Mail Order Mix-Up. Christine Johnson
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At the first lull in the conversation, Fiona proclaimed, “This is the finest ship I have ever sailed on, Captain. Is it new?”
Her comment drew the desired attention from all the gentlemen at the table.
“I’m afraid not, Miss O’Keefe,” the captain said, “but it has been recently serviced. Do you sail often?”
“Recently, I sailed from New York City.” Fiona looked each man in the eye. “I was a rising star on the stage.”
That startled Pearl but intrigued the men, who asked where she had appeared.
“Smaller theaters,” Fiona replied, her color high. “As a soprano.”
Pearl wasn’t certain she believed the story, but it did make an impression on Mr. Holmes.
“What manner of songs did you sing?” the man asked.
Mr. Decker cleared his throat. “Wholesome songs, I imagine.”
His pointed look must have gotten through to Fiona, for she smiled coyly and replied, “But of course, gentlemen. I would never sing anything else.”
Though the men quickly returned to their business discussion, Pearl wondered at Fiona’s story. Why admit any alliance that could sully her reputation before the man she wanted to marry? A man seeking a wife certainly wouldn’t look in music halls. Yet there was a desperation in Fiona’s eyes that a man might miss. Regardless of the reason, this woman needed the marriage. That made her a dangerous opponent for Amanda.
Pearl glanced back at her friend, whose attention had flagged somewhat.
“Where do you hail from, Miss Lawson?” the captain asked.
Pearl reluctantly turned from her friend. “Amanda and I are also from New York.”
“New York?” Holmes bellowed above the din of conversation and flatware clinking against china. “Decker, you didn’t tell me you had to send to New York for a teacher.”
Mr. Decker took the comment in stride. “We want the most highly educated instructor for our children.”
Now that was peculiar. Hadn’t he said earlier that he didn’t even know they’d hired a new teacher? Now he claimed she possessed higher qualifications than she did. Though she’d studied hard, she didn’t have a university degree. That’s why she’d applied to a small, remote posting. They did not quibble over her credentials, yet here was Mr. Decker touting her education. Couple that with his request that she remind Holmes of her position, and she could not make heads nor tails of Mr. Decker.
He was gracious, charming and could talk a fish onto a hook. She would give him that. His stunning good looks couldn’t be denied, either. From perfectly chiseled cheekbones and jaw to impeccable attire, he was a sight to behold. Judging by the smooth cheeks and manicured haircut, he had visited the ship’s barber after seeing them this afternoon.
Yet he spoke with confidence of things he knew nothing about. Pearl couldn’t condone that. It was one shade short of stretching the truth, and she began to wonder if he was the right man for Amanda.
Or her. She pushed away that thought. Three women sought to marry Mr. Decker. She was not one of them.
Their steward removed her empty soup bowl and replaced it with a steaming plate that carried the most delicious smell. She closed her eyes and savored the delicate poached fish in a buttery sauce and steamed new potatoes dusted with parsley. Sautéed early carrots completed the plate.
Pearl had never eaten so well. It took every bit of restraint not to gobble down the fare. After each bite, she counted to thirty, smiled at Amanda, who was also reveling in the delicious food, and attempted to interject a comment into the conversation.
The captain had managed to engage Fiona, though she watched Mr. Decker like a hawk. When Amanda smiled at him, Fiona frowned. When Mr. Decker glanced in her direction, the redhead fluttered her eyelids.
Amanda, on the other hand, smiled at everything the men said but contributed nothing. That would not do. Pearl caught Amanda’s attention and motioned for her to speak. Amanda averted her gaze and took another bite of food. Now was no time for Amanda to succumb to her tendency toward shyness. If she didn’t say something soon, Mr. Decker would never notice her fine qualities.
Pearl seized a lull in the conversation to guide the gentleman’s attention in the proper direction. “Amanda is an accomplished pianist.”
“Is that so?” Mr. Holmes said.
Alas, the wrong man had seized the bait.
Amanda blushed. “Not so very accomplished.”
“Nonsense. You play Mozart beautifully, and that is not easy,” Pearl pointed out.
“Indeed,” Holmes said. “Do you also play hymns?”
Amanda brightened. “Yes. My favorite is ‘Amazing Grace.’”
That initiated a lively discussion in which Mr. Decker and Fiona O’Keefe did not participate. Pearl watched him closely. Either he had no favorite hymn or was not the churchgoing sort. For Amanda’s sake, she hoped it was the former.
Next came the dessert course, a delicious spiced cake with candied peaches. Pearl closed her eyes and let the flavors melt on her tongue. It might be years before she tasted such fare again, but one day she would wend her way west, where fortunes could still be made.
“Mr. Decker.” Fiona’s loud voice yanked Pearl from her reverie. The woman had managed to garner the entire table’s attention. “Have you made your choice yet?” She pointedly looked at Amanda and then Pearl.
Amanda gasped and covered her mouth. Pearl attempted to kick Fiona beneath the table but missed. The gentlemen stared with obvious confusion.
“My choice?” Mr. Decker’s lips stretched into a charming smile. “Coffee would be most appropriate after dessert, I believe.”
The gentlemen all chimed their agreement. Mr. Decker lifted his glass of water in a toast to the fine meal.
Fiona O’Keefe, however, could not be so easily diverted from her purpose. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Which one of us are you going to marry?”
Roland gagged on a mouthful of water.
“What?” He coughed. Repeatedly. “Marry?”
“Yes, marry.” Fiona O’Keefe’s gaze bored into him. “You’ve met us. Now which one do you choose?”
What on earth had gotten into that woman? He had not once stated he was in the market for a wife, yet she seemed to think he was supposed to pick one this very instant. Moreover, this choice was supposed to come from some undefined group of women that he had supposedly met, and