Ship of Dreams (3 page)

"... all so very elegant!" the woman with the canary, who had introduced herself as Viginia Birch, was saying. "I confess I didn't expect such luxury."

Della tried to pick up the thread of the conversation, which had shifted to the ship and its amenities. One of the other ladies suggested a tour of the next deck, to escape the smoke now belching from the steamer's great stack. With a last glance at Mr. Bradford, then another to reassure herself that the man with the walking stick had not yet noticed her, she accompanied the ladies down the curving staircase at the rear of the deckhouse.

Emerging behind the others into the dining saloon, Della caught her breath. With its thick carpeting, graceful chandeliers and rich, carved woodwork, the room could hold its own against the highest-class hotel in San Francisco! Just as well she didn't intend to remain in first class, she thought. All of this luxury might easily go to her head.

As they paced along the rows of long tables and benches where the upper-class passengers would take their meals, Della's thoughts returned to her situation. Sooner or later she would have to explain herself to Mr. Bradford. Perhaps a heart-wrenching tale of woe ...?

Quickly, she rejected that idea. She instinctively knew he would not be easy to deceive, and if he suspected for a moment that she was lying, he might well denounce her after all. No, her best course would be to tell him the truth, risky as that seemed.

She would simply trust to Mr. Bradford's sense of justice—and to luck. Again.

*
          
*
          
*

Though business was normally able to claim his complete attention, Kenton's curiosity about the mysterious Della kept interfering with his concentration. He was increasingly eager to speak with her alone and hear her explanations, but nearly three hours passed before they were finally shown to their—no,
his
—stateroom.

 
Opening onto the main dining saloon, it boasted three berths, one above the other, on the right, and a porthole opposite the door that let in the noonday light. A padded locker beneath the porthole, a mirror, and a wash stand, along with their luggage, took up most of the remaining space in the minute but luxurious cabin. Della's hooped green skirts took up the rest.

If the steward was surprised at Mr. Bradford's mysterious acquisition of a wife, he was careful not to show it as he took his ticket. As Kenton had paid the extra three hundred dollars for a private room already, no ticket was demanded of Della. Whether he was relieved or irritated by this omission, he couldn't decide.

Closing the door behind the steward, Kenton finally turned to face this presumptuous woman who had distracted his thoughts all morning. But even before he could form the obvious question, she began to apologize and explain.

"Mr. Bradford, I can't begin to tell you how grateful I am that you've played along with my little charade, nor how sorry I am to have put you to such inconvenience." She smiled uncertainly.

He had noticed before how her smile lit up her face, and now strove to ignore that unsettling detail as she continued.

"You see, I had to leave San Francisco in a terrible hurry, and as the steamer was about to sail, and I had no time to buy a ticket, this was all I could think of. I promise you that I'm no criminal," she added quickly, in response to his sudden frown.

"Oh?" He made no attempt to soften his expression.

 
"Not at all! A, er, business competitor was attempting to bring trumped-up charges against me, however, and law enforcement in San Francisco—well, I imagine you've heard of vigilantism. I considered it the better part of valor to leave, rather than wait to see which way the winds might blow justice's scales. But I assure you, I really am completely innocent!"

He raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Might I ask what you were about to be charged with, Miss ...?"

"Gill—Gilley. Della Gilley." At least she hadn't lied about her first name. Unless she were lying now, of course. "I, ah, was accused of murder."

He rocked back on his heels. "Murder? Quite a serious charge, wouldn't you say, Miss Gilley?" What sort of trouble had he brought on himself by shielding this woman?

"Exactly!" she agreed eagerly, apparently unaware of his shock. "So you see, I didn't dare wait around. I could have been hanged if Mr. Willis convinced the Police Chief of his story. As he's been a prominent San Francisco resident for some time and knows the Chief well, I feared his chances were good."

"Even though you were innocent?" He couldn't quite believe that he, Kenton Bradford of the New York Bradfords, was having this conversation. He'd made it through thirty years of life without the slightest breath of scandal ever touching his name. Now, suddenly, he was an accessory to murder!

"I told you, justice in California rarely follows the civilized paths it does back East. Given the chance, I would have been able to prove my innocence, but I felt the risk was too great should public sentiment turn against me. In any case, my business would be ruined, so I had no real incentive to remain."

"I see," he said, though he didn't see at all. A thousand questions fought for supremacy but before one could win, she was speaking again.

"Now that we're nearly three hours out from San Francisco, I should be safe enough. We can explain to everyone that it was all a hoax, and I can buy a steerage ticket for the remainder of the trip." She smiled brilliantly, clearly expecting everything to be forgiven.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that easy. For one thing, I overheard the steward say that the ship, including steerage, is full to capacity. I doubt they can find you a berth. More importantly, recanting your story now will make me look a fool—or worse—to some very important business associates."

In fact, if he admitted to such a hoax, they would assume he was just like his feckless brother. His potential investors would dry up, and his new business venture would die before it began.

But Della waved his arguments aside. "Oh, don't worry about me. Steerage quarters can be cramped, I know, but I'll manage to squeeze in somewhere, I'm sure. As for your friends on board, surely you can tell them it was a joke. Put all the blame on me, if you like. I'll be careful to stay away from everyone I've met so far, so as not to risk contradicting whatever story you see fit to put about."

