Miss Lawrence crossed the room to the stove, where she made slow work of pouring the water first into one pot, then another.

“At least here we get to choose who we want to marry,” she said after a moment, her back to Mercy.

Did that mean Miss Lawrence hadn’t been able to choose for herself back home? That she’d been forced to be with a man she didn’t want?

Before Mercy could figure out how to frame her question, Miss Lawrence spun around, a tight smile in place. “Take your time tonight. Get to know the men. I have no doubt you will find the husband of your dreams.”

The husband of her dreams? There was only one man she’d ever dreamed about, and that was Joseph. But he could never be her husband. And they both knew it.

“Mercy Wilkins!” Mr. Scott called from the hallway, his tone edged with irritation. “You must come at once. Your first suitor is already waiting in the parlor.”

Miss Lawrence nodded, her smile growing wider and more genuine. “Go. Before Mr. Scott comes in here and gives us both a sermon.”

Mercy knew she ought to respond to the gentlewoman’s attempt at a jest. But she couldn’t muster the energy, even to smile, because she knew Mr. Scott would give her much more than a sermon if she didn’t follow through with the interviews. He’d give her a one-way ticket back to England.

“I shall pray for you,” Miss Lawrence added.

“Thank ye, miss.”

Trying to keep her hands from shaking, Mercy opened the kitchen door. The clamor at the end of the hallway and in the open front door came to a halt. With at least a dozen pairs of eyes upon her, including Mr. Scott’s, Mercy walked quickly to the parlor, entered, and crossed to the open chair opposite her first guest.

She sat down on the edge, folded her hands in her lap, and made herself acknowledge the stranger sitting across from her.

He was well groomed with a clean-shaven face and neatly combed hair. When he offered her an excited smile and began to speak, she could even acknowledge that he was somewhat good-looking and even slightly charming.

The trouble was that he wasn’t Joseph. No one would ever be able to come close to Joseph. Not even if she met with every single man in the entire colony.

twenty-nine

Joseph flipped over in his hotel bed, the frame squeaking under his weight. The night was dark without moon or starlight or even streetlamps to provide the slightest glow. The darkness pressed in on him, suffocating him as much as the blankets that tangled around his body.