Valentine stepped onto the street and waited, glancing behind her. A figure in a white blouse and black skirt spoke with someone at the front door while two carriages passed, blocking them from sight. By the time David’s view of the women was again unobstructed, they were finally approaching the carriage, arm in arm. Valentine’s niece was similar in height and frame—small and slight—and she wore a small hat perched upon curls the color of dark honey.
David raised a brow. “You never mentioned beautiful.”
“Didn’t seem pertinent. And besides, what should I have said? ‘My wife’s niece is as pretty as she is’? Makes me sound a bit lecherous.”
Tessa Baker tipped her head up and smirked with an eye roll at something Valentine said. Valentine responded, and the two paused in a fit of laughter. David found himself smiling in response. “Joyous,” he murmured, and Max nodded.
“Very much so. Life at our house is lively. I had only one brother, and our living conditions as children were rather gloomy. These two provide a world I never knew existed.”
The women drew closer to the carriage, and David drew in his breath. Tessa Baker was lovely. She was conventionally pretty, but there was a spark behind her eyes—something in her expression that spoke of hope and optimism and genuine joy. They finally reached the door, and the driver opened it for them. Max and David each moved over on their respective benches, and Valentine entered first, sitting beside Max with a breathless laugh.
Her niece followed and paused on the steps. “Oh! I do not mean to intrude! Val, you didn’t tell me you had company. I can catch—”
“Climb in, Tess.” Valentine tugged on her arm. “We’ll make introductions on our way to dinner.”
Tessa met David’s eyes with a tentative smile and climbed into the carriage, settling next to him on the seat.
“David Bellini,” he said before either Maxwell could introduce him and held his hand out.
She placed her gloved fingers in his, and he kissed her knuckles. Her eyes—gold they were, with green flecks—widened in recognition. “Oh, yes! Tessa Baker.” She gestured toward Valentine. “Val’s niece. A pleasure to meet you, Conte Bellini. Your reputation precedes you.”
“David, please. Here, I am David. And the pleasure is mine, Miss Baker.” And it was. She was somehow more arresting up close.
“Tessa.” She laughed. “Here, I am Tessa, as well. Or hoyden or wild child or brat, if the occasion warrants it.”
“Psh.” Valentine waved a hand and threaded her arm through her husband’s. “That was years ago when you were unmanageable and in my care while your parents went on holiday.”
The driver lifted the small hatch in the roof to receive instructions from Max. The carriage soon merged into the traffic flow that continued along the promenade in starts and stops.
“Now that we’re away from the store, tell us!” Valentine’s eyes narrowed on her niece. “What did Mr. Blight say?”
Tessa sighed. “Oh! It is insufferable. He is insufferable. I am applying for the position against Grover Welsey, and we are to”—she rummaged in her reticule—“complete a scavenger hunt for these items.” She snapped the letter open with flair and thrust it at her aunt.
“A scavenger hunt?” Max voiced David’s own question. “Do you mean go to various places and retrieve specific items?” He looked over Valentine’s shoulder at the list. Valentine raised a brow and looked at Tessa.
Tessa nodded, her lips thinning. “We are to have each item collected and presented to Mr. Blight by closing time on Friday.”
Valentine’s mouth dropped, as did the list into her lap. “And here we assumed he would question you with a series of interviews or present various scenarios.”
Max retrieved the paper and frowned as he read it.
“We are to be presented with emergency scenarios to solve during store hours,” Tessa said. “I’ve no problem with that idea. But this extra hunt . . .” Tessa glanced at David. “Forgive me—nonsense with my work.”
“It’s just as well he be aware of the idiocy under his employ,” Valentine said, and Max closed his eyes.
An awkward silence filled the carriage, and Valentine put her hand to her mouth, blushing. “Oh, David. I’m sorry—”
He lifted a hand and shook his head. “Do not concern yourself, Valentina. Truly, it is fine.”
Tessa’s gaze swiveled to him. He saw comprehension dawn, and she raised a brow. “You. You are the new owner.”
