Summer Holiday

by Nancy Campbell Allen

  She stood near the main doors and, on a whim, spun and hurried to the department store’s small jewelry department. She explained her dilemma to the shopgirl behind the counter, who shook her head in sympathy. “I am sorry, but I am the only one present for the remainder of the afternoon, and I haven’t the skills. You’re the second person with a similar problem today. I had to send him away also.”

  Tessa stilled and cast a quick glance in each direction. “Was the other person a gentleman who works in Carriages?”

  The girl’s brows lifted. “Why, yes! And his brooch was nearly identical to yours.”

  “How long ago was he here?”

  “Two hours, roughly.”

  Tessa gaped. “Two . . . two hours?” She’d only now received her instructions from Mr. Blight, and she’d returned from her mad marzipan dash ninety minutes earlier. “He’s giving that toad a head start.”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “Nothing. Thank you for your time, Miss . . .”

  “Cloverton.”

  “Miss Cloverton.” Tessa quickly left the jewelry department, making her way outside. There was a jeweler adjacent to the department store, an old establishment that had been in business over a century. The proprietor was the original owner’s grandson, who also looked to be over a century.

  She entered the shop, and a bell overhead alerted Mr. Farr to her presence. She smiled, steeling herself. The few encounters she’d had with him had been unpleasant. He detested the department store—shopgirls especially.

  A few other customers moved quietly around the shop, which seemed to demand an air of reverence, and she approached cautiously. Perhaps she ought to have brought along one of the nearly thawed marzipan treats. “I wonder if you might help me, Mr. Farr.”

  She repeated the same tale she’d just spun for Miss Cloverton, and his expression never altered a mite. When she finally finished speaking, he looked at her for a long moment. She raised her brows and leaned forward slightly.

  “Miss, I was told you would come storming in here with a tale similar to the gentleman I aided not two hours ago. He also informed me of your nefarious intentions to pass off that piece of paste nonsense as a genuine article.”

  Tessa gasped. “I am planning no such thing! I simply seek—”

  “I know what you seek, and you will not find it here,” he interrupted, and several curious gazes swiveled their way. “Forewarned is certainly forearmed. I owe the gentleman a debt of gratitude.”

  “Why, that little—” She cut herself off and clutched her reticule until her knuckles were white. She took in a deep breath and nodded stiffly. “I’ll not disturb you further.”

  “I should think not.”

  Using every ounce of strength, she closed the door gently behind her rather than slamming it. She put a hand to her forehead, exasperated. How was she to compete when the competition’s designer showed clear preference for the other side? She suddenly wished for David’s solid presence beside her and scowled when she realized the direction her thoughts had wandered. She didn’t need anyone. She could do this on her own.

  She walked away from the store and headed south on the promenade. She paused at Middle Pier, tapping her fingertip against her lip. She scanned the buildings, and her spirits lifted. “The clockmaker!”

  She dashed down the pier, calling apologies to people she bumped along the way. Mr. Timely’s clock shop was a magical little world unto itself; she felt quite like a fanciful creature, a fairy, when in it. They had laughed together upon meeting that his name quite fit his profession. He admitted people remarked on it constantly, and she promised to not make a habit of it.

  The gentle ticktock slowed her racing thoughts, and she smiled at the white-haired gentleman seated at a table, looking through a magnifying glass attached to his spectacles. He looked up at her, and she bit her cheek; his one eye was enormous through the glass.

  “Well, then!” Mr. Timely rotated the magnifier up and away from his face. “Trouble with the timepiece again? Beautiful old boy, that one.”

  She took a breath and approached him, waving him back to his seat when he moved to stand. “No, no,” she said, tapping the watch pinned to her waist. “Runs like a charm. I wrote to my mother, and she was amazed you’d fixed it. She figured after all those years it was well and truly done for.”

  “Nothing is well and truly done for. What can I help you with today?”

  Tessa sighed. “I’m not certain you can.” She explained the problem, feeling like a magpie that continually repeated itself.

