Joanna Shupe

Josie

The last notes floated away on the breeze and the crowd broke out into applause. I smiled and closed my eyes, soaking in the approval like a patch of dry grass in the rain.

I couldn’t get enough.

Singing was my obsession, but it was about more than earning money. It was how I expressed what I was feeling. There was too much happening inside my head and I didn’t know any other way to get it out other than through song. I would die if I couldn’t sing.

It was also my only talent, the single thing I could do to make me stand out in this world. I planned to use it to my advantage, just as soon as I figured out how.

The applause died down and I thanked the crowd. As the people wandered away I gathered my things. It had been a good day thus far. Soon Pip and I would be able to afford a better neighborhood. Pippa Devlin, my closest friend and roommate, grew up with me at the Boston Children’s Asylum, and she worked as a barmaid in the saloon where I sometimes performed. We didn’t have it easy, but we were used to hardship, thanks to our upbringing at the asylum.

I capped the jar, sealing all that beautiful money in tight. Thieves and miscreants were everywhere in this city, and I couldn’t risk having my earnings stolen. I slipped the jar into my carpetbag and hefted it over my shoulder.

“Miss!”

Walking quickly, I ignored the deep voice. It wasn’t uncommon for a man to approach me after a performance. Some assumed I did more than sing on the street for money, which couldn’t be further from the truth.

I had no time for men in any capacity. I was going to be famous and everyone knew that women in love made terrible decisions, always putting themselves second. Well, I would never do that. My career came first.

He shouted again, closer this time, and I sighed. There would be no outrunning him, so I slowly turned. A man hurried toward me, his lithe frame clad in a smart dark suit. A derby covered oiled hair, and startling blue eyes peeked out from under the brim of his hat. His wide smile showed off even white teeth, and I blinked. Most people undoubtedly found his handsome demeanor reassuring, but I was instantly on edge. What did a man who looked like this—and dressed like this—want with me?

Nothing good. That was what.

Folding my hands, I waited. “Yeah?”

He tipped his hat. “That was quite a rousing performance, miss. Your voice is magnificent.”

“Thanks.”

I spun and started to hurry away, but he suddenly appeared before me, blocking my path. “I was here the day before yesterday to watch you. Maybe you remember me?”

Was he serious? There were far too many people in the square to remember one, even if he was such a handsome specimen. “Nope, I don’t.”

I tried to edge around him, but he wouldn’t budge. “Wait, don’t rush off. Perhaps I could buy you an ice cream. There’s a saloon around the corner.”

Ice cream? That was a new one. “No thanks. I need to be on my way.” When I tried to leave, he danced ahead of me again. Huffing, I said, “You better move, mister, or I’m punching you.”

“Wait. Don’t hit me. The name’s Leo. Leo Hardy.”

He waited for me to introduce myself, but I didn’t bother. “As I said, you’d better move, Mr. Hardy.”

He put up his palms. “I’m not a masher, I swear it.”

“Exactly what a masher would say. Now, move.”

A chuckle emerged as he grinned at me. Sakes alive, he was pretty. Heat bloomed in the pit of my stomach, but I shoved the unwanted feeling away. This was hardly the time to start swooning after a handsome face.

“I admire your spirit, miss,” he said. “A young woman can never be too cautious in this city. But I merely wish to speak with you regarding your singing career.”

Now that got my attention. “What about it?”

“No can do. I never discuss business on the street. It’s ice cream or bust, Miss . . . ?”

“Smith.”

The little lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled down at me. “Miss Smith. What do you say?”

Was I honestly considering this? I was hungry and he looked like he could afford a treat or two. Was there harm in hearing what he had to say while I ate, then set about my business? “All right, but just ice cream.”

Anastasia is one of my favorite stories. A fake princess who is really the princess? Say no more! So when my editor suggested the idea for this book, I immediately jumped on it. You already know that I love a morally gray hero, and Leo and Josie were a blast to write.

A lot of research into nineteenth-century Broadway went into this book. I’ve tried to keep as much accuracy here as possible, though I may have adjusted some of the performance dates. Lotta Crabtree is all true, just as fascinating a person as you’d imagine.

Thank you to my editor, Tessa Woodward, at Avon, and the fabulous team at HarperCollins who work to support my books, especially Madelyn Blaney, DJ DeSmyter, and May Chen.

I’m very grateful to Holly Root and the team at Root Literary, who have been the most awesome cheerleaders for me and this book. Thank you!

To Jennifer Prokop, who helped shape so much of what The Gilded Heiress became, thank you! I’m so grateful for your thoughts and feedback. I will learn to keep a timeline someday, I swear!

A special shout out to Diana Quincy, who is my ride or die. I am incredibly lucky to have her in my life.

Thank you to my family, especially my husband. He keeps my crazy life on track, and none of this is possible without him. Love you, babe!

Lastly, thank you to the readers! You make this job worthwhile, and I’m so grateful for all the support. Let’s do this again soon!