SWEETHEART REUNION

What was his brother’s widow—his first love—doing on a ship full of prospective brides headed out West? Clay Howard had been tasked with escorting the Boston belle home, but he didn’t anticipate Allegra being so strong-willed—or that he’d wind up traveling with her just to keep her from leaving without him!

Allegra Banks Howard isn’t going to let Clay interfere with her plans for a new life with her daughter on the frontier. True, Allegra needs his wilderness savvy, but if Clay thinks he can rekindle what they once shared, he had better think again. Because risking her heart for a second chance at being his bride isn’t something she’ll undertake lightly….

Frontier Bachelors: Bold, rugged—and bound to be grooms

“It’s not your responsibility to save me from myself. Frankly, it’s not your responsibility to save me at all.”

Oh, but she was going to have a mutiny on her hands any moment. She could almost see the arguments mustering behind Clay’s pale eyes. It wasn’t in him to give up on something he believed. Perhaps that was one of the things she admired most about him.

But Allie wasn’t about to give up either.

She pulled away from him. “Let me offer you a compromise, though I know how much you hate the concept.”

Clay cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

That was more than she’d once thought possible. “Give me the opportunity to make my own mistakes,” she said, “to chart my own course, just as you did when you left Boston. And I promise, if I feel myself incapable of resolving a problem, I’ll come to you for advice.”

She held out her hand. “Do we have a bargain, sir?”

He eyed her hand a moment, then swallowed it in his grip. His fingers were as firm as his convictions. “We have a bargain, madam, though I have my doubts that either of us can keep it.”

REGINA SCOTT

started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages, including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.

She and her husband of over twenty-five years reside in southeast Washington State with their overactive Irish terrier. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet, and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com, or connect with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorreginascott.

The Bride Ship

Regina Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

She is clothed with strength and dignity;

she can laugh at the days to come.

—Proverbs 31:25

To my Larry, who encourages me to take the right path, and to the Lord, who always lights the way.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Pier 2, New York Harbor January 16, 1866

Head high, Allegra Banks Howard held her daughter’s hand and marched down the rough planks of the pier to join the queue of women about to board the S.S. Continental. In the frigid air that blew up the Hudson, the four-year-old’s skin looked nearly as blue as her wide eyes inside the hood of her fur-lined cloak.

“I’m not seeing that fellow who’s been following you,” her friend Madeleine O’Rourke reported, standing beside Allie on tiptoe to peer through the crowd that surrounded them.

“Neither am I,” Allie replied, but she wished she could be certain. She and Maddie weren’t tall enough to look over the others’ heads. With so many people about, their pursuer might be within a few feet of them, and Allie wouldn’t know until he swooped down to grab them. Her hand tightened on her daughter’s.

Stay with us, Lord! We’re so close!

“And when will we catch sight of Mr. Mercer?” her other friend Catherine Stanway asked behind them. With her pale hair smoothed back under a fashionable feathered hat, she did not appear overly troubled by the absence of their leader. “Will the man miss his own sailing?”

Allie shook her head. All she’d wanted this afternoon was to take Gillian aboard the ship bound for Washington Territory. They would travel with Asa Mercer and the dozens of women who had pledged themselves to live and work in the new city of Seattle, to help make it a community.

She’d already met many of the other travelers, from the ever-so-proper Catherine to the outspoken Maddie. She could hear the women in line now, chatting with excitement. Each had a story to tell, of loss, of hope, of faith. Each believed her destiny lay on the far-off shores of Puget Sound. After all Allie had gone through, she refused to be left behind!

And yet, from the moment she and Gillian had tiptoed out of the Howard mansion in the dead of night in Boston two weeks ago, nothing had gone right. One of the horses had thrown a shoe, delaying the stage at Hartford; someone had stolen the bag with most of Gillian’s clothes as she and Allie waited in Danbury; and for the last three days, an older man in a common brown coat had dogged their steps every time they had set foot outside the hotel. Allie was fairly sure she knew his purpose.

She wouldn’t go back to Boston. She couldn’t. Gillian’s future and her own depended on it.

The line crawled forward, far too slowly for Allie, while all around them New Yorkers gathered to see them off, gazes curious, voices no more than a murmur among the calls of the sailors and the creak of hoists. That frost-laden wind tugged at her quilt-lined wool cloak, sending icy fingers even under her gray skirts, and she was thankful she’d decided to put on multiple petticoats instead of the steel crinoline her mother had once favored.

What would her mother and father have said if they could see her now? For the first time she was grateful they hadn’t lived to see how their good friends the Howards had trespassed on her nature.

A tug blew its mournful horn as it chugged by, coughing silver smoke. Allie felt as if the sound echoed inside her. She could not fail, not this time. She refused to be the woman the Howards expected, and she would not allow Gillian to be molded into a shape that ill suited her, forced to marry, to live to please the prominent family.

As if her daughter quite agreed, she pulled on Allie’s hand. “Let’s go, Mother. I’m going to have the vapors.”

The vapors. Allie knew where Gillian had learned the word. Allie had been advised by her mother-in-law to use the excuse whenever she felt distaste for a situation. A lady might have the vapors when an unwanted suitor came to call, when a treasured gown no longer fit properly. If a Howard had the vapors, people scurried to fix the problem. But having the vapors would hardly help them now.

Allie bent to lift her daughter into her arms. Gillian seemed heavier even than the day before. She was growing so fast, at least physically and mentally. But life with the Howards had bruised her daughter, and Allie could only thank God for the chance to take Gillian out of that environment.

“We’ll be aboard soon enough, sweetheart,” she promised. She nodded to the man in a brown coat and cap who stood beside the gangway, sheaf of papers flapping in his grip. “See that fellow? He’s very likely the purser, ready to welcome us. And he may ask us some questions. Remember what we practiced?”

Gillian nodded solemnly. She was such a serious child, every propensity for play eradicated by the stern governess her grandmother had hired.

“We are going west because of Papa,” she said.

Allie nodded encouragement. After all, it was the truth. Frank’s death had been the catalyst to propel Allie from Boston at last. But a casual questioner would likely assume Gillian’s father was waiting for her on the West Coast and not connect them with the story that had appeared in the New York papers about the Howards’ missing daughter-in-law. It had been a little unnerving for Allie to see her face gazing back at her from the sketch on the page.

She only hoped the purser was less observant as she set Gillian back down and came abreast of him. Could he tell that the hair tucked inside her hood was jet black? If she lowered her gaze fast enough, would he fail to notice her eyes were as deep a blue as Gillian’s? Her clothes were wrinkled from travel. She’d traded her velvet coat for this gray wool cloak. She knew she had shed a few pounds of worry with each step away from home.

Did she still look like the daughter of one of Boston’s best families?

Apparently not, for all he said was “Name?” with his gaze poised over the papers. He was a small man, clean-shaven, with straight brown hair peeping out from under his cap of office and not much older than her twenty-three years, she thought.

“Allegra Banks and daughter,” she replied, using every skill her mother had taught her to keep her voice level, calm and composed.

He scanned down the page, then looked up. His smile warmed her. “You are on the list, Mrs. Banks. I’m Mr. Debro, the purser. We’ll provide more information about the journey once everyone has been settled. Welcome aboard.”

Heat flushed up her. This was it, their chance. No more arguments with her mother-in-law about how she should live, what she should think; no more pulling her hand from the fevered grip of Frank’s cousin as he offered himself as her next husband; no more fighting over who would influence Gillian’s future. Perhaps she could even forget the look on Frank’s face when he’d marched off to meet his death at the Battle of Hatcher’s Run, leaving her a widow.

Allie’s foot was on the gangway when a hand came down on her shoulder.

“You don’t have to do this, Allegra,” a man said.

Allie’s breath caught in her chest like a bird in a cage. It couldn’t be. Clay was many miles away and nearly six long years ago. Yet she could not mistake that voice: deep as a winter’s night and warm as hot chocolate on a cold New England morning. It still had the power to set her to trembling.

She glanced back. The man standing behind her dwarfed the purser. One gloved hand sat heavily on her shoulder, the other was wrapped around the handles of a worn leather satchel as if he’d come at great haste to find her. His fur coat would have made him look like a bear except that the hair escaping his fur-lined hat was as red-gold as the lashes framing those cool green eyes. His skin was more bronzed than she remembered, as if he’d spent much time out of doors, and where once he’d laughed at life, now he seemed to be scowling.

Clay Howard could have only one reason for being here now. Somehow, his family had found him and sent him in pursuit of her. They must have thought she’d bow to his demands. She refused to be the little scared mouse of a girl who had wed his brother because she couldn’t bear to follow Clay into the wilderness. She was a widow now, a woman of her own making. She didn’t have to pretend she had the vapors.

She drew herself up, looked down the nose her mother had always called entirely too pert, and said in a perfect imitation of Mrs. Howard’s prim tone, “You have no call to accost me, sir. Unhand me before I call the authorities.”

Mr. Debro took a step closer. “Mrs. Banks? Is there a problem?”

“Banks?” Clay shook his head as he dropped his hand. “I might have known you’d go by your maiden name.” He nodded to the purser. “This is Mrs. Howard, and I’m Mr. Howard. I suggest you leave the lady to me.”

* * *

Clay watched the purser’s frown deepen even as Allegra paled. The creamy color suited her more than the angry red she’d worn when she’d first seen him.

Of course, he probably looked just as red. It wasn’t often you found your dead brother’s wife trying to board a ship of husband hunters. That was the kindest term given to the women foolish enough to join Mercer’s expedition to Seattle.

Why would a woman put her faith in Asa Mercer after seeing his ad in a newspaper? By all accounts, he’d only held one meeting with the women. And as for the jobs supposedly waiting for these women when they landed on those verdant shores? He knew from experience they were more likely to find the willing arms of every lumberjack, fur trapper, farmer and prospector starved for female companionship.

Allegra Banks didn’t need to go to Seattle to find herself another husband. He hadn’t been out of Boston a month before she’d married his younger brother. He was certain the men must be lining up for the chance to be husband number two.

He would never be one of them. His mother and the Boston belles he’d met cherished a picture in their minds of the perfect husband, and he’d soon realized he could not fit that frame. He took too many risks, with his money, with his life, to ever make a good gamble for a husband.

No job held his interest for long. He’d panned for gold in California and shipped lumber from the forests of Oregon Territory. Half the people of Seattle owed him their livelihood because he’d been willing to invest the money he’d earned to take a chance on their dreams. If they didn’t make good, he’d be back in the gutter again. What wife would ever put up with such an unpredictable lifestyle? And why should he settle for anything less than his freedom?

