Sterling John Cooper rarely wasted time when he had a goal in his sights. However, it occurred to him on his way to preview a house that he ought to ask his soon-to-be-bride if she’d like to see her future home. Since the house he intended to purchase was only five streets over from the Hamilton’s house, he went to Suzanna’s home first.

Now, he was standing on the front stoop, nearly on eye-level with a curvy little woman who stared at him with an expression of horror on her face. That wasn’t the effect he normally had on women.

She was a tiny thing, short enough that he could have wrapped her up in his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head.

Hell’s bells this must be his future sister-in-law. So he wouldn’t be resting his chin on her head any time soon. Never, in fact, he thought with a fleeting sense of regret. From the way Suzanna had described her sister, he’d expected a woman much older, much plainer, much less adorable.

“You must be Mr. Cooper.” She wiped the look of horror away with a welcoming smile. A neat trick.

He stuck out his hand, “Sterling. You must be Mary.”

She invited him in and explained that Suzanna was with the dressmaker. He followed Mary into the front parlor. She left to tell his fiancée he was here.

Sterling paced the room with its stiff camelback sofa and myriad tables, most skirted and ruffled. Over the fireplace hung a picture of a large sailing ship, reminding him that the Hamiltons had made their fortune in shipping, while he’d scrabbled his out of creeks in California.

Running a successful business as their family had for several generations and through two wars required brains and the kind of connections only an old venerable family had.

Panning for gold required a strong back, luck and the sense to leave when the gamblers, whores, and confidence men came to relieve the miners of their riches.

He crossed over to look at the painting and the row of ships in bottles displayed on the mantel. Each had a name on a tiny plaque. Replicas of the Hamilton fleet?

“Those are my father’s ships,” said Mary as she returned to the room.

“I guessed as much. And the painting?”

“My great grandfather’s first ship, The Mary Martha.”

Sterling spun around with amusement. “Are you named after a ship?”

“Actually, the ship was named after my great grandmother whom I’m also named after.” She smiled as if the idea of being named after a ship tickled her.

The idea of naming children for their forebearers pleased him. He had made the right choice to marry into this family steeped with history and traditions. He had come a long way since the days when his cronies had nicknamed him Silver John.

“I’m afraid my sister won’t be able to join us for a bit. She asked me to keep you company.” Mary looked a little perplexed by the idea that she should entertain her sister’s future spouse. “Won’t you have a seat? I have rung for tea.”

“You didn’t need to do that.” Sterling wished he could call back the words. He could fit in anywhere and clearly his gold-lined pockets had bought him acceptance into Boston’s venerable elite, but he still wasn’t used to being waited upon or served.

“Oh, but I did,” said Mary. “You see I just returned from my brother’s home near Albany, and I’m quite famished.”

Sterling moved to a wing chair to sit, but took a close look at his soon to be sister-in-law. While her back was ramrod straight like any lady, her face radiated kindliness. Perhaps her look of horror at the door was because the last thing she wanted to do was be polite to unexpected company. In fact, her narrow dark brown skirt and fitted jacket might be a traveling suit. Had she intended to change? Certainly her outfit was a far cry from the bright concoctions of ruffles and lace Suzanna tended to wear.

“Don’t let me keep you if you wished to rest or needed to change your clothes.”

Mary blinked. “Thank you. I don’t need to rest. I probably need to take a walk as I have been sitting in the carriage all day.” Her expression was warm and relaxed. “After I eat that is. Of course, I have been directed to find my father’s missing slippers and make sure the cook properly prepares dinner. You will stay and join us, won’t you?”

“I was on my way to look over a house I’m going to buy. I thought Suzanna might want to see it. Would you like to go in her place? It’s not far.” He pulled the key from his pocket and dangled it. “After tea, that is, and I would be honored to dine tonight with your family.”

“I should like nothing better,” Mary said in such a way that he wasn’t sure if she was being polite about the off-hand dinner invitation or seeing his future house.

Sterling finally settled into a chair. He didn’t feel an urge to leave, but he was not lingering out of the hope that Suzanna would join them either. Too much time in her company made him impatient. Partly he was sure his annoyance arose because he wanted to get on with the business of making children with her, but mostly because she seemed incredibly young and restless.

Marriage and children would no doubt settle her. Although, he understood too well that restlessness of youth. It had lead him around the world only to realize he really wanted to be back in Boston putting together the home and family he’d always dreamed of belonging to.

Mary sat with her hands folded in her lap, waiting companionably. She was an easy woman to spend time with, unlike her sister, who would have been chattering nonsensically or sulking because he couldn’t keep up with her latest revelation about the color of the gown she intended to wear to church. He’d thought she said the pink gown, when she—according to her—distinctly said she was wearing the pink one to the play and the rose one to church and they sounded like the same color to him.

