The Last Honest Seamstress (32 page)

When Fayth pulled up at the cottage, a strange carriage blocked the drive. She tethered her horse to a tree on the street, complaining beneath her breath. Her humor had not improved by the time she reached the house. Voices buzzed from the parlor. Coral must be home. Since the Captain had gone on an extended trip, Fayth had decided to keep Coral living with her until he came back. Who was Coral entertaining? It sounded like a man.
Coral, when will you learn proper decorum?
No wonder people talked. Fayth went to the parlor.

As she came down the hall, Fayth saw Coral, but not her guest. Coral faced the parlor door, seated on the red settee, transfixed by her companion. All innocence: a blushing, embarrassed schoolgirl, Coral was trying hard to impress someone. Fayth frowned, puzzled and worried.

The voice of Coral's male companion drifted to her, becoming distinct.
Drew
.
 

Fayth put a hand on the wall to steady herself. Stunned, she stopped just short of the parlor.
It can't be
. She spun on her heel, intent on retreat. After what he'd done, she wouldn't face him, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of her anger.
 

Coral called out. "Fayth's home! Come on in, Fayth. You have a visitor."

"Fayth." How could her spoken name sound so ominous?

She stopped and spoke without facing him. "Get out, Drew. I have no business with you."

He sprang from his chair and had her by the elbow before she could move. "Is that any way to greet me?"

"It's kinder than you deserve. I didn't invite you." Wrath was more emotion than he deserved.

Drew pulled her around to face him. "Look at me, Fayth."

His voice was the same as always—deep and seductive. Lying. He laughed and she knew what it meant. He expected forgiveness. Blast him! He'd ruined her life. All the trials of the last few years, starting with losing her reputation and then Father's store, could be attributed to him. What right did he have to forgiveness?

"Ah, Fayth, you always could hold a grudge, but you never fail to forgive in the end."

"I forgave you. That doesn't mean I want to see you."

Her rebuttal didn't appear to affect him. He laughed again. Did he think she teased? He pulled her into a hug without warning. "Thank God, I found you! Oh, Fayth!"

She wrenched away. "How?" It took an effort not to stutter, even on so small a word.

"Mr. Hanbrough just arrived minutes ago. We've barely made introductions." Fayth had forgotten Coral's presence until she spoke. Was that jealousy she saw in Coral's face? What had Drew done to Coral while she was out, the wretched charmer?

He swept both of Fayth's hands into his. "Fayth, you look lovelier than ever." He lowered his voice. "I've missed you."

"Liar." Fayth shook her hands free. She had to get rid of Coral before she lost her composure completely.

Drew laughed again. Was he so ignorant of the hurt he'd caused? Or did he hope that by acting as if he'd never betrayed her he could make everything well?

"Thank you for entertaining Mr. Hanbrough, Coral. Now that I'm home, you can go ahead to town and do the shopping."

Coral opened her mouth to protest.

"Hurry, or we'll have nothing for dinner."

"It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Hanbrough." Fayth recognized Coral's pout, but the girl left. Neither she nor Drew spoke until Coral was gone.

"That's a very cultured and elegant young woman you have living with you, Fayth. She said she's your apprentice."

"She is, and I'm glad you think so. Coral was very recently a prostitute."
 

He looked only mildly shocked.
 

"You always were an astute study of people, Drew."

He laughed again. Apparently, nothing she said could wound him. "That's my Fayth, always trying to save the world."

His glance flitted around the room. Fayth wondered whether he looked for evidence of a man in residence.

"Sheridans have always taken in strays. You ought to know, Drew."

"Touché! I deserve that, Fayth, and much more."

"You're lucky I wasn't home a few minutes earlier. I wouldn't have been as cordial as Coral." Anger wavered in her voice, and rage shook her until even her hands trembled with it. "Get out of my house and go straight to hell, Drew."

"Fayth—"

"I'll show you the door." She turned toward the hall.

"If it will appease your demons, tell me to go wherever you want, but don't throw me out without hearing me. I've come all the way from Baltimore because of concern for you." His voice cracked.
 

Could he be such a good actor? He wasn't moving. Maybe a sharp pair of sewing scissors would convince him she meant business.

"Tell me a lie I'll believe. Surely you can do better."

"I speak the truth." He looked properly sober and genuine. But then he always did when he lied.

"Really? What does your wife think of such concern?"

He dropped his gaze and hung his head. "I have no wife. It didn't work out with Florence."

She stiffened. "Didn't work out? She was pregnant with your child!"

When he looked at her, he wore a beaten expression. "Don't look at me like that—I didn't desert her. You must think more of me than that. Tell me you do."

"Less. Far less, Drew. Why should I believe better?"

"I'm not a total cad." He took a step toward her.
 

She stepped back. "You could have fooled me. Now get out of my house."

"Don't you want to know what happened?"

Fayth glared at him. "Why should I care?"

"Florence’s parents sent her away while they arranged a proper wedding." He bent his head. His voice went soft. "While she was away, Florence miscarried. She lost my baby." His voice broke.
 

Fayth bit her lip to keep from screaming at him. What did he expect, sympathy? She felt sorry that an innocent's life was lost. But for Drew and his whore, she felt nothing.

"Her parents sent me packing." He snorted derisively. "Oh, Fayth! I never loved her, but I was willing to do my duty by her. When it was over, I almost ran right back to you, but I was afraid you wouldn't have me again. And I wouldn't have blamed you, but I hoped that if some time passed . . ."

He wanted absolution?
 

