Love Inspired Historical November 2014 (37 page)

He offered her a smile as the lesson ended and she stood and retrieved Gillian from Maddie's lap. The smile she returned lacked its usual warmth. In fact, the lesson seemed to have troubled her, if her stiff movements were any indication. He watched as she led Gillian down the stairs near the smokestack.

“You're going about it all wrong,” Maddie said, moving to his side.

Clay turned to frown at her. “I thought you enjoyed the lessons.”

“Oh, I do,” Maddie assured him.

“As do I,” Catherine said, coming up on his other side. “But for such an accomplished teacher, you are remarkably obtuse.”

Clay leaned his hip against a chest of life preservers and eyed the pair of them. Maddie's head was cocked, her hands on the hips of her green wool gown. Catherine was standing as tall and serene as always, though he thought a toe might be tapping beneath her lavender gown, if the sway of her skirts was any indication.

“So what am I missing?” Clay asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Maddie raised a finger. “You're going out of your way to show Mrs. Howard that she won't fit in,” she scolded.

“When you should be assuring her that she will always have a place at your side,” Catherine added.

Clay straightened away from the chest and held up his hands. “Ladies, please! I'm not trying to court Allegra.”

“Not the way you're going about it, you aren't,” Maddie agreed.

“That's why we're here to offer our help,” Catherine assured him. “We've come to know and admire Mrs. Howard, and we want to see her happy.”

Maddie elbowed him in the side. “And she's taken a fancy to you, no doubt about it.”

Clay glanced between them. The redhead was beaming at him, and Catherine was nodding her assent. Were they mad? Did Allie really have feelings for him? He couldn't deny the way his heart beat faster at the thought.

But the same problems reared their heads, hissing at him like a many-headed dragon. He hadn't been able to settle down at Allie's side in Boston. What made him think it would be any different in Seattle? Besides, she seemed so set against marriage, so certain he meant his protection as control. And to keep from protecting her? Impossible!

“I'm honored if Allegra thinks well of me,” he told her friends. “But I doubt she'd welcome my suit.”

“Ho!” Maddie declared, peering closer as if she would see inside him. “I'd never have taken you for a coward.”

Clay stiffened. Catherine pressed her hands together fervently. “Indeed, sir. Faint heart never won fair lady.”

He should protest. He'd faced down his father, left everything he'd known to strike out on his own, given away a fortune with no guarantee of its return. He'd learned to deal with other cultures some people feared; survived windstorm, fire and flood. Him afraid?

Terrified, more like.

“Ladies,” he said, “I'm just not husband material. I take risks few wives would countenance. I live simply in a two-room log cabin I built with my own hands. Every cent I make I reinvest for the future. I'm no longer the sort of fellow who courts women like Allegra Howard.”

“Ah, but you could be,” Maddie crooned, laying a hand on his arm and gazing up at him with her warm brown eyes.

“It isn't always money or position that draws a lady to a gentleman,” Catherine agreed, setting her hand on his other arm.

“Though, mind you, those are nothing to sneeze at,” Maddie countered.

“To be sure,” her friend said with a warning look her way. “But more important is a gentleman's character. That is what makes us fall in love. You have a fine character, Mr. Howard.”

Why didn't he believe that? Few Boston ladies he'd ever met agreed with her. He was Clay Howard, the wild man, the unpredictable, the disloyal. He'd put his own desires before family.

“You didn't care much for my character when we first met,” he reminded Catherine. “What makes you think it any better now?”

She blushed and dropped her gaze. “I was mistaken, sir. I thought you were bent on mastering Mrs. Howard. I see now that you have ever only wished to protect her and dear Gillian. I find that most admirable.”

He only wished Allegra saw it that way.

“So, what do you say?” Maddie asked, giving his arm a squeeze. “Will you try your hand, speak your mind?”

“Will you be guided by us in the best way to court Mrs. Howard?” Catherine pressed.

Clay shook his head. He'd never thought to take a wife in Seattle, even when men had suggested their daughters or sisters, rare as those were. Now, when he tried to picture his world with a wife beside him, the vision had one face.

Allegra's face.

