Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  They reached the lift, and Tessa rang for it. Voices from the main store areas drifted up as though from far away, and the hallway was blissfully peaceful. “I do enjoy the crowds, I truly do,” she said with a sigh, “but in contrast, the quiet can be quite wonderful.”

  He smiled, his hands in his pockets, and leaned against the wall. “The watching of people is one of life’s greatest entertainments, but I agree. Silence is sometimes bliss.”

  “Where will you live?” she asked suddenly. He’d mentioned awaiting a home rental near Max and Valentine’s house, but that seemed temporary.

  “Here.” His tone was soft. “I will live here. I’ll visit home often, of course, and perhaps spend extended holidays there, but this . . .” He looked around at the store and settled his gaze back on her. “This is everything I want.”

  She swallowed. Could he honestly be considering settling down and taking on responsibility? He’d said as much from the beginning, but she’d believed it to be a passing fancy. Extended time spent in his company seemed to be proving her wrong.

  The lift finally arrived, saving her from trying to decipher the confused mix of emotions that tumbled through her head. She was happy with her life, loved her fellow employees, sans one in particular, and looked forward to her future in the store with optimism and anticipation. She had no room for anything else.

  She stepped into the lift, and David followed. “Hello, Henry,” she said with a smile. “Fifth floor, please.”

  “Of course, Miss Baker.” He smiled and closed the lift gate.

  “How are your children, Henry? On the mend, I hope?”

  “Right as rain, they are. The missus—tougher than nails, that one—and the little ’uns, they’ve her constitution and my stubbornness.”

  “I am so glad to hear it,” Tessa said, her sentiments genuine. He was a good man who worked long hours, and his wife took in mending. Sick and dying children were more common than not, and the poor suffered more than the rest. “Please extend my best wishes to your wife, will you?”

  The elevator came to a stop on the fifth floor, and Henry opened the gate. “That I will, miss. And likewise, to you and your’n.”

  She exited the lift, and, as she turned to see that David followed her, she felt a tug on her heart. David had handed Henry a tip—she didn’t see the amount, but the other man’s eyes boggled. He stammered his thanks, and David touched his fingers to his hat brim.

  He joined her in the hallway, and she bit her lip, fighting a sudden flare of emotion. He gave a lift operator a healthy tip. He hadn’t saved the world, for heaven’s sake. And perhaps he didn’t carry small currency on his person.

  Well, that wasn’t true, the other side of her brain argued. He’d paid with small bills the day before. He always tipped, though, and she never saw amounts but suddenly remembered multiple expressions of shock or gratitude, not unlike the one she’d just seen on Henry.

  One half of her brain argued that it was easy enough to tip well when you had more money than sense. The other half argued that he had plenty of sense and that there were plenty of wealthy people who didn’t bother to tip at all. She’d seen that firsthand. David was proving himself to be a good man with a generous heart, not to mention a physical appeal that was beginning to wreak havoc on her nerves.

  They reached Mr. Blight’s outer office where his assistant sat at a desk. He looked up and recognized her, his face settling into its customary mask of barely veiled scorn. She didn’t know how he accomplished it, but it never failed. “Mr. Devon, I have urgent business with Mr. Blight that requires a few moments of his time.”

  “Did you schedule these few moments beforehand? I am looking at his hourly appointment list, and I do not see your name here, Miss Baker.”

  “You’ve not even looked at the list, Mr. Devon.”

  “I do not need to.”

  David tapped one finger on the corner of the desk. “I am Conte David Bellini. We will speak with Mr. Blight immediately. Please inform him now, or we shall simply see ourselves in.”

  Mr. Devon swallowed, likely caught somewhere between suitably impressed and heartily annoyed at being outmaneuvered. “Very well.” He rose stiffly and entered Blight’s office after a perfunctory knock.

  Tessa gritted her teeth in outrage. “I have known that man for four years—four years—and he still views me as a speck of dirt on his sleeve.”

