Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  “Until the threat to Glory Manor is handled, yes.”

  “Oh, thank goodness,” Prim said, exchanging a look with her siblings. “I was afraid you were gonna make us live here forever.”

  “You don’t like the house?” Ian asked.

  “Seems more along the lines of a . . . well, I don’t know what it seems like,” Prim admitted with a grin. “But I bet a person could get lost in there.”

  “I bet there’s ghosts in there,” Henry said, squeezing Elmer closer, which had the chicken letting out a squawk of protest.

  “It’s newly built,” Ian pointed out. “That means it’s not old enough to even warrant rumors of being haunted.” He stepped out of the carriage, holding out his hand to Isadora.

  After stepping to the cobbled path that led to the house, she turned and took Daisy from Ian, settling the child against her hip, her heart warming when Daisy immediately laid her head against Isadora’s shoulder.

  Even though Prim and Henry had seemed hesitant about the house, that didn’t stop them from jumping from the carriage and racing to the front door. Henry had tucked Elmer into the crook of his arm, and by the squawks she was emitting, it was clear she didn’t enjoy being carried at such a rapid rate of speed, or under his arm, for that matter.

  Turning back to the carriage, Isadora found Violet holding fast to the doorframe with white knuckles. She, out of all the children, was the one who didn’t seem to adapt well to change, and Isadora was beginning to notice that when she was frightened, Violet descended into silence and sought quiet places.

  Unfortunately, there were no quiet places for her to run off and hide, at least none that she’d had a chance to find just yet. But right as Isadora was about to speak up and give Violet an encouraging word, Ian stepped forward.

  “How about you let me carry you up the walk, Violet? That way, I can tell you things about the house. The bathtubs, for instance, are big enough for you to swim in.” He held out his arms, and it only took a second for Violet to let go of the door and allow Ian to scoop her up. Settling her against him, Ian turned back to Izzie, a smile on his face but his eyes holding what seemed to be a trace of wariness. He nodded to the house. “What do you really think?”

  “It’s beautiful, although I’m not sure I understand why a bachelor would build such a house.”

  Ian began walking toward Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos, who’d just gotten out of their carriage, Isadora falling into step beside him. “I’m not intending to remain a bachelor forever. And I built the house because it’s expected that a successful gentleman will have an impressive residence, and there’s not a more impressive street in Pittsburgh than Fifth Avenue.”

  Stopping when they reached Aunt Birdie, who was holding onto Uncle Amos’s arm, he smiled. “What did you think about the ride through Pittsburgh?”

  “Bit smoggy for my taste,” Uncle Amos said before he gestured to the house. “But this is nice.”

  Isadora frowned. “You haven’t seen Ian’s house before?”

  “Amos hasn’t, but I have,” Aunt Birdie said before she nodded at Ian. “It’s come along nicely since I was last here, and it certainly does the job of proving you’ve achieved that level of success you longed for as a child.”

  Before Ian could respond to that, a man walked out of the house, dressed in a dark jacket paired with dark trousers, his eyes filled with curiosity as he came to a stop in front of Ian.

  “Mr. MacKenzie, I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow for the meeting with the union men.”

  Ian shifted Violet in his arms, extending his free hand a moment later. “We ran into some trouble at the farm, Jonathon. I felt it was no longer safe there, so here we are. Allow me to introduce you to everyone.” He smiled. “Everyone, this is Mr. Jonathon Downing, my secretary, and . . .”

  As Ian performed the introductions, Isadora couldn’t help but notice the interest in Mr. Downing’s eyes when he was presented to Miss Olive Perkins, who immediately flushed a delightful shade of pink before she hurriedly excused herself, mumbling something about tracking down Henry and Prim. Uncle Amos and Aunt Birdie followed her into the house, Violet and Daisy joining them, each little girl holding one of Uncle Amos’s hands.

  Left with only Ian and Mr. Downing, Isadora turned to the house. “Shall we go inside? I must admit I’m curious as to what the interior holds.”