Lord, is this Your will? You know I've tried to live by Your principles since I left home. You've taught me so much. I know Your book says it isn't good for a man to be alone. Everyone needs friends, helpmates. But a wife? And even if having her at my side pleases me, can I make her happy? Can I be the husband for her?

Every thought built an assurance inside him. He'd sworn to protect her. What better way than to offer himself as husband? She wouldn't have to worry about how to make her way in Seattle. She'd complained about being nothing more than a decoration for her husband's parlor. That wasn't the sort of wife he wanted; he didn't even have a parlor! But he did have enough income that she'd be free to try her hand at whatever sparked her interest. Surely that was what she deserved.

Clay took a deep breath and nodded. “I'm your man, ladies. Tell me, what do you advise?”

Chapter Fourteen

I
n the days that followed Clay's lesson on occupations, Allie couldn't help noticing a change in him. For one thing, even though the air started to cool as they sailed south along the coast of Argentina, he began sporting a tailored wool suit that was clearly of Boston make. He must have found someone to trim his hair, for it no longer brushed the back of his collar, which was stiff with starch. And not a trace of gold could be found on his square jaw.

“If I didn't know better,” the widow Hennessy commented to Allie at dinner one evening, “I'd say he was bent on impressing a lady.”

Allie wasn't sure. She couldn't see that he showed any preference for a certain lady's company, despite the number of fluttering lashes aimed in his direction. Indeed, he seemed to be going out of his way to be chivalrous to everyone, opening doors, pulling out chairs, tipping his hat or inclining his head when a lady passed him. He quoted poetry at the least provocation, earning him sighs of delight from the other female passengers.

“He even smells like lavender water,” Allie marveled to Maddie one day after he had set out deck chairs for them and tucked blankets around their skirts.

“That's the mark of a gentleman, that is,” Maddie informed her with a nod as Clay went to perform a similar service for two of the elderly widows.

“I miss Papa's brother,” Gillian said with a sigh where she sat on Allegra's lap.

That was perhaps the most significant change in Clay. Where before he had teased Gillian, tossing her in the air and letting her perch on his shoulder, now he stood respectfully a few feet away and spoke in a calm tone as if he'd been promoted to Sunday-school superintendent. As he became more proper and stilted, so did her daughter. She didn't like seeing Gillian retreat into her shell.

And she refused to let him go back on his promise to her.

“I thought we had an agreement,” she told him when he offered her his piece of the pecan pie Maddie had baked with the last of the nuts from Rio. “If I want more dessert, I am perfectly capable of asking for it.”

“‘The chief joy of man is to serve the flower of womanhood,'” he replied.

Allie shook her head. “Quoting Vaughn Everard will not avail you, sir. Admit it. You are trying to help me again.”

Green eyes met hers, surprisingly warm. “When it comes to helping you, Allegra, it seems I cannot help myself.”

How could she be mad at him when he had such a charming answer to every question she raised, every argument she mustered? But the more diffident he became, the more distance she felt between them. His behavior was too much like Frank's.

Perhaps memories of her late husband were why she opened the trunk one night after Gillian and Maddie were asleep and drew out Frank's letters.

The paper was creased with folds, speckled with the dust of the battlefield camp where he had written them. In places, the words were stained by the drops of her tears. She and Frank had grown up together; she had considered him her best friend. But marriage had driven them apart instead of drawing them closer.

“It is perhaps louder here than I am used to,” he had written in the first letter she opened. “All around me men prepare for battle accompanied by the sound of distant guns. I think of you and Gillian snug in our home, and I am glad you are safe and well.”

That was Frank. He never complained. But for the first time, she noticed the concern behind his words.

“We are fortunate to have a family,” he'd said. “So many I meet have lost mother, father, sisters, brothers. If anything should happen to me, my dearest wife, I know you can count on Clayton to take care of you and Gillian. He was in California last our agents heard. Contact him. He'll know just what to do.”

Even in the end, it seemed, Frank had never lost faith in his brother. Why couldn't she extend the same trust?

The thought was still on her mind the next day when she attended one of Mr. Mercer's worship services. The
Continental
had entered the Straits of Magellan, and dense forests crowded to starboard, rising to mountains in the distance, while rocky barren wastes stretched away to port. A fitful breeze darted along the deck, cold and lonely. She had thought the solemn surroundings might bring people to the service, but only some of the passengers joined in. Though Allie still took comfort from the hymns and Clay's deep voice blending with her alto, she couldn't seem to focus on Mr. Mercer's flat reading of another man's sermon. She found herself closing her eyes and searching her heart.

