Mail Order Sweetheart Page 19

  “Why did he have to come here?” she muttered. “He has railroads to run. A wife. Sons. The moment I learned that, I broke off all contact with him.”

  “That’s when he started spreading the rumors,” Louise said.

  “And didn’t stop until I was fired from my engagement and refused at every other reputable theater and teahouse.” Fiona sat up and began dressing. She would wear the old gray gown and pull her hair back in a knot that could be easily hidden under a cap. “At least he didn’t take a room here.” She’d stayed up long enough to ensure that. “I can thank the shipwreck survivors for that.”

  Louise sat up. “Then he must have stayed at the hotel.”

  Fiona tugged on the gown. “I assume so.”

  “Was Sawyer there last night?”

  Fiona’s fingers paused while buttoning the bodice. “No. Maybe. I’m not certain.” He had purchased the hotel, but did that mean he had taken over running it? “I think the VanderLeuvens are still here.”

  Louise nodded.

  Mary Clare yawned noisily.

  Fiona clamped her mouth shut and put a finger to her lips. All unnecessary, for the little girl slipped back into slumber at once.

  “He must be at the sawmill,” Fiona whispered. “He’s manager there.” And of the hotel.

  The thought of Winslow Evanston speaking to Sawyer made her nauseous. Would he ask Sawyer about her? Sawyer didn’t know what sort of man Evanston was. He would tell Evanston exactly where to find her.

  Fiona dropped to her knees beside the bed and reached underneath until she found her carpetbag. The trunks would have to be packed later. First she needed to find out what the fare cost. If it was too much, she’d have to beg Mr. Adamson for assistance. She would plant fields, clean houses, whatever it took to provide for Mary Clare.

  Louise scooted across the bed. “Talk to Sawyer first. Tell him what happened. He’ll believe you over a stranger.”

  Fiona bitterly recalled the friends who had turned their backs in New York. She hadn’t hurt them the way she’d wounded Sawyer. “Will he?”

  “He will. He adores you.”

  “I hurt him.”

  “Nothing an apology wouldn’t clear up. I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He wouldn’t let anything or anyone hurt you.”

  Louise sounded certain. A spark of hope lit inside Fiona. Was it possible Sawyer could forgive her? Would he stand beside her through the storms that Winslow Evanston was sure to ignite? She had to hope he would. It was her only chance.

  She looked Louise in the eyes. “Will you watch Mary Clare until I return?”

  “Of course. Go to him.”

  Fiona hurriedly finished getting ready and slipped from the room, heart pounding. Words had wounded him. Could they also heal? It cost her nothing to beg Sawyer’s forgiveness. She didn’t deserve it for the way she’d treated him, but she must try. Her hand trembled. Louise believed he still loved her. Was it possible? She hoped and prayed it was.

  * * *

  Father’s arguments hadn’t changed in ten years. Oh, he added new twists, like doing it for the woman he loved, but every word led back to the end goal. Father wanted Sawyer home. And not just home but resuming his place as heir.

  Sawyer couldn’t agree, but he also couldn’t oppose Father, at least not yet. Daylight streamed through the lobby windows. Everyone at the boardinghouse must be up and about by now. Father would get on the southbound ship, but only if Sawyer agreed to his terms.

  Some men might make a promise, all the while intending to break it. Sawyer was not that kind of man. He kept his word. He couldn’t tell Father he would return home when he had no intention of doing so.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry that Jamie decided not to take over the business.”

  “He never had a head for business like you did,” Father wheedled. “You have the right instincts, boy. Always did.”

  “I have a conscience.”

  Father plowed right over Sawyer’s statement as if he hadn’t spoken. “With a little tutelage from the master—me—you’ll turn Evanston Railway into an empire that stretches from coast to coast.”

  Sawyer had inherited more than his conscience from his mother. The Williams side of the family boasted height and strength. Sawyer towered over his father, and in that moment saw how desperate the man was. He’d succeeded in business at the expense of his family and was now trying to reclaim some small piece of what he’d lost. Sawyer was not that piece.