"How much time is enough to heal the wounds you caused, Drew?" She almost gave him the answer. The wounds he'd inflicted had already healed. Because of the Captain.

He held her gaze. He'd never been a man who backed down. "I finally came to my senses and went back to Baltimore. When I couldn't find you, I panicked. I was haunted by guilt and regret, and determined to find you. I worried about you, imagined the worst."

"Such a vote of confidence. You thought I couldn't live without you? That didn't bother you before."

"I knew you'd survive, Fayth. That's not what I meant."

"How did you find me?"

"I remembered old Benchley."

Oh, blast old Benchley! How could he have betrayed her confidence and told Drew where she was? And blast herself for thinking the old man could keep a secret.

"He told me about your letter. He feared you were going to make an unsuitable match. I took the first train to Seattle, promising Benchley I'd take care of you. If only that fool had not sat on the information so long."

Drew clutched her hands again, holding them too tightly for escape. "Fayth, I've always loved you. Since you were a girl."

"Don't lie, Drew."

He spoke over her objection. "I've asked myself a million times how I could have betrayed you. My sin is unforgivable. I'm a weak man where carnal needs are concerned. Please believe me that when I made love to her it was you I imagined.”

Her anger burst out. Rage fueled her, giving her strength beyond her normal measure. She wrenched her right hand free. The sound of her hand slapping his face sliced through the room like the crack of a whip.
 

Drew staggered back. Her handprint blazed red across his cheek, and she was not sorry.

"Don't you ever speak to me of such vulgarities again."

"Fayth, if only you had given yourself to me."

Now he blamed her? Oh, pathetic man. The slap robbed her anger of its heat. It ebbed away. He deserved nothing from her, no emotion at all. Hatred and anger required a passion of their own to pursue. Drew deserved none of it.

"I'm not responsible for your lust, Drew. A year was all I asked."

For the first time, he looked almost contrite. "But you were lost in your grief, and I in mine. We dealt with it in different ways. I wanted the consummation of our love. You withdrew. I lost my head. I'll never forgive myself." He paused, studying her. "Fayth, you still care; I see it in your face."

For the first time since she'd known him, he misread her. He looked suddenly hopeful. If Drew possessed nothing else of meritorious size, his ego compensated amply for any other deficiency.

"Show me the ultimate example of mercy and forgiveness. Marry me. Marry me and let fate be as it was intended."

His words hung in the air for a precarious moment. Fayth could hear her own heart thudding dully. His words left no mark. "You're too late—I'm already married."

He fell back from her as if beaten away by her words. "No! I'm too late?" He looked genuinely stunned. "When?"

"Last summer, shortly after I contacted Mr. Benchley."

His face contorted, but she couldn't believe his pain was genuine. "I've been justly punished. How do I recover?" He held her gaze. "Surely you didn't marry for love?"

She hesitated, wondering whether Drew deserved any explanation. Drew jumped in with his own conclusions.
 

"You married out of desperation. Oh, Fayth! What have I brought on us?"

Why couldn't she just lie? Tell him she'd been wildly in love when she married?
 

"Spare me the theatrics, Drew."

"Tell me about him.”

"The Captain is a good man."

"The Captain? A military man?"

What explanation did she owe him? "No. Captain and owner of his own vessel, a converted schooner."

"Ahh."
 

She recognized the look on Drew's face. Ironically, he was probably half proud of her. He thought her mercenary; that she had married for money. She was stunned. He'd managed to pierce her because in a way, she had.

"Is he handsome?" Drew mocked her now, a clear indication that she had hurt him. Could he really care, or was it only that she had wounded his vanity?

"Incredibly." She stared him down. "I'm sure you'll be returning to Baltimore soon. Seattle is no place for you, Drew. The men out here are tough and strong-willed." She sounded surprisingly calm considering what had just passed, even managing to lace her tone with pleasantness.

"I'm not going back." He hesitated.
 

She was finally on the verge of discovering his real motive for coming.

"Why should I lie to you?" he said. "I'm ruined in Baltimore. Florence's father wields great influence there. He ruined my good name. I can't set up shop or hope for employment." He looked beaten, defeated.

She hated herself for the tiny speck of pity she felt well up for him. But the events of the last year left her empathetic to anyone who'd lost everything and was forced to start over. "What will you do?"

"I don't know. I hadn't thought beyond starting a life with you."

"But you must have some plan?"

"Yes, go back to the hotel and drink myself sick."

She ignored his self-pity. It had always been a plea for attention. Drew used emotional weapons too effectively. "Where are you staying?" She almost hated herself for asking.

"The Occidental. Where is your captain? I’d like to meet him."

"I'm sure you would, but the Captain is at sea."
 

"Does the captain have a name, Fayth?"

"His name is O'Neill, but he is called Con."

He laughed, but it was a defeated sound. "Con as in convict or con artist?"

"A con is a navigator of a ship, Drew."

"Certainly, a man of such esteem must have an honest name." He looked uncertainly toward the door, as if contemplating retreat. "I must be going. My wounds need the nursing effects of solitude. But I don't intend to leave Seattle until I meet the Captain. Good day." He let himself out.

What was she to think? She watched him go, wondering how to get rid of him before the Captain returned.
 

Later, as they sat in the kitchen sipping tea, Coral was full of nothing but Drew. "Fayth! Drew Hanbrough is beautiful!"

"Is he?" Fayth responded dryly. "I'll give you he has a handsome exterior, but his heart?"

"Who cares!"

"Coral!" Coral's fascination with Drew frightened Fayth.