Mail Order Sweetheart. Christine Johnson

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СКАЧАТЬ must be a joke,” she announced. “There aren’t more than a handful of unmarried women within miles. No one would advertise in Singapore for a bride.”

      “Maybe this isn’t the only place he advertised,” the brunette suggested.

      Fiona couldn’t deny that possibility, but the result was the same. She refolded the newspaper. “If you are already promised, I suggest you focus on your beau, not some foolishness published in the newspaper.”

      She then carried the newspaper—and source of the ladies’ excitement—from the room.

      * * *

      “What am I going to do now?” Sawyer shook the newspaper in front of Roland Decker. As he’d feared, the advertisement had made its way into print.

      Roland shrugged. “It’s a good way to catch Fiona’s attention.”

      “I’m not the one bent on catching her attention. You and Pearl are.”

      “Now, Sawyer. Anyone and everyone can see that you’ve had your eye on her for a long time.”

      Sawyer had no idea he was giving that impression. “She’s pretty but only interested in someone whose wallet is fat.”

      “That’s why the advertisement highlighted your potential.”

      “Potential?” Sawyer raked a hand through his hair. “Every word is completely false.” Well, not completely. He could be an industrial magnate if he chose to ride on Father’s coattails and obey the man’s every demand, but Roland didn’t know that.

      “Then make it true.”

      “How? I can’t become a wealthy businessman overnight.”

      Roland leaned on the mercantile counter, that grin of his not budging. “I didn’t see anything in the advertisement about being wealthy.”

      Sawyer read the offensive points. “Up and coming industrial magnate.”

      “Doesn’t say what you are now.”

      Sawyer moved on. “‘Must be willing to entertain and manage a home.’ If that doesn’t point to wealth, I don’t know what does. The poor don’t entertain. Moreover, I don’t have a home.”

      “You will. Now that you’re manager at the mill you can afford one.”

      “But I don’t have one now, and even if I did lease one, none of the houses here are big enough to require managing. That implies a servant at least, possibly a whole staff.”

      Roland chuckled. “That’s a stretch, I’ll admit, but can’t you just see Fiona bossing the servants around?”

      The problem was, he could. Sawyer let out a sigh.

      “Besides,” Roland continued, “there’s no harm done. No one knows who is looking for a wife, only that applications are accepted here.”

      The doorbell tinkled, drawing Sawyer’s attention. He lowered his voice. “And you think no one will ask who it is?”

      “Not likely.”

      Mrs. Wardman approached.

      “Good afternoon, ma’am,” Roland said. “How are you doing this fine day? Anything I can get for you?”

      “I’m curious about this advertisement. My girls are far too young, naturally, but I have a cousin over in Allegan who might be interested. I’d write and suggest she send a letter, but I’d have to know who the prospective groom is.”

      “Now, that’s strictly confidential, ma’am. You must understand.”

      Mrs. Wardman leaned over the counter to whisper, “Is it Mr. Stockton?”

      Roland gave her a conspiratorial grin. “You know I can’t say.”

      “It is him, isn’t it? Well, I thought that he’d never remarry after losing his wife.” Mrs. Wardman chattered on, never once looking at Sawyer.

      Maybe Roland was right. No one would think that the prospective groom was him. Like Mrs. Wardman, they’d think it was Stockton. Wouldn’t the dour entrepreneur think that was funny? Well, maybe not.

      Before Sawyer could get another word with Roland, woman after woman came into the store with the same question. Who was looking for a wife? Each bought something, making Roland beam. Apparently this little scheme had at least improved business. It sure didn’t make Sawyer feel good, though.

      When the last lady departed, Sawyer asked, “Any of them say they were going to apply?”

      Roland’s grin broadened. “Not yet, but it’s early.”

      Sawyer groaned. He was ready to make his escape when the doorbell tinkled again. This time Mrs. VanderLeuven walked in. Sawyer stood up straight. The hotel proprietress must be coming back to reopen. Either that or she’d gotten word about last night’s shipwreck.

      “Mrs. VanderLeuven!” Roland exclaimed. “I didn’t know you’d come back to town.”

      She waved a hand. “Soon as we heard about the wrecked ship, we packed up the wagon and drove the old road down from Holland.”

      “News got to Holland that quickly?” Sawyer was astonished. Though people often traveled the ten miles between the two towns, the VanderLeuvens would have had to race to get here this quickly.

      “They saw it up at the lighthouse.”

      That made sense. From the Holland light tower, the keeper could easily see off the shore from Singapore. The wreck hadn’t gone under but sat like a great hulk on the sandbar.

      “Though I’ll miss my family in Holland,” Mrs. VanderLeuven was saying, “I had to come help. People might be needing a place to sleep and something to eat.”

      While she and Roland discussed what would be needed to reopen the hotel, Sawyer pretended to browse the display of oilskins. The VanderLeuvens’ return could mean resuming the concerts. That meant time with Fiona. Though marriage was out of the question right now, he loved making music with her. He’d never heard a clearer soprano.

      When Roland and Mrs. VanderLeuven finished their business transaction, Sawyer caught the woman’s attention. “Perhaps I could talk Fiona into a concert in the dining room to encourage business.”

      “I’m afraid I can’t pay,” Mrs. VanderLeuven responded, “not until we’ve started turning a profit.”

      That was disappointing. Sawyer wouldn’t mind adding to his savings, but a bit of goodwill might improve business enough for the VanderLeuvens to once again pay them for playing. “Consider it a gift.”

      The portly woman’s cheeks flushed. “Why, Mr. Evans, what a kind gesture. Of course we would welcome a concert. The usual time?”

      After Sawyer assured her that Saturday evening would be perfect, she left.

      Roland’s СКАЧАТЬ