  “Apologies for stepping in.” David did indeed look apologetic, but he settled his gaze on the closed office door, his eyes narrowed.

  “It is just as well,” she muttered. “We’d be waiting out here all day, otherwise.”

  She paced the length of the outer office, amazed that there was even a slight delay in being received. Blight was one of the most obsequious people she knew; she couldn’t believe he wasn’t falling all over David right now.

  Finally, the door cracked open, and she spun around.

  “Mr. Blight will see you now.” Devon looked at Tessa. “I trust you will manage proper introductions.”

  She used every ounce of will she possessed to refrain from either sneering at the man in an undignified manner or clawing at his eyes. “I believe I can manage it,” she said when David shifted as though ready to strike. Not sparing the assistant another glance, she entered Mr. Blight’s office with David.

  She did indeed manage to make proper introductions, enjoying a savage sense of satisfaction at the realization that, soon, Blight would be told the storeowner’s identity and realize he’d already spent time with him unguarded. Had he said anything that might cast him in an unfavorable light? Had he offended in any way? The questions would plague him, and Tessa consoled herself with it as Blight conversed with David and completely ignored her.

  He finally turned his attention back to Tessa. “Did you have a purpose in introducing me to the count? Other than simply allowing me the privilege of the association?”

  She held back a roll of her eyes, but only just. Her head hurt with the effort required. “You told Welsey and me last week that as we conducted the scavenger hunt, we would not be disqualified for having companionship along on the adventure. Welsey insinuated yesterday that you would find Conte Bellini an unsuitable companion.”

  Blight shook his head vigorously. “Not at all! Not at all objectionable. I had no idea you possessed such illustrious connections, Miss Baker.”

  “I did not see the relevance. My associates away from the store have no bearing on my work here.”

  “Well, perhaps you do not appreciate the import of such alliances, but men of business certainly do.”

  She looked pointedly at David. Surely he’d seen enough.

  “Well, then.” David smiled at Blight. “Miss Baker wanted to be certain you have no objections to my help.”

  “None at all! Please come by again. Or perhaps one day soon you’ll allow me to buy you a drink. Sommerpool pubs and taverns are among the best, you know.”

  David smiled. “This city offers the best of many things indeed.”

  Chapter Six

  David held open the bakery door for Tessa and followed her inside. She was irritated with Blight’s casual dismissal of her, and he couldn’t find fault in that. She was justified in her frustration with the man, who clearly did not expect her to succeed with her week’s tasks.

  Tessa tapped her foot on the shop floor as several people were in the queue already. Finally, it was their turn. “Mr. Frederickson, how are you today?” She smiled at the man behind the glass display cabinet.

  The man’s weathered face broke into a smile. “Miss Baker’s come to the bakery!”

  She laughed. “That one never does get old. But today I have an unusual request. I am urgently searching for two-dozen marzipan favors. Do you happen to have any on hand? I didn’t see any in the other two display cases.”

  “Ah, missy, I am sorry to tell ya, but another bloke was in here an hour ago, bought up every last marzipan confection I have.”

  Tessa’s mouth dro
pped open, and she hastily closed it.

  “Must be marzipan is in high demand today. Can I offer ya something else?”

  Tessa took a deep breath, and David wondered how on earth he could help her find two dozen of anything that specific with half of Britain enjoying Sommerpool’s seaside delights. The display cabinets in the store were fairly sparse, and a harried employee in a stained apron bustled from the back room with a tray of sweet rolls.

  “Thank you anyway, Mr. Frederickson. Oh!” She opened her reticule. “When I realized I would be stopping by today, I cut a sample of our newest pink ribbon for your wife.” She handed him the length of lacy pink material over the cabinet. “And will you tell her that we’ll happily honor the same discount for the first thirty days again?”

  “Ah, missy. She’ll be delighted to hear it.” He pocketed the ribbon and beamed at Tessa, who smiled in return. “I’ll have marzipan aplenty tomorrow morning, if ye’re still needin’ it.”

