Love Inspired Historical November 2014

by Danica Favorite

  And he certainly didn’t look the part of a gentleman ready to escort a lady home. His fur coat was patched together in places, his boots were scuffed and dirty, and all he carried with him were a few days of clothing and toiletries stuffed in his satchel. His own mother had refused to allow him in her parlor. Allegra would be mad to accept his help.

  Or desperate. As her breath came in short bursts like the puffs of a steam engine, he could almost feel her determination. He couldn’t understand what had driven her out of the city of her birth. Surely returning to Boston was preferable to traveling thousands of miles away to a place she was ill suited to live. Why was she so set on leaving home?

  “Excuse me.” Clay turned to find a pretty blonde in a tailored brown coat behind him along with a narrow-eyed woman in a cloak nearly as red as her hair. Around them ranged several other women, all with heads high and fingers clutching their reticules as if they meant to use the little cloth bags to effect.

  The blonde’s smile was tight under her trim brown hat. “The tide turns within the hour, sir,” she informed him, patrician nose in the air as if even the scent of his soap offended her. “We have a great deal to do before then. You have no right to detain our friend.” She flapped her gloved fingers at him as if shooing a chicken. “Be gone.”

  The other women nodded fervently.

  Clay inclined his head. “I’m not here for trouble, ladies. I have only Mrs. Howard’s best interests in mind, I assure you.”

  “Sure’n, isn’t that what they all say?” The lady with the red curls clustered about her oval face had a voice laced with the lilt of Ireland. She looked him up and down. “Go on, now. A big strapping lad like you can’t be so lacking for female companionship he needs to snatch his women off the pier. Have some respect for yourself.”

  For once in his life, Clay had no idea how to respond. As if she knew it, Allegra smothered a laugh. Even her daughter was regarding him quizzically.

  “Truly, sir,” the blonde scolded him, “it’s the Christian thing to do.”

  “It’s all right, ladies,” Allegra said. “Mr. Howard was just saying farewell.”

  Now besides the humor, he could hear triumph in her voice. She thought her posse of vigilante females would frighten him off. She expected him to wish these ladies well, to allow her and Frank’s daughter to board this vessel and sail off to places that would endanger their values, their faith and their very lives.

  Normally, he’d be the last to dissuade anyone from pursuing a dream. He knew the heady feeling of charting his own course, making his own way. Yet he also knew what lay waiting for these women in the wilderness.

  Father, how can I compromise my own beliefs and let them go?

  He couldn’t. Allegra’s determination must have been contagious, for he felt his shoulders straightening with purpose.

  “Give me five minutes, Allegra,” he said. “If I can’t persuade you to return to Boston, I won’t stop you from boarding the ship.”

  She held her ground, one hand on Gillian, the other grafted to the rope edging the gangway.

  “Mrs. Banks, er, Howard?” the purser put in, pausing to clear his throat as if as unsure of his reception as he was of her true name. “If you intend to speak to Mr. Howard, I must ask you to step away so I can continue the boarding process.”

  The blonde came to Allegra’s side, chin up and pale blue eyes narrowed with purpose. “If you want to go, Mrs. Banks, I’ll watch over Gillian.” She glanced at Clay as if she didn’t trust him. “But if you wish to board, I wouldn’t give this fellow another moment of your time.”

  He couldn’t chide her spirit or her practicality. Allegra hadn’t seen him in years. She had no way of knowing the man he had become. He tried to smile. She didn’t look any more certain of him.

  In fact, he could almost see the thoughts behind those deep blue eyes, weighing her options, determining his worth. He’d seen the look before, the calculation of a Boston socialite over whether a person warranted the pleasure of her company. He’d thought he was beyond caring about the conclusion of such an assessment. Once, that conclusion would have immediately been in his favor as a Howard. Now his family couldn’t be bothered to receive him. Still, he was surprised by the wave of relief that coursed through him when Allegra transferred her daughter’s hand to her friend’s.

  “Go with Ms. Stanway, Gillian,” Allegra said with a sidelong look to him. “I can allow five minutes for your uncle, but no more.”

  Copyright © 2014 by Regina Lundgren

  ISBN-13: 9781460342459

  Her Holiday Family

  Copyright © 2014 by Winnie Griggs

  All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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  www.Harlequin.com

  SWEETHEART REUNION

  What was his brother’s widow—his first love—doing on a ship full of prospective brides headed out West? Clay Howard had been tasked with escorting the Boston belle home, but he didn’t anticipate Allegra being so strong-willed—or that he’d wind up traveling with her just to keep her from leaving without him!