If he had the sense God had given him, he’d have refused his mother’s request to bring Allegra back to Boston where she belonged. But for once he found himself in agreement with his family. The wilderness was no place for a pampered Boston socialite like Allegra Banks.

As if to prove it, she shrugged out of his grip, blue eyes flashing fire. The black silky fringe trimming her gray skirts positively trembled in her ire. But before she could level him with a word, as he knew she was capable of doing, another voice interrupted. It was thin and reedy and seemed to be coming from the front of Allegra’s cloak.

“Papa?”

The word stabbed through his chest, made it hard to breathe. A little girl peered around Allegra to gaze up at him. Curls as golden as Frank’s were pressed inside the hood of her cloak. But those blue eyes, like the sea at night, were all her mother’s.

“Hush, Gillian,” Allegra said, one hand going to pull the child close.

Gillian. His mother’s name. No one had said anything about Allegra and Frank having a little girl, but then the mighty Howards were all too good at pretending. If they could forget they had another son besides precious Frank, they could certainly forget an inconvenient granddaughter. He couldn’t imagine his father willing anything to a girl, and he doubted his dutiful brother would have risked their mother’s wrath by leaving his estate to a daughter. Still, the pier must have been bucking with the incoming tide, for he suddenly found it hard to keep his footing as well.

The purser didn’t seem to be having any trouble. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Aren’t you the widow Mrs. Banks?”

He had the widow part right. And like the rest of Boston society, she probably thought Clay was to blame. He’d fought his father all his life. It was only logical that Clay should have been the one to go to war, the one who died fighting. He was the prodigal son who had never managed to ask forgiveness for leaving. No one in his family but Frank would have mourned his loss.

“Mr. Howard is correct,” Allegra said, still so stern she could have been a professor at Harvard. “My married name was Howard, but he bears no responsibility for me. I make my own decisions.”

And she had every right and capacity to do so. She was of age, and she’d been smart enough to turn down his offer of marriage once. But he couldn’t agree with her decision this time.

The purser nodded toward the ship, where a couple of burley sailors had paused in their work to watch the scene on the pier. “In that case, I must ask you to do as the lady asks, Mr. Howard. I believe you will find yourself outgunned shortly.”

The sailors were a match for him in size, but he’d tussled with bears twice as furious. “I don’t much care what you believe,” Clay said. “Mrs. Howard and her daughter are coming with me.”

He flipped back one side of his coat. He could see the purser eyeing him, taking note of the size of his shoulders, the way his free hand hung down in ready reach of the pistol on his hip. Mr. Debro had to realize that Clay wasn’t one of the proper Boston gentlemen who courted women like Allegra Banks. They would only have protested, promised a stinging letter to the editor of the newspaper, refused to raise a fuss. Clay specialized in raising fusses.

Still, the purser held his ground. “Mrs. Howard, do you wish to speak to this man?”

Allegra frowned at him. She had to wonder at his presence, standing here, bag in hand, as if he’d just arrived on the stage. After all, the last time she’d seen him, he’d been begging her to marry him, to leave Boston and journey west. Her refusal had stung then, but everything he’d experienced since had told him she had been right to stay in Boston where she would be safe.

And he certainly didn’t look the part of a gentleman ready to escort a lady home. His fur coat was patched together in places, his boots were scuffed and dirty, and all he carried with him were a few days of clothing and toiletries stuffed in his satchel. His own mother had refused to allow him in her parlor. Allegra would be mad to accept his help.

Or desperate. As her breath came in short bursts like the puffs of a steam engine, he could almost feel her determination. He couldn’t understand what had driven her out of the city of her birth. Surely returning to Boston was preferable to traveling thousands of miles away to a place she was ill suited to live. Why was she so set on leaving home?

“Excuse me.” Clay turned to find a pretty blonde in a tailored brown coat behind him along with a narrow-eyed woman in a cloak nearly as red as her hair. Around them ranged several other women, all with heads high and fingers clutching their reticules as if they meant to use the little cloth bags to effect.

The blonde’s smile was tight under her trim brown hat. “The tide turns within the hour, sir,” she informed him, patrician nose in the air as if even the scent of his soap offended her. “We have a great deal to do before then. You have no right to detain our friend.” She flapped her gloved fingers at him as if shooing a chicken. “Be gone.”

The other women nodded fervently.

Clay inclined his head. “I’m not here for trouble, ladies. I have only Mrs. Howard’s best interests in mind, I assure you.”

“Sure’n, isn’t that what they all say?” The lady with the red curls clustered about her oval face had a voice laced with the lilt of Ireland. She looked him up and down. “Go on, now. A big strapping lad like you can’t be so lacking for female companionship he needs to snatch his women off the pier. Have some respect for yourself.”

For once in his life, Clay had no idea how to respond. As if she knew it, Allegra smothered a laugh. Even her daughter was regarding him quizzically.

“Truly, sir,” the blonde scolded him, “it’s the Christian thing to do.”

“It’s all right, ladies,” Allegra said. “Mr. Howard was just saying farewell.”

Now besides the humor, he could hear triumph in her voice. She thought her posse of vigilante females would frighten him off. She expected him to wish these ladies well, to allow her and Frank’s daughter to board this vessel and sail off to places that would endanger their values, their faith and their very lives.

Normally, he’d be the last to dissuade anyone from pursuing a dream. He knew the heady feeling of charting his own course, making his own way. Yet he also knew what lay waiting for these women in the wilderness.

Father, how can I compromise my own beliefs and let them go?

He couldn’t. Allegra’s determination must have been contagious, for he felt his shoulders straightening with purpose.

“Give me five minutes, Allegra,” he said. “If I can’t persuade you to return to Boston, I won’t stop you from boarding the ship.”

She held her ground, one hand on Gillian, the other grafted to the rope edging the gangway.

“Mrs. Banks, er, Howard?” the purser put in, pausing to clear his throat as if as unsure of his reception as he was of her true name. “If you intend to speak to Mr. Howard, I must ask you to step away so I can continue the boarding process.”

The blonde came to Allegra’s side, chin up and pale blue eyes narrowed with purpose. “If you want to go, Mrs. Banks, I’ll watch over Gillian.” She glanced at Clay as if she didn’t trust him. “But if you wish to board, I wouldn’t give this fellow another moment of your time.”

He couldn’t chide her spirit or her practicality. Allegra hadn’t seen him in years. She had no way of knowing the man he had become. He tried to smile. She didn’t look any more certain of him.

In fact, he could almost see the thoughts behind those deep blue eyes, weighing her options, determining his worth. He’d seen the look before, the calculation of a Boston socialite over whether a person warranted the pleasure of her company. He’d thought he was beyond caring about the conclusion of such an assessment. Once, that conclusion would have immediately been in his favor as a Howard. Now his family couldn’t be bothered to receive him. Still, he was surprised by the wave of relief that coursed through him when Allegra transferred her daughter’s hand to her friend’s.

“Go with Ms. Stanway, Gillian,” Allegra said with a sidelong look to him. “I can allow five minutes for your uncle, but no more.”

Chapter Two

Five minutes should have been more than enough time to make her refusal to whatever Clay had to say. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance that would change her mind about her plans. If she remained in plain view of the ship, he could do nothing to prevent her from leaving. She’d seen Mr. Debro look at the sailors. She knew she could count on help if needed.

But Gillian wasn’t content to let her go. She must have slipped her hand from Catherine’s, for she darted to Allie’s side. “Can I come, too, please? He looks like Papa.”

The longing in her voice tugged at Allie’s heart. Gillian had been all of two when her father had left for war. Allie had read her all the letters he’d sent, especially the stories he wrote just for her. Gillian couldn’t understand the finality of death, the fact that her father would never return.

But to see Frank in Clay? Allie looked him over more closely. Perhaps the color of his hair was similar, but his had always been straighter than Frank’s, his eyes more pale and piercing, his body taller and stronger. They had been so different, in temperament, in ambitions. Clay had never obeyed his parents with unquestioning devotion like her husband. Frank had been smooth, polished, proper. Clay had been defiant, commanding, but now everything about him was rough, from the stubble on his proud chin to the dust on his worn knee-high boots. She couldn’t see Frank in him.

But at Gillian’s statement, he pushed back his hat. “Clever of you, little miss, to notice,” he said with a bow. “I’m your father’s brother. And I’m here to bring you home.”

Gillian’s eyes widened. Allie sucked in a breath and stepped between them. How dare he try to use her daughter against her!

“Gillian’s home is with me, sir,” she informed him. “And I am heading for Seattle.” She gave Gillian a hug before patting her back and pushing her toward Catherine. Catherine took the little girl’s hand and turned to give her own name to the purser.

“I’m not trying to usurp your place,” Clay said quietly as he straightened and the other women returned to their places in line. “I thought Frank’s daughter deserved to know her family.”

Guilt whispered; she could not afford to listen. She knew that by taking Gillian to Seattle, she was cutting off everyone the little girl had ever known. But Clay had been away for so long. He couldn’t understand how his family had tried to control Allie, to control Gillian. He knew she’d refused to leave Boston once. How could he realize how important this trip was to her now?

“You are wasting your five minutes, sir,” she said. “I believe you only have three left.”

His mouth compressed in a tight line. He glanced about, then led her through the crowds and a little apart from the gangway to the shelter of a stack of crates awaiting loading. Allie could see Catherine taking Gillian aboard the ship. Some of the tension seemed to be going with them. Whatever happened now, at least her daughter was safe.

She turned to find Clay eyeing her. “Why are you here, Allegra?” he asked.

Though his tone was more perplexed than demanding, she felt her spine stiffening. “I would think that obvious. We’re going with Mr. Mercer to Seattle.”

“And you think that’s your best choice for a future?” he asked with a frown. “What about Boston? Your place in society?”

Her place in society? Well, she’d once considered it precious, and he had cause to remember. She was the one who didn’t like remembering. She’d been so sure then of what she’d wanted. She’d been taught to manipulate to achieve her goals, yet she hadn’t realized how easily she’d been manipulated until it was almost too late.

She puffed out a sigh of vexation that hung in the chill air between them. “You honestly think I should be content to stay in Boston? And this from the man who ran away to join the Wild West show!”

A smile hitched up, and it somehow seemed as if the gray day brightened. “I wanted to see the Wild West, not play cowboy in a show,” he replied. “And from what I’ve seen, the Northwest territories are no place for a woman.”

“Which is precisely why women are needed,” Allie argued. “You can’t tell me Seattle won’t be improved by teachers, nurses, seamstresses and choir leaders.”