  “My place is here. This is my business.” He swept his hands wide to indicate the hotel.

  “This decrepit place?” Father scowled. “Calling it Astor House won’t save it. This town is too small. There’s no reason for anyone to come here except to work the mills, and those people aren’t going to rent hotel rooms. Trust me. This place will fail.”

  “Then it’s my failure, and I’m willing to accept it.”

  “Then you’re a fool.”

  Sawyer set his jaw. “Maybe I am, but I want to succeed or fail on my own terms.”

  Father stared at him, uncharacteristically silent. Sawyer waited for the tirade. It never came. Instead, Father’s lips curled into a sneer.

  “If that’s the way you’re going to be, then I want nothing to do with you.” Father stalked from the hotel without a backward glance.

  At first Sawyer was relieved. The man who’d denigrated and manipulated him since childhood was finally gone. Then, slowly at first, suspicion grew that Winslow Evanston had not played his last card. Father did not give up that easily, especially not when his back was against the wall. Sawyer would hear from him again.

  * * *

  Fiona hurried down the stairs and glanced at the grandfather clock in the front hallway. It read half past eight o’clock. The smell of eggs, bacon and cinnamon wafted through the house, making her stomach rumble. No time to eat now. It would have to wait until after she talked to Sawyer.

  Muffled voices came from the dining room along with the clink of silverware on china.

  Then Mr. Adamson directed, “Be ready to go to the dock at two o’clock.”

  “So early?” Linore whined.

  “I won’t have anyone late. The Bayshore Clipper sails at three.” His voice then lowered again, and Fiona couldn’t make out anything else.

  She stepped into the front hallway. She kept her cloak on one of the pegs lining the wall. No fashionable hall tree here. Mr. Calloway had crafted a long board with pegs mounted on it every six inches. It usually had plenty of room for coats and cloaks, but the shipwreck survivors had added to the assembled outerwear so that each peg bore two or three coats.

  Fiona moved down the line, checking each peg. If only she would get it into her head to remember where she’d hung her cloak, this hunting wouldn’t be necessary.

  “Aha!” There it was, buried beneath two threadbare coats that doubtless belonged to two of the brides-to-be.

  She lifted off the old coats and set them on another peg temporarily. Then she grasped her cloak.

  “I don’t care if you’re the president of these United States.” Mrs. Calloway’s loud voice easily reached Fiona from the parlor. “I’m not disturbing anyone from her sleep.”

  Fiona started. Who wanted someone awoken? Her thoughts scrambled back to Mary Clare, asleep on her makeshift bed, and her heart stopped. Someone wanted to wake Fiona’s niece. She squeezed the fur-trimmed collar of her cloak, oblivious to its softness. The only reason to wake someone was to talk with them. Who would want to talk to Mary Clare?

  “You can wait, or you can come back,” Mrs. Calloway added.

  “I’ll wait.” The masculine voice sent ice through her veins.

  Evanston.

  She would not let him anywhere near Mary Clare. It was too late to find Sawyer. She must protect her
niece.

  Fiona replaced the coats on top of hers, effectively hiding it. Evanston would recognize that cloak. Though she’d purchased it with her own earnings, it had been the subject of rampant speculation, thanks to Evanston’s innuendos.

  Then she crept toward the staircase. She must get Mary Clare out of here now. As long as Fiona still drew a breath of air, Winslow Evanston would not speak to her niece.

  She hurried up the first few steps.

  “There you are, Fiona dear.” Mrs. Calloway had caught her. “There’s a man here who wants to talk to you.”

  “I don’t want to talk to him.”

  “But he’s well off. He looks important.”

  “Looks can be deceiving. I’m going to my room.”

  “Running away again?” Evanston’s voice grated on her nerves.

  Fiona turned slowly, taking care to hold on to the railing. “I have no business with you.”