  Allegra Banks Howard isn’t going to let Clay interfere with her plans for a new life with her daughter on the frontier. True, Allegra needs his wilderness savvy, but if Clay thinks he can rekindle what they once shared, he had better think again. Because risking her heart for a second chance at being his bride isn’t something she’ll undertake lightly….

  Frontier Bachelors: Bold, rugged—and bound to be grooms

  “It’s not your responsibility to save me from myself. Frankly, it’s not your responsibility to save me at all.”

  Oh, but she was going to have a mutiny on her hands any moment. She could almost see the arguments mustering behind Clay’s pale eyes. It wasn’t in him to give up on something he believed. Perhaps that was one of the things she admired most about him.

  But Allie wasn’t about to give up either.

  She pulled away from him. “Let me offer you a compromise, though I know how much you hate the concept.”

  Clay cocked his head. “I’m listening.”

  That was more than she’d once thought possible. “Give me the opportunity to make my own mistakes,” she said, “to chart my own course, just as you did when you left Boston. And I promise, if I feel myself incapable of resolving a problem, I’ll come to you for advice.”

  She held out her hand. “Do we have a bargain, sir?”

  He eyed her hand a moment, then swallowed it in his grip. His fingers were as firm as his convictions. “We have a bargain, madam, though I have my doubts that either of us can keep it.”

  Books by Regina Scott

  Love Inspired Historical

  The Irresistible Earl

  An Honorable Gentleman

  *The Rogue’s Reform

  *The Captain’s Courtship

  *The Rake’s Redemption

  *The Heiress’s Homecoming

  †The Courting Campaign

  †The Wife Campaign />
  †The Husband Campaign

  **The Bride Ship

  *The Everard Legacy

  †The Master Matchmakers

  **Frontier Bachelors

  REGINA SCOTT

  started writing novels in the third grade. Thankfully for literature as we know it, she didn’t actually sell her first novel until she learned a bit more about writing. Since her first book was published in 1998, her stories have traveled the globe, with translations in many languages, including Dutch, German, Italian and Portuguese.

  She and her husband of over twenty-five years reside in southeast Washington State with their overactive Irish terrier. Regina Scott is a decent fencer, owns a historical costume collection that takes up over a third of her large closet, and she is an active member of the Church of the Nazarene. You can find her online blogging at www.nineteenteen.blogspot.com. Learn more about her at www.reginascott.com, or connect with her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/authorreginascott.

  THE BRIDE SHIP

  Regina Scott

  She is clothed with strength and dignity;

  she can laugh at the days to come.

  —Proverbs 31:25

  To my Larry, who encourages me to take the right path, and to the Lord, who always lights the way.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Dear Reader

  Questions for Discussion

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Pier 2, New York Harbor

  January 16, 1866

  Head high, Allegra Banks Howard held her daughter’s hand and marched down the rough planks of the pier to join the queue of women about to board the S.S. Continental. In the frigid air that blew up the Hudson, the four-year-old’s skin looked nearly as blue as her wide eyes inside the hood of her fur-lined cloak.

  “I’m not seeing that fellow who’s been following you,” her friend Madeleine O’Rourke reported, standing beside Allie on tiptoe to peer through the crowd that surrounded them.

  “Neither am I,” Allie replied, but she wished she could be certain. She and Maddie weren’t tall enough to look over the others’ heads. With so many people about, their pursuer might be within a few feet of them, and Allie wouldn’t know until he swooped down to grab them. Her hand tightened on her daughter’s.

  Stay with us, Lord! We’re so close!

  “And when will we catch sight of Mr. Mercer?” her other friend Catherine Stanway asked behind them. With her pale hair smoothed back under a fashionable feathered hat, she did not appear overly troubled by the absence of their leader. “Will the man miss his own sailing?”

  Allie shook her head. All she’d wanted this afternoon was to take Gillian aboard the ship bound for Washington Territory. They would travel with Asa Mercer and the dozens of women who had pledged themselves to live and work in the new city of Seattle, to help make it a community.

  She’d already met many of the other travelers, from the ever-so-proper Catherine to the outspoken Maddie. She could hear the women in line now, chatting with excitement. Each had a story to tell, of loss, of hope, of faith. Each believed her destiny lay on the far-off shores of Puget Sound. After all Allie had gone through, she refused to be left behind!

  And yet, from the moment she and Gillian had tiptoed out of the Howard mansion in the dead of night in Boston two weeks ago, nothing had gone right. One of the horses had thrown a shoe, delaying the stage at Hartford; someone had stolen the bag with most of Gillian’s clothes as she and Allie waited in Danbury; and for the last three days, an older man in a common brown coat had dogged their steps every time they had set foot outside the hotel. Allie was fairly sure she knew his purpose.