He chuckled. “That statement merely shows what little you know of Seattle. There are few children to teach, a single struggling hospital for the nurses, no call for fancy clothes for the seamstresses.”

Allie’s eyes narrowed. His description hardly matched the information Mr. Mercer had given them. How could Clay know so much about Seattle? If her in-laws had ever received letters from him, they hadn’t shared the news with her. And Frank, of course, rarely spoke of Clay. He thought the entire matter too painful for her.

“So you’ve seen Seattle,” she said, watching him.

His gaze met hers. Up close, the changes of time were obvious: the fine lines beside his eyes, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his smile turned from pleased to grim.

“I’ve been there,” he said so carefully she could only wonder if he’d robbed the bank. But perhaps they didn’t have a bank, either!

“Then you must know why we’re needed,” Allie told him.

“Besides being someone’s wife?” he asked, rubbing a hand along his square jaw. “No. Seattle is a scattering of houses in a clearing, five hundred people, give or take. And the outlying settlements are worse. I heard most of these ladies going with Mercer are orphans. They’ve nowhere else to turn. You have a family, a home, opportunity for a future. I can’t see you as one of Mercer’s belles.”

At least he hadn’t used one of the unkind names she’d seen in the newspapers. Cargo of Heifers. Petticoat Brigade. Sewing Machines. The editor of one of the local papers had expressed extreme doubt that any girl going to seek a husband was worthy to be a decent man’s wife. What, did the rest of the country expect every woman who’d lost a sweetheart, a husband in that horrible war to simply stop living? That they couldn’t find employment instead of decorating a man’s home?

Anger bubbled up inside her. “I have no intention of seeking a husband in Seattle. And may I remind you that you had a home and opportunities once, too. That didn’t stop you from leaving.”

His jaw tightened. “I knew what I wanted and what I was leaving behind. I doubt you do.”

Didn’t she? How many nights had she lain in her canopied bed, warm, safe, suffocating? How many times had she prayed for wisdom, for guidance? Her prayers had been answered with a dream, a future for her and Gillian that didn’t include marrying someone the Howards picked out. When Allie had seen the advertisement in the paper for teachers and other workers in far-off Washington Territory, she’d known it was the pointing of God’s finger. She’d been the one to close the door on adventure once. Now He’d opened it, and she intended to follow His lead.

“Save your doubts, Mr. Howard,” she said. “Save your breath, as well. You gave up the right to order me about years ago.”

Clay’s brows went up, and he took a step back to stare at her. Allegra Evangeline Banks Howard would never have spoken to a gentleman that way, particularly not her husband’s brother.

“You’ve changed,” he said.

“How perceptive of you to notice,” she replied. “Did you think I had no more to worry about than which dress to wear? Motherhood, and widowhood, mature a woman in a dozen ways. And this trip will do more.”

He sighed and dropped his gaze to the wooden pier, where his boots scuffed at an iron nail. “I can see you’re certain, but I can’t let you get on that ship, Allegra. You have no idea how to survive in the wilderness.”

She knew he was right. Who was she to take on such a challenge, to brave the unknown? But her will rose up even as her head came up.

“Clayton Howard,” she said, breath as sharp as her words, “if you can learn, so can I. Now, you have had your five minutes, sir. Nothing you’ve said has dissuaded me from leaving. Thank you for coming. Good day.”

Before she could push past him, he held up his hands as if in surrender. His words, however, were far from capitulating. “I can’t demand that you come with me, Allegra, though I’ve no doubt my mother expected me to do so. She’s ready to welcome you back to the family. Isn’t that better than heading off to the wilderness alone?”

So he was willing to admit that he was here on his mother’s behest. She couldn’t help the frustration building inside her. Was she never to be free?

“I think it’s time Gillian and I made our own family,” she informed him. “And you can tell that to your exalted mother. And as for the other member of your family, your cousin Gerald, you can tell him that I wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth, and sending bullies after me isn’t going to persuade me otherwise!”

He cocked his head. “Gerald has been pressuring you?”

That’s what he heard? Not that she was her own person, capable of making her own decisions. Not that she considered him nothing but a bully to chase after them this way. No, he had to fixate on the rival, the cousin who seemed intent on inheriting the considerable estate that would have been Clay’s if his father hadn’t disowned him when Clay headed west.

“Every day,” Allie told him. “In every possible way. He’s become extremely tiresome.” It was the most polite way to put it. At times, Gerald had looked at her with a glint in his eyes that made her feel as if she had suddenly fallen through the ice on the pond below the house. It was as if he coveted her, as if she were a possession. And Clay’s mother had encouraged him. She shuddered just remembering.

Clay must have seen her movement, for he took her arm. “Allow me to escort you back to the hotel,” he said. “We can talk further where it’s warmer.”

Behind her, the Continental blew its horn, the blast piercing the cold air. She would not let the ship leave without her. Her bags were already aboard. And she would never abandon Gillian.

She pulled her arm from Clay’s. “Your hearing must have been affected by your travels, sir. I am boarding this ship. If you insist on conversing further, you’ll have to board it with me.” She turned for the ship, keeping her head high, her steps measured. She wouldn’t look back, not to Boston, and not to Clay.

For all she had once wished otherwise.

* * *

Clay stared at Allegra as she headed for the gangway. She walked gracefully, as if on her way to a ball. She had no idea she was heading into trouble instead.

What am I to do with her, Lord?

The prayer held more exasperation than appeal. He’d ridden, by hired horse and stagecoach, from the Northwest territories to Boston in the last month, hoping to reunite with family after news of Frank’s death a year ago had reached him, courtesy of an old family friend. Though Frank was beyond Clay’s help, he had considered it his duty to ensure his brother’s widow was well provided for. But he’d met failure on all sides. The one task where he’d thought he could still succeed was to convince Allegra to return to Boston where she would be safe. Now even that seemed to be denied him.

But he’d never been one to give up without a fight.

His purpose, as he saw it, was to protect Frank’s wife and child. He’d never be a family man like Frank, steady, reliable, but he could at least make sure Allegra and Gillian had a solid future. If they refused to return to Boston where they belonged, then he had only one way to accomplish his goal. He had to return west in any event.

I know it may be crazy, Lord, but surely this is what You’d want me to do.

He shoved his hat down on his head a little farther and waited in the shadow of the crates as the last of the women filed up the gangway. The purser glanced through his notes with a frown, as if he thought he must be missing someone. Then he shrugged and climbed aboard, as well. As soon as the way was clear, Clay strolled up the gangway and onto the ship.

No one stopped him, ordered him to produce his ticket. With his satchel in his hand, he probably looked like a typical passenger, even if he wasn’t one of Mercer’s maidens. As it was, the crew and officers were far too busy preparing to sail to pay him any mind.

And the crowds were even denser on the deck than they had been on the pier. He was surprised to see several families aboard, older husbands with wives and children in tow, brothers escorting what were clearly sisters by the similarity of their features. People milled about, looks ranging from excitement to terror. At least some of them knew what they were leaving behind. Going from one coast to the other happened once in a lifetime for most people.

Clay moved among them, keeping an eye out for Allie and Gillian. Even with all the passengers on deck, it shouldn’t have been that hard to find them. As far as he could see, the entire ship was about as long as the Howard mansion in Boston but only half as wide.

The main deck circled the ship, with an upper deck above one of the blocky buildings. Though the black funnel sticking up in the center of the deck sputtered a cloud from the steam engine, two masts rose higher into the air. It seemed the Continental could sail under wind power, as well. The three buildings along the deck would house the wheel, the captain’s quarters and the officers’ mess, and the first-class accommodations, Clay guessed. The stairs running down beside them would likely take the passengers belowdecks, where they’d find another salon and staterooms for the ordinary passengers.

And there, just about where the first mast towered over the deck, Allegra stood with some of the other women, faces set resolutely toward the mouth of the North River.

Just then, the horn bellowed, and little Gillian cried out, arms reaching for her mother. Allegra gathered her close, bent her head as if to murmur reassurances. Something hot pressed against Clay’s eyes.

That little girl has lost so much, Father. I didn’t have a say in the matter, but now that I know about her, I can’t see her hurt further.

Neither could Allegra. That much was obvious. She raised the little girl’s chin with one finger, smiled at her, lips moving as if she promised a bright future.

How could he take that future from them?

He pushed his way through the crowds to their sides. Allegra looked up, then straightened at the sight of him, eyes widening.

“What are you doing?” she cried. “We’re about to sail!”

As if to prove her point, two of the crew began to haul in the gangway.

Clay glanced over his shoulder at the gangway, then back at Allegra. “It seems you’re set on going, Mrs. Howard. And that means I’m going with you.”

* * *

“What are you talking about?” Allie cried. He couldn’t be coming with them. Surely he wasn’t part of Mercer’s expedition. She’d never heard his name mentioned, hadn’t seen him at the hotel with the others. If she had, she might not be here now.

But before he could answer, the ship groaned, heaving away from the pier. Everyone around her rushed to the railing, carrying her and Gillian along with them, and for a moment, she lost sight of Clay.

The sight below them was compelling enough. From the pier, dozens of people waved and cheered. Boys threw their hats in the air. Women fluttered handkerchiefs. After the reception Mercer’s belles had received in the New England papers, Allie found it hard to believe so many New Yorkers would stand in the cold to watch them set sail. It was as if she and her friends were making history.

Those on the Continental were even more excited. Maddie was blowing kisses to the crowd below. Other passengers raised clasped hands over their heads in a show of victory. Even Catherine unbent sufficiently to give a regal wave. No one seemed bereft at what they were leaving behind. Hope pushed the ship down the bay. Hope brightened every countenance. Even the air tasted sweeter.

Perhaps that was why it was so very painful when hope was snatched away.

“Attention! Attention, please!” Mr. Debro hopped up on one of the wooden chests that dotted the deck and waved his hands as if to ensure everyone saw him. “We’ll be stopping shortly at quarantine near Staten Island. Everyone to the lower salon on the orders of Captain Windsor. This way!”

Allie and Maddie exchanged glances, and she saw worry darken her friend’s gaze.

“Very likely it’s nothing to concern us,” Catherine said as if she’d seen the look, as well. “The captain probably wishes to address the passengers before we reach the ocean.”

“Of course,” Allie agreed, but the frown on Maddie’s face said she wasn’t so sure. Allie took Gillian’s hand, and Catherine and Maddie fell in beside them as they headed for the salon.

