Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

She moved to a ratty-looking chair and plopped down. “It’s little wonder you found me demanding, and that explains why, when you apparently heard me ringing the cowbell so diligently a short time ago, you didn’t bother to rush up to investigate why I was ringing the bell in the first place.”

  Ian sat down in a chair facing her. “I thought you might have been ringing the bell to tell me you wanted me to fetch you a mirror or a cup of tea. But if I’d known you were being stalked by a chicken, I would have come sooner.” He smiled. “I’m still interested in hearing how you came to choose Elmer for that chicken’s name.”

  “I thought he looked like an Elmer at first because he was somewhat adorable when he was in Primrose’s arms. But then, after the girls left and I got a glimpse of his true personality, I think I misnamed him. He’s much more along the lines of a Nigel, or perhaps even a Percival, names I’ve always believed aptly portray somewhat shifty sorts.”

  “I have friends named Percival and Nigel, and they’re not shifty in the least.”

  “My apologies to your friends. Perhaps I should leave the honor of renaming the dastardly creature to you to avoid further insults to additional friends of yours.”

  Ian smiled. “I would not care to deprive you of naming your first chicken. But you might get Elmer to stop chasing you if you were to choose a more feminine name, such as Elmerita, perhaps.”

  “Why would I want to name him Elmerita?”

  “Because Elmer is no he. She’s a she.”

  “Surely not?”

  Ian settled into the chair. “You don’t know much about farms—or chickens for that matter, do you?”

  “I know about chickens, although I’m only familiar with the many dishes they’re served up in, and I especially enjoy chicken simmered in a delightful cream sauce with cranberries for garnish.”

  “Don’t let Elmer hear you say that. She’ll really have an issue with you if she thinks you’re considering serving her up in a sauce.”

  Isadora resisted the unusual urge to roll her eyes. “I’m hoping to never encounter Elmer again, but I am curious to know how you can tell she’s a she instead of a he.”

  Ian suddenly coughed, but it almost sounded as if he was trying to disguise a laugh. “I don’t believe that’s a conversation anyone would consider proper. None of the etiquette books I’ve read have ever suggested that broaching topics regarding how to know different genders of chickens when in mixed company is acceptable. With that said, all you really need to know is that Elmer is a hen, which is female. Roosters are male, and you can tell roosters a mile away because they often possess surly attitudes.”

  “Then Elmer should be a rooster because he, or rather she, is definitely surly, but . . .” Isadora leaned forward. “You read books on etiquette?”

  He gestured to one of the bookshelves. “There’s an entire shelf over there dedicated to etiquette books. My favorite is The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness by Cecil B. Hartley. It’s proven itself invaluable with allowing me to study expected manners gentlemen need to know as they go out into the civilized world.”

  “My mother insisted I read The Ladies’ Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness by Florence Hartley when I was ten. But I’m surprised you’d take it upon yourself to study what I always found to be a less-than-stimulating topic. I would have thought you’d prefer studying books on crop rotation or what truly makes a chicken a female as opposed to a male.”

  “If I spent my time as a farmer, I’m sure I would devote myself to books on farming, but as I mentioned when we first met, I no longer live on this farm.”

  A trace of trepidation tickled the back of her neck. “If you’re not a farmer, what do you do?”

  For a second, she didn’t think he was going to answer her, but then he shrugged. “I’m a man of business, doing most of that business in Pittsburgh.”

  “What type of business?”

  “I wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.”

  “Didn’t you care for farming?” she pressed.

  “I’ve always believed farming is a noble occupation since without it, well, everyone would starve.” He crossed a leg over his knee. “But after I came to live with Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos when I was seven, my aunt realized rather quickly that I wasn’t meant to live my life on a farm because I was drawn to more mental tasks than physical ones.”

  Isadora glanced at his chest. “It seems to me like you spend a great deal of time doing physical activities be—” She snapped her mouth shut, wondering not for the first time why she was suddenly allowing all sorts of nonsense past her lips.

  “Perhaps I didn’t phrase that properly,” he said, clear amusement in his eyes. “I’ve never balked at doing manual labor, which is how I achieved my size. But after I began working for men involved with the iron and steel industry, I realized that my size worked to my advantage, which is why I took up boxing.” He smiled. “Getting into a ring a few times a week does seem to allow me to maintain my size.”

  “Clearly,” Isadora muttered before she frowned. “Are you one of those men who work with the labor unions?”

  “In a manner of speaking. But getting back to why I’m not a farmer”—he gestured around the room—“when Aunt Birdie introduced me to books and realized I was completely smitten with the written word, she encouraged me to pursue an education instead of farming, and she helped me assemble this library over the years.”

  He rose to his feet, moved to a bookshelf, and plucked one of the books from it. Holding it up, he smiled. “Aunt Birdie used to take eggs and sell them to our neighbors in Canonsburg, and after I came to live with her, she always set aside some of her egg money to purchase books for our library.” He nodded to the book in his hand, one that was well worn and missing a chunk of the cover. “From the moment Aunt Birdie and I read Frankenstein, I was enthralled with books. I realized that reading opened up an entirely new world to me, allowing me to experience adventures I never thought I could.”

