The Last Honest Seamstress (19 page)

She laughed. He loved the sound, and the way her face lighted up.
 

"Well, you don't. But thank you. It's beautiful."

Couldn't she see? Didn't his elated expression give him away? He should be happy he hadn't lost his poker face yet.

Fayth fell in love with the small one-story clapboard cottage the moment the carriage rounded the corner and the cottage came into view. Yellow with white trim, it was as quaint a residence as she could have imagined. Elizabeth, Sterling, and Captain Bailey followed in their own carriages a short distance behind them. Fayth insisted on seeing her new home before going to dinner, and no one was about to deny the bride her wish.

"It's beautiful, Captain," she said as he helped her down from the rented carriage.

"Quaint at least."

"Beautifully quaint." She stood in the drive admiring it.
 

Twin hedges of azaleas in their last bloom lined the walk. Two immense rhododendrons by the house capped off the hedge, their spent blossoms like brown sticky spiders over the bush. A lavender clematis trailed over a trellis that leaned away from the wall.
 

Captain O'Neill strode up the walk and unlocked the door, pausing to snap a sticky dead blossom from the rhododendron next to the door. "It needs a bit of work. These will all have to be picked or we'll get no blooms next year. After you, madam."
 

He stepped out of the way and held the door for her. It all seemed so homey, so familiar. This is what life should be like, talking of mundane things such as whether there will be flowers next year, living with a strong, stable man.

"No matter, it's lovely." She stepped past him. The interior was simple. A large bow window at the back of the main living room caught her attention. She walked to it and took in the view. Puget Sound sparkled in the distance below and farther out the white-capped Olympic Mountains rose tall.

"A captain's home should have a view of the water. Look." He stepped close behind her and pointed.
 

She felt his warmth against her back, and resisted the urge to step back against it, to dream about his arms encircling her.
 

"You can see the wharf. If I get you a spyglass, you'll be able to see me coming home."

"Or leaving," she said. The thought brought an odd despondency.

"Coming home," he corrected.

His presence behind her was too compelling. She forced herself away, walking the length of the window before turning to face him. "I suppose you're right, Captain O'Neill."

"Are you going to call me
Captain O'Neill
for the rest of our lives? We're partners now."

She was taken aback for a moment by the sudden intimacy of the relationship they had entered into with so little thought to small details. "What should I call you? Dutiful husband?"

He laughed. "Sure, and I'll call you something respectful like,
my old lady
."

"You will not! You'll call me Fayth, like the night of the fire." She liked that thought.

"And you'll call me by my given name."

She realized she didn't even know the name of the man she had married. Blast! She had to guess. "Connor?"

He looked puzzled for a moment, then broke out laughing.

"What's the matter?" She was making a fool of herself.

"Why would you call me Connor?"

"Isn't that your name?"

"Not even close. My name's Con."

"Not your given name. What is it? Conrad?"

"You married me and you don't even know my name. You would have, if you'd watched me sign the license." He patted the document in his pocket. "It's all right here."

"Let's not play Rumpelstiltskin. Or maybe your name is Rumpelstiltskin. It must be something hideous for you to keep it secret." She let her voice slide lower, teasing. "Tell me your name, Captain, or I'll be forced to write your mother."

"Promise me your firstborn."

He looked devilish. She laughed. "Since there aren't supposed to be any, I think I'm pretty safe in promising."

"All right, I'll come clean and share one of my darkest secrets with you; my mother named me Sheary, but my name is Con."

"Sherry? Delightful! A woman's name!" She laughed, but it didn't seem to disturb his good humor. He looked amused and as dashing as ever. A man who bore such a name with good grace couldn't be other than diplomatic and easygoing. There wasn't a thing to dislike about him, not one thing to focus on, to keep her from falling hopelessly.

"Yeah, well, how do you like it, Mrs. Sheary O'Neill?" He spelled it. "It's not a woman's name. It's a good old Irish name. Irish for Jeffrey, means
peace of God
."

"I can see why you took a nickname. Where does Con come from? What does it mean?"

"A con is a navigator on a ship. I'm the best one around."

"Oh?" she said. Her laughter died away. So that's what Billy had been trying to explain about the Con. She smiled. "I think I'll just call you Captain."

"Call me whatever you like." His tone was still easy, but she thought she detected an edge of disappointment. What had she said wrong?
 

"Would you like to see your room?" He offered his arm.
 

She took it as she heard gravel crunch in the driveway. The others had arrived.

Later, Fayth sat on the edge of her bed brushing her hair, alone on her wedding night in the cozy room that was now hers. Next to her on the nightstand stood a bowl of fragrant, freshly cut old-fashioned roses. Yellow—the color of friendship. Did he really mean to be her friend? Whatever he meant, he touched a deep chord of tenderness in her.
 

Friend or no, the Captain had given her the wedding day every bride deserved. He'd taken the wedding party to dinner, been properly reticent and embarrassed when Captain Bailey toasted their nuptials, and had engaged in pleasant, amusing conversation with Sterling and Elizabeth well into the evening. When he noticed she was tiring, he made the proper excuses to allow them their departure and even endured the knowing, sly, though misplaced, looks given to any newly married couple on their wedding day.

When they had arrived back at the cottage, he was a perfect gentleman. He pleaded his own fatigue, escorted her to her room, and then retired to his own to look over plans for his new warehouse.

She set the brush down and lay back waiting for the sweet breeze from the open window to lull her to sleep. She had married a good man. Tonight her dreams would be peaceful.