It was a simple room, with a long wooden table scarred from frequent use. Around it, smaller tables and chairs made of sturdy wood hugged the white-paneled walls under the glow of brass lanterns. At one end, doors opposite each other led up to the deck, with another opening amidships that must lead to the upper salon. Other doors recessed along the way appeared to open onto staterooms. Across the back, a wide window and narrow door gave access to the galley where copper pans glinted in the glow from the fire in the massive black iron stove.

Already the room was crowded, but there seemed to be fewer women than Allie had expected. She’d heard that the expedition was to include as many as seven hundred female emigrants, yet she estimated at most sixty flitting from one group to another. And still she caught not a glimpse of Asa Mercer.

Catherine excused herself a moment to go speak to Mr. Debro, who was frantically shuffling his papers.

Gillian tugged on Allie’s skirts. “Where’s our new room, Mother?”

Mother. The formal word always reminded Allie of how she’d nearly failed her daughter. Gillian’s first word had been Mama, her second Papa. Allie had spent most of her time with her baby daughter, marveling over each change as Gillian grew into a toddler. But as soon as she was walking well, her grandmother had insisted on a governess.

“A small child can be so challenging,” she’d told Allie and Frank over tea in the formal parlor of the Howard mansion. “You’ve never been a mother before, Allegra. You have no experience with children. For Gillian’s sake, we should look for someone older to help you. Don’t you agree, Frank?”

Of course, Frank had agreed. Frank never argued with his mother. Allie had already been wondering about her ability to raise such an active little girl, so she’d agreed, as well. Gillian had moved into the nursery suite with a governess, and her next words had been please and thank-you and little else in between. Mama had never returned to her petal-pink lips.

“We’ll know where to go soon,” Allie promised now, taking her daughter’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “And we can sail off to adventure.”

Gillian nodded, but her frown told Allie she wasn’t sure adventure was something to eagerly anticipate.

Catherine returned then, her rosy lips tightened in obvious disapproval.

“This is a shameful state of affairs,” she said to Maddie and Allie, where they were waiting with Gillian along one wall. “What sort of ship allows stowaways to sneak aboard?”

Stowaways? Allie immediately glanced around for Clay and spotted him leaning against the far wall, a head taller than any other man in the room. He’d been clear from the start that he wanted them to leave. Surely he’d never paid his passage. Had he caused this commotion?

Just then, the young purser raised his voice from where he stood by the doorway to the upper salon.

“May I have your attention, ladies and gentlemen?” he called, and the other voices quieted as people shifted to see him better. Allie was close enough to notice the sheen of perspiration on his brow under the brown cap.

“There seems to be some misunderstanding as to which people have paid their passage,” he said, confirming Catherine’s statement. “When I call your name, please accompany me to the upper salon, where Captain Windsor and the authorities are waiting to examine your tickets. If you do not have the appropriate ticket, you will be asked to gather your things and embark on the tug alongside us, back to New York.”

Allie felt as if the air had left the room. She pulled Gillian closer as voices rose in protest.

“See here, sir,” an older gentleman declared, pushing his way to the front. “I’ve paid for a wife and five children. I’ve spent all we had waiting for this infernal ship to sail. If you send us back, where do you suggest we go?”

“Mr. Mercer assured me no money was needed,” another woman called. “He cannot go back on his word!”

“Where’s Mr. Mercer?”

“Yes, find Mr. Mercer!”

The cry was taken up by a dozen voices.

The purser raised his hand and managed to make himself heard above the din. “Mr. Mercer is presently unavailable, but rest assured, he has been consulted on the matter.”

Allie’s stomach knotted. She had only a letter from Asa Mercer, assuring her and Gillian of places on the ship. She’d never received an actual ticket. Would the captain count her letter as sufficient evidence to allow them to stay? Was her adventure over before it had begun?

Chapter Three

As soon as Clay heard the reason they had stopped, he knew he had to act. While the room erupted in protest, he slipped out the side door and circled around for the upper salon.

It was a more opulent room, with leather-upholstered armchairs positioned along the paneled walls for conversation and a large table running down the center for meals. Doors with brass latches and louvered windows opened onto spacious staterooms. The scent of fresh paint hung in the air.

Another table had been positioned across the top of the salon, where three men, one seated, two flanking him, waited in the brown-and-gold uniforms of the Holladay line.

Clay strode up to them and nodded to the man at the table. “Captain Windsor, sir. I’m Clayton Howard, and I’d like to report a stowaway.”

The captain eyed him. He seemed the very embodiment of the seas he sailed—gray hair, gray eyes, strong body and unyielding disposition.

“Indeed, Mr. Howard,” he intoned. “We are here to make that determination.”

“I’ll spare you the trouble,” Clay said. “I haven’t paid my passage, and I’d like to rectify that matter. Will you take gold certificates?”

Captain Windsor tilted up the cap of his office. “Certainly. But I must ask why you didn’t purchase a ticket beforehand.”

Clay couldn’t lie. “I came here intending to stop my brother’s widow from sailing. Since she is determined to make the trip, I’m coming with her.”

The officers behind the captain exchanged glances, but whether they thought him a tyrant or a fool, he couldn’t tell.

“Very well, Mr. Howard,” the captain said. “Some of the passengers who were supposed to have boarded did not make the sailing, so we should have room for you. Give your money to Mr. Debro when he arrives with our first passenger, and welcome aboard.”

Clay inclined his head. “Would you allow me to stay in the room until I’m certain my sister-in-law’s documents are sufficient?”

Captain Windsor agreed, and Clay went to sit on one of the chairs along the wall, where he could monitor the proceedings.

He thought it would be a simple matter. After all, how many stowaways could have slipped by Mr. Debro’s watchful eye? However, what he saw over the next hour disgusted him.

He knew the story of how Asa Mercer had come by the use of the S.S. Continental, which had seen service as a troop carrier in the war. The so-called emigration agent had written home to Seattle to boast of his accomplishment. None other than former general Ulysses S. Grant had allowed Ben Holladay to purchase the ship at a bargain and refit her for duty as a passenger ship so long as he agreed to carry the Mercer party to Seattle on her first run.

Mercer and Holladay had apparently settled on a price for passage, and Mercer had provided the list that Mr. Debro had used to allow passengers to board. But it was soon apparent that Mr. Debro’s list did not match Captain Windsor’s instructions from Mr. Holladay. Someone had cheated these people, but Clay couldn’t be sure whether it was Asa Mercer or the steamship company.

Everyone claimed to have paid or been told payment was unnecessary, the fare was courtesy of the fine people of Seattle. Mercer must have confessed how he’d accepted money from a number of gentlemen to bring them wives. Clay could only hope Allegra wasn’t one of the women with a husband waiting. The fellow was doomed to disappointment, for Clay still had hopes of discouraging her from settling in the wilderness. Surely over the course of their trip he could find the words to persuade her.

But the other passengers were more discouraged. Two men and their families, disappointment chiseled on every feature, had already been escorted downstairs to identify their belongings, along with a few crying women. One, Mr. Debro reported, had barricaded herself in a stateroom, refusing to leave. Others threatened retribution.

Allegra was different. She must have left Gillian below with friends, for when it was her turn, she glided into the room alone, head high, smile pleasant. Her gaze swept the space, resting briefly on Clay. Her look pressed a weight against his chest. She passed him without comment and went straight to the captain, pulling a piece of paper from the pocket of her cloak and holding it out as if allowing him to kiss her hand.

Captain Windsor didn’t even glance at her offering as Mr. Debro came to stand beside him. “I need a ticket, Mrs. Banks, not your correspondence with Mr. Mercer.”

She was paler than the first Boston snowfall, her profile still. “If you read that correspondence, Captain, you will see that Mr. Mercer acknowledges payment for my passage. I was promised a spot for me and my daughter. I paid Mr. Mercer six hundred dollars.”

Six hundred dollars. A princely sum for most people, but a pittance for his family.

“You may have paid Mr. Mercer,” Captain Windsor replied. “However, there is no record of Mr. Mercer relaying the monies to Mr. Holladay, the owner of this fine vessel. Have you any way to pay for your passage, madam?”

She shifted on her feet, setting the black fringe on her skirts to swinging. “I gave Mr. Mercer all I had. I’ve been washing dishes to pay for our board until the ship sailed.”

Clay stiffened. How was that possible? Frank must have provided for her. Clay hadn’t been surprised to hear that his younger brother had stepped in as soon as Clay had stepped out. Frank had been in love with Allegra for years. Besides, the marriage settlement had been considerable. He’d seen the papers, even if he’d left before signing them.

But if Allegra couldn’t pay her way, did that mean he had an opportunity to return her to Boston, after all?

“We have sufficient help in the kitchens,” Captain Windsor said across from him. “I’m afraid I have no choice but to send you back. Fetch up Ms. Madeleine O’Rourke, Mr. Debro.”

The purser frowned and glanced around Allegra toward Clay. “Mr. Howard? Will you be escorting the lady?”

Because Allegra had used her maiden name, the captain couldn’t know she was Clay’s sister-in-law. Clay rose, but she took a step closer to the captain.

“Please,” she said, voice low. “Don’t let him take me back. I’ll do anything.”

The tremor in her voice shook him. Had Frank’s death made Boston so impossible for her, being reminded of him everywhere she looked? He couldn’t conceive that his mealymouthed cousin Gerald had caused such heartache. The Allegra Banks he remembered would have silenced Gerald with a look.

Whatever its source, her pain propelled him to her side, forcing her gaze to meet his. For a moment, he saw fear looking back at him.

Father, what happened to her?

As if she was determined not to allow him to help, she took a breath, collected herself and became the sophisticated Allegra Banks he remembered.

“I don’t require your escort, Mr. Howard,” she said. “I know my way downstairs.”

“I’m not offering to escort you,” Clay said. “I’m offering to pay your way.” He was taking the biggest risk of his life, disappointing his family once again. Forgive me, Father, if I’ve mistaken Your direction, but I cannot help thinking this is the right thing to do.

As she stared at him, Clay turned to the captain, pulled out his pouch and counted off the last of his certificates. He’d have little to live on the rest of the trip, but if that meant a chance to help Allegra and Gillian, he could make do.

The captain glanced between the two of them. “Under the circumstances, Mrs. Howard,” he said, “I should ask you if you are willing to accept this man’s money for your fare.”

She had to know what accepting such a gift might mean, that she was somehow under Clay’s protection. Once more he could see the calculations behind her blue eyes.

“Have you pen and paper, sir?” she asked the captain. “I would have you draw up a contract between me and Mr. Howard.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Clay started, but she whirled to face him, eyes blazing.

“It is entirely necessary,” she scolded him. “I will not accept money from you without a contract. And I will pay you back every cent, even if I have to work the rest of my life to do so.”