  She wouldn’t go back to Boston. She couldn’t. Gillian’s future and her own depended on it.

  The line crawled forward, far too slowly for Allie, while all around them New Yorkers gathered to see them off, gazes curious, voices no more than a murmur among the calls of the sailors and the creak of hoists. That frost-laden wind tugged at her quilt-lined wool cloak, sending icy fingers even under her gray skirts, and she was thankful she’d decided to put on multiple petticoats instead of the steel crinoline her mother had once favored.

  What would her mother and father have said if they could see her now? For the first time she was grateful they hadn’t lived to see how their good friends the Howards had trespassed on her nature.

  A tug blew its mournful horn as it chugged by, coughing silver smoke. Allie felt as if the sound echoed inside her. She could not fail, not this time. She refused to be the woman the Howards expected, and she would not allow Gillian to be molded into a shape that ill suited her, forced to marry, to live to please the prominent family.

  As if her daughter quite agreed, she pulled on Allie’s hand. “Let’s go, Mother. I’m going to have the vapors.”

  The vapors. Allie knew where Gillian had learned the word. Allie had been advised by her motherin-law to use the excuse whenever she felt distaste for a situation. A lady might have the vapors when an unwanted suitor came to call, when a treasured gown no longer fit properly. If a Howard had the vapors, people scurried to fix the problem. But having the vapors would hardly help them now.

  Allie bent to lift her daughter into her arms. Gillian seemed heavier even than the day before. She was growing so fast, at least physically and mentally. But life with the Howards had bruised her daughter, and Allie could only thank God for the chance to take Gillian out of that environment.

  “We’ll be aboard soon enough, sweetheart,” she promised. She nodded to the man in a brown coat and cap who stood beside the gangway, sheaf of papers flapping in his grip. “See that fellow? He’s very likely the purser, ready to welcome us. And he may ask us some questions. Remember what we practiced?”

  Gillian nodded solemnly. She was such a serious child, every propensity for play eradicated by the stern governess her grandmother had hired.

  “We are going west because of Papa,” she said.

  Allie nodded encouragement. After all, it was the truth. Frank’s death had been the catalyst to propel Allie from Boston at last. But a casual questioner would likely assume Gillian’s father was waiting for her on the West Coast and not connect them with the story that had appeared in the New York papers about the Howards’ missing daughter-in-law. It had been a little unnerving for Allie to see her face gazing back at her from the sketch on the page.

  She only hoped the purser was less observant as she set Gillian back down and came abreast of him. Could he tell that the hair tucked inside her hood was jet black? If she lowered her gaze fast enough, would he fail to notice her eyes were as deep a blue as Gillian’s? Her clothes were wrinkled from travel. She’d traded her velvet coat for this gray wool cloak. She knew she had shed a few pounds of worry with each step away from home.

  Did she still look like the daughter of one of Boston’s best families?

  Apparently not, for all he said was “Name?” with his gaze poised over the papers. He was a small man, clean-shaven, with straight brown hair peeping out from under his cap of office and not much older than her twenty-three years, she thought.

  “Allegra Banks and daughter,” she replied, using every skill her mother had taught her to keep her voice level, calm and composed.

  He scanned down the page, then looked up. His smile warm
ed her. “You are on the list, Mrs. Banks. I’m Mr. Debro, the purser. We’ll provide more information about the journey once everyone has been settled. Welcome aboard.”

  Heat flushed up her. This was it, their chance. No more arguments with her motherin-law about how she should live, what she should think; no more pulling her hand from the fevered grip of Frank’s cousin as he offered himself as her next husband; no more fighting over who would influence Gillian’s future. Perhaps she could even forget the look on Frank’s face when he’d marched off to meet his death at the Battle of Hatcher’s Run, leaving her a widow.

  Allie’s foot was on the gangway when a hand came down on her shoulder.

  “You don’t have to do this, Allegra,” a man said.

  Allie’s breath caught in her chest like a bird in a cage. It couldn’t be. Clay was many miles away and nearly six long years ago. Yet she could not mistake that voice: deep as a winter’s night and warm as hot chocolate on a cold New England morning. It still had the power to set her to trembling.

  She glanced back. The man standing behind her dwarfed the purser. One gloved hand sat heavily on her shoulder, the other was wrapped around the handles of a worn leather satchel as if he’d come at great haste to find her. His fur coat would have made him look like a bear except that the hair escaping his fur-lined hat was as red-gold as the lashes framing those cool green eyes. His skin was more bronzed than she remembered, as if he’d spent much time out of doors, and where once he’d laughed at life, now he seemed to be scowling.