wool coat and trousers completed her outfit. On her feet she wore leather boots, much too large, but two pairs of thick socks improved the fit.

      Would she pass for a boy? Her skin was too smooth and her features too feminine, and the rough garments swamped her slender frame, but she hoped the disguise would make the journey safer for a young girl traveling alone.

      In truth, she wasn’t frightened, merely apprehensive. Her sisters liked to call her highly strung, but she was brave in her own way, almost as brave as Miranda, and no less determined than Charlotte. And everyone agreed she was the cleverest. It was merely that her emotions ran a bit closer to the surface, sometimes gushing out like water from a fountain.

      On the bench beside her she had a canvas haversack, the kind sailors used. Annabel gave the bulky shape a pat with her hand, and in return she heard the reassuring clink of gold coins, hidden away in a secret compartment.

      To start with, the postmaster had refused to let her cash in the money order, but she’d persuaded him by telling him that Miranda had suffered a mental collapse and the funds were required to pay for her care at a sanatorium.

      Feeling the need to stretch her legs, Annabel slung the haversack over her shoulder and set off to visit the convenience at the far end of the car. Clumsy in her big boots, she trundled along the corridor.

      The lock on the cubicle door showed red, indicating the convenience was occupied. Annabel waited, trying to look masculine. She dipped her chin, seeking to lower her voice in case someone addressed her and she would have to reply.

      A minute passed, then another. Perhaps the cubicle was empty, the lock merely stuck on red. Annabel curled her fingers around the brass handle and twisted. The lock gave with a rattling sound, and the door sprang open.

      Inside the cramped convenience stood a voluptuous young woman. Her gown was unlaced, the bodice folded out of the way. A plump baby suckled at her naked breast. Fascinated at the vision of motherhood, Annabel stared. The woman stared back, a stunned expression on her face.

      Without warning, the iron wheels bounced over a junction in the tracks. The woman gave a shriek of alarm. She teetered on her feet, nearly dropping the baby as she struggled to maintain her balance against the rocking of the train.

      Darting into the convenience, Annabel gripped the woman by the front of her gown. “I’ve got you!” A few stitches ripped, but Annabel succeeded in holding the young mother upright until she had recovered her footing and could hold the baby securely to her breast.

      Vaguely, Annabel noticed the train was slowing for a stop. The woman, a blonde with arched eyebrows, glowered at her rescuer. “Young man, unhand me this very instant.”

      Startled, Annabel released her grip. “I was only trying to—”

      “Conductor!” the woman shouted. “Conductor!”

      The conductor, a burly man with a moustache, sweat shining on his face, hurried over to them. By now, the woman had regained her composure and was using one hand to cover herself with the shawl she wore draped around her shoulders.

      She gestured at Annabel with her chin. “This young man, this...urchin...forced the door on the convenience while I was inside, tending to my baby. He stared at my breasts and laid his hands on me, tearing my gown.” The woman lowered her voice. “Pervert, and just a boy. What’s the world coming to?”

      Annabel shrank back a step. “I was only—”

      “Is it true, young man?” the conductor boomed.

      “I’m not...” Annabel glanced down at her clothing. I’m not a boy.

      “Are you questioning me?” The woman’s voice grew shrill. She glowered at the pair of them. “Are you suggesting that I invited this perverted young man to ogle at me and damage my gown?”

      Annabel fisted her hands at her sides. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. She’d been so proud of how well the journey was going...she’d only been trying to help...but how could she explain without giving her disguise away?

      “I’m