He wanted to argue. Why couldn’t he do her this service? After all, the good citizens of Boston thought he’d been the one to abandon her, when he and Allegra had been promised for ages. But she knew the truth. She’d been the one to send him away.

He nodded. “Very well, Mrs. Howard. Let’s not trouble the good captain now. I’m sure there’s pen and paper belowdecks.”

She drew a deep breath, turned to the captain and inclined her head. “I accept Mr. Howard’s offer, then. If there is nothing else, gentlemen? I’d like to settle my daughter before we sail.”

Captain Windsor handed the certificates to the purser. “You’re free to go, Mrs. Howard. Mr. Debro will give you your stateroom number. I hope the trip is to your liking.”

She inclined her head again. “Come along, then, Mr. Howard. Let’s settle this between us.” She made her way from the room, head still high, steps measured, never doubting he’d be right on her heels, like a trained spaniel.

She thought a simple contract would settle things between them. He was certain it would never be that simple. He caught her arm before she could start down the stairs. “I don’t want your money, Allegra.”

Her chin was so high he thought her neck must hurt from the strain. “And I don’t want your help, Mr. Howard. But it appears that neither of us is going to get our wish.” She took a deep breath. “I’ll give you ten dollars a month once I’m employed in Seattle.”

She was a hopeless optimist. He couldn’t imagine what work she’d be qualified to do in Seattle, and she’d be lucky to make that much a month regardless of the job she took. Wasn’t this further proof that the wilderness was no place for her?

“It will take years for you to pay me off,” he pointed out. “I’ll give you better terms.” He lowered his head to meet her gaze. “You don’t want me around. That’s clear enough. But if you allow me to become acquainted with my niece, I’ll call us square.”

She sucked in a breath. “Spending time with Gillian? That’s it?”

Clay straightened. “That’s it. Though it goes without saying that I expect the two of us to try to be civil to each other for the three and a half months it will take to reach Seattle.”

She raised her brows. “Three and a half months being civil to you, Mr. Howard? You ask too much.” She pulled away from him and clattered down the stairs.

* * *

The nerve of the man! Allie stomped down the stairs, fury rising with each footfall. Clay Howard didn’t fool her for a second. All that talk about acquainting himself with his niece only to claim he wanted Allie to be “civil.” Her days in Boston society had taught her that when a gentleman paid so much money to support a lady, he generally expected a great deal more than civility—fawning gratitude, to say the least.

She did not intend to be civil about it.

Nor was she inclined to grant him any favors. She would find a way to pay him back. She might not be an excellent cook like Maddie or a trained nurse like Catherine, but she could sew a fine hand. All those years of embroidering pillowcases and tatting lace had to count for something. Mr. Mercer had assured her she could support Gillian by sewing for other families. She’d merely add Clay’s money to her list of expenses.

She felt him behind her on the stairs, but she refused to turn and look. Too bad she couldn’t simply pretend he wasn’t there. Her mother and his would have had no trouble doing so. Anyone in Boston society trembled to receive a cut direct from Mrs. Banks or Mrs. Howard. To her shame, Allie had used the gambit more than once on the men who had courted her, looking through them as if they weren’t there, refusing to hear their pleas for forgiveness for whatever they thought had annoyed her. She wasn’t going to treat anyone that way now.

But she could not help remembering the last time she’d seen Clay. She’d known she’d marry Clayton Howard since she was seven and overheard her mother talking with his. Clay had been thirteen then, an impossibly heroic figure in her eyes, and she’d spent much of the next ten years following him around with Frank beside her.

While her parents and the Howards complained that Clay was too wild, too undisciplined, Allie and Frank had looked up to him, tried to ape everything he did. She had a scar on her knee from where she’d been thrown trying to ride as well as he did. Frank had spent a week trying to master the way Clay tipped his top hat with such a flourish. Clay had just smiled at their antics and gone about his business. She’d never understood why his parents hadn’t appreciated him as much as his younger brother.

But when Allie turned seventeen, things changed. Boys who couldn’t be bothered to notice her suddenly vied for her attention. She was the belle of Boston, her parlor stuffed with suitors. Instead of her following Clay around, hoping to catch his eye, he was the one who had to compete for a moment with her. Her popularity had been exhilarating, and she’d let it go to her head.

Then came the night he’d confessed his dreams to her. Her mother had been hosting a ball, the house crowded with the very best of Boston society. Clay had looked so handsome, so commanding, in a tailored coat of midnight black that was the perfect complement to her pearly-white ball gown. The string quartet had been playing a lilting waltz, and she’d hoped Clay would take her in his arms and whirl her about the floor. Instead, he’d led her out onto the back veranda overlooking the gardens scented by her mother’s prized roses.

Clay had put his arms around her, sheltering her as moonlight bathed their faces, and she’d shivered in delight to find herself the center of his attention at last. But his words had not been the declaration she’d hoped.

“I’m done with Boston, Allegra,” he’d said. “I’m heading west, and I want you to come with me.”

She pulled away from him, fluttering her fan even as her pulse stuttered. “Clay,” she said, “you cannot mean it. Boston is our home. Everyone we know is here.”

“And everyone here knows me,” he countered. “That wild Howard boy. I feel as if I can’t breathe. Out west I can be my own man, a man you can be proud to call husband.”

Her heart soared. He wanted her beside him, his partner, his love. It was everything she’d ever wanted. And yet...

“I’d be proud of you here, too, Clay,” she assured him. “I know you and your father don’t see eye to eye, but if you talk to him...”

His hand sliced through the air. “I’ve talked to him too many times. I can’t be the man he expects, Allegra, and if I stay under his thumb I’ll be no man at all.” He caught her close, spoke against her temple. “Come with me. For ‘I am certain of nothing but the holiness of the heart’s affections and the truth of imagination.’”

She loved it when he quoted the old poets such as Keats. Clayton Howard knew all the ways to turn a phrase and take away her objections. But this time, instead of sweeping her away, his touch raised a panic.

She’d just come into her own. She was somebody. How could he ask her to leave?

She pushed him back. “Clay, be reasonable. Everyone knows there’s nothing but wilderness and savages beyond the Adirondacks. Boston society is the best in the nation. If you’d just try a little harder, I’m sure you could fit in.”

“That’s the problem,” he said, his warm voice cooling. “I don’t want to fit in, Allegra. I want more. I thought you’d want more, too.”

She could not imagine what more there might be. Boston ladies married well, bore children, entertained family and friends, supported worthy causes. How could she do that from some backwoods hovel?

“There now,” she’d said as if soothing a petulant child. “I’m sure we can discuss this another time when we’ve both had a chance to think about it.” She’d linked her arm with his. “They should be playing a polka soon. I know you like that dance.”

He’d touched her face with his free hand, fingers tracing the curve of her cheek. “I would take any opportunity to dance with you, Allegra. My feelings won’t change.”

She’d thought he meant his devotion to her would never change. But two days later, he’d left Boston, and she hadn’t set eyes on him again until they’d met on the pier. It seemed Clayton Howard’s devotion was to his future, not theirs. Her parents and his had encouraged her to swallow her disappointment and marry Frank. Frank, who had never argued with her, who had been her dear friend as long as she could remember. And so a month later, she and Frank had wed amid the smiling approval of Boston society, a society she could no longer abide.

She didn’t remember reaching the bottom of the stairs. The touch of Clay’s hand on her arm drew her up.

“Be reasonable, Allegra,” he murmured, offering a smile that would once have set her to blushing. “I have no intention of being an annoyance. But I think we both agree it’s my duty to protect you.”

“Duty?” Allie shook her head. “This journey was my choice, sir. You have no duty to protect me from my future. I can handle myself on the frontier. You forget, my ancestors civilized Boston.”

Clay snorted, dropping her arm. “Is that your reason for going? You think the fine citizens of Seattle need to be civilized? There isn’t a fellow in the territory who will thank you for it.”

“On the contrary,” Allie insisted. “Mr. Mercer assured us that we will be welcome additions to the city, serving to bring it to its full potential. He, sir, has a vision.”

Clay rolled his eyes. “Spare me. I’ve spent the last hour watching how easily Mercer’s plans fell apart. No one seemed to know who had paid and who hadn’t. It wouldn’t surprise me if Mercer had skipped town with your money. You’ve been duped, Allegra. Admit it.”

Anger was pushing up inside her again. Why were her ideas never taken seriously? Why was she always the one who had to bend to another’s insistence?

“Just because you dream small, Clay Howard,” she told him, “doesn’t mean other men have the same narrow vision. And neither do I. I will pay you back every penny, I will allow you to spend time with Gillian, but I won’t listen to another word against our plans. Do I make myself clear, sir?”

Any Boston gentleman who had borne the brunt of her anger would have begged her pardon, immediately and profusely. Clay merely lowered his head until his gaze was level with hers. Something fierce leaped behind the cool green.

“Don’t expect me to jump when you snap your fingers, Allegra,” he said. “I paid your passage because this trip seems to be important to you. But I won’t nod in agreement like a milk cow to everything you say. I’ve been to Seattle. I know the dangers of the frontier. I owe it to Frank to protect you from them.”

As if in agreement, the Continental shuddered, and a deep throb pulsed up through the deck. Allie was tumbling forward, her feet not her own. She landed against something firm and solid—Clay.

His arms came around her, and she found herself against his chest. His gaze met hers, seemed to warm, to draw her in. She couldn’t catch her breath. Once, she’d dreamed of his embrace, his kiss.

Heat flared in her cheeks at the memory, and she pulled herself out of his arms. “You owe Frank nothing, Clay Howard. And you owe me less. If you insist on coming to Seattle with us, you’d better remember that.”

Chapter Four

Clay paused while Allegra continued into the salon. In truth, he felt as if the jolt of the ship starting forward had knocked some of the breath out of him. It had been a long time since he’d held Allegra in his arms, and, for the sake of his sanity, it ought never to happen again. Hadn’t he learned by now that he was no match for Boston society?

In fact, it was the suffocating chill of Boston high society that had driven him west, far from everything he’d ever known. He couldn’t regret it. He’d climbed mountains, tops shimmering with snow, ten times the size of Beacon Hill. He’d crossed rivers wider than the Charles and more swiftly flowing. He’d met Indian chiefs with as much pride as his late father, lady prospectors with more presence than his mother. Riding across the vast prairies, he’d realized how small he was and how big the God he served.