  Warmth immediately flowed through her.

  She’d never met a man who admitted to being enthralled, let alone smitten, with the written word. Most men in her social circle looked on reading novels as a frivolous pursuit and certainly never broached the topic of novels in conversation with her. That Ian was not only comfortable discussing his favorite works of the day, but also seemed comfortable discussing what sounded like an early life without many advantages, gave her a new respect for the man as well as left her feeling somewhat unbalanced.

  He was clearly a successful man, although she didn’t understand why he seemed so hesitant to discuss his business. Most gentlemen of her acquaintance were eager to share their business successes with her, always trying to impress her with their achievements. That she knew they were also eager to garner her affections because of her father’s large fortune was a given, which made her wonder whether Ian’s behavior would change toward her if he knew the truth about . . .

  “But enough about me, Mrs. Delmont. Tell me something about you. How did you become a housekeeper?”

  “I think before I answer that, I should ask you, after my inappropriately demanding actions, if you’re still interested in offering me a position here.”

  He considered her for a long moment. “I will if you have the proper qualifications.”

  Disappointment slid through her even as an image of the dastardly Duke of Montrose flashed to mind. She was still in desperate need of a refuge from that horrid man, but she had no proper qualifications to share with Ian, something he would quickly realize since he was obviously an intelligent man, and . . .

  Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted when Elmer came squawking into the room, flapping her feathers and charging directly Isadora’s way.

  She was up on top of a chair in a flash.

  “I told you Elmer has it out for me,” she said, not amused when Ian began laughing even as he intercepted Elmer, scooped the chicken into his arms, and headed for the door.

  “I
f you’ll excuse me, I think it’s past time I returned this little mischief-maker to the chicken coop.”

  “If you ask me, she’s got murder on her mind, not mischief.”

  Smiling when Ian seemed to release a bit of a snort to that remark, Isadora stayed on top of the chair as Ian and Elmer disappeared through the door.

  Waiting until she was certain they’d reached the bottom of the steps, Isadora climbed from the chair, shaking out the folds of the housedress she’d borrowed from Aunt Birdie. It was three sizes too big but was far more comfortable than the night rail she’d found in her trunk, one she’d never seen before and couldn’t imagine where Mr. Godkin had found it.

  She made her way to the window, and pushing aside the curtain, she smiled when Ian strode into view, her smile widening when she noticed he was talking to Elmer.

  There was something inherently charming about him, even though she was convinced that lurking underneath that charm was a formidable and dangerous man. But even with the danger, she, for some reason, felt safe with him, as if she instinctively knew he was a gentleman who’d protect those around him.

  What felt exactly like a shot of lightning suddenly surged through her as an undeniable truth took that moment to settle into her very soul:

  Ian MacKenzie was more than capable of taking on the Duke of Montrose.

  She’d been told the duke was a dangerous man, but she had the sneaking suspicion he would be no match for Ian.

  Ian would never allow a man of the duke’s reprehensible character to get the better of him, nor would he allow the duke to achieve his desire of marrying her if she were under Ian’s protection.

  Unfortunately, she’d made a horrible impression on the one man who truly could keep her safe. She also didn’t have an impressive letter of reference, rather more of a vague one. That meant there was little hope Ian would find her worthy of a position at Glory Manor unless she could somehow convince him she was an exceptional housekeeper and could keep Glory Manor running in fine form.

  How she was to manage that daunting feat was beyond her, but she was going to have to figure that out if she wanted to remain in the safest place possible until the situation with the duke was resolved.

  Lifting her chin, she squared her shoulders. From the time she’d been a small child, she’d been told that a lady’s appearance could make all the difference in the world. That meant her first order of business would be to wash the soda from her person and set herself to rights.

  Then, and only after she’d dressed herself in a manner befitting a woman of service, she’d turn her attention to figuring out how to convince Ian she was not merely a ridiculous woman who’d named a female chicken Elmer but rather a capable woman worthy of employment.

  Chapter 12

  After returning Elmer to the chicken coop, Ian headed across the yard, smiling over the rather curious encounter he’d just had with Izzie Delmont.

  She was one of the most unusual women he’d ever met, and he was quickly coming to the belief he might have misjudged her.

  Even though there was no questioning whether she possessed a demanding nature—because she did—he hadn’t neglected to realize that she’d been completely oblivious to that undesirable trait. Her reaction when he’d pointed out her demanding ways had been quite telling, and if he wasn’t mistaken, now that she’d been made aware of how others perceived her, she might very well take steps to rectify her behavior in the future.

  That she shared a love for the written word was a certain mark in her favor. He’d always found well-read ladies to be incredibly appealing, and even though it was strange to be intrigued by a woman who was oozing and slathered in . . . He suddenly came to a dead stop in the middle of the lawn, shaking his head as if that would dispel the curious thoughts now rumbling around his mind.

  He had no business considering how appealing Izzie Delmont was. He’d sworn at a relatively young age he’d only set his sights on a woman possessed of a certain social status, and a housekeeper, through no fault of her own, didn’t exactly have the . . .

  “I hate to bother you, Mr. MacKenzie, but you’re gonna have to have a talk with your uncle.”