"I fear I'm not nearly so facile a liar as yourself, Miss Gilley." Kenton felt his jaw tighten at her effrontery. "Nor will these people appreciate having been tricked. I have no wish to alienate them." He literally could not afford to, in fact.

"But—" She fluttered her hands in confusion.

"No," he continued, ruthlessly ignoring her distress—and her loveliness. "We shall simply have to continue as we have begun. You will pose as my wife for the remainder of this voyage."

*
           
*
           
*

CHAPTER 3

Till noon we quietly sailed on,

Yet never a breeze did breathe:

Slowly and smoothly went the ship,

Moved onward from beneath.

—Samuel Taylor Coleridge

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

Della stared at him, aghast. Was the man mad? "Surely you're not serious!" Despite her best efforts, her voice sounded shrill to her own ears. "I can't stay here with you. That wasn't what I'd planned at all!"

Mr. Bradford shrugged, broad shoulders rippling powerfully under the fine black twill of his coat. "You should have thought of that before imposing yourself upon me in this manner. You've been so convincing, the others would think me the most heartless man alive if I were to banish you to steerage now. You'll either play along for the balance of the trip, or I'll inform the Captain that we have an accused murderess in our midst. I imagine your quarters then would be rather more unpleasant than those in steerage."

She sucked in her breath, then regarded him closely, ignoring as best she could his masculine presence, which seemed to fill the small room. No, she didn't think he was bluffing. Just as well she'd thought better of giving him her real name! Quite a few passengers must have been questioned about a Miss Gilliland, and there was no telling what story the police had given about her supposed "crimes."

She tried another tack. "Do you really want me sharing your stateroom for the next two weeks? It's fairly obvious that you don't even like me."

"No, I don't." She wondered whether he referred to her question or her statement. "But I consider it the least of various evils, under the circumstances."

Della relaxed marginally. "Then I presume that our, ah, roles will only be played out in public, not in private?" She couldn't think of a more delicate way to ask the question that most preyed on her mind.

His mouth twisted in a mockery of a smile. "I don't intend to take advantage of the situation, or of you, Miss Gilley. Your virtue—such as it is—is safe enough. Perhaps I should seek the same assurance from you."

"How insufferable!" she flared. "Handsome you may be, Mr. Bradford, but my opinion of you is clearly far lower than your opinion of yourself. I'll have you know that my virtue is quite intact, thank you very much ... and I intend to keep it that way!"

His smile became more genuine. "It's a bit late for outraged modesty, Miss Gilley. Or should I say, Mrs. Bradford? You can be as abusive to me as you wish in private, but in public you will play the doting new wife. I've already seen a sample of your acting ability, so I trust this particular role will not strain it unduly."

"And you'll play the doting new husband?" Acid skepticism dripped from her words.

"Of course." His slight bow mocked her.

She gave an unladylike snort. "Ha! That I'd like to see," she muttered under her breath.

He opened his trunk and began setting his toilet items on the wash stand in regimented order. "I suggest you unpack, then, and join me in the dining room for luncheon. My acting experience may be more limited than your own, but I'll endeavor to give a creditable performance."

*
          
*
          
*

Ten minutes later, Kenton was wondering what had possessed him to promise such a thing. How on earth was he to convincingly play a devoted newlywed husband to a woman he'd only met that morning? A woman, furthermore, that he didn't even particularly like, and certainly didn't trust.

He and Della shared their long, oaken table with the Eastons, Nelson Sharpe, and the Pattersons, another honeymooning couple. Beyond the Pattersons sat Billy Birch, the famous San Francisco singer and actor, and his new bride, Virginia—the one who had earlier carried the canary. Sharpe uttered an unending stream of cheerful observations, while the various honeymooners exchanged secret smiles. Kenton felt distinctly ill at ease.

His unease increased sharply when Addie Easton turned to Della and said, "I've told you all about how Ansel and I came to be married, but I've not heard your story. Where and how did you and Mr. Bradford meet? Was it love at first sight?" Her eyes sparkled with her eagerness to hear the romantic tale.

Della hesitated only marginally before replying. "I suppose you could call it that, though we began our association with an argument. Kent nearly knocked me over in the street, you see, and I was most put out, for I dropped all of my weekly shopping."

Addie and the other women laughed, and Della went on to describe his supposed gallantry in retrieving her parcels. "I knew at once that he could be counted on to assist a damsel in distress." She glanced at him as she spoke, and he saw both gratitude and rebuke in her eyes before she turned back to continue her story.

Kenton mechanically ate the excellent food before him, mesmerized by the fiction Della wove so glibly. When asked about his background, she paused, and he stepped into the breach to add a welcome bit of truth to the story, mentioning the hoped-for business expansion that brought him to California.

"Will not your family be surprised to have you return with a wife?" asked Mary Patterson with a giggle. "Or were you able to send a letter to precede your arrival?"

"Er, no. There was no time for a letter, things happened so quicky." That was true enough! "And yes, I imagine they will be a bit surprised." With a sudden wrench, he remembered Caroline, his fiancée. Odd that hadn't thought about her before now—though certainly he'd had ample reason for distraction.

"Pleasantly so, I presume," put in Addie, with a smile for Della.

He managed a half-hearted smile in response.
Surprised
wouldn't even begin to cover it! But surely he could disentangle himself from Miss Gilley before actually reaching his home. What an idiot he'd been, to insist that they maintain this deception! He should have tried harder to find some alternative. Now there was no turning back.