“It’s better coming from someone who can console her and perhaps step into the missing man’s place,” Pearl pointed out.
More matchmaking. Nothing Sawyer had said made a bit of difference. He liked Fiona, but taking Blakeney’s place might suggest he was interested in more than friendship.
“The time’s not right.”
Pearl set a stack of papers on the counter. “Roland and I have to work tonight. She needs to hear this from a friend. You could ease her disappointment by taking her to the concert.”
Sawyer knew defeat when he saw it. He threw up his hands and headed for the boardinghouse.
* * *
In the privacy of her room, Fiona O’Keefe reread the stunning letter. She wanted to talk some sense into her next-youngest sister, Lillibeth, but there was no time to send a return letter. Singapore didn’t have a telegraph office, which left Fiona without any means to respond.
She shoved the letter in the envelope and rubbed her aching temples. What was she going to do? Lillibeth had done the unthinkable, and somehow Fiona would have to pick up the pieces.
“Not now,” she groaned.
Two months of effort were about to come to fruition. Mr. Carson Blakeney, who’d come to Singapore to find a good location for his new sawmill, was ready to propose. She could sense it. He just needed that last little push. Her niece couldn’t show up now, not until she broached the subject with Carson.
Time had run out. Little Mary Clare could arrive any day now. Lillibeth hadn’t been clear about that part, so Fiona had to be ready. Tonight she would secure a marriage proposal from Mr. Blakeney. If not...
Well, there were no other options. She tucked the missive into the bureau drawer and slammed it shut. The sound reverberated through the boardinghouse. That was that. The time for gentle persuasion was over. Tonight she would employ direct pressure and pray the man didn’t dart away like a frightened rabbit.
What was Lillibeth thinking? A child of seven should not travel across the country without the accompaniment of a known and trusted adult. The thought of that poor motherless child alone and frightened tugged on her heartstrings. When Mary Clare’s mother and Fiona’s older sister Maeve died, Fiona promised to care for Maeve’s only child. She was doing her best to marry respectably so she could do just that. It meant leaving Mary Clare in Lillibeth’s care temporarily, but Fiona sent every dollar she could back to New York. Granted, that hadn’t been much lately, but Lillibeth shouldn’t have run short unless she was spending that money elsewhere.
Fiona pulled the letter out of the drawer and unfolded it. Oh, yes. Lillibeth complained of hardship at home. Fiona’s purse was nearly empty. She hadn’t any extra to send until the concerts began again at the hotel. But she’d sent plenty over the last year. A little care could make that stretch over these lean months, but apparently once the flow of money had dwindled, Lillibeth—or more likely that worthless husband of hers—had decided to send poor Mary Clare to her.
There’s this group a orphans headin’ west, Lillibeth had written, an the matron said she’ll take real good care a Mary Clare.
Orphans! The poor girl must think she’d been abandoned. Why couldn’t Lillibeth wait? Though Fiona’s efforts to find a husband in New York had ended in scandal, she was doing her best here.
Last August, Fiona had arrived in Singapore in answer to an advertisement for a bride. Unfortunately, two other women also arrived with the same intent. In January, the groom, Garrett Decker, married one of them. When Carson arrived later that month, Fiona shifted her efforts to him.
Now it was late March. The snow had melted. The ice on the river had broken up, and the sawmill had roared to life when the first logs floated downstream. She had one last chance, and she had to seize it. Tonight.
The door to her room opened a crack.
“Are you busy?” Louise Smythe peered through the opening.
The short, mousy woman—and competitor for a husband—had recently moved back to the boardinghouse after losing her position as companion to the ailing Mrs. Elder.
“Not any longer.” Fiona tucked the letter into the bureau drawer beneath her unmentionables. Louise wouldn’t read it. Fiona had tested her when she first arrived. Louise hadn’t touched the note that Fiona placed in the bureau while Louise was watching.
“I didn’t want to disturb you,” the widow said, still from behind the door.
“It’s your room too.” Fiona pinned a bright red curl in place. Men loved hair piled high atop a woman’s head with curls cascading to the shoulders, and Carson was no exception. She had been blessed with thick, naturally curling locks in a hue that drew attention. “You can come in whenever you wish.”
Louise must have had to tiptoe around the Elders’ house. Either that or she was simply too meek to barge into her own room. When Captain Elder shuttered his house and took his wife to Chicago for better medical treatment, Louise had lost her position. Though the kindly couple offered to let her stay in the house, Louise had refused, saying she didn’t want to live alone. Fiona had offered to share her room. Louise thought her generous, but the lack of paying concerts over the winter had depleted Fiona’s funds.
Louise opened the door a little wider. “I wouldn’t have bothered you, but you have a caller.”
“Carson!” The time had arrived. Fiona straightened the skirts of her green silk gown and then plucked a lavish necklace from her small jewelry box. She placed the sparkling diamond and emerald jewels—all glass—around her neck and then admired the effect in the mirror.
“What do you think?”
Louise stepped into the room for a closer look but then hesitated. “It’s...ostentatious.”
“Osten-what?”
Louise’s gaze darted to the door. “Uh, like something the very wealthy might wear.”
“Precisely.” Fiona returned her attention to the mirror. “Hopefully, it’s enough.”
“Enough?”
“To secure an offer.” Fiona adjusted the lace edging on her gown.
“Um, Mr. Blakeney isn’t the one calling for you.”
“What? Who then? I’m expecting Carson. He’s escorting me to Saugatuck for the choir’s performance of Handel’s Messiah.”
“That might be the case,” Louise said slowly, “but Mr. Evans is the one paying a call at the moment.”
Fiona bit back irritation. She did not have time to waste on Sawyer Evans. He was a fine accompanist and an uncommonly attractive man, but his prospects were dim to say the least. She hadn’t worked so hard to sing on the New York stage only to throw her future away on a sawmill worker. She must marry for Mary Clare’s sake, but not to just anyone. Her future husband must hold a position of authority. A tidy nest egg would help too. Carson fit her criteria perfectly.
“Tell Sawyer I’ll talk to him later. He probably wants to discuss future concerts.” If tonight went as planned, she need not sing ever again. A wave of disappointment swept over her. Singing had been her life for as long as she could remember. As a child, she’d sung to escape the gnawing hunger. As a young woman, she’d seen a beautiful singer arrive at a theater and decided that nothing would stop her from doing exactly the same. She could never have imagined the cost of that decision.
“I don’t think that’s it.” Louise twisted and knotted a length of ribbon that she probably used as a bookmark, considering her insatiable appetite for books. “He said he has something to tell you. Something important. He doesn’t look happy.”
Fiona stared at her roommate. Had Mary Clare arrived already? “He didn’t give you any idea what that was?”
“No.”