The Bride Ship. Regina Scott

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      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.

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