“Yes.” He couldn’t read her expression. “You are disappointed?”
She shook her head. “Oh, no! Surprised, I suppose. The store has been abuzz with speculation for weeks. I assumed the new owner would be a businessman or someone . . . older.”
He laughed, gratified to see a hint of a smile on her lips. “It is a new venture for me, admittedly, yes. I do have an excellent pool of resources, however, and experience investing my own money. I am bringing in a friend of mine from Oxford, Phillip Keyes, to conduct daily operations. I plan to observe for now without alerting anyone to my role and hopefully gain an accurate portrait of the store and its dynamics.”
“Yes,” Valentine sighed, “and I spoiled it for you within five minutes.”
Tessa’s lips twitched. “You were to keep it a secret from me?”
Valentine nodded and lifted a shoulder as though to say, “Surely you see the folly.”
“You studied at Oxford. That explains your flawless English.” Tessa smiled when he affected modesty with a hand on his heart.
“And he still retains a hint of that delightfully romantic accent.” Valentine sighed dramatically and elbowed her husband, who was still absorbed in Tessa’s paper. David chuckled, appreciating her attempt to tease her husband.
Max blinked and shook his head, handing the letter across the carriage to Tessa, who took it with nostrils flared. “Tess, that is ridiculous. Perhaps the new owner may have something to say about it.”
“No!” Tessa shook her head, her gaze flicking from Max to David. “Please, you mustn’t.”
David nodded and placed his hand on hers. “I understand. You must maintain your own sense of respectability and credibility within the store.”
“Yes, yes, that is it exactly. Mr. Gibbons, my supervisor, also offered to interfere, but I cannot allow it. I will do the wretched activity, and I will beat Grover Welsey soundly.”
Valentine sighed. “At least allow me to help you. I can gather most of that while you’re at work next week.”
Tessa shook her head, and her knee began to bounce, betraying agitation or restlessness. “Blight made a point of telling us we can be in the company of others, but we must personally locate each item. He plans to employ his team of seven teenage sons to dog our heels and ensure our adherence to the rules.”
David frowned. “What is his goal? There is no guarantee this other fellow will win the prize—unless there are items that are unfeasible for you to obtain?”
Tessa shook her head again, knee still bouncing slightly. “See for yourself. The only item I might struggle with is hefting the sledgehammer in an attempt to ring the bell on the strongman carnival game. But even then, all I must do is show proof of attempting it.”
David looked at the list. “He does not intend for you to win.”
“What makes you think so?” Tessa chewed absently on her lip.
“Has this man, to your knowledge, ever conducted an interview process like this before?”
“Not that I’m aware.”
“I imagine you and the rest of the store would have been aware of such an unusual thing. Just as the entire store will likely soon be aware of this.” David waved the paper. “I do not assume to know details about each managing employee, but I know enough. Mr. Blight is a veteran manager with several years’ experience. None of them, in fact, have worked in their current positions for fewer than five years.”
“True.” Tessa nodded.
“Suddenly he faces a female applicant for the first time, and this
is what he decides is appropriate?”
“My application for the position is highly unusual. Truthfully, I imagine at least a few of the other managers might applaud his efforts to dissuade me.”
Valentine huffed. “Just half a century ago, the only sales people ever hired or interned were men. Now see the difference! I imagine the day will come when women are managers as well. Someone must be the first, and for this store, you’re it, Tess.”
Tessa cast a side-glance at David, her first indication of reservation in his presence. “I do not know how you feel about such an unusual venture—my application for a supervisory position, that is. You may share concerns similar to Mr. Blight’s and the others.”
David shook his head. “My mother is a force, a countess who funds her own archaeological digs in Egypt and travels there frequently to conduct work on it herself. She makes no apologies for it, nor should she. So you see, I am not opposed to progress, especially when one candidate is as good as another.”
“Regardless of gender?” Tessa raised a brow.
