The Last Honest Seamstress (35 page)

She stretched her neck back then collapsed forward onto her forearms over the book, so confused she wasn't sure his business was as troubled as she imagined. Maybe she was mistaken. Drew walked in.

"Fayth? I saw the light on and came to investigate. What are you doing here so late?"

"Looking over the business ledgers of O'Neill Shipping. What a mess, Drew. My husband's business is in trouble. How much, I can't discern. Unfortunately, I'm not an accountant." Without thinking, she had let her guard down and spoken to him familiarly about a business that was not his concern, just as she used to about her parents'. When had he wormed his way into her confidence?

"Not what you bargained for when you married for convenience?"

She looked at him sharply and closed the ledger.

Drew came up behind her. "How bad do you suspect it is? Could he lose the business? Could his loss force the loss of yours?"

She stiffened at the thought. She and the Captain kept matters separate, but were they one to the law?
 

Drew spun her chair around and knelt before her so that their heads were even. "You don't have to let him drag you down. You don't have to wait for fate to deal you another blow."

"Don't say it, Drew. You're getting dangerously close to breaking our agreement."

"Damn the agreement. I love you, Fayth. Run away with me."

"Drew, stop."

"You've been married for less than a year and he's already about to take you down. It isn't fair, and you don't have to be a part of it. Whatever problems he has are his; you owe him nothing. Together, we'll build a fashion empire. No more stodgy men's clothing for us, just sumptuous dresses and—"

"No, Drew." She tried to pull her hand from his. "I won't discuss this subject again."

"I don’t accept that. Think about it, Fayth. I'll be here waiting for you as long as it takes." He drew her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Chapter 15

May 1890

Seattle rose spring green and lovely on the shore before Con.
 

Home!
Restored, refined, rebuilt.
 

Con scanned the wharf with a sharp gaze. The glare off the water made it difficult to spot detail onshore. Was Fayth there, waiting for him? He tried not to get his hopes up. He smiled, picturing her waiting for him, her spyglass in hand, scanning the waters. She couldn't know how much he had missed her, longed for her. Why hadn't he been able to tell her in his letters? As soon as he found her, his wife would be in no doubt of his feelings.

The smell of fresh timber and sawdust from the mills drifted out onto the water. Con inhaled deeply. All would be well now that he was home. He couldn't wait to see Fayth. How had he let business keep him away so long?
 

His gaze swept the shore again. Where was she? She must be waiting in the office until the
Aurnia
docked. He had wired news of his arrival ahead. He wanted her to know, wanted her to be waiting for him. She had to be as eager as he was. He intended to have his wife, fully this time. He ran his glass along the length of the wharf. She wouldn't have to wait long—he'd already given Sweeney orders to take the helm when they docked.

Fayth sat at the drawing table in her office with Drew bent over her shoulder, watching her work.
 

"The neckline should be lower." Drew spoke solemnly.
 

She laughed, and it felt good. "Typical man. Always wanting to see more cleavage." She didn't alter the drawing.

Drew stepped back. "No, always wanting to see a perfect design. But you're too headstrong to listen. Always have been."

"Headstrong? I've always attributed that quality to you."

He leaned in, placing his cheek next to hers, so close that her hair brushed against his. He smelled of fresh soap and laundered shirts. Cultured, clean, impeccably groomed, he still didn't entice her. Drew gave a low whistle as he admired the drawing. "You should be in New York, Fayth."

"Always the flatterer." Fayth picked up a brush and swept her erasures away. "What do you think, more pouf to the sleeve?"

"I think you should run away with me to New York and live the good life."
 

"I thought you agreed not to mention that again." Fayth set her pencil down. "It's time for me to be heading home. I've a fitting appointment there with Miss Reilly. She's one of those who refuses to come to the shop."

"A word from you is all it will take to leave these troubles behind. A
For Sale
sign, a train ticket, and we're on our way to fortune and happiness."

She gave him an arch look. "Watch the shop for me while I keep my appointment? Coral should be back any minute now."

"Certainly." He helped her on with her shawl.

"Take good care of things in my absence."

The smiled died on Con's face. She wasn't at the wharf. She wasn't in the office. He barked at Sweeney, growled at Tetch who looked surprised to see him.

"Mrs. O'Neill hasn't been by?" Con asked him.

Tetch frowned. "Not in nearly a week, sir. You might find her at her shop, though in all likelihood, she'll be out."

Con frowned. "Why would she be out?"

"You haven't heard? Her business has been struggling. Women refuse to patronize it as long as a former whore works there. Mrs. O'Neill has had to resort to making house calls to keep the few loyal clients she has."

"Man alive," Con muttered. At least that partly explained Fayth's absence. Tetch watched him curiously. "Why does everyone seem so surprised by my arrival? Didn't you get my telegrams?"

Tetch shook his head. "Telegrams? I'm sorry, Captain, no. Mrs. O'Neill didn't mention a word last time she was in."

Con headed for the door. Why hadn't he come back sooner? "Oversee the unloading."

At the shop, Con smiled at the dainty tinkle of the bell as he walked in. The main room was empty. He made his way to the office, picturing her bent over her drawing table, her surprise when she looked up to see him. He wondered vaguely whether she hadn't heard the bell. He walked into her office without knocking, calling out her name. "Fayth!"

A tall, dark man was seated at Fayth's desk, bent over a ledger. He started and looked up. "May I help you?"

He recognized the man immediately. Damn! Her former fiancé. A little older maybe, but no doubt the man from the picture Fayth had kept. Con's stomach knotted, burning with the indigestion of rage and jealousy. When had that bastard come to town? How had he connived his way back into Fayth's life? Con fought to maintain his composure as he stared him down.