  “Thank you ever so much. I shall be in again if I do.” Tessa maintained a pleasant expression until they left the store, then she spun on David, face flushed. “Can you believe it? I can! Welsey bought up every last smidgen of the stuff so I couldn’t get any!”

  David looked back into the bakery. “If I offer to buy all his remaining stock, plus tomorrow’s, will he close his doors and make nothing but marzipan between now and closing?”

  Her shoulders slumped. “No, it would take more time, and besides, I cannot have you rushing to my rescue.” She glanced at him, her brows knit. “Especially since people will know soon enough about your relationship to the store.”

  David knew she was right, but still, it rankled. “The weasel is certainly not opposed to playing a dirty game. I see no reason for you to avoid responding in kind.”

  “I want to do this the right way. And Blight is correct—suppose that scenario actually played out and Mr. Frederickson did not have what I need? I would try the next baker, a few streets that way.”

  David whistled and motioned for a hansom. A driver pulled alongside, slowing the horse with a low whistle. “There’s nothing in Blight’s rule book that dictates you must walk all over town to solve the problem. Would you travel by carriage if this situation were real?”

  “Yes.” She took his hand and allowed him to help her into the small cab. She gave him the name of the shop, which he relayed to the driver, who nodded and clicked to the horse.

  David settled down beside her, grateful for the limited space the narrow carriage provided. Their shoulders overlapped, and hers nestled just behind his as though it had always been there. She was pressed against him from shoulder to knee, and he glanced at her, unable to suppress a grin.

  “We shall travel thusly, always.”

  She laughed and tapped his arm, a blush staining her cheeks. Her smile lingered, and he reached for her hand, which he then threaded under his arm. He winked at her. “We’ll find your marzipan.”

  She nodded, her lips tightening. “How in blazes did he get away from the store so early?” She shook her head. “It’s as I told him: his department is substantially less crowded than mine. I knew when I began that I would not only have to be proficient, I’d have to be better than proficient.”

  The carriage rattled along in fits and starts, dodging rather handily around congestion. The driver turned north onto a less crowded avenue and, in a matter of minutes, pulled to a stop. Tessa checked a pocket watch she had pinned to her waist. “I shall hurry.”

  She jumped down from the carriage with impressive speed before either he or the driver could offer assistance. “I’ll wait here,” he called after her as the shop door closed. He smiled, knowing in that moment that he was done for. She’d stolen his heart, and he quite wanted her to keep it.

  “I will pay you two days’ wages if you will remain at our disposal for the next two hours,” he said to the driver as he climbed down and approached the bakery, which was one of several small shops along the street.

  “I accept!” the driver called. “I’ll wait here!”

  He might not have bothered getting down from the cab. Tessa opened the bakery door and headed back toward him, her face drawn. “He did the same thing here.”

  David’s brows climbed. “He bought all their marzipan?”

  “Yes!” She stood on the small walkway, nostrils flared, hands on her hips. “Think, Tessa. Who might have a stash of marzipan continually at the ready?”

  David scratched his neck, entirely at sea. He could pay someone good money to make the stuff, but he had no idea where it came from.

  Her eyes lit up. “Mrs. Dyer!”

  “And who is Mrs. Dyer?”

  “She creates wedding cakes on special order from her home, located about a mile inland from South Pier.”

  “Excellent.” He grasped her arm and propelled her back to the carriage. “Do you have an address?”

  She puffed air into her cheeks, thinking. “Just south of the corner of Verbena and Rosewood.”

  The driver nodded when David looked up at him. They settled into the carriage, which immediately pulled into traffic. She bounced her knee restlessly, agitating the entire carriage, and he finally clamped his hand down on her leg. She gave him a flushed side-glance and a rueful smile. “I knew it would be a lengthy day; I may have had twice my usual amount of morning coffee.”

  He laughed, and when he left his hand on her knee, she tilted her head toward his shoulder.

  Well, an interesting development indeed. He smiled, and it remained in place all the way to the corner of Verbena and Rosewood.