Lord, why did You lead me here? I was so sure Your hand pointed to Seattle. Then Clay came along. Is he an obstacle I'm meant to overcome or a change in the direction You wish me to go? You must have had some purpose in bringing me here.
I
must have some purpose!

She sensed no words of comfort, no new direction. She opened her eyes, and her gaze lit on the books arranged so carefully on the shelves behind Mercer. Was that her answer? Perhaps she'd missed a treatise on occupations for indigent widows. Perhaps reading a novel would take her mind off her doubts. As the service broke up, she allowed Maddie to take Gillian for tea and went to see what she could find.

Clay drew up a few minutes later as she was thumbing through an encyclopedia of science and culture.

“Good afternoon, Allegra,” he greeted her with a bow.

Allie sighed and slid the book back onto the shelf. “After all this time, are we not at Allie and Clay?”

He grinned, and his stiff manner fell away to be replaced by a warmth that lifted her spirits. “Allie and Clay, is it? What happened to Allegra and Clayton?”

She stood to face him, brushing down the gray of her skirts. “They were buried under the weight of Boston society. I hear no one mourned their passing.”

“A shame,” he agreed. “But I quite like these new folks.”

“Me, too,” she replied. “Most days.”

He cocked his head. “Most days? Why not all of them?”

She was tired of wallowing. “Everyone has an occasional moment of regret, sir. Now, why have you come to find me? I can't be late to class. I understand the next lesson is tomorrow.”

His formal bearing crept back over him as his shoulders straightened. “We'll be anchoring off Point Tamar in an hour. Captain Windsor means to take a group ashore. I thought you might enjoy coming along.”

Escape these walls and the thoughts that chased her around them? “I'd be delighted,” she assured him. “Let me find Maddie and get Gillian ready.”

His arm shot out to stop her. “Gillian should stay aboard. There are too many ways she might get hurt.”

His tone was brusque, as if he thought she'd argue. So now he didn't even trust her to look out for her daughter?

Anger flared. “In that case, sir,” she told him, drawing herself up, “perhaps I should stay aboard, as well. After all, how could someone like me manage a foreign shore?”

He frowned at her, but she pushed past him for the stairs to the lower salon. If she was going to descend into misery, as least she could do so in private.

* * *

Clay blew out a breath as Allie disappeared down the stairs. He'd seen enough courtships in Boston and Seattle to know that his was not going well. But he was following all Catherine and Maddie's advice.

“Every woman appreciates solicitous attention,” Catherine had assured him. “Show her you are more than a backwoods lout.”

Funny. He'd always thought he was more than that.

“And offer her presents,” Maddie had insisted. “There's nothing like flowers to turn a lady's head.”

“Where would you suggest I find flowers in the middle of the ocean?” Clay had teased.

Maddie had grinned. “Oh, you're an inventive lad, so you are. I'm sure you'll find any number of things you can give our dear Allegra.”

He'd tried. He'd offered her the choicest bits of food at the table, presented her with a poem hand-copied from memory and procured a book Roger Conant had refused to loan until now. He'd bestowed every solicitous attention he could think of aboard ship, but instead of warming to him, Allie had cooled.

And all this stiff posturing felt unnatural. He wasn't much enjoying pretending to be a person he'd thought he'd left behind. It was as if he'd squeezed into a coat two sizes too small.

“I don't know what I'm doing wrong,” he confessed to Catherine as they waited for the officers to lower the longboat from the hurricane deck for the trip ashore. “Are you certain this is what she wants?”

“You must be patient,” Catherine assured him, the cool breeze not so much as ruffling her pale hair as she twirled a lacy parasol over her head. “She'll come to see your stellar qualities.”

Clay wasn't sure how, when those qualities were crammed into a starched collar.

Just then he caught sight of Allie walking toward him. Over her gray gown she wore that cloak he'd first seen her in, the quilted hood framing her creamy face. One gloved hand held firmly to Gillian's as the little girl walked beside her in her plaid dress. He wanted to go to Allie, beg her forgiveness, promise never to act like a jackanapes again, in short to be the smitten beau she'd had trailing after her in Boston.