  He rolled his eyes and held out his hand, motioning with his fingers. “And here I was hoping for a challenge.”

  She handed it to him, feeling a sense of hope that had dwindled alarmingly since her conversation with Miss Cloverton at the department store jewelry. She watched in amazement as he made quick work of removing the pin from the back of the brooch and fired up a tiny soldering iron to attach the clasp.

  In a matter of minutes, he had completely switched out the findings and waved the piece, blowing gently to cool and solidify the metal. “And there we have it.” He smiled at her and handed her the brooch.

  She nearly cried. She bit her lip and cleared her throat. “I cannot thank you enough.” She fumbled with her reticule strings, and he interrupted her.

  “Nonsense. You’ve sent more business my way during the off-season that, for the first time in ages, the store isn’t at the mercy of holiday week. Now, be off with you. You were in a mighty hurry when you blasted through that door.”

  She shook his hand, clasping it gently in both of hers. “Bless you. A million times, bless you.”

  He shooed her away, but she paused at the door. “Oh! Would you please tell your granddaughter that I saw the loveliest pair of pale blue gloves today? She would adore them. Send her in and have her ask for me.”

  Mr. Timely chuckled. “She will be thrilled. Do not be surprised to find her waiting for the doors to open tomorrow.”

  Tessa checked the clocks hanging on the wall and, with a quick goodbye, rushed back down the pier, nearly running. She was winded and knew she’d likely fall over before reaching thefifth floor by stair, so she waited what seemed an interminably long time for Henry and the lift.

  She checked her timepiece again as she exited the lift and dashed down the hallway to Mr. Blight’s office. She had ten minutes to spare. Mr. Devon guarded his post, lip curling as she approached, and she heard masculine laughter from within the inner sanctum. Snatches of conversation escaped: “And an extracted tooth! Plenty to keep her so busy she’ll not possibly be able to complete the list . . .”

  She gritted her teeth, prepared for battle. Mr. Devon opened his mouth, and she held up a hand, catching her breath. “If you tell me I’m not allowed in because my name is absent from the schedule, I will overturn this desk.”

  He narrowed his eyes but stood and knocked on Blight’s door. The laughing quieted, and Tessa moved to stand beside the assistant. Mr. Blight saw her and raised a brow. Devon moved as though to block her entrance, but Blight shook his head. “Let her in.”

  She entered and noted the presence of two additional men—Mr. Litton from the Housewares Department and Grover Welsey. They remained seated, although Mr. Litton gifted her with a nod of acknowledgment. She managed a tight smile for each of them, clenching her hold on a temper that was charging to escape.

  “Miss Baker, what brings you here?” Blight asked, leaning against his desk.

  “This.” She marched forward and thrust the brooch out to him. “You sent me a note fifty minutes ago with instructions to return the cameo fixed within the hour. I trust it meets with your approval, as I wore it while dancing my way to your office. Quite solid, it is.”

  Devon’s voice sounded from the outer office, but she ignored it. She held Blight’s gaze and took immense satisfaction at his shock.

  She raised a brow at him. “Closing time is soon upon us, and I trust there will be no further emergencies today?”
/>
  Welsey rose quickly from his seat and stormed to Blight’s side. “Let me see that!”

  She held up her hand and faced him squarely, blocking his approach. “You are privy to nothing I do as a result of this test. You are neither my superior nor my friend, and I shall tell everyone within shouting distance of your treachery and deceit. You have blocked me repeatedly today, and yet I have still managed to complete my assigned tasks. My marzipan is downstairs as we speak, and I shall bring it up directly.”

  Welsey’s eyes narrowed. “You do not have the marzipan.”

  “Because you visited all the bakeries in town and bought every last piece? How many baking establishments saw your patronage today, I wonder? Three? Four? How much marzipan candy do you have—enough to host a party?”

  He closed his mouth.

  “You labored under the assumption that a bakery was the only available option.” She turned her attention back to Blight. “It may interest you to know that this colleague and fellow applicant received his instructions for the jewelry task two hours before I received mine. As I am certain you would not have given him an unfair advantage, because that would not showcase his true skills, you may consider questioning him.” Welsey emitted a sound of protest, and she snapped her attention to him. “Tell me I am wrong. I have witnesses.”