  Shoving aside his disturbing thoughts, Ian found Hank, their only remaining hired hand, stomping his way.

  “What happened?” Ian asked.

  “Amos accused me of stealing a chicken, but before he could pull out that ever-handy rifle of his, I spotted you taking the missing chicken back to the coop.” Hank raked a hand through sweaty sandy-colored hair. “Now, I like working at Glory Manor, sir, but I ain’t gonna be here much longer if I keep gettin’ abused by your uncle.”

  Looking past Hank, Ian saw Uncle Amos wandering in the direction of the chicken coop, his unloaded rifle slung over his shoulder. “I’ll go have a word with him.”

  “I’d appreciate that. Work ain’t easy to come by, but a man can’t continue being threatened with a rifle when he’s just trying to milk some cows. Tends to make a person a little jumpy.”

  “Perfectly understandable.” Ian rubbed his chin. “How about you take the rest of the day off—with pay, of course? That might help you get that jumpiness under control, as well as give you some relief from my uncle.”

  Hank dipped his head. “That’s right kind of you, sir. Like I said, I enjoy the work here and would hate to lose the position.”

  “And I’d hate to lose you. I know it’s been difficult on the farm lately, what with Uncle Amos not being himself and seeing skullduggery around every corner.” Ian blew out a breath. “I’m hoping that since Aunt Birdie is beginning to feel more like her old self again, he’ll calm down and life on the farm will return to normal.”

  “You ever think about selling the farm, taking your aunt and uncle off to Pittsburgh with you? Seems to me Glory Manor’s getting too much for them.”

  “Aunt Birdie will hear nothing about moving to Pittsburgh. She’s convinced Uncle Amos will only be content if he’s left to live out his life here. Because of that, I don’t have the heart to try and convince her to sell.”

  “There’s been many farmers around these parts thinking about selling their land,” Hank said, stepping closer and lowering his voice. “A man showed up here a few months back, interested in buying this place. Your Aunt Birdie sent him packing before he could even tell her how much he was willing to offer for the farm.”

  “She never mentioned a thing about a man inquiring about purchasing Glory Manor.” Ian frowned. “You wouldn’t happen to know more about this man or why he wanted to buy Glory Manor?”

  Hank inched closer to Ian. “Now, this is just hearsay, mind you, but apparently this man was an agent for some wealthy investors interested in acquiring land to mine for coal . . . or maybe it was oil.” Hank lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “Not that I want to be givin’ you advice, sir, but what with the way your Uncle Amos seems to be losing his wits, you might want to look into finding that agent and seeing what he has to offer.”

  “There’s little point in my speaking with that agent, Hank. I gave my word to Aunt Birdie that she and Uncle Amos could stay here forever. I have every intention of honoring that word, no matter if I have to hire a hundred people to help them look after the place.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a waste of money to hire on more help when there’s not enough animals left here to consider this a proper farm? Amos don’t even grow many crops these days.”

  “It’s not about the money. Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos were kind enough to take me in and look after me from the time I was seven. It’s my turn to look after them.”

  “Right honorable of you, sir, but again, it might not hurt to look up that agent. Your aunt and uncle aren’t getting any younger, and they’re not going to be around forever.”

  Ian winced. “Don’t let Aunt Birdie hear you talking like that. I doubt she’d appreciate hearing you think she’s at her last prayers.”

  A ghost of a smile flickered across Hank’s face. “I won’t bring it up again.
And with that said, I think I’ll take you up on your offer of an afternoon off with pay. You sure you’re up for takin’ care of all the chores still left to do without me?”

  “I’ll be fine, thank you.” Ian smiled. “And no need to worry that your afternoon off will have you doing more than your fair share of jobs tomorrow. I’ve hired on two new hands to work around the farm. They’ll be here come morning.”

  “How did you find men willing to work here? Everyone in town knows that Amos has turned difficult. I wouldn’t think there’d be many men willing to face a rifle for the slightest infraction, no matter that it’s well known you pay a fair wage.”

  “Mrs. Rogers at the general store was manning the cash register when I stopped by to pick up more Arm and Hammer soda for Mrs. Delmont. She knew of some men looking for positions. She also told me she’ll be spreading the word that I’m looking for more help, which means we’ll soon have this farm filled with enough hands to handle all the work.”

  “Seems like me and you have been handling that work just fine.”

  Realizing he might have injured Hank’s pride by implying the work wasn’t getting done to satisfaction, Ian inclined his head. “You’ve been doing a wonderful job, Hank. There’s not a man around who works harder than you, but I’m not going to be here all the time. I have pressing business that needs to be attended to in Pittsburgh.”

  “I’ll be happy to oversee the new men, sir, after you return to Pittsburgh, but what about the house? Who is gonna be responsible for that or for looking after all them children?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that out yet, although Mrs. Rogers did say she knows of more than one young woman who’d be happy to accept employment here.”

  “Rumor in town has it that the young women in Canonsburg are looking for more than employment from you.” Hank gave a bob of his head. “Thought you should know that so you’ll be careful. Wouldn’t want to see you get tricked into anything. And on that happy note, I’ll bid you a good afternoon and see you in the morning.”