“Bryony, dear.” Her father patted her on the shoulder. “Let’s leave the running of Alaska to the experts.”
“But...”
“Yes, we’ve far more important things to discuss, starting with how Richard died.” The governor panted slightly as they headed up the road, then he reached into the breast pocket of his coat and produced a handkerchief, which he used to dab at his hairline. “I must admit, his death is devastating, and I have no idea how his father will take it.”
His father, the senator. It had been easy to forget just how influential Richard’s family was while they were fighting for survival in the wilderness. But now that she was walking beside two men in pristine-looking suits, with polished shoes and perfectly pomaded hair, a weight settled on her chest.
“He slipped and fell off a makeshift bridge we were using to cross a deep canyon.” Father’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact as he answered, almost as though he were discussing his scientific findings. “The rest of us made it safely across, but not Richard.”
“Mikhail Amos was on the bridge with him, but he wasn’t fast enough to help,” Heath pronounced.
Mr. Caldwell’s eyes narrowed on Heath for a moment; then he turned back to her and offered his arm. “You must be devastated by the loss of your fiancé. Come, let me personally escort you back to the mansion.”
“Richard wasn’t my?—”
Heath clamped a hand her shoulder and squeezed. Hard.
It was enough for her to snap her mouth shut. What did it matter whether these men knew she wasn’t going to marry Richard? He was gone now, and no one could strong-arm her into marrying a dead man.
She settled her hand on Mr. Caldwell’s arm, allowing him to guide her toward his grand house towering over the rest of Sitka.
“It must have been quite distressing.” Mr. Caldwell’s voice was smooth as butter. “Especially since you were stuck in the wilderness for so long.”
“It was. There were times when I thought...” She shook her head and shoved the memories aside. There was no need to tell the businessman such things.
Besides, all of her fears were from before Mikhail had found them. Even with everything that had occurred on the trek back to Sitka—the mountainside that almost claimed Heath’s life, the Indians, the rapids—she’d felt nothing but safe with Mikhail leading them.
“Rosalind is up at the house waiting for you.” Mr. Caldwell nodded toward the fancy white mansion where they’d stayed before embarking on their expedition. “She was quite worried when your party went missing.”
She couldn’t help the smile that stole over her face. Rosalind Caldwell was as warm and sweet as her father was stern and businesslike. They’d known each other for a few years back in Washington, DC, before Rosalind had moved to Sitka with her parents.
If Rosalind had remained in Washington, they’d probably be even closer friends now. “Thank you. It will be nice to visit.”
“Once we get back to the house, I’ll have a bath prepared. Then I’ll have tea sent to the library, and you and Rosalind can visit while your father, brother, and I discuss some of the more unpleasant aspects of your journey.”
She’d just had a bath the night before, but she had so much dirt and grime on her skin that another scrubbing couldn’t hurt, especially one with perfumed water, so she found herself smiling yet again. “Thank you. That sounds lovely.”
And it did. Not just because of the bath but also because it had been months since she’d had a conversation with another female.
Two hours later she was clean and warm and clothed in one of the fancier dresses she’d brought on the trip. She’d left her trunk containing more feminine things with the Caldwells during the expedition, and it felt nice to sift through the satins, silks, and velvets. She finally decided to don a velvet dress that flattered her figure and made her feel like a lady again.
Rosalind had sent in her lady’s maid to help curl and pin up her hair, and when she looked in the mirror, she barely recognized the reflection. After weeks of using a small, cracked mirror that showed her with tangled hair in stained clothing or a coat, the poised, polished person staring back at her looked like a stranger—who’d lost about ten pounds.
When Bryony opened the door to the library, she found a room filled with light from three enormous windows that overlooked the town.
“Bryony!” Rosalind had been on the settee reading, but she rose to greet her with arms outstretched.
Bryony stepped into the hug, the softness of the other woman’s lavender-scented skin brushing against her cheek.
“I’m so relieved you’re safe.” Rosalind pulled back to look her over, a slight frown curving her lips. “When your party didn’t arrive at the beginning of September, I was so afraid for you. Father and Uncle Simon were too.”
Again, memories of their time in the valley rose in her mind, of the fear, the lack of food, the constant cold she couldn’t get away from. “I’m just glad Mikhail found us when he did.”
Curiosity sparked in Rosalind’s crystal blue eyes. “Mikhail Amos? Is he as good as people say at navigating the wilderness? Every expedition that leaves from Sitka in the spring tries to get him as a guide. People rarely die on his expeditions.”
“Really?” Bryony blinked. “But I thought... That is, wasn’t his first expedition...”
“Oh, you mean the one he survived years ago?” Rosalind made a swishing motion with her hand. “That wasn’t his expedition. Another guide was in charge, and Mr. Amos was an assistant guide. But after the leader died, Mr. Amos had to take over. Somehow he ended up surviving, along with another man, but everyone else died. In all the expeditions Mr. Amos has been in charge of, though, he’s lost only one man—until Richard, that is.”