  Blight slid a finger between his collar and neck, glancing nervously at the door. He stood straight, and in her periphery, she saw Mr. Litton stand as well. She turned around then and saw David in the entrance, leaning one shoulder against the doorjamb with his hands in his pockets. The fiery blue eyes belied his relaxed stance and his pleasant expression.

  “Conte Bellini,” she said, her heart thumping in pleasure. “I did not expect to see you until dinnertime with the family.”

  “One of your shopgirls said you’d been called away on an emergency, so I thought to ask Mr. Blight if he knew what that might entail.”

  Blight cleared his throat. “You and Mr. Welsey both performed admirably today, Miss Baker, and a busy day it has been. I will suspend the emergency scenarios tomorrow, and we’ll resume again on Wednesday.”

  “Very wise managerial decision,” David murmured. “Doesn’t make much sense to exhaust key members of your staff during holiday week.”

  “Quite right.” Blight nodded and smiled, but it slipped as his glance darted to Tessa. “Perhaps we might eliminate a handful of the items on the scavenger list. You may both dispense with five tasks of your choice.”

  Mr. Litton lit a cheroot. “Might I have an introduction, then?”

  David straightened, his expression hard. “Another time, perhaps, when I do not enter a room where a gentleman remains seated while a lady stands.”

  Delicious! Tessa hurried from the room to keep her smile hidden. She would have dearly loved to command that sort of respect, but all things considered, she’d stood firm and spoken her mind. Blight hadn’t fired her on the spot—probably because her accusations had hit their mark—so she would enjoy at least one more day of gainful employment.

  She stopped at the lift, but David took her arm and propelled her to the stairway. They walked around the corner, hidden from view, and the door closed behind them.

  “I am not going to assault you,” he said.

  She laughed softly, feeling some of the tension of the last hour drain away. “I never assumed that was your intent.” Nor would it have been an assault. She was honest enough with herself to admit it. She sobered. “How much did you hear?”

  “Enough. I’ve a mind to stop all this. Clean house, I believe, is the correct terminology.”

  She knew a moment’s relief, which in turn saddened her. She shook her head. “You must do what you feel best for the store, of course, but if you think to end the contest here for my sake, please do not. Something amazing happened to me just now. I did something amazing.”

  He closed his eyes briefly. “Everything you are is amazing,” he whispered and placed his hand alongside her cheek.

  She leaned into it, weary from the surge of emotions she’d experienced over the course of a few hours.

  “I’ll leave things be, for now; however, I am sending for my business manager, Phillip, immediately. I’ll reveal my identity next week.”

  She frowned. “But you wanted to observe for at least two.”

  “I’ve seen enough.” His fingers slipped to her neck, and he cradled her head in both hands. “I am going to kiss you now,” he murmured.

  “I am going to allow it,” she said with a smile, her heart pounding so loudly she was certain he must hear it.

  He traced her eyebrow with this thumb. “I would hate for you to feel trapped in here.”

  “This is one time I do not mind,” she whispered.

  He lowered his head and touched his lips to hers, soft, tentative at first. He captured her sigh and deepened the kiss, moving his hands to her back and pulling her close. She put her arms around his neck and reveled in each sensation—the feel of his lips tasting hers, the smooth texture of his hair beneath her fingertips, the very smell of him.

  It was the most exquisite invasion of sense and thought she’d experienced. He traced her jaw line with his lips, nipped lightly at her neck, and she shivered, amazed at the sensation such a small thing evoked. She cradled her hand against his head, which he slowly lifted to once again capture her lips in a sensual caress.

  He finally pulled away and met her eyes. He drew an unsteady breath, and she felt a thrill at it—that he was as affected as she. “I must indeed install security guards in here.”