There was an awkward moment of silence as Con assessed the situation. The man seated in Fayth's place was handsome and arrogant, confidently assuming a role no longer his. Con watched Drew's gaze flick over him, no doubt taking in the cut of his suit, determining how best to make him over in fine cloth. Or did he know who Con was? Was he sizing up the competition? Con couldn't tell.

"I'm Mrs. O'Neill's assistant, Drew Hanbrough."
 

Con sensed Drew's immediate dislike. Funny how rivals could pick each other out.
 

"If you're looking for a tailor, I assure you I am quite capable of helping you."

"I imagine you are," Con said dryly. "My business is with Fayth. Do you know where I can find her?"

"She ran home to pick something up. May I schedule an appointment with her for you?"

"No, I'm quite capable of finding her at home." Con stormed out the door. He should have returned to the ship. He needed to calm down before he faced Fayth, but he was compelled to see her. Needed to hear her explanation of what the hell Drew was doing in Seattle, working for her. What did he expect her to say? What possible reason could she give?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself as he strode across the skylights and down the street. He smiled ruefully. Fayth hated those blasted things. Reason returned as he walked. He would calm down and go home. Bring her the gifts he brought for her. Act as if nothing had happened. Wait for her to confide in him. What did he have to gain by starting a fight with her? By accusing her? Drew might already have the upper hand. Putting Fayth on the defensive against him would only lessen Con's odds of winning her back. If he hadn't lost her already.

No. He wouldn't lose her.

Fayth was getting ready to head back to the shop when she heard the screen door in the kitchen creak open. "Coral?" She hurried to the kitchen. "How are things at the—"

She froze midsentence. Con stood near the door. At least, she thought he was Con, this cleanly shaved man who had Con's eyes and hair and a strong jaw firmly set that sent her heart tripping over itself. He held in front of him a potted rose bush in full bloom, so tightly his knuckles were white. He didn't smile.

"Captain?" Her gaze flicked to the rosebush.

"They're blooming in California now. I couldn't bring home fresh roses, so I dug up the whole bush. Billy had a trial keeping it alive." The sentiment was tender, but his words were hard.
 

She hesitated a second too long, reaching for it just as he set it beside him. She pulled back and forced a smile. "It's lovely. And so is the surprise of having you home. Why didn't you let me know you were coming? I would have met you at the pier."

He frowned. "You didn't get my telegrams?"

"No." She watched him study her carefully, gauging her response. Something was definitely wrong, so wrong there was ice in the air between them. She smiled again and tried not to act like an awkward stranger. "You shaved."

"Yeah, I feel naked." He rubbed his cheek.

On impulse, she took a step toward him and ran her fingers over his smoothly shaved jaw. "Well, you look handsome."

He stiffened.
 

She dropped her hand and kept smiling brightly, even though it was so forced her cheeks hurt with the effort. "You do have a chin," she said softly.

He nodded. "That I do."

This wasn't the reunion she'd pictured, not this stiff, cold stranger act. She didn't know this man in front of her, except from her nightmares. This is what she'd feared all along. But if he'd become so indifferent, then why had he come back at all?

She froze as an awful thought occurred to her. Why had he looked for her at home? Logically, he would have stopped by the shop first—

Drew!
What had he done and said? How would she explain? She needed time to think. She spoke automatically. "How was your trip?" She took the Captain by the arm and led him to the sitting room as if nothing were wrong. "Are you hungry?"

"I ate onboard."

He obviously wasn't going to make this easy on her.

"Of course." Like two strangers, they took seats opposite each other. "You've been by the shop?" She smiled at him even though her cheeks felt stretched and tight.

He nodded. "I have."

"Then you've met my assistant, Drew Hanbrough?"

"Yes." His voice was serious, calm. "He's a handsome man, a real charmer. That must come in handy with the ladies."

She clasped her hands in her lap, trying not to let any emotion about Drew slip and frantically trying to remember if there was any reason for the Captain to connect Drew as her former fiancé. She'd been so careful not to mention him. And the Captain claimed never to have seen that picture she'd sworn she left behind in his cabin after the fire. "Drew Hanbrough, handsome? I suppose. I've known him forever so I guess I don't really notice anymore. But he can be charming. When he chooses. And the clients like him."
 

She knew she must look guilty and tried not to act it. She had to put him at ease about Drew, not set him immediately more on edge than he was. "He worked for Father as his assistant. It was really a piece of luck he came west and ended up in Seattle just as I needed him."

"As you needed him?" His gaze was unwavering and icy, his face masked.

She shifted uncomfortably. "I didn't want to worry you, but I've been under attack since you left." She launched into a description of her woes—the newspaper articles, the words painted on her building, the loss of business. "I was in a bind, having to make house calls and close the shop while I was out. I needed an assistant, but worried over where I would find one. There isn’t a woman in town who will work with a former prostitute. Then Drew arrived."

"How very convenient. Drew?"

She'd slipped up and sounded too familiar. "Well, yes. We are on first name terms. As I said, I've known him forever." She told the truth, but her conscience pricked her. She lied by omission by not confessing that Drew was her former fiancé. But the Captain seemed so distant, and she was so uncertain. It just didn't seem like the right time for the revelation.

"Drew has done wonderful things for the business. I don't know how I would have managed without him." She tried to sound light. "But he'll be moving on soon."

"Will he?"

Her heart pounded. He'd always been able to read her so well. Did he suspect she wasn't telling him the whole truth about Drew? She stared at him again, unable to get over the impression that he was a stranger. He looked different and acted stiff. His manner frightened her. Had he come to tell her it was over? "You haven't said why you're back?"