“Did you have a nice visit in Albany?” he asked.

Mary’s face lit up with an inner beauty. “We have a lovely new niece. I went to help my sister-in-law with her two toddlers during her confinement.”

Mary’s features were very like her sister’s, but softer, gentler with her straight brown hair and doe-like brown eyes. Suzanna’s beauty was more flashy, golden curls framing her face and long-lashed sparkling blue eyes.

“You will gain quite an extended family when you join ours,” Mary said.

“That’s a good thing.” One of his main reasons for picking the Hamiltons, beyond their standing in the community, was their extensive family connections including a member of the nobility in England. That and there was an attractive daughter of marriageable age.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?” Mary asked.

“No.” He usually fended off questions about his background. Supplying answers when he didn’t know much beyond his name was difficult.

“You are buying a house here in Boston. Are you planning to live here?” Mary’s face was open and earnest. She leaned toward him as she subjected him to the sort of interrogation he’d expected from her father.

“Yes. There’s a house not too far from here that will make a nice home for us.” It might take him years to get used to having twenty more rooms than he needed, but a Hamilton bride would expect no less.

“Will you be doing a lot of traveling?”

“Not that I know of.”

Mary bit her lip. As much as it amused him to be interrogated by a little slip of a woman who was likely younger than him, he tried to answer her honestly. If that’s what it took to marry into this long-established family, he was willing to be put to thumbscrews.

“If the house isn’t appropriate, I can look for another or have one built.” He looked around to see if someone else had said that. No, the words had left his own mouth. He’d already decided the house was right, and barring termites, dry rot, or extensive water damage he was unlikely to change his mind.

“My sister said you have traveled quite a bit.”

“For the last fifteen years.” Since he’d left Boston at the age of sixteen. “I’m ready to settle down and start a family and a put together a business.” He wanted to build railroads. With his future father-in-law in the shipping industry it seemed like a perfect fit. That and he knew the country; he’d been across most of it.

“Suzanna has the idea you might travel together.”

How had she gotten that impression? “I might need to take trips for business, but she certainly won’t need to go with me.”

Mary’s brows furrowed together. “You were born in Boston?”

“I assume so.”

Mary looked confused and perturbed.

Sterling took a deep breath. “I was raised in an orphanage down by the wharfs. I was about a year old when I was left on their doorstep. I don’t normally talk about it.” He rarely thought about it anymore. He hadn’t confessed his humble beginnings to Suzanna, and she hadn’t inquired. He had the suspicion Mary would insist on the entire story.

All those years of barely enough to eat, the glimpses of carriages going by with real families in them, families like hers, were best left in the past. He’d made up stories to tell himself, that his parents had belonged to one of the high-and-mighty families who didn’t notice a dirty urchin like him. He imagined they had died of scarlet fever or in a fire. The truth was if he would have come from a family like hers, he never would have been left at an orphanage, even if both his parents had perished.

“So you don’t even know your birthday?” She looked flustered and upset.

“No listing in a family bible that I know of. I generally just mark the day I arrived in the orphanage as the day I change to a new age.” He didn’t really celebrate it as a birthday, just added on the next year. For all he knew, he might be thirty for another three months, but he’d changed his age last week.

The tea cart arrived, and she looked grateful for the reprieve. After he’d taken his tea, no cream, no sugar, and scalding hot, he reminded himself that pouring it into his saucer to cool wasn’t acceptable. He’d worked hard on learning the proper manners for polite company. He crossed his ankle on his leg and balanced the cup and saucer on the side of his knee.

She had taken a plate with two tiny sandwiches and a scone, but she repositioned them twice without taking a bite.

“Miss Hamilton, I want to be forthright with you. I expected this kind of questioning from your father, but I gather many of the family responsibilities fall to you. If this is distressing you, we can certainly do it another time.”

When she met his gaze, her brown eyes were warm and liquid. Possibly too liquid. He didn’t know her well enough to mark the excess moisture as misplaced sympathy for him or worry for her sister.

“If it is only my answers that distress you, I’m sure you can tell your sister to cry off. She puts a lot of store in your opinions.”

“Not so much. I don’t mean to be such a harridan. Did my father ask any questions? This all happened so fast.”

Sterling shrugged. “I don’t waste time once I know what I want, and your father’s questions stopped after he learned my bank balance.”