Then he noticed Reynolds walking at her side, her other hand on his arm.

“I managed to convince Mrs. Howard to join us,” he bragged as if he'd negotiated a treaty with a warring nation. He gave his walking stick a twirl.

“Mr. Reynolds assured me that he feels perfectly comfortable with Gillian's safety,” Allie said with a lift of her chin as if she dared Clay to say otherwise.

He would have liked to argue. He wasn't sure the rocky shore was anyplace for a little girl. Mountains crowded close to the narrow shingle, their sides darkened by forests so thick even light didn't penetrate. Part of the beach was shadowed by the ancient timbers of a massive sailing ship that must have wrecked upon the rocks. Allie would find it difficult to enjoy the rustic scenery if she had to spend every moment watching out for her daughter.

So he decided to look out for Gillian himself.

It couldn't be that hard, he reasoned, keeping an eye on a four-year-old. He'd spent enough time with her aboard ship to know that Gillian wasn't the most active of children.

But he soon found that there were a hundred ways for an inquisitive little girl to get into trouble. Those fingers trailing over the side of the longboat as it flew across the water could attract sharks, if any dared these cold waters. And what if she fell in? She'd drown or freeze before the longboat could come back for her.

“Come sit with me, Captain Howard,” he said, lifting her off Allie's lap and depositing her on his own.

Allie frowned at him. Reynolds smirked as if he thought Clay was playing nanny.

The shore was even worse, for he quickly spotted dangers there. Gillian could trip over a rock on the pebbly beach, slip and fall into a tide pool. What if those shells she gathered were sharp and cut her? What if she wandered into the forest and was lost forever? He wanted to clutch her in his arms and never let go.

“She isn't made of glass, you know.”

He turned from watching Gillian bend to pick up a shell to find Allie beside him. Her hands were on her hips, and that militant gleam was in her eyes.

“No, but there's so much she doesn't understand,” he countered, gaze going back to the little girl. “If something happened to her, I'd never forgive myself.”

Even as he watched, Gillian began tugging on one of the redbricklike stones that littered the beach. The rock came free, and she tumbled backward.

His heart leaped into his throat, and he dashed to scoop her up. “Are you hurt, Gillian? Speak to me!”

Gillian frowned. “Why?”

Allie met him and held out her arms. “Here, let me.”

Clay watched as she took her daughter, set her back on the ground and smoothed down the little girl's dress. All the while, Allie talked to her about the rock, about the giant ship looming over them, about the wonders of God's creation. Her tone and look assured her daughter everything was fine. Then she stepped back and watched as Gillian scurried away. Each step the little girl took up the beach, Clay felt himself tensing anew.

“You have to give her room to grow, Clay,” Allie said beside him. “Believe me, I know that can be difficult. But would you plant a tree and cover it from the sun just to keep the birds from roosting in it? Would you lock a puppy in the cellar to make sure it never chased carriages?”

Clay felt as if the air came slowly into his lungs, crisp and cold. “How do you know when it's safe and when it's not?”

“You don't,” she said, gaze on her daughter. “You do the best you can and pray.” She raised her voice. “Gillian! That's far enough. Come and show your uncle what you found.”

Gillian hurried back, fingers full of delicate little pebbles the color of amber. “Look, Uncle. Gold!”

Clay smiled down at her. “Very impressive treasure, Captain Howard. Do you think you should bury it to keep it safe?”

Gillian's frown returned. “No.” She turned and went back to her search.

“Even she knows you can't hide something to keep it,” Allie murmured.

Clay blew out a breath. “I'm no good at this, Allie. All I want to do is carry her around, show her the world, give her her dreams. I don't much like playing the schoolteacher.”

“Is that what you're trying to do?” Allie peered up at him with a frown, then her brow cleared. “You are. All this formality, these fine manners. You're trying to prove you're still a gentleman.”

“And failing,” he admitted.

“No!” She lay a hand on his arm. “A few manners are quite nice, but please don't fall back into the patterns we knew in Boston. I made the choice to leave because I couldn't bear to live in that superficial manner another minute.”