“Regardless of gender, race, creed.” He shrugged. “Ability is ability; knowledge is knowledge. The source is irrelevant in determining its legitimacy or effectiveness.”
Tessa studied him for a long moment, and had he not spent his entire life being examined from every angle and perspective, he might have fidgeted. “You are a progressive one, Conte Bellini.” She smiled. “I shall not tell a soul you are the store’s new owner if you agree not to speak to Mr. Blight about this.” She flicked a finger at the list.
He inclined his head, charmed. “You have a deal, Miss Baker. I do have one condition.”
“And that would be?”
“You allow me to accompany you on your hunt. You can introduce me at the store as your cousin or a friend of the family. Mr. Blight has stipulated that working alongside someone else is acceptable, so he can have no objection when his little spying force report back to him that I am helping you to”—he glanced down at the page—“locate a spare bolt or rivet under the Ferris wheel.”
A smile touched the corner of her mouth. “Surely you have more pressing issues on your time.”
“Not in the least. It allows me to observe store procedure as an outsider with nobody else the wiser. I also spend time in the company of an enchanting woman. I benefit from every side.”
Tessa bit the inside of her cheek and cast a look at her aunt. “Dangerous, this one.”
Max rubbed his forehead. “All the Bellinis are.”
David laughed, and Tessa looked at her uncle. “Mercy, how many are there?”
“Too many. The balance will again be fair for eligible bachelors everywhere when the other three are settled down.”
“It’s true.” Valentine’s smile at her husband was wry. “Cousin Eva fell for Matteo in a matter of days.”
Max cast a flat look at David. “Which is why it was fortunate indeed you were under that roof less than twelve hours, my dear.”
Tessa laughed out loud. “The mighty Max feeling insecure? I can hardly countenance it!”
David waved a hand and shook his head conspiratorially at Tessa. “He speaks nonsense. Your lovely aunt had eyes for only Mr. Maxwell from the first moment. A man sees these things.” He looked at Max. “Well, an Italian man sees these things.”
“We’ve yet to spar, isn’t that so, David?” Max eyed David in clear speculation.
David smiled. “Yes, and that is by design, my friend. I have neither a death wish nor a desire to find my face rearranged. An Italian man also guards his image.”
“Hmm. Should the tenure as European nobility prove a failure?” Tessa asked.
David laughed, thoroughly disarmed. She was not awed into silence because of a desire to impress him, but she was also not one of a dozen women he’d socialized with in the last decade who’d thought he ought to be awed by their perfection. “Miss Baker, I do believe we shall get along famously.”
Chapter Three
Tessa stood at the end of Sommerpool’s South Pier just before sunrise the next morning. The world was quiet that time of day, the temperature pleasant, and the water lapped gently against the pilings below. She had never been one to sleep late into the day, and becoming a shopgirl had solidified her routine. Twelve- and thirteen-hour days standing in the shops left little time for leisure.
Shopgirls’ work hours overall were improving, and that was a blessing. Since becoming Mr. Gibbons’s assistant, her schedule stayed consistently at nine hours per day, and she was granted a lunch break with partial pay, which was unheard of but a direct reflection of Mr. Gibbons’s kind and soft heart.
Laws passed in recent years addressed working conditions that were, in the best cases, uncomfortable and, in the worst, deadly. Children under the age of eleven were no longer allowed to work in factories, and school was now mandatory for them. Conditions for women working in factories in the larger cities improved, safety measures put into place. A working mother was less likely to lose an arm in a threading machine by stumbling too close to it in exhaustion.
Tessa had known a comfortable life as a child—her father was a successful barrister, and Tessa and her five siblings had been afforded a life that her mother always said was, “Exactly enough—not too much and not too little.” As Tessa came into marriageable age and it was clear there were no prospects on her immediate horizon, she’d left their small, comfortable town and moved to Sommerpool.
