She wasn’t sure whether to scream or cry or storm off and head into the woods and refuse to leave Alaska, just so she could prevent herself from becoming a pawn in his scheme.
Common sense told her the best way to avoid marriage to this Jameson fellow—or any other man her father picked—would be to find a job for herself and move out of her father’s house once she returned home.
But what if he stymied her plans to become independent? What if he found a way to force her to marry the next secretary of the interior despite everything she tried?
“It’s all right.” Rosalind’s small hand wrapped around hers. “They’re only throwing around ideas. Nothing has been determined yet.”
“Oh, it’s been determined.” Heat burned the backs of her eyes. “It’s been determined since I was about nine years old, and my father told me to go outside and follow Heath and Richard around town on their adventures.”
She hadn’t realized what he’d been up to, but even then, he’d set his sights on having his daughter marry an influential man.
“I can already guess what’s going to happen the morning after you return home.” Mr. Caldwell’s voice held an odd edge. At first it sounded like he was teasing, but there was a mean tone underneath. “You’ll invite Jameson to your house for dinner, where you’re hoping he’ll be quite smitten with your daughter.”
“Don’t make it sound like I’m doing something wrong.” Her father’s voice was firm. “All I can say is I’m surprised you haven’t married Rosalind off yet.”
“Actually, now that the new secretary of the interior won’t be her second cousin, that’s a rather good idea. Perhaps I’ll write Jameson and invite him to Alaska.”
Bryony glanced at Rosalind, but she was back to staring at her shoes. If she felt any emotion about her name entering the conversation, she knew how to hide it.
“That would be a bit unsportsmanlike, don’t you think?” Heath was talking now. It was her first confirmation that her brother was even in the room, though she’d suspected both he and Dr. Ottingford were there. “We’ve had our sights set on marrying Bryony off to the secretary of the interior for over a decade, and you’ve never had any objections. Surely you can find a more advantageous match for Rosalind in the business realm. Perhaps the heir to a shipping or railroad company. Given your investment in the Alaska Commercial Company, a marriage like that would be better for your future. And our families have always been good friends. Facilitating a marriage between Bryony and the next secretary of the interior could have immense benefits for you as well.”
She couldn’t stand it any longer. Rosalind might be content to stand there and allow the men to treat them as nothing more than assets to be leveraged at will, but she wasn’t. She knocked briskly on the door, then flung it open without waiting for a reply.
Mr. Caldwell’s eyebrows rose, and something flickered in his eyes. He moved his gaze to Rosalind, who had entered behind her but didn’t speak so much as a word.
Then again, he didn’t need to. Rosalind was all but cowering, with her hands twisted together and her head bent, as though she had nothing better to do than search for a speck of lint stuck to the plush Turkish rug.
The governor had been standing beside the window when she entered, and he was the first to acknowledge her by nodding her direction. “Miss Wetherby, how kind of you to join us.”
Her father stood next, followed by Heath, Dr. Ottingford, and a portly, balding man she’d never seen before. He was sitting in a chair near the far side of Mr. Caldwell’s desk, and he wheezed as he pushed to his feet.
“Thank you, Rosalind. That will be all.” Mr. Caldwell was the last man to stand. He spoke to Rosalind so dismissively that something in Bryony wanted to object, but Rosalind had already rushed to the door and was shutting it behind her.
An open chair had been set directly in the center of the room, and Mr. Caldwell gestured to it.
“Please, have a seat, Miss Wetherby.” He sent her a sharp smile, then waited for her to sit before sitting himself.
Everyone else followed his lead and sat in their own chairs, except for the governor, who apparently preferred to stand.
It was all she could do not to squirm. She felt like some sort of spectacle, having been placed squarely in the center of the room with six sets of eyes riveted to her. “Is there something I can help with?”
“We just wanted to express our condolences over the loss of your fiancé.” Mr. Caldwell sent her another one of those smiles she didn’t trust. “We can only imagine how devastated you must be.”
Now she did shift. She couldn’t help it. “Of course I’m grieved, but he wasn’t my fiancé.”
“Bryony,” her father snapped. “Don’t say such a thing about the deceased.”
But Richard hadn’t been her fiancé. Why did her father always seem to forget that?
And if she was going to have to answer questions in front of six men, why couldn’t Mikhail be one of them? He would at least smile at her supportively and listen when she?—
“Miss Wetherby, can you tell me about the relationship Mr. Amos and your fiancé had on the trip?”
She jerked her attention to the stranger, the only man in the room she didn’t know.
“Allow me to introduce you to Marshal Hibbs.” Mr. Caldwell gestured to the stranger. “He’s in charge of ensuring that justice is meted out for the entirety of Alaska.”
“You’re a Marshal?” Again, she had an almost irresistible urge to squirm. “If you want to know about Richard and Mikhail, you’re better off asking Mikhail himself. I really don’t know.”
