He glanced her way. She still hadn’t moved from her hunched position, but he caught the slight tremble in the lace cuff at her wrist.
He lowered his spoon to the saucer and leaned close. “What kind of tart did you make?”
Laurel shook her head, not even trying to meet his gaze. “Lemon cream and sugared orange peel, topped with candied ginger and raspberry syrup.”
His mouth turned moist just hearing it. “It sounds delicious.”
She peeked up at her father, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “I can have two of the tarts sent over to your hotel later, if you’re serious about trying it, that is.”
“Actually,” he said, his voice low and steady, “I was thinking you could come visit me in Alaska and make it there.”
Her eyes jerked over to his. “You... you want me to go to Alaska?”
He wanted her to go anywhere that wasn’t here. He had for as long as he’d known her. She didn’t fit into the gilded life her family lived.
“It would be my honor to host you. Sacha and his wife, Maggie, share a house with me, and they would make perfectly acceptable chaperones. It would give you an opportunity to see whether living in Alaska might suit you.”
Laurel’s breath caught, her fingers curling gently around the stem of her water glass. “I don’t know if I would suit Alaska. I’ve never been farther north than Seattle.”
“That’s all the more reason for you to come see Alaska for yourself and find out if it suits you.”
When she looked up at him again, a small, shy smile curved her lips. “It would be quite the adventure.”
“I imagine you’d handle it better than most.” He ran his eyes over her. “And I want you to know that you look lovely tonight. I don’t care how many times you’ve worn your gown, it suits you well.”
Color bloomed across her cheeks. “Thank you.”
Alexei studied her a moment longer, letting the silence settle comfortably between them while the rest of the table continued to chatter on about investments, property lines, and the latest gossip from Nob Hill.
If only he could snap his fingers and have this be the last dinner Laurel Farnsworth ever had to spend pretending to belong in a place she so clearly didn’t.
He didn’t have the power to whisk her away just yet. But maybe he would soon.
18
Sitka; the Same Day
Rosalind returned home to find a sapphire necklace waiting on her vanity. Much like her engagement ring, small diamonds formed a ring around the circular stone pendant. A note was scrawled beside it, not in her father’s handwriting, but in Leeland’s large, sloppy script.
Wear this to dinner with the dark blue satin.
She didn’t want to wear either, but what would happen if she didn’t?
Maybe Yuri was right. Maybe she should just leave without trying to find proof of her father bribing the Marshal.
She absently brushed her bruised wrist. It wasn’t healing as it should. She probably needed to go back to using the sling, but not when her father might see her, or he’d pull her off the library committee and refuse to let her friends visit again tomorrow.
She rang for her maid and walked into her dressing room, filled with gowns of all colors and fabrics. She preferred light colors and material. Lavander chiffon or pale blue silk, but Leeland always seemed to want her in heavy fabrics and darktones, like royal blue velvet or jade green satin. The requests became more frequent with each day he stayed in Sitka.
Her maid appeared in the doorway, and she tried to say that she wanted to wear the dark blue satin, but her mouth didn’t want to work, and her tongue felt as though it had been wrapped in cotton.
She didn’t want to change, not really. She’d much rather wear the dress she’d been wearing all day. It was light and comfortable, with soft yellow tones that matched her hair and reminded her of spring.
But her maid was already moving toward the dark blue dress. She pulled it from the hanger, then turned and smiled. “Mr. Vandermeer requested that we recurl your hair for dinner tonight. And did you see the necklace he left on your vanity? It’s lovely. You’re blessed to have such a thoughtful fiancé.”
Was she blessed, though? Truly?
Her mother would tell her to rejoice in the Lord despite her circumstances, but surely this wasn’t what God wanted for her life. Surely she was missing something. Should she really be thanking God because her father hadn’t hit her since the night he sprained her wrist?
