“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.” Louise edged toward the door. “Just that he wouldn’t leave until he spoke to you.”
What a bother! If she didn’t get rid of Sawyer soon, Carson could arrive and think the worst. “Very well. Tell him I’ll be down in a moment.”
Louise cleared her throat. “He likes you, you know.”
The statement raised an unexpected flutter in her stomach. Fiona pushed it aside. After all, any woman liked to hear a man found her attractive or interesting. That’s all it was. She couldn’t possibly feel anything for Sawyer Evans. For Louise’s sake, she shrugged and continued her toilette.
“Mr. Evans is not the sort of man who likes fancy clothes,” Louise continued. “He’s an honest, straightforward sort.”
Fiona secretly admitted she found that aspect of Sawyer pleasing. Too many men in New York had lied and manipulated her in an attempt to get what they wanted. Carson wasn’t anything like that. He was always very straightforward about his aims and his background. The combination of wealth and openness was perfect. To gain his favor, she had to put her very best forward.
Fiona set down her brush. “Men adore a beautiful woman. Why, in New York, I was the talk of the theater circuit.” Though that talk had turned vicious toward the end.
“I’m sure you were,” Louise mumbled, “but this isn’t New York. People...well, they value different things.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Well...that different bait catches different kinds of fish.”
“I’m not going fishing with anyone,” Fiona pointed out, though she knew perfectly well what Louise was getting at. What the woman didn’t understand was that Carson did love the fancy gowns. That was the man Fiona needed to catch. “Carson and I are going to a concert.”
“Um, yes. At a church.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t wear my best gown in church?”
Louise flushed. “I just thought...well, never mind. Do as you please. I’ll tell Mr. Evans that you’ll be downstairs shortly.” She hurried from the room.
Fiona listened to Louise’s footsteps clatter down the staircase as she surveyed her appearance again. Perhaps a feather would look good in her hair. She eyed the white plume from both the left side and the right. Too much. Osten—whatever that word was. She tucked a comb into her bag and shut the clasp. Before leaving, she took one last glance in the mirror. Too pale. She pinched her cheeks for more color. Yes, that would do nicely. She looked fine, hopefully fine enough to push Carson Blakeney toward a proposal.
Her finger needed a ring—now.
* * *
Sawyer paced the boardinghouse drawing room. Though Mrs. Smythe was perched on the edge of the sofa, he couldn’t think of anything but how to tell Fiona the bad news. Not that he considered the news bad, mind you. Fiona deserved better than Blakeney.
“Do have a seat,” Mrs. Smythe insisted. “Fiona will be down shortly. You know how much appearance matters to her.”
Did he. He also knew her fiery temper, and the news he had to deliver was sure to set off that storm. He completed another circuit around the room.
“I have a question,” Mrs. Smythe interjected into his thoughts, “purely a matter of scientific inquiry.”
That caught his attention. “Scientific?” He’d never expected to hear that word come out of any woman’s mouth, least of all from Louise Smythe.
The petite woman’s chin lifted. “An experiment, shall we say?”
“Can’t say I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, it’s not trying. I simply wished to inquire about your thoughts on a particular topic.”
“What topic?” He had the suspicion he was stepping somewhere he shouldn’t go.
“A topic of which you are particularly well versed.”
“Oh?” This definitely sounded like trouble, but he couldn’t imagine what she thought was his area of expertise. Sawing logs, sure, but no woman had any interest in that. Mrs. Smythe couldn’t possibly know about his past. Or did she? He steeled himself.
She cast her gaze down. “Which would you say a man prefers—a practically dressed woman or one in all her finery?”
At first Sawyer breathed out in relief. Then he figured there must be a trap in her question, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Unless she was fishing for compliments. He had to tread carefully.
He cleared his throat. “I, uh, appreciate both. At the right time.”
She lifted her face, which wore a frown. “That doesn’t answer the question. If all extenuating circumstances are the same, which would you prefer?”
First she threw a word at him that the Sawyer Evans he’d carefully crafted wouldn’t understand. Then she insisted on an answer. Fine. He’d give her the one she wanted.
“You look good, Mrs. Smythe.”
A sigh of disgust escaped her lips just as Fiona glided into the room. Relief flooded over him until he recalled what he must tell the beautiful redhead.
“Sawyer, I’m surprised to see you.” Fiona always made a grand entrance, and today was no exception. Her right arm floated through the air as if scooping the entire world into her domain. Her hair, her gown, that gaudy necklace, everything about her was designed to make a stunning impression. But her talent impressed him more than all of that put together.
“Fiona.” He crossed the room, took her extended hand, just like before their concerts, and kissed it. “You look lovely this afternoon.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Louise roll her eyes and heard her snort of disgust. So, the widow was jealous. The idea made him grin. It had been a long time since women competed for his attention. Before the war, he’d drawn his share of female interest even though Father and Mother had long planned for him to marry Julia Spencer. When he courted her, Father had congratulated him on following the plan. Then he learned what sort of man his father truly was, and the world shifted abruptly. He enlisted. Julia abandoned him and married another man. His father opposed him in every way. It was war at home as well as on the front.
“Louise said you had an important message for me.” Fiona’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “Has a ship arrived?”
“A ship? Why would you care about a ship’s arrival?”
She seemed to relax. “Then none has docked?”
“Right. No ships.” He glanced at Louise, who was still perched on the edge of the sofa, at least pretending to read a book. He didn’t want to break the important news with anyone else present, so he rattled on about the other news of importance. “Stockton wants the schooner finished as soon as possible, so Garrett asked me to take over his duties at the mill.”
He