  She grinned at him when they came to a stop and hopped down again on her own. Deciding he didn’t want to miss one moment of her negotiating skills, he followed her and entered a well-tended town house that smelled deliciously of sugary delights. The housekeeper had already stepped away to fetch her mistress, and before he could say two words to Tessa, a woman appeared, middle-aged, pleasant features, and thin as a rail.

  “Must not eat her own creations,” he murmured.

  “Nary a bite. She has a sugar illness—something with her blood. Makes her sick and she faints.”

  “Tessa Baker!” The woman enveloped Tessa in a quick embrace, her own demeanor as animated as Tessa’s. David supposed she’d also had a double round of coffee. “And how is your darling aunt?”

  “Splendid, thank you for asking.” Tessa smiled and made quick introductions, and he soon learned that Mrs. Pamela Dyer made the world’s most beautiful wedding treats.

  Tessa hurriedly explained her dilemma, and Mrs. Dyer snapped her fingers with a triumphant nod. “I have seven dozen in cold storage. You need two?”

  “Yes, but only if it doesn’t inconvenience you. I’ll pay you extra, of course.”

  “Nonsense.” She eyed David with a quick glance. “You follow me. You can carry them to the carriage.”

  Tessa looked at him and raised a shoulder apologetically.

  “Lead the way, Mrs. Dyer,” he said, and they followed her down the hall to a large kitchen.

  Mrs. Dyer pulled a large tray from an icebox and made quick work of arranging the treats on a platter, which she then covered with paper. She handed it to him with an aside for Tessa. “These are fairly small. They will thaw in an hour or two. The almond in the middle may remain colder than the rest for a time.”

  Tessa grabbed the woman and squeezed. “You are wonderful. Here.” She released Mrs. Dyer and pulled several coins from her reticule.

  “No, you batty girl!” Mrs. Dyer tried to return two coins, but Tessa darted around the woman and David, who obediently held the platter.

  “I shall visit soon!” she called from the foyer.

  David smiled at the woman and dug into his pocket. He clinked another three coins into her hand and said, “Madam, you have truly saved the day.”

  He left her gaping in the kitchen and followed Tessa, who had already climbed into the carriage.

  Chapter Seven

  Tessa’s second
cup of morning coffee had worn off by midafternoon, and she was in danger of falling asleep on her feet. The trauma of locating two-dozen marzipan treats had changed to euphoria upon success, but now had her feeling drained. The crowd of customers in her department had thinned, and Mr. Gibbons was in his small office, taking a much-needed break.

  A runner from thefifth floor appeared in the second floor main area, and she knew instinctively the message he carried was for her. She sighed, and when Mary pointed the boy in her direction, she held out her hand. He gave her a sealed envelope that matched the one she’d received that morning, except there was a lump inside.

  She opened it, and an inexpensive, plain cameo slid into her palm. Along with the cameo was a clasp. The note inside read:

  The provost’s wife has a pressing engagement in a matter of hours, and she neglected to plan for alterations to her family heirloom. The last time she wore the brooch, the pin stuck her dreadfully. She has come to the department store, as the jewelers have closed their doors early for the day, and desperately seeks assistance. She must have the pin removed and the clasp attached, and it must be secure because there’s certain to be dancing and revelry.

  You have one hour.

  Tessa stared ahead at nothing, her eyelids at half-mast. Blight had said nothing about an additional task in the same day. She exhaled and took a quick look around the department.

  “Mary,” she said, locating the shopgirl who was restocking blue kidskin gloves. “I must conduct a pressing errand for Mr. Blight. There is relative calm at the moment. Do you suppose you can manage until Mr. Gibbons finishes his rest? Shouldn’t be more than another twenty minutes.”

  “Of course, Miss Baker.”

  Tessa dashed to her cabinet in the back and retrieved her belongings. “Jewelers are closed for the day in the scenario,” she murmured aloud as she made her way down the two flights of stairs to the main level. “Am I to presume that I am forbidden to use a jeweler?”