She ducked her head down, and he was left staring at the clean line of her center part and the huge bun on the back of her head. Why did she keep her hair in such a simple unflattering style? Yet, she wasn’t wearing a mobcap that would signify she had resigned herself to spinsterhood. She rearranged her food again.

“You know, no matter how many times you move your food around, it’s not going to look as if you’ve eaten any.” He touched her arm wanting to reassure her. An unbidden urge to stroke the length of her prompted him to pull back. “I mean to take good care of your sister.”

“Ah, yes, but will my sister take good care of you?” She lifted her brows over her sparkling brown eyes and took a bite of her scone.

He smiled. Perhaps he had passed muster with her. She didn’t strike him as a snob who would turn him away for his humble beginnings, but as a woman who was truly concerned for the well-being and happiness of her family. That he would soon be included in that circle of her care spread warmth through his veins. “I can be too frank. I hope you will not hold it against me. Truly, if there is anything you wish to know, I am more than willing to discuss my past or my future with you or your father.”

“My father has never quite been himself since my mother died and I do worry that he does not pay attention to anything beyond his business.”

“And you are protective of your sister. She has explained that you very much raised her after your mother passed away.” He admired Mary for stepping in to fill her mother’s shoes at such a young age. From the way she’d been described and her family’s dependence on her, he’d expected a martyred saint, but she was nothing like that.

“I fear I have been too indulgent with her.” She pursed her cupid bow lips as if trying to decide whether or not to say more. Either that or she was puckering up for a kiss.

Sterling shifted, tugged at his pant leg, and nearly spilled his tea.

“I just want her to be happy. I want you both to be happy,” she amended.

Her face shined with sincerity. He didn’t doubt her. Nor did he believe he had alleviated her concerns, but she had put them aside, perhaps in the interests of civility. Not the usual way of an overly protective surrogate mother.

Spinsters who took over the household for their relatives usually had thin lips, not eminently kissable rosebud lips, didn’t they? Weren’t they angular and thin, instead of having full curves and satiny skin? Their faces weren’t supposed to light up with joy when they talked about family burdens. Just to be sure he hadn’t imagined her pleasure when she talked about her family, he said, “Tell me about your new niece.”

She put down her scone and brushed crumbs from her fingers. “You can’t really want to know about her. Although I confess, I’m bursting at the seams to talk about such a perfect little baby.”

“On the contrary, she will soon be my niece too, and I set a great store by family.”

Her face was animated as she talked about the newborn and her siblings. Yes, this was a woman whose whole world revolved around family. She was as foreign to him and his experience as living on the moon, but oh, she made him feel as if he were home.

* * *

Mary trailed her finger over the pressed tinwork lining the staircase on what was to be her sister’s new house. Suzanna had insisted that Mary would know better whether the house was suitable or not and then gone back to her fashion plates and discussions with the seamstress. Mary had tried to spark her interest with the idea of choosing drapery and such, but Suzanna had waved her off.

The house was lovely, although Mary feared that Suzanna might find the walnut floors and wainscoting too dark. On the ground floor three parlors—or as her Aunt Lydia would describe them, drawing rooms—opened into each other with pocket doors. The kitchen could use a new stove, but it was spacious and well designed. Sterling had mentioned having pipes installed for running water to the upstairs and converting what had been a powder room to a bathroom, which sounded lovely and decadent to Mary and a luxury Suzanna would appreciate.

The dining room was certainly large enough and there was a perfect breakfast room and enough rooms upstairs to house a growing family.

Just not Mary’s.

The clicks of her footsteps down the bare stairs echoed an emptiness she found unexpected. Everyone was getting on with their lives. David’s family was growing. Nathan would be starting his soon, and her baby sister Suzanna would be having babies of her own in no time at all. Only Mary was engaged to a man who was presumed dead and her life had veered off to a side path that was not leading toward the future she expected or wanted.

She loved her father dearly and was proud that she had been the glue that held her family together after her mother’s death. She loved being the one her family turned to for advice, for help, to tackle all the matriarchal duties, but she hadn’t meant for her own life to be halted. She hadn’t meant to lose hope.

“What do you think?” Sterling asked.

“I love it.” Mary took a wistful glance around. “Suzanna should be proud to have such a home.”

He grinned. “But?”

“She will surely love being able to draw a hot bath without having to lug jugs of water from the kitchen.” Not that Suzanna ever did haul her own hot water. She badgered and sweet-talked the maids until they brought it all for her.

Sterling wrapped his arms over the banister and looked up at her. He was very comfortable in his body and moved with a looseness that surprised her. She couldn’t imagine seeing her father or brothers lean so casually on a railing, with a foot propped on a riser between the newel posts. And she should not notice how her sister’s fiancé moved or stood or smelled wonderful.