The breeze picked up curls that grazed her cheeks, and she leaned on the railing, closing her eyes. She loved Sommerpool—everything about it. She loved the boisterous crowds that descended each summer, loved the noisy fair and carnival rides, the spun cotton candy, ice cream treats, the Punch and Judy puppet shows, the open-air concerts and dancing, plays and musicals on South and Middle Piers. She loved the three-tiered, balconied, upscale pavilion on the North Pier that catered to those with more elite entertainment tastes. A full orchestra, a posh restaurant, and respectable comedians were to be found there.
Even in the off-season when the town wasn’t bursting at the seams with visitors, the seaside resort town still found plenty to do. Aristocratic members of society who had no wish to mingle with middle-class crowds often vacationed then, taking in the healthy sea air and enjoying North Pier entertainment. Exclusive businesses offered retreats for clientele they courted and wished to impress, and always, always there were the shops. People sometimes worked throughout the year just for a day trip to enjoy shopping and entertainment. Railroad accessibility had altered life forever for the British working class.
The water swirled around the piling in circles, and Tessa blurred her vision, staring at the fuzzy pattern of the foam. She smiled softly; for the moment, her world was at peace. She allowed her vision to come back into sharp focus and reflected on the ridiculous scavenger hunt awaiting her and the very handsome Italian count who seemed determined to help her.
David Bellini was the stuff schoolgirl dreams were made of. The only way Tessa had been able to convince herself to relax in his presence was to acknowledge that she was nowhere near the kind of woman he would find an interest in, let alone pursue. She was a shopgirl from a provincial family in a provincial English town. He was charming and funny, as she’d learned the night before at dinner on the North Pier, and she decided to enjoy his company, accept the offer of friendship he so clearly offered, and not tie her stomach into knots worrying about whether she made a suitable impression.
“My apologies for intruding on your solitude.” A masculine voice with a light Italian accent sounded at her shoulder, and she turned. There he stood, as though her thoughts had conjured him, and she smiled.
“Not at all.” She straightened, and he joined her at the railing, looking out over the water. “Hard to believe we’re over half a mile away from shore, is it not?”
He nodded. “I remember the first time I saw this place: I was young, and we were here on holiday. There was only the North Pier; the city has grown significantly si
nce then. I loved everything about it, and even with my advanced age, it still holds a measure of charm.”
Tessa motioned back to shore. “I arrived with stars in my eyes, believing this place was immune to poverty or children living on the streets. Still not as much as London, but there’s some. A Sunday School organization is raising funds to build decent orphanages, and city leadership supports the efforts, if for no other reason than it helps with tourism.”
He smiled wryly. “Every city will do whatever necessary to maintain its positive image. A truth universally acknowledged.”
She turned so her back was against the railing, her elbows resting on it. “An Austen reader?” She smiled. “I hadn’t imagined you the type.”
“My education was a broad one indeed.”
He was taller than Tessa by nearly a foot, and she angled the brim of her hat to see him better. “What are your plans for Sommerpool D&M?”
“Restore it to sound financial standing, then push forward to become the best department store in all of Europe.”
She laughed, but he did not. “Forgive me, but I assumed you were teasing.”
“Not in the least. I intend for the store to be better than the rest in quality of goods and services, yet still affordable for the working classes who save all year to spend their money here.”
“I apologize for laughing, and while I may doubt the possibility of Sommerpool outpacing Paris in department stores, I wholeheartedly support the effort.”
He leaned his elbows on the railing as she had done, and the soft breeze ruffled his dark hair. Somehow he even looked wonderful all mussed, and she shook her head with a small smile.
“I amuse you?” He turned to her, and leaning on the railing as he was, he was close enough for her to appreciate the deep blue eyes that seemed to smile right along with the rest of his perfect face.
“The hearts you must have broken, Conte Bellini. I was thinking it’s just as well mine is guarded.”
“And why is that, I wonder?”
He even smelled good! She decided her paramount goal for the day would be to find a flaw. “I’ve no objection to the idea of romance, but my aspirations at present rather preclude it.”
Summer Holiday Page 2
