Mail Order Mix-Up. Christine JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
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 which clearly included her.
He took a gulp of water to give himself time to rein in his shock and replace it with the calm of a placid lake. “I believe there has been some mistake.”
“Don’t think you can wiggle out of this,” Fiona replied. “Pearl and Amanda and that Louise Smythe also want to know your answer.”
He instinctively looked to Pearl, whose lips were pressed into a grim line. Amanda, on the other hand, had paled to the point that he wondered if she would faint again. He searched his memory for the last woman mentioned. Smythe. Smythe. Ah, yes, the small mousy woman who lost her husband in the war. She was not at the table. Given Fiona’s obvious designs on him, he was surprised she mentioned the other women. By his count, that put the eager prospects at four.
Whatever those ladies were up to, he was not going to marry. Not now. Not in the foreseeable future. He couldn’t imagine where they’d gotten that idea. For a moment he recalled the fake advertisement he’d written as a joke to jolt his brother out of mourning, but he’d thrown that into the fire. None of them could possibly have seen it.
Judging by each woman’s rapt attention, they expected an answer.
Well, if there was one thing Roland Decker excelled at, it was his ability to escape from tight situations. No woman was going to snare him in her net.
So he guffawed and turned to Holmes. “Isn’t that like a woman, always looking for a husband?”
He could feel Fiona’s indignation boring into the side of his head.
Holmes, after an initial chuckle, turned serious. “Domestication never hurt a man.”
“Except when it cuts into his attention and time starting up and running a new operation,” Roland pointed out.
He took great care not to look any of the women in the eye, though he could not miss Amanda’s distress, for she was seated between him and Holmes. Moreover, Pearl shuffled in her seat. He could imagine the glare she’d fixed on him.
Instead of agreeing with him, Holmes continued to press his point. “A diligent wife understands the demands placed on her husband and assists him in every possible way.”
That wasn’t Roland’s experience. His brother’s late wife had placed demands on him. Eva had hated Singapore, hated his work, pleaded with him to move back to the city. Garrett had nearly caved in to her demands before the accident.
“Mr. Holmes is right,” Pearl chimed in, the high color dotting her cheeks mirroring the strands of red in her chestnut hair. “Marriage is a true partnership of like interests. Husband and wife working in unison can accomplish much more together than apart. Did not King Solomon note that a two-strand cord is stronger than one?”
Roland savored her persuasive determination. She might be a worthy partner—if he was in the market for a wife. But experience had taught him that words meant nothing. Promises made in the heat of first attraction vanished once the wedding bells stopped pealing.
“Clearly you have not been married, Miss Lawson,” Roland said.
That would have silenced most women. Not Pearl.
“Have you, Mr. Decker?”
He laughed. “Touché. I have witnessed many marriages, though.”
“And those have jaded you on the institution?”
“Let’s say I’ve seen its shortcomings.”
The captain cleared his throat. “Fascinating as this debate is, I am needed in the wheelhouse.” He rose. “Please excuse me, Miss O’Keefe. Miss Lawson. Miss Porter. Gentlemen.”
“Of course,” Pearl murmured.
Though the captain had admirably engaged Fiona O’Keefe most of the evening, his departure now set her attention squarely on Roland. “You did not answer my question, Mr. Decker.”
He folded his napkin and set it on the table. “I thought I did, but if you must hear it plainly, I am not in the market for a wife.” He rose. “The day has been long, and tomorrow I must rise early to attend to business. I bid you good night, ladies.”
* * *
“What are we going to do?” Amanda whispered to Pearl when they’d reached the promenade deck.
Pearl scrambled to come up with an answer. Mr. Decker’s denial might have disheartened Amanda, but it infuriated her. After the first flush of selfish excitement that he was not interested in Fiona, the full import of his words struck home. He did not want to marry anyone. Yet he had placed an advertisement in a New York newspaper.
What sort of man did such a thing? She had thought him solicitous and compassionate, not the type who would tempt women to leave their lives behind only to disavow he’d ever suggested they do so. If not for the many diners surrounding them and for Amanda’s fragile state, she would have given Mr. Decker a piece of her mind.
He must have sensed the imminent danger. That’s why he’d left so quickly. Good riddance, in her estimation. However, that did not ease Amanda’s distress. Pearl had to set aside her anger and find a way to soothe her friend. So, she paused at the railing and took a deep breath.
Overhead,