  She smiled, suddenly feeling shy, which was not a familiar emotion. He was a man of the world, though, and she was an untutored shopgirl. She’d never been kissed so thoroughly or well, and her own inexperience left her feeling vulnerable.

  “I do not . . . That is, I do not know how . . .” She frowned, unable to find the words.

  He laughed, his expression pained. “Oh yes, cara mia, you most certainly do know how.” He pulled her close again and kissed her, slowly and thoroughly, finally pulling back with a regretful sigh. “But we must go before we are discovered and your credibility here is in tatters.”

  “You truly heard my diatribe, then?”

  “Mia bella, it was the most arousing set-down I have ever witnessed. If I hadn’t been so angry on your behalf, I would have applauded. And then kissed you soundly right there in that office.”

  She laughed and reluctantly stepped out of his arms. She straightened her blouse and felt her hair, repositioning a few pins. Her legs felt wobbly, but she didn’t want to return to the lift for fear of encountering one of the other men. That would tarnish a beautiful moment she wanted to hold in her heart forever. David Bellini had a mouth made for scandal, and she’d been a happy recipient. As much as she relished his hand on her shoulder as they walked down the stairs, she was mortally afraid for the state of her heart. She was falling rapidly down a hole she’d desperately wanted to avoid.

  Chapter Eight

  David reclined in a chaise lounge on the balcony adjoining his guest suite at the Maxwell home. The stars were out in full force, and he closed his eyes, enjoying the cool evening air. He held an after-dinner drink that he sipped slowly and eventually set on the small round table at his elbow.

  He’d arrived at several decisions that would have surprised him a week before. He would bring in his friend, Phillip Keyes, as soon as possible, as well as the paperwork and records he’d had delivered to his friend in London months ago. He would stay out of Phillip’s way and allow him the freedom to do what he did best: operate a successful and profitable retail establishment. But David was no longer content in his role as a silent partner. He wanted to be more involved, to be apprised of not only the bigger picture but some of the smaller ones as well. Over the course of a couple days, he had met people—real people, both in the store and on the crowded piers—whose lives were affected by decisions other men made.

  Tessa had been glorious in her cold fury ea
rlier in Blight’s office. She had been calm and professional, but justifiably angry. She had demanded integrity from men who ought to be displaying it as a matter of course. She had made them aware she was not ignorant of their tactics, that she knew full well what they were about and that it was wrong.

  By the time they had delivered the blasted marzipan to Blight’s office—which was notably empty but for the man himself—and then closed out the day with Mr. Gibbons, Tessa had drooped with fatigue and, at Valentine’s insistence, retired early. David had chatted for some time with Max and Valentine in the library, discussing Max’s business dealings and details he hadn’t known to ask before now.

  Valentine had excused herself earlier than the gentlemen, saying she felt under the weather. Max mentioned that she seemed to have contracted some sort of illness—she had been oddly nauseous for several weeks. David hadn’t voiced his opinion about that, but smiled.

  He now breathed deeply of the clean air and exhaled. While Tessa had been sent off on a mission apparently designed to fail, he had wandered the store, taking in details and observing employees. He’d learned much in a few days from his association with Tessa and now noticed things he’d have missed. He was also trying to give her some time to actually do her job—he knew she would be distracted if he hovered, so he’d left her in peace. Only he’d then found she hadn’t been in peace at all.

  He’d found her upstairs, upbraiding a trio of men he would label ‘men’ only in the loosest of terms. Upset for her sake and aroused beyond bearing, he’d taken her into the stairwell, of all places, and kissed her.

  He felt a surge of heat at the memory of her hands in his hair, her contented and yet urgent sigh against his lips. Every new little piece of her he learned or explored deepened his rapidly growing affection, and he knew he would either convince her to marry him or die trying.

  A firework lit the sky, and he heard a distant pop, signaling continued revelry on the beaches and piers. He fully intended to experience it all with Tessa, but perhaps it would have to wait until after frenetic holiday week had passed. There was still the matter of the extra items on the scavenger hunt list, though, and the deadline was Friday. Perhaps they would tackle that tomorrow night when she was rested.