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  “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 puffed up a bit at the confidence the sawmill manager had shown in his abilities. Sawyer hadn’t been raised for hard labor. Father always said that was reserved for the lower classes. But Sawyer liked the good, honest feel of aching muscles and a job well done.

  “That’s why you insisted on speaking to me? Because you’ve been promoted?” Fiona didn’t look the slightest bit impre
ssed.

  He should have known. “I thought you might be happy for me.”

  “Of course I am.” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes darted toward Louise with the obvious intent of sending the widow scurrying.

  Louise gathered her book and rose. “Please excuse me. Mrs. Calloway must need help in the kitchen.” She left the room.

  “There.” Fiona breathed out. “I thought she would never leave.”

  Sawyer hadn’t been mistaken. Fiona definitely had more than the usual sense of purpose this afternoon.

  She strolled toward the parlor entrance. When he didn’t follow, she returned and threaded her arm around his. “Now tell me the real reason you called on me today.”

  Sawyer swallowed. This wasn’t going to be easy, and he didn’t relish that she was standing so close when he delivered the news.

  “Well?” she demanded.

  He cleared his throat and said a quick prayer that he didn’t botch this. “Uh, word about Mr. Blakeney arrived at the store.”

  “Word.” Any hint of merriment drained from her voice.

  “Uh. Yes.”

  “And they sent you to tell me.” She let go of his arm.

  He nodded, his throat as dry as sawdust.

  “It’s not good news, is it?”

  Sawyer blew out his breath. Best to get it out. “He’s gone. He headed upriver to Allegan.”

  He couldn’t miss the dots of color on her cheeks.

  “Carson left,” she said bluntly.

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “When will he return?”

  “Uh, he didn’t leave word about that. He just paid his hotel bill and left.”

  It took a moment for understanding to settle in. Then her eyelids blinked rapidly. Oh no, she was going to cry. She never cried. That was one thing Sawyer loved about Fiona. She was a strong woman not prone to fits of emotion.

  “Well, then. That’s that.” But there was bitterness in her voice. “I should have known.”

  Sawyer wished he could find the right words. Blakeney was all wrong for her. Fiona needed a strong man who could match her energy and wits. Blakeney was one of those slippery types who made promises he never kept. It had taken all of Sawyer’s will to hold his tongue around them.

  “You deserve better,” he said.

  She gave him a sharp look. “Who? You?” Her hands braced her hips. “Why should a woman set her sights on a man who hasn’t two pennies to rub together?”

  Chapter Two

  Fiona was left empty-handed with her niece due to arrive any day. She couldn’t raise the girl in a boardinghouse. Without a reliable income, she couldn’t raise Mary Clare at all. Though she fumed at Blakeney’s cowardice, she did so in the privacy of her room. By evening, she was able to set aside her anger and work on a solution.

  She spread out every newspaper she could find on the dining-room table. Chicago. Holland. Grand Rapids. Even one very old paper from New York that must have been brought in by a lumberjack stopping on his way upriver to the camps. Even though it was almost three months old, she couldn’t discount any possibility.

  “What are you doing?” Louise ducked in, book in hand.

  “What I should have done long ago.” Fiona shot the widow a forceful glance. “Something we both should have done. Find a husband.”

  “Oh.” Louise dropped her book on the table.

  “Pride and Prejudice?” Fiona had heard of that novel. “I would have thought you’d read that one by now.”

  “Several times. It’s one of my favorites. Elizabeth misjudges Darcy so.” Louise sighed. “And yet it all works out in the end. Love conquers all.”

  Fiona raised her eyebrows at Louise’s romantic wistfulness. The quiet widow apparently still harbored hope for a loving marriage. She had shown no interest in Garrett Decker, the man looking for a bride, but had swooned over Garrett’s younger brother, Roland. They all had, but Roland had settled on the schoolteacher, Pearl, putting an end to their hopes. When the Decker brothers married Pearl Lawson and Amanda Porter in January, the most eligible bachelors in Singapore were taken.

  Only lumberjacks and mill workers were left until Carson Blakeney made an appearance. He’d seemed the perfect gentleman with his fine manners and expensive suits, but he’d turned out to be a coward. Once again, the area offered only unsuitable bachelors. Sawyer Evans was intriguing. She’d never met anyone with more natural musical ability, but he couldn’t—and wouldn’t—provide the sort of future she had in mind for Mary Clare. That was proved by his shocked expression when she flatly suggested it. Then he’d gone and spit out some nonsense about it having to be the right time. Yet another coward!

