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.”
Five minutes should have been more than enough time to make her refusal to whatever Clay had to say. She couldn’t imagine any circumstance that would change her mind about her plans. If she remained in plain view of the ship, he could do nothing to prevent her from leaving. She’d seen Mr. Debro look at the sailors. She knew she could count on help if needed.
But Gillian wasn’t content to let her go. She must have slipped her hand from Catherine’s, for she darted to Allie’s side. “Can I come, too, please? He looks like Papa.”
The longing in her voice tugged at Allie’s heart. Gillian had been all of two when her father had left for war. Allie had read her all the letters he’d sent, especially the stories he wrote just for her. Gillian couldn’t understand the finality of death, the fact that her father would never return.
But to see Frank in Clay? Allie looked him over more closely. Perhaps the color of his hair was similar, but his had always been straighter than Frank’s, his eyes more pale and piercing, his body taller and stronger. They had been so different, in temperament, in ambitions. Clay had never obeyed his parents with unquestioning devotion like her husband. Frank had been smooth, polished, proper. Clay had been defiant, commanding, but now everything about him was rough, from the stubble on his proud chin to the dust on his worn knee-high boots. She couldn’t see Frank in him.
But at Gillian’s statement, he pushed back his hat. “Clever of you, little miss, to notice,” he said with a bow. “I’m your father’s brother. And I’m here to bring you home.”
Gillian’s eyes widened. Allie sucked in a breath and stepped between them. How dare he try to use her daughter against her!
“Gillian’s home is with me, sir,” she informed him. “And I am heading for Seattle.” She gave Gillian a hug before patting her back and pushing her toward Catherine. Catherine took the little girl’s hand and turned to give her own name to the purser.
“I’m not trying to usurp your place,” Clay said quietly as he straightened and the other women returned to their places in line. “I thought Frank’s daughter deserved to know her family.”
Guilt whispered; she could not afford to listen. She knew that by taking Gillian to Seattle, she was cutting off everyone the little girl had ever known. But Clay had been away for so long. He couldn’t understand how his family had tried to control Allie, to control Gillian. He knew she’d refused to leave Boston once. How could he realize how important this trip was to her now?
“You are wasting your five minutes, sir,” she said. “I believe you only have three left.”
His mouth compressed in a tight line. He glanced about, then led her through the crowds and a little apart from the gangway to the shelter of a stack of crates awaiting loading. Allie could see Catherine taking Gillian aboard the ship. Some of the tension seemed to be going with them. Whatever happened now, at least her daughter was safe.
She turned to find Clay eyeing her. “Why are you here, Allegra?” he asked.
Though his tone was more perplexed than demanding, she felt her spine stiffening. “I would think that obvious. We’re going with Mr. Mercer to Seattle.”
“And you think that’s your best choice for a future?” he asked with a frown. “What about Boston? Your place in society?”
Her place in society? Well, she’d once considered it precious, and he had cause to remember. She was the one who didn’t like remembering. She’d been so sure then of what she’d wanted. She’d been taught to manipulate to achieve her goals, yet she hadn’t realized how easily she’d been manipulated until it was almost too late.
She puffed out a sigh of vexation that hung in the chill air between them. “You honestly think I should be content to stay in Boston? And this from the man who ran away to join the Wild West show!”
A smile hitched up, and it somehow seemed as if the gray day brightened. “I wanted to see the Wild West, not play cowboy in a show,” he replied. “And from what I’ve seen, the Northwest territories are no place for a woman.”
“Which is precisely why women are needed,” Allie argued. “You can’t tell me Seattle won’t be improved by teachers, nurses, seamstresses and choir leaders.”
He chuckled. “That statement merely shows what little you know of Seattle. There are few children to teach, a single struggling hospital for the nurses, no call for fancy clothes for the seamstresses.”
Allie’s eyes narrowed. His description hardly matched the information Mr. Mercer had given them. How could Clay know so much about Seattle? If her in-laws had ever received letters from him, they hadn’t shared the news with her. And Frank, of course, rarely spoke of Clay. He thought the entire matter too painful for her.
“So you’ve seen Seattle,” she said, watching him.
His gaze met hers. Up close, the changes of time were obvious: the fine lines beside his eyes, the tension in his broad shoulders, the way his smile turned from pleased to grim.
“I’ve been there,” he said so carefully she could only wonder if he’d robbed the bank. But perhaps they didn’t have a bank, either!
“Then you must know why we’re needed,” Allie told him.
“Besides being someone’s wife?” he asked, rubbing a hand along his square jaw. “No. Seattle is a scattering of houses in a clearing, five hundred people, give or take. And the outlying settlements are worse. I heard most of these ladies going with Mercer are orphans. They’ve nowhere else to turn. You have a family, a home, opportunity for a future. I can’t see you as one of Mercer’s belles.”
At least he hadn’t used one of the unkind names she’d seen in the newspapers. Cargo of Heifers. Petticoat Brigade. Sewing Machines. The editor of one of the local papers had expressed extreme doubt that any girl going to seek a husband was worthy to be a decent man’s wife. What, did the rest of the country expect every woman who’d lost a sweetheart, a husband in that horrible war to simply stop living? That they couldn’t find employment instead of decorating a man’s home?
Anger