It was God’s urging that had propelled him back to Boston when Clay had received the letter telling him about Frank’s death. Like the prodigal son, he’d come to make amends. He wanted to explain to his mother why he’d left, to make sure Allegra was doing all right with Frank gone. He’d taken a room at Boston’s finest hotel, Parker’s; bought a new suit of clothes; even hired a carriage to take him to his family home.

No fatted calf awaited him. Though his father had died several years ago, Clay had hoped his mother would receive him. But the person waiting for him in somber black in the elegant parlor was his cousin Gerald.

“A great deal has changed since you left, cousin,” he’d said, his icy blue eyes staring across the space, every blond hair pomaded back from his narrow face. “With Frank gone, I’ve had to take up the responsibilities you refused to honor.”

Clay’s hands had fisted at the sides of his fancy suit. “I’m here now. Where’s my mother?”

“Indisposed.” Gerald had all but sneered. “And quite unwilling to see you. It is my unhappy duty to inform you of the fact.”

“She has no interest in where I’ve been?” Clay challenged. “What I’ve done?”

“None,” his cousin said. “It doesn’t matter where you’ve been. It matters that you weren’t here. We all know it should have been you in that field near Hatcher’s Run.”

Of course it should have been him. He was the oldest, the better rider, the best shot. He’d had the advantage of a year of military training in a school that specialized in turning willful boys into disciplined men. Frank hadn’t had to attend that school. Frank was the good son, obedient, a friend to all who knew him. He didn’t know why his brother had gone to war, when so many of the wealthy families paid a poorer boy to fight in their son’s stead when their son had been drafted. According to the friend who had written Clay, Frank had gone down protecting others who had been wounded, considerate even to the end.

Clay raised his head. “If you’ve accepted responsibility for my mother and Frank’s widow, I applaud you. Just know that I’m willing to help, whatever they need.”

His cousin’s tight smile was the only answer.

The trip back to the hotel had been mercifully short, for all Clay’s emotions ran higher than the horses on the hired coach. He’d been throwing his things back in his satchel when the bellman came to tell him that a Mrs. Howard was waiting for him downstairs.

Immediately his mind had gone to Allegra, and he pushed past the fellow in his rush to see her. But the woman who perched on one of the scarlet upholstered chairs in the hotel’s ornate parlor was gray haired, her bearing cool, composed in her silver-colored gown trimmed in black lace and jet beads.

“Mother,” he said, going to her.

Gillian Howard’s thin lips trembled, but she did not offer her pale cheek for his kiss. “Clayton. I thought that was you when I looked out the window. You came home.”

Was he mad to hear hope behind the words? “I wanted to talk to you,” he confirmed, sinking onto a chair beside her. “I wanted to see Allegra.”

Before he could continue, she reached out and clutched his arm, fingers tight against his sleeve.

“That’s why I’m here, son,” she said, calm voice belying her hold on him. “Allegra is missing, and you’re the only one who can bring her home.”

She’d gone on to explain her daughter-in-law’s fascination with Asa Mercer’s story about struggling Seattle and the chance of making it a paradise on earth.

“It’s the same ridiculous pie-in-the-sky tale that sent you west,” she’d lamented, dabbing at her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief. “You came back...you must know the truth. Tell her this hope in Seattle is a lie. Convince her to come home. Please, Clay, she’s all I have left!”

Her pain had touched him just as Allegra’s had today, yet some part of him hurt that his mother could not consider him part of the family. “I thought Gerald was taking care of everything for you,” he couldn’t help commenting.

She’d lowered her gaze even as she tucked her handkerchief into her reticule. “Gerald has been a great blessing to me. He is very good about seeing that the family carries on. I cannot ask this of him.”

But she could ask it of him. Gerald was a gentleman; Clay had thrown off the label. His cousin might not be willing to do all it would take to retrieve Allegra. His mother obviously believed Clay had fewer scruples. Though Clay liked to think he was still an honorable man for all he’d chosen a different path than the one his parents had picked out for him, he could not argue that he was his mother’s best tool for the job. He was more than ready to do Allegra a service, particularly if it meant saving her from the mistakes he’d made.

Now he snorted. And wasn’t he doing a jolly good job of saving Allegra? Instead of sending her home to Boston, he’d aided and abetted her in running away! Shaking his head at his own behavior, he entered the lower salon. Those passengers who had not yet been assigned staterooms were clustered around a hatch at the end of the room. Allegra and her daughter were looking on, but he couldn’t tell whether they were curious or concerned. He pushed himself to the center, where a pretty, petite blonde was struggling with a brass latch embedded in the floor.

On seeing him, she put on a winsome smile. “Please, sir,” she said sweetly, “would you mind helping me with this?”

The others made room for him, their gazes expectant, as if he were about to open a fabled treasure cave. Clay was more suspicious.

“What is this?” he asked, positioning himself over the hatch.

“Access to the coal bin, sir,” she replied. “I was told by Mr. Mercer to open it immediately when we set sail out of quarantine. He said it was very important.”

Clay couldn’t understand why anyone needed to see into a dark, dusty coal bin, but he had to admit to curiosity as to why Mercer had thought it so important. He bent to haul on the ring, and the hatch opened. People leaned around his arm, peering into the gloom. He could see Allegra and her redheaded friend exchanging frowning glances.

“It’s safe now, Mr. Mercer,” the blonde called into the void. “You can come out.”

Allegra stiffened in obvious shock, while others put their hands to their mouths. Coal-dusted fingers waved above the edge of the hole, and Clay bent to tug Asa Mercer to the floor of the salon. He was a slender man, not yet thirty, with a solemn face and a brisk manner. Now his curly reddish hair and whiskers were speckled with black, his long face striped with grime. He tugged down on his paisley waistcoat and beamed at those around him.

“The coal is well stored and sufficient for the first leg of our journey,” he reported as if he’d merely climbed into the bin to inspect it. “It appears we are under way. I look forward to a fine voyage, a very fine voyage.”

Allegra stared at him a moment, then turned her gaze to Clay’s. Very likely, they’d reached the same conclusion.

She had no one to rely on but him, and she had every right to be concerned.

* * *

It was not the most auspicious start to their journey. While many of the women welcomed their benefactor, Allie couldn’t shake the image of Mr. Mercer rising from the coal bin. This was the man in whom they’d placed their trust?

Catherine evidently had similar concerns. “I’m greatly disappointed in him,” she confessed as they all went to find their staterooms. “He paid his own passage, but it seems as if he promised space to anyone who asked. When it became clear not everyone would be allowed aboard, he hid to avoid telling them the truth.”

Allie glanced into one of the rooms they were passing. “I don’t understand it. There can’t be more than one hundred passengers aboard, and there seems to be room for at least three times that. What happened to the other people?”

“Perhaps they saw those wretched reports in the papers,” Catherine mused. “The ones claiming we’d be eaten by bears or enslaved by savages.”

Perhaps. The editorial articles had nearly made Allie change her mind. But Mr. Mercer had seemed so earnest, his vision of a settled Seattle so clear. She knew she wasn’t the only woman who’d put her faith in him. Was he actually a coward? And what about the money she’d paid him? Was he a terrible cheat and liar as well? Or was it the mismanagement of the steamship company that was to blame? She’d read stories in the Boston papers about how ruthless Ben Holladay could be in business dealings.

“I don’t care how many rooms he has on this great tub,” Maddie proclaimed, “so long as we each get a bed.”

Catherine smiled at her. “I’m sure we’ll each have a bed, even though we’ll likely have to share a room. I’m just glad you and I could produce our tickets, Madeleine.”

Maddie stopped at a door at the end of the lower salon and grinned at Allie. “And would you lookie here now! It seems you and me will be together in this room, Allegra, my dear.”

“You and I,” Catherine corrected her, pausing to peer inside the room, then at the number on the door. “Number thirty-five. As I am number fifteen, I must be on the upper deck. Shall we meet for supper?”

Maddie wiggled her fingers at Catherine. “La-di-da—do you think those of us on the lower floor will be welcomed above our stations?”

Catherine tsked. “I cannot imagine anywhere you would not be welcomed, Madeleine dear.” She bent to kiss Gillian on the cheek, then straightened. “I shall see you all shortly.”

Maddie sighed as Catherine strolled away. “Not an unkind bone in her body, so there isn’t. But she’s mad to think I’ll be welcomed at her table.”

As they’d waited for the ship to sail, Allie had learned a great deal about both her friends. Catherine came from a small town outside Boston, the daughter of a prominent physician. Maddie had been quieter about her background, but Allie knew she had journeyed from Ireland as a child with her father, only to meet prejudice on America’s shores. She seemed to expect it now wherever she went.

“The good ship Continental is not New York,” Allie informed her, leading Gillian into the little room. “We’ll be spending a quarter year together. The sooner we learn to live in peace, the better.”

“Just you remember that,” Maddie told her, “when that handsome Mr. Howard comes calling.”

Allie refused to dignify the comment with a response. Instead, she set to work making the room their home.

The cabin was a cozy, white-washed space, with two berths stacked one atop the other along one wall and surrounded by flowered chintz curtains. A narrow padded bench sat opposite with room underneath to stow their trunks.

“And look here,” Allie said, leading her frowning daughter to the tall slender wooden cabinet between the bunks and the bench. “There’s a mirror on top so we can tidy our hair, and a desk that folds out for writing letters.”

Maddie pointed to the wood railing around the top of the cabinet. “And that’s to keep our belongings from tipping over when the sea rocks the boat.”

Gillian’s frown only deepened.

Allie forced a smile as she hung her cloak on a hook on one side of the cabinet. Gillian was used to much finer things, a room three times the size of this one, fancy dresses, fine food, but she was also used to being bossed about every second of her day under harsh discipline no child should have to endure. Changing that situation was more than worth lesser accommodations.

So, she showed Gillian how to make up the berths with the bedding they’d brought, hung a few of their things in the little cabinet, tucked the letters Frank had written her carefully in the back of the trunk. The only time she truly felt a pang of regret was when she arranged her two favorite books and Bible on one end of the bench for easy reach.

She and Frank had devoted one room of their home to a library. How they’d loved to sit and read aloud by the fire or share insights from their private reading. All she’d had room to carry were Ivanhoe and Pride and Prejudice. Both she could one day share with Gillian.

As they finished setting the room to rights, Maddie stood back and nodded. “Just like home. And we even have a sheet and blanket left over to be charitable to Mr. Howard.”

Allie had been stowing her trunk under the bench. Now she paused to glance up at her friend. Because she’d had to sneak away from the Howard mansion, their belongings consisted only of what could fit in the trunk that she had convinced a footman to hide in the carriage house for her.

