Mail Order Mix-Up. Christine Johnson

      Amanda blushed. “But it’s not silk, and it’s handmade.”

      “By an expert seamstress.”

      “You don’t think he knows I made it, do you?”

      “I doubt his business is tailoring or dressmaking.” Pearl brushed at the wrinkles creasing her rust-colored skirt. “Besides, why would he look at your gown when your features are so much more pleasing?”

      “Do you think so?” Even more color dotted Amanda’s cheeks. She turned back to the tiny mirror loaned to them by another third-class passenger. “I think he was more interested in you.”

      A shock bolted through Pearl. Could a handsome, well-off man like Mr. Decker be attracted to a tall, ungainly woman like her? “Impossible. Moreover, I am not the one responding to his advertisement.”

      Amanda bit her lower lip as a frown creased her brow. “Did you notice how he reacted when you pointed out that he must be expecting us?”

      Pearl had to admit that she’d noticed. “Perhaps he didn’t understand.” Surely a man who advertised for a wife would expect someone to answer that advertisement. What if Mr. Decker turned out little better than Hugh Bellchamp, first luring women to Singapore and then dashing their hopes? “He must have misunderstood.”

      “Perhaps.” But Amanda looked as skeptical as Pearl felt.

      “We could send our regrets and dine on our cheese and biscuits as planned.”

      “Oh, no. We must attend,” Amanda urged. “I couldn’t send regrets. Not now.”

      Thus they found themselves approaching the doors of the dining saloon at precisely seven o’clock. Many passengers milled about waiting to be seated. Pearl hung back to look for Mr. Decker, but he found them first.

      “Miss Lawson. Miss Porter.”

      She couldn’t help noticing that he addressed her first and lingered longer over her hand. If Amanda noticed, she did not remark upon it. They then proceeded to discuss the day’s weather, the prognosis for that night and the usual inquiries into health and well-being.

      At last the steward indicated he was ready to seat Mr. Decker’s party. Soon Pearl would find out if she and Amanda would be refused entry.

      When Amanda moved toward the steward, Mr. Decker pulled Pearl aside. “I hate to ask this of you upon such short acquaintance, but I beg you to remind Mr. Holmes that you are the town’s schoolteacher.”

      Pearl frowned. “Why?”

      Instead of answering, he retrieved Amanda and nestled her on his left arm while holding out his right for Pearl.

      She shook her head. This moment must belong to Amanda.

      Without a single comment, the steward led them to the table situated at the front of the room. The captain, resplendent in his uniform, stood to greet them. Pearl breathed out in relief. They would not be refused. Naturally Fiona O’Keefe was already there. Judging by her expression she was not pleased to see that Mr. Decker had brought guests. When he seated Pearl next to Fiona, the woman’s irritation visibly rose.

      The entire seating arrangement was peculiar. Considering Mr. Decker’s request, Pearl had expected to be seated next to Mr. Holmes. Instead, Amanda took that place, with Mr. Decker on her other side. From this distance, Pearl would have to shout for Mr. Holmes to hear her.

      The meal began with a light beef broth, elegantly served in china bowls emblazoned with the ship’s insignia. On a less calm sea, those bowls would spill their contents all over the linen tablecloths, but tonight the bowls remained perfectly in place.

      The gentlemen maintained the bulk of conversation, first complimenting each of the ladies and then discussing the voyage before drifting into talk of business. To each man’s delight, Amanda gave them her full attention, irritating Fiona even more.

      At the first lull in the conversation, Fiona proclaimed, “This is the finest ship I have ever sailed on, Captain. Is it new?”

      Her comment drew the desired attention from all the gentlemen at the table.

      “I’m afraid not, Miss O’Keefe,” the captain said, “but it has been recently serviced. Do you sail often?”

      “Recently, I sailed from New York City.” Fiona looked each man in the eye. “I was a rising star on the stage.”

      That startled Pearl but intrigued the men, who asked where she had appeared.

      “Smaller theaters,” Fiona replied, her color high. “As a soprano.”

      Pearl wasn’t certain she believed the story, but it did make an impression on Mr. Holmes.

      “What manner of songs did you sing?” the man asked.

      Mr. Decker cleared his throat. “Wholesome songs, I imagine.”

      His pointed look must have gotten through to Fiona, for she smiled coyly and replied, “But of course, gentlemen. I would never sing anything else.”

      Though the men quickly returned to their business discussion, Pearl wondered at Fiona’s story. Why admit any alliance that could sully her reputation before the man she wanted to marry? A man seeking a wife certainly wouldn’t look in music halls. Yet there was a desperation in Fiona’s eyes that a man might miss. Regardless of the reason, this woman needed the marriage. That made her a dangerous opponent for Amanda.

      Pearl glanced back at her friend, whose attention had flagged somewhat.

      “Where do you hail from, Miss Lawson?” the captain asked.

      Pearl reluctantly turned from her friend. “Amanda and I are also from New York.”

      “New York?” Holmes bellowed above the din of conversation and flatware clinking against china. “Decker, you didn’t tell me you had to send to New York for a teacher.”

      Mr. Decker took the comment in stride. “We want the most highly educated instructor for our children.”

      Now that was peculiar. Hadn’t he said earlier that he didn’t even know they’d hired a new teacher? Now he claimed she possessed higher qualifications than she did. Though she’d studied hard, she didn’t have a university degree. That’s why she’d applied to a small, remote posting. They did not quibble over her credentials, yet here was Mr. Decker touting her education. Couple that with his request that she remind Holmes of her position, and she could not make heads nor tails of Mr. Decker.

      He was gracious, charming and could talk a fish onto a hook. She would give him that. His stunning good looks couldn’t be denied, either. From perfectly chiseled cheekbones and jaw to impeccable attire, he was a sight to behold. Judging by the smooth cheeks and manicured haircut, he had visited the ship’s barber after seeing them this afternoon.

      Yet he spoke with confidence of things he knew nothing about. Pearl couldn’t condone that. It was one shade short of stretching the truth, and she began to wonder if he was the right man for Amanda.

      Or her. She pushed away that thought. Three women sought to marry Mr. Decker. She was not one of them.

      Their steward removed her empty soup bowl and replaced it with a steaming plate that carried the most delicious smell. She closed her eyes and savored the delicate poached fish in a buttery sauce and steamed new potatoes dusted with parsley. Sautéed early carrots completed the plate.

      Pearl had never eaten so well. It took every bit of restraint not to gobble down the fare. After each bite, she counted to thirty, smiled at Amanda, who was also reveling in the delicious food, and attempted to interject a comment into the conversation.

      The captain had managed to engage Fiona, though she watched Mr. Decker like a hawk. When Amanda smiled at him, Fiona frowned. When Mr. Decker glanced in her direction, the redhead fluttered her eyelids.

      Amanda, on the other hand, smiled at everything the men said