her wrath?
James kept his own face still, determined not to give her any reason to change her mind. “Forgive me, ma’am. I meant no offense. Wait here, and I’ll get your things.”
As he ventured back to the house, he shook his head. Why had she reacted that way to a simple tease? Did she think he was laughing at her expense? Nothing could be further from the truth. He’d only been trying to make her smile. It was obvious he’d have to work much harder to stay in her good graces. He nodded to the ladies still watching from the porch and put his hand to the trunk.
One tug, and he nearly groaned aloud. What had she packed—enough bricks to build a house? With the other ladies standing there, and her waiting on the bench, he wasn’t about to admit it was too heavy. He seized the leather handle at either end and heaved it up into his arms. One of the ladies gave an “ooo” of appreciation at his demonstration of strength. It was all he could do not to stagger down the walk.
Miss Fosgrave didn’t so much as look his way as he brought the trunk and shoved it into the bed of the wagon. Sweat trickled down his cheek as he made his way to the front once more.
“All set,” he said, knowing a longer statement would likely come out breathless. He took up the reins and climbed onto the bench.
“Good luck, Alexandrina!” one of the women called, and they all waved or fluttered handkerchiefs as if she were taking off on a grand journey.
He could only hope the end of the trip would be more auspicious than the beginning and his family would find her as perfect as James did.
* * *
Alexandrina sat beside James Wallin, heartbeat slowly returning to normal. She hadn’t expected such a reaction, but then she’d never been held like that before. None of the men who had showed interest in her would have dared put an arm about her for fear of offending her family. One did not mistreat Princess Alexandrina Eugenia Fosgrave of Battenburgia.
“Though of course we do not use our titles here,” Mr. Fosgrave would always confide to the rapt listener in a hushed tone. “Our enemies are everywhere. But when we have been returned to our kingdom, you will be well rewarded for your kindness.”
It had been a potent promise, recalling days of pomp and circumstance that made the average American surprisingly sentimental. So everyone had treated her with kindness, deference, humility. Until the truth had come out. And there had been nothing kind in it.
“Alexandrina,” James said, guiding his magnificent horses up a muddy, rutted trail that hardly did them justice. “That’s an unusual name. Does it run in your family?”
She couldn’t tell him the fiction she’d grown up hearing, that it had been her great-grandmother’s name. “I don’t believe so. I’m not overly fond of it.”
He nodded as if he accepted that. “Then why not shorten it? You could go by Alex.”
She sniffed, ducking away from an encroaching branch on one of the towering firs that grew everywhere around Seattle. “Certainly not. Alex is far too masculine.”
The branch swept his shoulder, sending a fresh shower of drops to darken the brown wool. “Ann, then.”
She shook her head. “Too simple.”
“Rina?” He glanced her way and smiled.
Yes, he definitely knew the power of that smile. She could learn to love it. No, no, not love it. She was not here to fall in love but to teach impressionable minds. And a smile did not make the man. She must look to character, convictions.
“Rina,” she said testing the name on her tongue. She felt a smile forming. It had a nice sound to it, short, uncompromising. It fit the way she wanted to feel—certain of herself and her future. “I like it.”
He shook his head. “And you blame me for failing to warn you. You should have warned me, ma’am.”
Rina—yes, she was going to think of herself that way—felt her smile slipping. “Forgive me, Mr. Wallin. What have I done that would require a warning?”
“Your smile,” he said with another shake of his head. “It could make a man go all weak at the knees.”
His teasing nearly had the same effect, and she was afraid that was his intention. He seemed determined to make her like him, as if afraid she’d run back to Seattle otherwise. She refused to tell him she’d accepted his offer more from desperation than a desire to know him better. And she certainly had no intention of succumbing to his charm.
She clasped her hands together in her lap, one up, one down, fingers overlapping, and made herself look out over the horses. Sunlight through the trees dappled their black coats with gold.
“Nonsense,” she said. “What about you? Why were you named James?”
“It’s from the Bible,” he said, shifting in his seat as one of the wheels hit a bump. His shoulder brushed hers, solid, strong. “Pa named us for the first apostles: Andrew, Simon, Levi, John and James. I suspect you’ll like my brother John. He reads a lot.”
He glanced her way as if expecting agreement. Most likely he thought she read a great deal as a schoolteacher. That had been true once. She’d loved reading stories of kings and queens and gallant knights, imagining they were like her own life. A shame their stories had proved more real than the one she’d lived.
“Reading is important,” she acknowledged. “But putting what we read into practice is even more so.”
He laughed. It came so easily, freely. She wasn’t sure she’d ever laughed like that.
“Now that would depend on what you read, ma’am,” he told her. “Pa left us epic poems and adventure novels. I’m not sure how well we’ve put those lessons into practice.”
“Well,” Rina pointed out, “you do live in the wilderness. That is considered romantic in some circles.”
“No circle I belong to.” He swatted at a branch that hung over the track. “But at least Wallin Landing is becoming more civilized all the time. We have four cabins, a good-sized barn and the schoolhouse. Next is Catherine’s dispensary. Before you know it, we’ll have a town.”
A town. There was something fine about the idea of building for the future. But was it any more real than the stories Mr. and Mrs. Fosgrave had told?
The pattern had always been the same. The three of them would journey to a new town and seclude themselves, careful to hide the horses and carriage somewhere for easy access. This practice was for their safety, the woman she’d called mother had insisted, lovely blue eyes tearing up at the supposed memories. And Rina had learned not to ask too many questions about the past, for it had always upset the dear lady.
But somehow the story would slip out—how her father and mother had been deposed by a cruel tyrant, how even now their loyal subjects were massing to retake the throne. Bankers would extend credit, expecting to be repaid in gold. Society hostesses would vie with each other to fete them. The horses and carriage would come out of hiding, perhaps even join in a few races for which her father would be handsomely paid. Life would be wonderful, until her father would wake her in the night with news that they were no longer safe. And then away they’d go again.
She’d