  “Is that so?” The snake stepped to the bottom of the staircase and put one hand on the banister. “I thought I recognized you last night, Fiona.”

  “I knew I recognized you.”

  Mrs. Calloway stepped away, but Fiona doubted she’d retreated beyond earshot.

  Fiona fixed her attention on Evanston. “I see no reason to talk to you. Good day.” She turned to head upstairs.

  “Not even when I could tell you something important about Sawyer?”

  She halted. Her heart pounded as if she’d run from the hotel to the boardinghouse. What could Evanston possibly know about Sawyer? They might have met at the hotel last night, but they came from different worlds.

  She lifted her head high. “Sawyer will tell me all I need to know.”

  “Such as his time in the war?”

  “He told me about that.”

  “And his childhood?”

  She couldn’t answer that question in the same way. “What could you possibly know about his childhood?”

  The man had the audacity to laugh. The cruel sound snaked up the staircase and wound around her, squeezing the breath from her lungs.

  “I know everything, dear Fiona.” Triumph curled his lips. “I’m his father.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This detestable man was Sawyer’s father? The tightness squeezing Fiona’s rib cage made it impossible to breathe. Her head spun. She braced her other hand against the wall so she wouldn’t plunge down the steps. Evanston cared for no one. He would have her fall to her death and count it a triumph.

  Every instinct told her to run, but that would only trap her upstairs. With Mary Clare. He could easily follow her then. She tightened her grip. No one would get past her.

  “Lies,” she hissed, gathering courage along with the anger that had built up over the months. “Just like the lies you fed the newspapermen in New York.”

  The man’s laughter echoed through the front hallway. “What a vivid imagination you have, my dear.”

  “I have proof. Eyewitnesses. The imagination is all yours. What was I to you anyway, just an average singer at best? I believe that’s how you put it. You could have nearly any woman you want. Why me? I’m nothing to you.”

  “Conquest, my dear. Someone like you couldn’t possibly understand. It’s not about getting what’s easy to acquire. It’s about the challenge. You were untouchable. Everyone—friend and rival alike—insisted nothing could win you over. I told them that I could.”

  “Then this misery you brought me was just to feed your pride. How sick a man are you?”

  He ignored her outburst. “I don’t lose, Fiona. That’s how a man builds an empire. I don’t accept refusal, and I never give up. It’s an Evanston trait.”

  With a sick feeling, she realized that same perseverance described Sawyer. He’d saved wages for years until he could buy the hotel. At least that’s what he’d told her. If Evanston spoke the truth, then Sawyer could have gotten the money from his father. Lies. Why did every man deceive her? Evanston. Countless other men who promised a bright future only to vanish when she refused to give them what they wanted. Blakeney, who’d told her that he would invest her money and return it manyfold, only to steal away when she wasn’t watching.

  She’d thought Sawyer was different, a common man of strength and courage. Though she’d pushed him away, he never gave up. She’d admired his persistence, but what if it was only a guise? What if his motives were as foul as his father’s? If so, then she didn’t want Mary Clare anywhere near him.

  And yet her heart told her Sawyer couldn’t possibly be like this man claiming to be his father. While Evanston took what he wanted, Sawyer insisted on doing things properly. He never pushed for more than she would give. He’d always been a gentleman.

  Mary Clare was nothing like her cowardly father. Fiona didn’t inherit her mother’s submissive temperament. Sawyer might be nothing like his father. If in fact he even was Evanston’s son.

  “You and Sawyer don’t have the same last name.” She stared down the older man, hands on hips. “You’re making up everything.”

  Evanston didn’t even flinch. “For some reason Paul thought it beneficial to hide his real name.”

  Fiona gasped. Evanston knew Sawyer’s first name.

  “Yes, his real name is Paul Evanston,” the man confirmed. “You didn’t know that, did you?”

  The steam went out of her argument, and she looked away.