Con propped himself up against his pillows as he sat in bed with plans for his warehouse strewn around him, clever decoys for his real thoughts. His shirt was open, his tie loose, and his boots toppled on the floor. Across the hall and two doors down was a woman as lush and beautiful as any he'd encountered. And she was his. And not his at all.

Hell! He squirmed and tugged at his pants, rearranging himself as he grew hard. He had to stop this line of thought. It was blasted uncomfortable and unproductive. Of course, most men relieved themselves differently on their wedding night. Man alive! He was no steer; what in heaven was he doing? Somehow, he never pictured himself sleeping alone.

He sighed. He'd give her these two days until he sailed, and then the length of the voyage. He had to wait until she trusted him. Once she had her loan and her anxieties about her business quieted, he would seduce her. How could he resist?

What a liar she'd made of him! He never told so many in his life.
Yes, Fayth, we will live like brother and sister, like strict business partners for the rest of our lives.
She was too naive. Good thing he'd gotten her before some other liar had. Liar—he hated the word, hated the meaning. His own dishonesty was the only thing that egged his conscience in this affair. No use dwelling on it. It had been necessary. She was the woman for him. He wouldn't lose her.

He turned back to the drawings, trying to divert his thoughts. He sure wasn't sleeping tonight.

Fayth was up early the next morning and puttered around the kitchen, trying to make some kind of breakfast. The kitchen was well stocked and she wondered again how the Captain had been able to accomplish so much in only two days. Had he set his whole crew to the task? The thought gave her a smile. She heard footsteps in the hall and turned to find the Captain standing in the doorway.

"You're up early," he said.

"I woke with the sun. Until then my slumber was perfect. Yours?"

"Reasonable." His tone led her to believe otherwise. There was a wry twinkle in his eyes and undeniable happiness in his countenance; she thought she saw anticipation there and something she couldn't quite name, but it sent her heart flip-flopping just the same.

"Are you ready to face the bankers?"

"I am." He grinned.

"Won't Mr. Finn be surprised to see us show up in his office this morning with all of his objections put to rest? He can't deny us now!"

His smile was infectious. "He might still deny you. There isn't a woman in town who looks less like she needs a loan. Look at that new gown! You're beautiful this morning."

She glanced down at her bright-yellow dress. "I have you to thank for that."
 

He tensed suddenly, if nearly imperceptibly, and a serious glint overtook the humor in his eyes. She felt the change and wondered at the cause.
 

"You saved this material from the fire."
 

He relaxed, and even though he hadn't lost his smile, she sensed his disappointment. She'd said something wrong again.

"I have good taste." His light humor seemed restored.

She smiled. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"Let's stop for something and celebrate after we've gotten our loans. If we hurry we can get a good spot in line. Every man in town, and at least one woman I know, wants Finn to loan them money. Let's be the first to get some today."

She took his arm. "You're a man after my own heart, husband."

Fayth barely contained her happiness as she waited for the Captain outside Jacob Finn's office. Captain O'Neill insisted each of them conduct their business interviews separately. They had married to improve their business success, not lose their autonomy. He was gentlemanly enough to allow her to go first. So now she waited with bank draft in hand, dreaming of buying a tent to conduct business in until her building was completed. Dreaming of architects and contractors. Imagining sharing her triumph with her partner, Con O'Neill.

Mr. Finn made only one stipulation; that she continue sewing for Miss Gramm. He claimed the Board would frown on her turning down paying customers, no matter who they were. Lou certainly knew how to wield power in this town. Fayth had an appointment with her later in the morning and had been hoping to tell her that she would no longer sew for her. As far as Fayth knew, the Captain knew nothing of her association with Lou or Coral. She would have to confess about Coral sooner or later. Originally she hoped to avoid telling him that she worked for a madam. She couldn't imagine he would be anything but unhappy about it. Now she
had
to tell him. Later. She ran her fingers over the edge of her draft again, wanting nothing to dim the happiness of the moment.

"I told you I couldn't loan you the money you'd need if you hooked up with her, Con. The Board would have my head. My full congratulations, by the way. She's quite an impressive little woman."

Con ignored his well wishes. Business was forefront on his mind. "I'm not asking for the full amount. I've refigured my finances. I can get by with three-quarters of what I was asking for before. Surely my wife's debt is no more than a quarter of mine. The total has to be the same."

Jacob shook his head. "Miss Sheridan, I mean, Mrs. O'Neill's business is a much riskier venture than yours, Con. I have faith that you'll succeed, and personally I'd lay odds on her as well. She certainly has pluck, but the Board won't see it that way. If it weren't that I can use the
Aurnia
to secure her debt, I'd have to answer to them for loaning to her at all."

"Come on, Jacob, how can you use my assets to back her loan? She's got her land to secure her debt. I know she offered it up as security. She'd never presume to offer mine."

"She didn't. I did. Her land is too near The Line. Not worth half what I lent her."

Con drummed his fingers on the desk in front of him. "Then lend me whatever you can."

Jacob shook his head
 
firmly and reached for his pen and a piece of paper.

"Nothing? You can't lend me anything?"

"I warned you, Con."

"Jake, we've been friends for too long. Don't tell me you're in cahoots with the big shipping conglomerates? Surely you're not going to tell me to sell my waterfront property."

Jacob was scribbling furiously on the paper in front of him. "Con, I thought you understood. I gave you my tacit pledge that I'd take care of you. The bank can't give you a loan, but my endorsement on this piece of paper to a business associate of mine is all you need to get the money." He turned the paper around so Con could read it.