“You will need to employ a very good housekeeper. Do you mean to furnish the house before your wedding?” she asked.

“I hoped Suzanna might take an interest in choosing the furniture and...the stove.” He looked around a little uncertainly.

Mary heaved a sigh. “The house will need carpets, stair runners, and drapes. The kitchen is lacking pots and pans. Of course you will need silver and china as well as crockery for the servants. Suzanna should have a few linens in her hope chest, enough to get by for awhile.” Suzanna would be overwhelmed by the task, so Mary started a mental list of all that would need to be done to make the house habitable.

Mary didn’t hope that her sister would interest herself readying her new household. For a girl who had a lot of excess energy, she rarely wasted it on anything constructive.

Mary descended the rest of the stairs, even though she could hardly pass by Sterling without noticing how very near he was to her. He didn’t move away; he just watched her progress. She was entirely too conscious of her restrained movements. Her blood felt thick. Had her fiancé ever looked at her in such a way? Or was it just that Sterling John Cooper had a Midas touch, er look, with women?

He swung around and sat on the third stair and patted the wood beside him. He didn’t really expect her to sit on the stairs, did he?

“Don’t look so worried. She only needs to purchase the bare necessities and have all the bills sent here.” He ran his fingers through his dark hair as if he might be inclined to pull it out. He ended with his elbows resting on his knees. “I have other irons in the fire with business concerns that I cannot neglect right now or I would help.”

Mary gave into temptation, gathered her skirts around her and sat on the riser below him. She just couldn’t sit beside him. The staircase was too narrow and it would put her in too close a proximity to him. “What business?”

“Railroad.”

“Mmm, that is what you do?”

“What I intend to do. I have enough money to last my lifetime, but I should like to build an enterprise to leave my children.”

“If I may be so bold, how did you make your fortune?”

“California gold.”

“You were a miner?”

“I had a small claim. I sold it when it got hard to follow the vein. Actually, I started in the Colorado territory working a silver mine with a fellow, so at least I knew what I was doing. But I think I panned more gold out of the creek than I actually hacked out of my mine.”

An orphan, a miner, what made Suzanna conclude he was an adventurer?

Mary leaned forward pulling her knees up, but holding her skirts firmly tucked under her. “There is a lot to be done before the wedding.”

“Much of the work will fall to you, won’t it?”

“It shall be good practice for my planning my own wedding and household some day.”

Sterling was silent a long time, then he leaned back, resting his elbows on a step above him, as Mary peeked back at him.

“You don’t plan to take care of your father’s household for the rest of his life?” he asked.

Mary felt inordinately sad that she had been relegated to spinsterhood. “I can look in on him, but I fear my competence has only allowed him place too much dependence on me, rather than moving on with his life. He is not so old he couldn’t remarry.”

“And you would like to marry?”

She didn’t want him to think she had been totally left on the shelf, although it felt like she’d been stuffed in a tin, soldered shut, and labeled Old Maid. “I was engaged to a Captain in my father’s fleet.”

“Was?”

“His ship was lost in a hurricane. He was making a rum and sugar run to Barbados. In another year he will be declared dead, but no one believes he’s ever coming home.”

Sterling put a hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry. You must have lost your mother and your captain near the same time.”

The heat of his palm spread through her like butter melting into toast. But she felt like a fraud. She had certainly liked her captain, but she was by no means sure that he was the love of her life.

She would have made a good life with him, but she barely remembered his features. The long period of not knowing and the slow death of hope had left her more empty than sad. Mostly she felt guilty that she didn’t want to wait until the law declared fact what everyone already knew.

She remembered more the excitement and satisfaction of getting engaged, planning to start a family. She wondered if Suzanna had become so wrapped up in that exhilaration and forgotten she would have to spend the rest of her life with this man behind her. Was Sterling the right man for Suzanna? It sounded like he wanted the things that her sister found boring, like a family.

He squeezed Mary’s shoulder, and she needed to remind both of them he was engaged to her sister before they crossed an invisible line that loomed before her like a black cloud bank. “Why did you propose to my sister?”

He pulled his hand away. It was a horrid question and Mary had phrased it badly. Of course he wanted to marry Suzanna; she was tall and slender and beautiful. She might be flighty and incredibly young, but men wanted her. Men had always wanted her.

Mary braced herself to apologize for the mean streak behind her words. Sterling John Cooper would make any woman a wonderful husband.

“She came from the right family.”

I come from the right family, too. Mary realized she had sailed right through the cloud bank into treacherous waters. What could be worse than coveting your sister’s future spouse?