  Evanston added the crowning touch. “He probably changed his name to keep away fortune hunters.”

  The implication was obvious. He considered her just that sort.

  She would not accept that unfair assessment. “Maybe he changed his name because he didn’t want to be associated with you.”

  Fury slashed across Evanston’s face. If she’d been close enough, he would have slapped her. Or worse.

  She went up another step. “That is all I have to say to you, Mr. Evanston. You have no connection to my life now or in the future. Goodbye.”

  Before he could respond, she turned her back on him and climbed the staircase, head held high.

  The man cackled, as if he had succeeded in driving her away, rather than the other way around.

  When Fiona grasped the doorknob to her room, she knew beyond doubt that she must act now. The escape she’d sought with Sawyer had vanished. As Evanston’s son, he could be just as deceptive. For months they’d played concerts and rehearsed. Never once did he mention that he came from wealth and such a cruel, ruthless father. Yes, he’d given her his first name, but nothing more. Nothing that really mattered.

  She pushed open the door. Louise stood just inside, looking stricken. She lifted a finger to her lips and pointed to the bed, where Mary Clare slumbered. Louise motioned for Fiona to leave. Had Mary Clare overheard the dispute?

  Fiona backed from the room. Louise followed and silently latched the door. Since Fiona didn’t care to go downstairs and run into Evanston again, she motioned toward the linen closet.

  Louise shook her head. “We can speak here. No need to go downstairs. I overheard what that man said to you.”

  “Did Mary Clare?”

  “No. She was asleep.”

  Fiona let out her breath, but the relief was short-lived. Mrs. Calloway had surely overheard every word. Even if Evanston didn’t spread vile rumors about her here, Mrs. Calloway wouldn’t be able to resist passing on this bit of news. Soon the entire town of Singapore would believe she was a fallen woman. She stood no chance of finding a decent man for a husband or making a respectable life here with Mary Clare.

  “I must leave today. I have to get Mary Clare away from here.” The truth seared through her with the pain of a hundred bee stings. Her hopes had been crushed once again. There wouldn’t be a home with a husband who loved her. She wouldn’t spend evenings singing and teaching her niece to pick ou
t a tune on the piano.

  Louise touched her arm. “I’m guessing that Sawyer took another name because he didn’t want to be associated with his father.”

  Fiona wanted to believe that. “I can’t be sure.”

  “Are we ever sure? Measure a man by what he does, not what he says.”

  Such truth in those words, as if Louise had experience. “Your husband?”

  Louise averted her gaze. “I should have known. People warned me, but no man had ever paid me such attention before. I didn’t realize his real aim was my fortune.” She looked up, stricken. “He squandered it all and then blamed me.”

  The pain in those words pulled Fiona from her own plight. Poor Louise had suffered too. She wrapped an arm around the woman who had become a friend.

  “We don’t always see the signs or heed the warnings. It’s easier to overlook them.” Fiona swallowed that truth. “I didn’t recognize Mr. Evanston’s true character at first. He seemed the gentleman with his fine suits and elegant manners. His gifts seemed sincere. I thought he would make the perfect father for Mary Clare. If I hadn’t seen the newspaper article about him and his family...” She shook her head at the thought of what might have happened. She would have fallen into his web, and he would have won his conquest. She could thank God’s faithful guidance for nudging her away from complete disaster. “I didn’t see his true character until I resisted him. Then came his vengeance.”

  “You can’t measure Sawyer by his father.”

  Fiona closed her eyes and leaned against the door. Not a sound came from within the room. Her heart told her that Louise was right, but her head cautioned her against putting her faith in a man. They always let her down.

  Louise continued, “From what I’ve seen, Sawyer treats you with respect. He’s been interested in you from the day we arrived here, but you never once said he pressed you.”

  “He didn’t.”

  “So he cares about your feelings more than his own. He also attends church regularly and never visits a saloon.”

  Fiona opened her eyes. “How do you know so much about who goes to the saloons?”