She’d had a valise, as well, with many of Gillian’s dresses, but it had been stolen. Allie had spent the evenings waiting for the Continental to sail by taking apart one of her gowns to make clothes for her daughter. With each item they currently possessed so hard won, how could she think of giving any away?

“Mr. Howard can certainly fend for himself,” she replied, pushing in the trunk and rising. “I see no need to rescue him from his own choices.”

Maddie cocked her head. “Even when he was so kind as to try to rescue you from yours?”

“Don’t you find that just a bit overweening?” Allie asked with a grimace.

“Oh, to be sure. But a man will be a man, so they will. And as men go, he’s a charming one. What other gent would set his own plans aside to further yours?”

Allie stared at her. She’d been so busy arguing for her right to take this trip that she hadn’t considered why Clay was taking it. He must have had plans for the next three months, and Boston could not have been part of them. She knew what little fondness he carried for his former home. Yet he’d said his mother had sent him to find Allie, so he must have been to Boston. He couldn’t have reached the ship in time any other way. Why was he willing to come with them now?

She did not have a chance to ask him until the next day. After she and Maddie finished setting up their stateroom, they joined Mr. Debro for a tour of the ship. They started on the lower deck, which was completely enclosed in hickory, the passageways lit by the golden glow of lanterns along the way. The deep thrum of the steam engine vibrated the floor and made her feel as if she’d wandered into a cozy hive.

“But you mustn’t enter the engine room, ladies,” the purser warned as they paused before the open door. “The crew works hard to keep the boilers burning, day and night. They have no time for pleasantries.”

Allie was more interested in the activities aboard ship, for she was fairly certain keeping up their small room would not require all their time. She was pleased to find that the lower salon had games like checkers and ninepin, and the upper salon had a piano just waiting unpacking.

The upper deck was exposed to the elements. Already a cold breeze whipped about the buildings along the planking. But Allie knew once they reached warmer weather she and her daughter could promenade there.

“The wheelhouse is in the stern,” Mr. Debro explained, pointing as he talked. “And the officers’ quarters are in the bow. You will have no need to visit either.”

“Is that an explanation or a warning?” Maddie whispered to Allie, twinkle in her brown eyes.

“But the officers will dine with us, won’t they?” another woman asked, and Allie could see many countenances turned hopefully to the purser’s.

Mr. Debro reddened. “That is up to the captain, madam. But I believe, as he has his family with him this trip, he intends to dine in the upper salon.”

Maddie looked at Allie as if to say I told you so. She was equally amused when Mr. Debro pointed out the larger cabins in the central building on the upper deck. The beds were bigger, the upholstery finer, the space brighter from the latticed windows overlooking the sea.

“These may appear more elegant,” Allie whispered to Maddie, “but they are likely colder on a winter’s night than our room.”

Maddie nodded as if that were fair enough.

Above the rooms on the upper deck was another space railed in iron chain, a longboat lashed to each corner.

“This is the hurricane deck,” Mr. Debro told them, one hand to his head to keep his hat in place. “As you will notice, it’s most often windy here, but it is a fine place to take your constitutional in the morning.”

They climbed down the narrow stairs in time to see Clay exiting one of the upper-deck staterooms. He tugged off his hat and inclined his head to the ladies, several of whom giggled behind their hands as if they’d never seen a gentleman before. He went so far as to wink at Gillian, who turned her head to watch him as they passed. Allie kept her own head high.

“I’ll see you at dinner tonight, Mrs. Howard,” he called after her.

“Someone’s made a conquest,” one girl said with a laugh.

Allie ignored her. In fact, she did her best to discourage any conversation with Clay when they gathered for dinner that evening and he sat himself nearby. She set Gillian between them at the table, then directed her attention to Catherine and Maddie on her left. She slid the platter of salted beef to him along the table to avoid any chance their hands or gazes might meet. And she answered any questions put to her as shortly as possible.

“You’re working far too hard,” Catherine told her after dinner had ended and the three women and Gillian were clustered around one of the small tables along the wall. “Simply ignore the fellow. He seems clever enough to understand your intent.”

“Oh, to be sure,” Maddie agreed with a glance at Clay, who was leaning against the opposite wall. “And if you’re certain you’re uninterested, you won’t mind if I should cast my net in his direction.”

“Madeleine,” Catherine scolded, “if Allegra has determined the gentleman to be lacking, we would be wise to look elsewhere.”

Allie bit her lip to hold back hasty words. In truth, she’d once admired Clay, although she knew some in Boston had been shocked by his behavior—racing his horse against his friends’, spending his money on wild schemes and strange inventions. And he criticized her for following Asa Mercer!

Still, no matter her opinion, she could not fault Clay’s behavior that night. The passengers had been divided between the upper salon and the lower, and it seemed that Maddie was right, because finances and connections clearly played a part as to which person went where. Most of the people in the lower salon with her and Maddie were common folk, clothes presentable but worn, and the common language made Catherine raise a brow from time to time at the mismatched verbs and colorful adjectives. Catherine and Clay had been given spots in the upper salon, but both had come downstairs to dine.

Though Clay didn’t go out of his way to introduce himself to any of the other passengers, he always spoke politely to anyone who approached him, Allie noticed. He had helped one of the older widows to dinner when she couldn’t manage the hard wood chairs. He swapped stories in the corner with a group of older gentlemen after dinner, casting no more than a glance and a smile at a passing lady. She couldn’t tell if he had truly changed since the days she’d known him, or whether he was merely putting on a good show for the other passengers.

“Good night, Mrs. Howard, Ms. Gillian,” he said when she started for her stateroom with Gillian in hand. “Sweet dreams.”

Her cheeks warmed, but she managed a nod and kept walking.

Their first night aboard ship was bitterly cold, and she was thankful for their inside stateroom, where heat from the lower salon seeped around the door. The warmth of Gillian’s body pressed against hers on the little berth helped, as well. But even as she lay cuddled beside her daughter, Clay once more intruded on her thoughts.

Was he freezing in an outer berth where the wind whistled through the latticed windows? Was his only covering that pieced-together fur coat? How would he even be able to fold his length onto the narrow berth? She finally found sleep by assuring herself she would do her Christian duty and check on him in the morning.

Having left Maddie dressing Gillian, Allie found him on the upper deck, where many of the women were enjoying a moment in the rare January sunshine. Like her, they were bundled in coats or cloaks that reached past their hips, full skirts swinging as they walked. The Continental was out into the Atlantic, Allie knew, and steaming south. She looked for the familiar sight of the coastline and found only the rolling blue-gray waves. How amazing, when all her life she’d seen no farther than the islands dotting Boston Harbor.

Clay might also have been admiring the view. He was wearing his heavy fur coat, his hands deep in the pockets, his breath making puffs of the cool air as he spoke. Three female passengers were clustered around him, all chattering and flashing smiles, their faces turned up to his like flowers before the light. Allie stiffened, then immediately chided herself. She had no claim over Clay. If another woman thought she could tame him, Allie only wished her luck.

He looked up just then, and their gazes met. The smile that brightened his face made her stomach flutter. How silly! She wasn’t a debutante meeting the mighty Clay Howard for the first time. She squared her shoulders and marched toward him.

He met her halfway. “Good morning, Allegra,” he said with a nod of welcome. “How did you and Gillian fare your first night aboard?”

One of the older women nearby cast them a look with raised brows. She couldn’t know their past history and family connections gave him the right to use her first name.

“Tolerably well, Mr. Howard,” Allie said, making sure to use his last name. She took his arm and drew him a little farther away from the others toward the deck chairs that rested along the wall of the first-class quarters. “And you? Ms. O’Rourke wondered whether you had all you needed.”

She couldn’t confess that she’d wondered, too, but he didn’t question her. Instead, his smile deepened, showing a dimple along the right side of his mouth. “Give her my thanks, but tell her not to worry. I’m set up fairly well. I’m bunking with Mr. Conant, a reporter from the Times, and he was kind enough to offer me the lower bunk so I can stick out my feet. And Ms. Stevens and the widow Hennessy provided me with sheets and blankets when they heard I had none.”

She should be relieved that he had been so well supported. Yet some part of her was disappointed she hadn’t been the one to make sure he was comfortable.

“Well, then,” she said, removing her hand from his arm. “It seems you have no further need of us. Answer me one question, if you will, and I’ll leave you to your promenade.”

He cocked his head. The breeze pulled free a strand of red-gold hair, and she had to fight the impulse to smooth it back from his face. “And what question would that be?” he asked with a smile, as if confident of his ability to answer it.

“Why did you join us on this trip? You can’t have been planning on spending three or more months at sea.”

“No, indeed,” he said with a chuckle. “But make no mistake, Allegra. I joined the company of the Continental because of you.”

There went her stomach fluttering again. “Because of me, sir?” Her question sounded breathless, and she cleared her throat.

“You and Gillian,” he clarified. “It’s a long way with more dangers than you can know. Someone has to protect you.”

Oh, but he was impossible! “Did it never dawn on you, sir, that I might be able to protect myself?”

His shrug did nothing to stem the rise of her frustration.

She stepped back from him. “I will have you know that I’m fairly self-sufficient. Should you need our help on this trip, you can find Gillian and me in stateroom thirty-five, on the port side of the lower salon. We’d be more than glad to protect you.”

Chapter Five

Clay watched as Allegra turned and swept away. Even bundled in her wool cloak, there was something defiant in the height of her head, the set of her dainty boot against the deck. She was so very determined to do this on her own.

He couldn’t blame her. He’d felt the same way when he’d left Boston. He couldn’t wait to put distance between him and everything connected with the name of Howard—arrogance and greed and overbearing authority. What he had now, little as it might seem to her, he’d earned with the brains and brawn the good Lord had given him. He wasn’t about to change that, for anyone.

“Now, there’s a fine-looking woman.” A gentleman strolled up to Clay, the golden lion’s head on the handle of his ebony walking stick glinting in the sunlight. He offered his gloved hand. “Josiah Reynolds. I understand you’re a Howard.”

Clay didn’t accept the man’s hand. “How can I help you?”

Reynolds lowered his arm. In his gray sack coat hanging loose about his shoulders, he looked short and sturdy, and only the bristling brown mustache over his thick lips prevented him from resembling a bulldog.

“No help required but the honor of your company,” he assured Clay, pulling his coat closer against the icy breeze that puffed off the ocean. “The way I figure it, those of us who are bachelors must band together if we’re to survive this trip unshackled.”

Clay grinned at his joke. “I thought all the ladies were set on finding a husband in Seattle, not aboard ship.”