  “It doesn’t hold much,” Mr. Downing admitted, leading the way into the house. “We’ve got beds for all of you, but that’s about it.” He looked to Ian. “Should I travel into Pittsburgh today to purchase some essentials?”

  Whatever response Ian gave, Isadora didn’t hear it because she’d stepped over the threshold and found herself greeted by a lovely curved staircase with an elaborately scrolled balustrade on either side of the stairs leading to the second floor. Halfway up that floor was a beautiful stained-glass window. After considering the space for a moment, she imagined a settee sitting in front of the plastered wall directly to the left of the stairs, with perhaps a large urn filled with brightly colored flowers next to it, and . . . there definitely needed to be a tapestry of some type spread at the foot of the stairs, along with . . .

  “Mrs. Delmont is going to be taking on the role of household manager for now, Jonathon. I’m sure she’s just about to suggest you call her Izzie, though, since she’s once again looking rather confused about who Mrs. Delmont could possibly be.”

  Isadora pulled her attention away from the staircase. “I know who Mrs. Delmont is, but . . .” She ignored Ian’s arched brow and smiled at Mr. Downing. “You may call me Izzie. Everyone does.”

  Mr. Downing inclined his head. “And you must call me Jonathon. But tell me, what does a household manager do?”

  “I’m not exactly certain,” Isadora admitted. “Although, I imagine my first order of business is to tour the house, starting with where the children are going to stay.”

  “That would be the nursery on the third floor,” Jonathon told her, glancing up to the ceiling where the sound of little feet could be heard racing around. He tilted his head. “Should I assume Miss Olive Perkins will be residing in a room up there so she’ll be close to the children?”

  “I believe that would be the perfect spot for her.”

  Jonathon immediately strode for the stairs. “I shall assist her with choosing a room that will be well suited for her needs.”

  As Jonathon disappeared up the stairs, taking them two at a time, Aunt Birdie walked over to join them, releasing a chuckle. “I believe Mr. Downing has already realized what a delightful woman our Olive is.” She ignored the sigh Ian released as she looked around. “Dare I hope there are any rooms on this floor that Amos and I may use? Those steps might prove a bit daunting for both of us, although we do have every hope we won’t have to be away from Glory Manor long.”

  “I’ll show you what’s available on the first floor.” Ian nodded to Isadora. “I’ll be back directly.”

  As he led Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos down a hallway that branched from the entranceway, Isadora walked back outside, immediately greeted by Sparky. Moving to watch Duncan and Earl unload a mooing Buttercup from the wagon, she fought a grin.

  “What should we do with her?” Duncan asked right as Buttercup let out a mournful moo. She, unlike Sparky, apparently felt miffed she’d been forced to travel to the house in a wagon and not a carriage.

  Isadora looked around, then began walking around the house, Buttercup and Sparky following her, nodding when she spotted an unfinished flower garden, complete with white picket fence. “We can put her in there for now. I’m sure Buttercup would prefer the house, but that’s not going to be an option, no matter how many tears or trembling lips the children may invoke to try to convince me otherwise.”

  Duncan and Earl exchanged grins before they tried to coerce Buttercup through the gate. She immediately turned stubborn and wouldn’t move until Isadora ran to the kitchen, fetched an apple, and used it to tempt Buttercup into motion.

 
Swiping a hand over her now-perspiring brow, she told Buttercup to behave, having little hope that the cow wouldn’t figure out how to escape her makeshift enclosure and find her way into the house.

  After instructing Duncan and Earl where to take all the trunks they’d brought from Glory Manor, she finally headed back into the house, finding Ian waiting for her in the entranceway.

  “Where’ve you been?” he asked.

  “Buttercup was being difficult.” She smoothed back a strand of hair that had gotten free from its pins. “Have Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos found an appropriate room?”

  “They’re settling in as we speak. And since we don’t seem to have any children or pets around—well, except for Sparky,” Ian amended as Sparky scrabbled through the front door and ran to join them, “shall I take you on a quick tour?”