  “Love might win out in storybooks, but real life isn’t nearly as tidy,” Fiona pointed out. “Now that the Decker brothers are married and Carson left town, there isn’t a decent prospect in the area.”

  “Mr. Blakeney left town?”

  “Isn’t that what I just said? He apparently had business to attend to elsewhere.” Fiona pretended to search the newspaper, though it was not opened to the advertisements.

  “I’m terribly sorry.”

  Louise truly was. Fiona wasn’t accustomed to sympathy. Most women held her at arm’s length, as if she wasn’t good enough to associate with them.

  “Well, what’s done is done,” Fiona asserted, “and there’s nothing that will change it.”

  “Thus the newspapers.”

  “Thus the newspapers.”

  “Mr. Evans likes you,” Louise stated.

  “Humph.” The memory of Sawyer’s stammered response still hurt. She’d practically asked him to marry her. “Well, I’m not interested in him.”

  “Oh.” Louise sank into the chair beside her. “He’s doing well. Amanda said he’s now the manager at the sawmill.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “And you’re still not interested? Garrett Decker was mill manager when he advertised for a wife.”

  “He didn’t advertise,” Fiona pointed out. “His children—with the help of Mrs. Calloway—placed the notice in the newspaper. Speaking of which, I intend to locate another prospect at once.” She scanned the first column. No personal advertisements.

  “Because the hotel hasn’t reopened yet?”

  “That’s part of it.” The occasional concerts at the boardinghouse this winter reduced the cost of her room and board but didn’t give her money to send home. When the hotel closed in January, they’d all been shocked, but Mrs. VanderLeuven told Fiona that she couldn’t make ends meet in the winter once the lumberjacks left for the camps. “It will reopen soon.” It had to.

  “I hope so.”

  Fiona looked to Louise. The widow had been out of work all winter also. That’s why they were now sharing a room—which would soon include Mary Clare. Three wouldn’t do, not with one being a child. Another room would be required, preferably for Louise. “Did you plan to seek employment there?”

  Louise lowered her gaze. “It was a possibility.”

  “You could also remarry. That was your plan when you came to Singapore.”

  Louise shook her head. “It was the only option at the time. Now?” She sighed. “I still hope for a loving husband who follows the Lord. I can only marry a man of strong faith.”

  Fiona mulled that over. She had once felt the same, but circumstances had destroyed that hope. No man of faith who heard the vile and unfounded rumors about her in the New York newspapers would ever accept her for a wife.

  “I hope you find him.” But the issue of Mary Clare’s pending arrival weighed on Fiona. Neither she nor Louise could wait for a husband to drop in her lap.

  “It’s just a dream.” Louise’s eyes misted, and Fiona wondered what had happened in the widow’s marriage to leave her
so reluctant to reenter the institution. Direct inquiry had gotten Fiona nowhere, so she stated the obvious.

  “Then you must find employment. You might tutor students, I suppose.”

  Louise brightened. “I would like that.”

  “Talk to Pearl. She’ll know which students need extra help—and which parents can afford to pay for it.”

  “Thank you.” Louise leaned close and lowered her voice. “You don’t need to resort to marrying a man you’ve never met. You could give vocal lessons.”

  Fiona laughed. “Have you noticed the type of families in the area? Farmers. Mill workers. Lumberjacks. None of these place a high value on musical prowess, not enough to pay for lessons. No, my course is set. I must marry.”

  “Why not go back to New York?”

  No doubt that was the question all the women had wanted to ask her since they first arrived in August, but only quiet little Louise Smythe had actually done it. Maybe that woman had more gumption than Fiona had credited to her.

  “There is only heartache in New York.” Fiona wasn’t ready to reveal more. The men there had courted her either for show or for their own purposes, never with marriage in mind. Fortunately, she always discovered the truth before it was too late, but rumors still threatened. By active involvement with her church and charity, she’d managed to stop most of them. Until last spring. Mr. Winslow Evanston wooed her with gifts and charm that blinded her for a time. When she discovered his lies and refused to become his mistress, he vilified her in the newspapers. Never again would she trust a man without a ring on her finger. “I doubt I’ll ever go back.”

  “Me either.”

  Fiona really looked at Louise. Her features were nondescript, but she had a strong chin and surprising inner fortitude. “Your husband died in the war, right?”

  Louise looked away. “Yes.”

  Heartache. Fiona could recognize that from miles away. And it wasn’t just because he’d died. No, that marriage hadn’t been a happy one. It couldn’t have been, or the family would have taken her in.