Reynolds smiled. “I hope you’re right. My home is in San Francisco. I may yet escape the noose.” He glanced at a passing lady who had prominent front teeth and shuddered.

“If you ask me,” Clay said with a shake of his head, “you could do worse than to marry one of these women. They have more gumption than half the men I know. It isn’t easy leaving everything and everyone behind.”

“True enough,” he agreed, giving his walking stick a thoughtful twirl. “But any lady who has to cross a continent to find a husband must have something wrong with her.”

Clay scowled at him, and the fellow excused himself to find other company. Clay shook his head again, this time at his own attitude. Only yesterday, he had been equally certain that only the desperate would take advantage of Mercer’s offer. But the ladies he’d met so far challenged that theory.

Allegra’s friend Ms. Stanway was as fearless as she was fetching. Ms. Stevens, who had offered him the blanket last night, was as sweet-tempered as she was sweet-faced. Any number of these women could have found beaux even in the war-ravaged East. Why take a chance on Seattle?

“And a pleasant morning to you, Mr. Howard,” Ms. O’Rourke said as she sashayed up to him. The breeze had turned her cheeks a pleasing pink, and her brown eyes sparkled as she grinned at him, arms buried in the sleeves of her rust-colored wool cloak. “Still unengaged? Such a slacker, you are.”

She must have overhead his conversation with Reynolds. Clay chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll have no trouble finding a gentleman to propose, if that’s what you’re after.”

She leaned against the railing. “And isn’t that what every lass is after? A nice rich lad of good family who’s kind on the eyes.”

Clay’s surprise must have been showing, for she laughed and said, “What—don’t all you gents pine for something similar? A pretty girl who will cook and bake and clean for you?” She fluttered her cinnamon-colored lashes. “Some of us have better ways to spend our time.” She pushed off the railing and all but skipped down the deck.

“You’ll find Ms. O’Rourke quite outspoken,” Ms. Stanway said in her wake. She offered Clay a smile that did not seem to warm her blue eyes, which were a few shades lighter than Allegra’s. “But she is correct. Not all of us are hoping to marry when we reach Seattle.” She nodded to two of the women who were standing farther along the railing, gazes out to sea. “The Prescott sisters worked in the cotton mills in Lowell. Those were shuttered during the war and don’t look to be opening soon.”

“So they’re seeking employment,” Clay surmised. “And what about you, Ms. Stanway? Why are you going so far from home?”

That smile remained frozen on her face. “I lost my brother and father to the war, sir. There is no home to return to. Excuse me.”

She continued past, head high, carriage serene. The ocean breeze no more than ruffled the feather on her hat. He had a feeling if she had debuted in Boston they would have dubbed her the Ice Princess. But then, they wouldn’t know the story of her losses.

He’d thought he knew Allegra’s story. She’d been born into a well-respected though slightly less affluent family than his. She’d risen to the top of Boston social circles. She’d married Frank; they’d had a child together. But though she’d lost her husband in the war, she still had a home to return to. As much as he’d fought with his family, he knew they would never require her to find a job to support her and her daughter, if for no other reason than such uncivilized behavior might harm their social standing. With a place assured her, why was she so set on Seattle?

* * *

Allie spent most of her second day aboard ship learning the routines of mealtimes, setting up her own routine with Gillian and determining how she and Maddie would share chores in their little room. Mr. Mercer also gathered his little flock and expressed his concerns for their safety.

“The eyes of the world are upon us, my dears,” he told them as he paced before them in the upper salon, the tails of his coat flapping with each step. “We must do all we can to prove we are endowed with the utmost of taste and civility.”

“He should have thought of that before he hid in the coal bin,” Maddie murmured to Allie.

Mercer must have heard her, for he clasped his hands behind his frock coat, gazed at his charges and explained. “I am certain some of you were concerned about our little contretemps leaving New York. Rest assured that matters have been resolved.”

Many of the women seemed to accept that, but Allie could not keep silent. “Then you’ve determined what became of the missing money and will reimburse those who paid twice.”

Mercer adjusted the black cravat at his throat. “As I said, madam, the matter has been resolved, and I apologize for any confusion or consternation it may have caused. Now is the time for every lady under my escort to focus on her future in Seattle.” His gaze swept them again. “And there will be no fraternizing with the officers.”

Several of the women stiffened at that, and two went so far as to argue with him.

“Mother?” Gillian asked, turning to glance up at Allie from her place in Allie’s lap. “What’s fraternizing?”

“Nothing that need concern you for a good number of years,” Allie assured her. Maddie smiled at that, but Allie couldn’t help wondering about their benefactor’s motives. She had been willing to give him the benefit of the doubt concerning the tickets, but his vague assurances were not satisfying. Besides, when he had lectured in the Boston area, he’d said this trip would help the women start over after their losses in the war. If they wanted a husband and found one aboard ship, why did that concern him?

She found herself looking forward to dinner and the chance to ask Clay about the matter. Very likely it was that anticipation that set her heart beating faster when she sighted him entering the room.

Before she could question him, however, she had to take care of her daughter. She focused on cutting the slab of salty beef into smaller chunks Gillian could lift with her fork. Several of the other people were poking at the beans, mouths twisted in disgust, but Gillian sat beside Allie spooning up the brown blobs and chewing thoughtfully.

“Do you like them?” Allie couldn’t help asking.

“No, thank you,” Gillian said. “They’re icky.”

Maddie, who was seated on Gillian’s other side, shook her head. “They’re filling at least. But you’re a good girl to eat them.”

“Good girls eat everything on their plates,” Gillian said woodenly, as if repeating a lesson. “Good girls say please and thank-you.”

“Kind people say please and thank-you,” Allie replied, hurting for her daughter. “What you decide to eat has nothing to do with whether you are a good or bad person.”

Gillian frowned at her. “Then may I please have a piece of cake instead?”

Maddie laughed as she gave Gillian a hug. “Sure’n, me darling, I’d bake you one right now if we had the proper ingredients.”

“And I’d let you eat it,” Allie promised. “As it is, this seems to be the best the Continental can do. When we reach Seattle, I’ll bake you a cake myself.”

Gillian nodded and returned to her beans.

Allie nodded, as well. She’d never baked a cake before in her life, but surely Maddie or one of the other women could teach her. She hadn’t washed dishes or made beds before, either, and she was managing that. It wasn’t talent that was required but determination, and the Lord had given her plenty of that lately.

That was why she turned to Clay, who was sitting just down the table from them and looking no more pleased with the fare.

“Mr. Mercer said he had resolved the financial issues,” she told Clay. “Have you been reimbursed?”

He smiled at her, and she could not help smiling back. “Mr. Mercer hasn’t said a word to me, but your presence and Gillian’s are all the reimbursement I need.”

It was a charming thing to say, and she felt her cheeks heating. Enough of that!

“Then I can only hope to take up the matter with Mr. Holladay,” she promised Clay, “when we reach Seattle.”

He shrugged, and she wasn’t sure if it was because he thought she’d never convince the wily transportation king to part with the money or if Clay truly didn’t care. She made herself focus on the conversation around her, which, thankfully, was generally more satisfying than the food. She found it amazing how many people from all walks of life had decided to make this journey to Seattle.

Mrs. Boardman, for example, was blind, and her husband was particularly solicitous of her because, he told Allie with great joy, she was expecting their first child.

“Though it does concern me that we have only a dentist abroad for medical assistance,” Mrs. Boardman told Allie, one hand on her swelling belly.

“Ms. Stanway is a nurse,” Allie assured her. “I’m certain she’d be glad to help.”

Clay spoke up. “You may want to settle in San Francisco if a doctor’s care is important to you, ma’am. There’s only one in Seattle, and he treats natives as well as the settlers, so he tends to be busy.”

Mrs. Boardman thanked him for his advice, but Allie couldn’t help her frown. Only one doctor in the growing town? What if Gillian became ill or was injured? Would Catherine’s skills be enough to save her?

“Mortality on the frontier is notably high,” a young lady named Ms. Cropper put in as if she found the matter fascinating. “Cholera, typhus, dysentery, scalpings.”

Allie shuddered. Time to turn this conversation back to the pleasant. “New lands to discover,” she countered. “Opportunities for new friends, family.”

“Husbands,” Maddie put in with a wink.

“Employment,” Catherine added.

Others chimed in then with their plans to teach, to establish businesses. Allie caught Clay watching, a slight frown settled on his brow. Had they given him as much food for thought as he’d given them?

The meal ended with optimism restored. Everyone seemed in an excellent mood and so excited about their journey, the sights they’d see along the way, the hopes they had for their destination. But as the evening wore on and groups formed to read aloud, talk or play cards, Allie began to feel a change in the ship. Saltcellars slid from one side of the table to the other. Pots clanked in the galley. When she stood, she had to put out a hand to steady herself before taking a step.

One by one, the other women grew quiet, turned ashen. Some dashed up the stairs to the deck, and Allie caught a quick glimpse of them leaning over the railing before the door swung shut behind them and cut off the light. Others retired to their bunks. Clay helped more than one to the kitchen in search of hot water or empty bowls.

Allie was only thankful she, Maddie and Gillian were spared the bouts of seasickness. They retired a short time later and passed the night listening to the dishes clatter against each other in the galley. More than one woman called out that the ship must be sinking. Gillian clung to Allie with a whimper.

Allie had been that afraid many times—when she’d realized her answer at the ball had driven Clay out of Boston, when Frank had marched away to war, when Mrs. Howard had advised her in that cold voice that Allie’s only choice was to marry Gerald. Now she could not fear. Despite Clay’s comments about medical care in Seattle, she knew she was on the right path.

“The ship isn’t sinking,” she assured Gillian, stroking her daughter’s silky hair in the dim cabin. “Captain Windsor is very wise, and every sailor we’ve met is strong and able. They’ll see us safely through this storm.”

“But it’s so bumpy,” Gillian said, huddling closer.

“Think of it like a carriage ride along a country road,” Allie advised. “Just a few bumps and then we’ll be at our destination.”

“Seattle?” Gillian piped up hopefully.

“Seattle,” Allie promised. “But not for a while yet. We must be patient.”

Just then someone pounded on their stateroom door, and she recognized Mr. Debro’s voice. “Mrs. Howard! Mrs. Howard! Come quick! It’s Mr. Howard, and he’s in a bad way!”

* * *

Clay couldn’t remember being so miserable. He kept his eyes tight shut as the ship bucked and rolled. With a whoosh, a wave heaved up over the bulkhead and doused the door of his stateroom. An answering slosh told him that some of the seawater had forced its way under the door and was spilling across the hardwood floor.

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