  Sparky barked as Isadora smiled. “That would be nice.”

  Gesturing around him, Ian returned the smile. “Well, this is clearly the entranceway. A bit sparse right now, but I’m not sure what to do in here.”

  “I’d start by putting a few paintings on that wall over there.” Isadora nodded to the wall in question. “That would warm up the space, especially if you added a green settee along with a large urn, perhaps Grecian and filled with colorful flowers that would complement the tapestry I’m sure you’re going to want to put directly in front of the stairs.”

  Ian considered the wall beside the stairs before he turned back to her. “You’ve clearly got an eye for design, something I readily admit I don’t have because I would have never thought to include a settee in that space.” He was suddenly looking at her far too intently. “I imagine you’d do a marvelous job turning this house into a home, especially since Aunt Birdie mentioned to me you have a great proficiency for shopping.”

  “You want me to take on the task of turning your house into a home?”

  “I know you’d be more than up for it.”

  Isadora frowned. “Well, yes, I do think I’d be capable of that. However . . . decorating a home is usually left to the discretion of a gentleman’s wife. And while you currently have no wife, I’m sure you’ll acquire one at some point. She, I’m afraid, might take exception to my decorating tastes.”

  Ian rubbed his chin for a moment. “An excellent point.”

  “Does that mean I should now assume from that less-than-clear statement that I should settle my attention on merely making the rooms we’re temporarily using habitable, leaving the grand project of fully decorating and furnishing the house to your future bride?”

  He tilted his head and considered her for so long she found herself fighting an unusual urge to fidget. “You shouldn’t assume anything of the sort.”

  When he didn’t expand on that, she crossed her arms over her chest. “You might need to be a little less cryptic.”

  “Cryptic is a hallmark of attorneys.”

  “Hardly helpful.”

  He grinned. “But amusing all the same.” He nodded to the staircase. “Returning to that space, though, I do think you’re spot on with your recommendations. That means you’re going to want to pull out that pad of paper where you write down notes pertaining to matters of household business and begin making a list. Every room in this house could use your touch, and just to be clear, expense is no object.”

  “You truly want me to decorate your house, even knowing you could be annoying your future wife?”

  “Perhaps she won’t be as annoyed as you imagine” was all he said to that, but before she could respond to what was certainly a cryptic remark, Henry suddenly came bounding down the steps, Elmer still tucked under his arm, followed by Violet and Daisy, although Daisy was holding on to the railing and moving more slowly than Isadora had ever seen her move before, evidently never having had an opportunity to experience so many steps at one time.

  Sending Isadora what seemed to be a wink, Ian hurried up the staircase and plucked Daisy into his arms. Then, with Henry and Violet speaking over each other as they told him all about the nursery, and how Miss Olive had remarked it was large enough to roller-skate in, Ian continued up the stairs, calling over the balustrade to her that she needed to add roller skates for the children at the very top of what she knew was going to be a very long list.

  Chapter 28

  FIVE DAYS LATER

  Sticking his head in what Izzie had told him was going to be the reception room, Ian found not a single soul, which had him moving farther down the first-floor hallway. He stepped into the room slated to become the parlor, smiling when he spotted Izzie sitting on a battered chair, the spectacles she’d once again taken to wearing perched on the bridge of her nose as she squinted at something she’d just written down.

  The sight of her left him feeling unsettled, especially since she’d done something different to her hair today. Instead of the braids Prim normally did for her or the severe bun she seemed to favor as well, she’d gathered her hair at the crown of her head, which allowed it to cascade over her shoulders and back, leaving her looking breathtakingly beautiful.

  He’d never imagined he’d find a woman as beautiful as Izzie sitting in the house he’d dreamed of building since he was a child. And even though he’d decided straight out of school that he would only set his sights on a lady of high social standing, he’d begun to question that decision because of the woman sitting across the room from him.

  He couldn’t deny that she wasn’t the high-society lady he’d dreamed of marrying, but there was something compelling about Izzie Delmont, or whatever her last name truly was, something that drew him to her and had him rethinking everything he’d thought was set in stone as well. . . .

