Seattle, Washington Territory June 1866
Alexandrina Eugenia Fosgrave clasped her hands tightly together, one up, one down, as she walked along the carpeted corridor of the boardinghouse for the formal parlor. Though her white organza gown floated about her slippers like a cloud, her heart was hammering against her ribs and her legs felt rubbery. None of that now! She was not going to let her nerves affect the outcome of this interview.
A gentleman wished to hire a schoolteacher, the girl who had come for her had said. He’d already spoken to two others and rejected them out of hand, even though he had few choices. Alexandrina was one of the last teachers among the Mercer expedition who had yet to be whisked away to the wilderness since their arrival in Seattle nearly two months ago.
She knew why the women who had traveled with her from the East Coast had been hired first. They had more experience and stellar references. She had only the written word of the sheriff near Framingham, Massachusetts, that she was of good character, a statement grudgingly given. She was fairly certain he had wished he could have locked her up as easily as he had the other members of the Fosgrave family.
But lacking a position, her financial situation grew more dire each day. She very much feared that she might be forced out into that wilderness, not as the teacher she’d hoped to become, but as a penniless waif.
Please, Lord, let this job be mine! You have been with me through it all. You’re the only one I can rely on.
She paused outside the closed door of the parlor and drew in a deep breath. Mrs. Elliott’s pristine boardinghouse always smelled of roses, the scent matching the pink papered walls and flowered carpeting. It was a suitable lodging for ladies, but she doubted a gentleman would appreciate it.
She tried to imagine the gentleman waiting for her beyond the door now. He’d be an older man, established in his profession, the head of his community. He’d ask about her skills, her experience, her eagerness to mold young minds, the values her family had instilled in her. She’d have to be both honest and circumspect in her answers, for her skills were untested, her experience nonexistent and her eagerness waning with each rejection.
And as for her family, the less said the better.
At least her past had prepared her to exude a certain presence. She felt it slipping over her now. Her head came up, her breath evened out and one hand slipped to her side as she reached for the iron doorknob with the other. She knew every honey-colored hair was in place, her hazel eyes bright and confident even though she quaked inside. She allowed herself a pleasant smile as she walked into the parlor.
And then she very nearly missed her step.
Standing by the cold hearth was a fine figure of a man, tall, lean, with straight golden-brown hair neatly trimmed to the collar of his brown wool suit coat. His broad shoulders were damp with rain, as if he’d ridden far.
But he couldn’t be the head of his community. He looked only a year or two older than her two and twenty years. And other than the warm color of his skin, he didn’t appear as if he lived out in the wilderness and worked out of doors. Those men came to town in flannel shirts, rough trousers and thick-soled boots. With his tailored suit, elegantly patterned waistcoat and bow tie at his throat, he was easily the best-dressed man she’d seen here.
But the man she’d called father had cut a fine figure as well, and look what a scoundrel he’d turned out to be.
Hat in hands that looked strong enough to wield an ax, he nodded a greeting. “Miss Fosgrave, thank you for meeting with me.”
She nodded, as well. He made no move to sit, and she wasn’t sure whether he expected her to perch on one of the hard-backed wooden chairs that dotted the space. With its single shuttered window overlooking Puget Sound, Mrs. Elliott’s parlor resembled a meeting room more than a retreat.
As if he meant to set her at her ease, he offered her a smile. It broadened his lean face, lit his eyes and caused her quaking to cease. Yet something told her he knew exactly how potent that smile could be.
“I came to Seattle on a mission, Miss Fosgrave,” he explained. “We’re about to open a new school in our area, and we have very high expectations for our teacher.”
That was more like it. Every school that had requested a teacher had also sent a list of expectations. She’d rehearsed how to respond. “I was tutored in mathematics, science, geography, history and literature,” she told him. “And I’m fluent in two other languages besides English.”
“Excellent, excellent,” he said, giving his hat a twirl as if he couldn’t contain his delight at her answer. “What we really need is a teacher who is refined, polished and poised. I think you’ll do nicely.”
His gaze swept from her toes to her top, and she felt her blush growing along with his smile. She’d attempted to impress, but how could he know she was the right one for the job just by looking at her? She realized her recent experiences had made her too prone to suspicion, but she could not shake the feeling that there was more here than met the eye.
“You will want to see my credentials,” she said.
“Certainly,” he agreed. “But I have complete confidence in you.”
Arguing with him was like refusing a gift, but she couldn’t accept such an offer without questioning it. She’d seen too many people hurt by blind faith.
“Why would you have confidence in me?” she asked with a frown. “You have no proof of my skills, training or experience.”
He blinked. “I know you have sufficient training—you told me so yourself, and Mr. Mercer would not have listed you as a candidate if you did not meet my criteria. He recommended you in glowing terms.”
He obviously had a much higher opinion of the head of their expedition than she did. She’d grasped Asa Mercer’s lifeline of an offer to travel around the continent to Seattle and teach, but the trip had proved to her that the fellow was too shrewd in his dealings. He had accepted money from a number of men to bring them brides, but he hadn’t told the women someone had helped pay their passage or why. There was mounting evidence that he’d sold some of the women’s belongings without their permission so he could pay for unexpected costs for travel. This man’s connection to Seattle’s so-called emigration agent only raised her concerns.
“How much did you pay Mr. Mercer for that recommendation?” she demanded.
His brows shot up. “Nothing, ma’am. He was happy to oblige an upstanding fellow like myself.”
An upstanding fellow he might be, but she smelled deceit. “If you are one of those men who paid Mr. Mercer to bring him a bride, you can leave right now,”