  “Ian, ah, wonderful, I was just about to try and run you down to go over—” Izzie suddenly stopped talking as her gaze traveled from his combed hair all the way down to the tips of his recently polished shoes. “You neglected to tell me that I’d need to dress in style to visit the shops in Pittsburgh.”

  Walking across the room, he stopped beside her, noticing she was using an upturned crate as a desk. “You do have desks written on one of those lists of yours, don’t you?” he asked, ignoring her statement.

  “Don’t be condescending, of course I do. But returning to your clothing, I have a more fashionable walking dress in the bottom of my trunk, but I didn’t put it on today because you didn’t bother to tell me that Pittsburgh inhabitants dress in their Sunday best to shop.”

  Ian leaned over her shoulder, peering at the list she was making. “Pittsburgh, quite like every other big city, sees a wide spectrum in how its shoppers dress,” he said, leaning ever so slightly closer to her as he caught the distinct scent of her perfume. “What is that perfume you’re wearing?” he asked, unfamiliar with the scent even though he’d had more than his share of young ladies present him with their wrists over the years for him to sample the newest perfumes found at the grand stores in Pittsburgh.

  She seemed to give a bit of a shudder before she returned to her list. “It’s an obscure perfume called The Gypsy Maid, one my friend Beatrix gave me on my last birthday.” She turned her head just a touch, drew in a breath, then stilled. “What’s the name of the cologne you’re wearing? It’s rather . . . refreshing.”

  Ian straightened as he realized it was hardly appropriate for him to remain so close to her, even if he had the most curious urge to dip his nose straight into the nape of her neck to discover if she’d dabbed a bit of The Gypsy Maid there.

  “It’s Florida Water,” he finally remembered to say, his thoughts scrambled because the scent of her was still lingering in his nose.

  “It smells like oranges.”

  “I think that’s why I like it.”

  “You were wearing a different cologne the other day.”

  “You’ve noticed the colognes I’ve been wearing?” he asked as something that felt exactly like masculine satisfaction flowed through him.

  Izzie cleared her throat, muttered something that sounded like “much to my concern,” then cleare
d her throat again. “Returning to the way you’re dressed, should I change to go shopping with you?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not dressed this way because of the shopping. My meetings this week with the labor men have not gone well, so I’m off to attend yet another meeting, one that’s to be moderated by Mr. Andrew Carnegie. I’m not holding out a great deal of hope the meeting will be successful. Mr. Carnegie has turned bullish in his stance with the negotiations, which probably means the mills could very well shut down since the union men, along with laborers who are not members in any specific union, feel they’re being treated unfairly. Their only true power is their ability to go on strike.”

  Izzie consulted a dainty watch she’d attached to the sleeve of her gown. “It seems rather early for a meeting.”

  “The meeting isn’t for a couple of hours. But by the time I take the horse car into the city, and then go over some notes I left at the office, the morning will be over, and it’ll be time to face what is certainly going to be unpleasant.”

  “Should I go shopping without you?”

  Ian nodded. “You should. I’ve already arranged for Jonathon to accompany you. He’s a very competent sort, so he’ll be of great assistance to you. He also grew up in one of the meaner neighborhoods down by the mills, so he’s very adept at spotting danger. You’ll not need to worry about your welfare, especially since Jonathon is also my sparring partner at the boxing gym.” He smiled. “While this pains me to admit, he’s a better boxer than I am and has this air about him that suggests he’s a dangerous man, which does seem to have people maintaining a certain distance from him.”

  Izzie returned the smile. “You have that very same air, although granted, you do a remarkable job of cloaking it underneath a layer of charm.”

  “You find me to be a dangerous man?”

  She turned from her makeshift table and waved a hand from his head to his toes. “Indeed. You portray yourself as a successful man of business, but you can’t always hide that you’re dangerous, Ian. It occasionally seeps through the cheerful façade you display to the world, and when it does, well, let me simply say it leaves an impression.”