by Stacy Henrie
“Are you the next applicant?” she asked.
Clay chuckled, surprised she would address him so directly. “If you mean for the position with your father, then yes.”
Her gaze swept over him from head to toe. “You look rather young, at least in comparison to the man in Father’s study right now. How old are you?”
“Twenty-two. How old are you?” he countered good-naturedly.
“I’m fifteen.” She drew herself up to her full height, which was rather tall for a girl her age. After a moment, she blew out her breath. “All right, fourteen and a half. But still.”
He couldn’t help laughing again. “I remember feeling the importance of that half myself.”
“Really?” She waltzed into the room, her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Georgeanna Fitzgerald. But everyone calls me Georgie.”
So, this is Patrick Fitzgerald’s only child, Clay thought as he shook her hand. “Clayton Riley.”
“Have you been to college, Mr. Riley?” Georgie plunked down onto the sofa.
“I have. A few years, at least.” Clay threw a look toward the doorway. If he’d expected to meet any member of the Fitzgerald family, it would’ve been Patrick’s wife, not his precocious daughter.
As if sensing the direction of his thoughts, Georgie waved him into a nearby armchair. “My mother’s not feeling well, so I’m playing hostess today. Now, where did you go to school?”
Hostess or juror? Clay held back another chuckle. If nothing else, talking to Georgie would keep his mind off of how badly he needed this job.
“I went to Yale,” he said, taking a seat. “I’d planned on going into banking.”
“Planned?” Georgie cocked her head. “What happened?”
Clay cleared his throat. How much did she know about the world at large? he wondered. “Let’s just say, things changed with our financial situation four years ago, and I wasn’t able to continue.”
She bobbed her head solemnly. “Oh, yes, the Panic of ‘73.”
“Yes.” Clearly she knew more than he’d given her credit for.
“Do you know anything about finances?”
Leaning back, Clay regarded her with a half smile. “Why do I feel as if this were the interview?”
Her cheeks went pink, but she kept her chin up. “Because, if I like you, Mr. Riley, I might share a few secrets to help you get this job.”
He studied her with new interest. “Very well. My grandfather was a banker and taught me everything he knew about managing money. I was set to take over his bank after I graduated, but it folded during the Panic.”
“Good,” Georgie said with another nod.
“Pardon?” Maybe she wouldn’t prove to be as helpful as he’d hoped.
“No, no.” She waved away the question. “I don’t mean good about your grandfather’s bank but good that you know so much about banking and money.”
“Ah.”
“Where is your grandfather now?”
“He… uh… died. Three years ago.”
“I’m so very sorry to hear that, Mr. Riley.” The compassion in her voice, coupled with her sad expression, eased some of the pain those words had cost him.
He dipped his chin in acknowledgement as he found himself admitting, “I miss him every day.”
“Do you have other family?”
“Afraid not,” he replied. Time to move onto a different topic. “So, have I passed your inspection?”
Georgie pursed her lips before a full smile lifted them. “Yes, you’ve passed.”
A funny sense of relief washed through him. “Now, what are these secrets to getting the job?” He bent forward and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Are you religious?”
“I am.” Another trait he’d inherited from his grandfather.
She clapped her hands. “Perfect. The last man wasn’t at all. Of course, he didn’t bother to answer any of my questions…”
Clay stifled a retort, afraid that he’d offend her if he pointed out the irregularity of being interviewed by an employer’s teenage daughter.
“Let Father know you’re religiously inclined and about your grandfather and his bank.” She scooted forward, lowering her voice as she added, “But don’t drop any names unless he asks. He likes a man who’s self-made, who can stand on his own two feet.”
Or her own two feet, he mused, thinking of her. “Duly noted. Anything else?”
“Tell him that you realize you’re young, but you’ve had plenty of experience already, and college was the finishing touch even if you didn’t graduate.”
A door opened elsewhere in the house, followed by the murmur of voices. Georgie jumped to her feet.
“You’re up. Good luck, Mr. Riley.” She rushed toward the door where she paused. “I hope you get the job. I liked talking to you.”
Clay smiled fully. “I liked talking to you too.”
She disappeared only moments before her father commandeered the doorway with his tall figure and impressive bearing.
“Mr. Riley, I presume?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Come with me.”
Clay followed Mr. Fitzgerald across the entryway and through an open door into the study. His nervousness spiked anew as the millionaire shut the door behind them and indicated that Clay should take a seat in the chair opposite the large desk. But Clay reminded himself that he had a few tricks up his sleeve care of Miss Georgie Fitzgerald.
Sometime later, he emerged from the study triumphant. He’d been offered the job. After collecting his hat from the stand and shaking his new employer’s hand, Clay walked outside. He hadn’t gone far when he heard someone call to him from behind.
“Mr. Riley?” He turned, frowning in confusion when he didn’t see Georgie. “Up here,” she added.
Clay looked up to find Georgie leaning over the railing of the second-story balcony. “I got the job,” he announced with a smile, glad for the chance to tell someone the happy news.
“You did?” A full grin brightened her face.
“Thanks to your help.”
She shrugged her thin shoulders. “I’m glad to do it. So, when will Father have you start?”
“Tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow then, Mr. Riley.” She straightened and waved.
“Bye, Georgie.”
He resumed walking up the sidewalk and began whistling a jaunty tune. There would be quite a few things to express gratitude for in his prayers tonight: gratitude for this new job, for his grandfather’s training through the years, and for the clever, spirited Georgie Fitzgerald.
Chapter Three
Knowing Clay disapproved of her decision to become a mail order bride, Georgie decided not to broach the subject again for at least a week or two. But ten days had passed since he’d dutifully mailed her advertisement, and she couldn’t wait any longer to learn if she had any replies or not.
“Any letters come this week?” she asked as they sat in the dining room. Clay usually joined her for dinner, preferring Mrs. Shaw’s cooking to that served at the boarding house.
He grunted a yes without pulling his gaze from his plate.
Georgie rolled her eyes. “I meant letters for me, Clay. Has there been any… interest… in my advertisement?” That word did the trick.
He lifted his head to look at her. “Yes, actually. You’ve had four interested parties.”
“Four?” Georgie sat back, a bit surprised. She’d hoped for at least one or two. “Any of them promising?”
“I don’t rightly know,” he said, an expression of consternation passing over his face as he trained his focus on his meal once more.
“Haven’t you read their replies?”
He shook his head. “I’ve had a busy week, Georgie. I’ll get to them soon.”
His irritable tone stung her. “Don’t trouble yourself.” She set down her fork and placed her napkin onto the table. “I can read through them myself. Just tell me which pile or drawer you’ve
put them in.”
She rose to her feet, but Clay stayed her exit from the room by placing his hand over hers. A thrill shot through her at his touch, even though she tried to tell herself such a reaction was silly and pointless. He didn’t see her as anything more than his employer or the sister he’d never had.
Instead of speaking, though, Clay gazed down at her hand as if seeing it for the first time. His thumb traced the back of her palm, intensifying the flurries up her arm and down into her stomach. Then, just as suddenly as he’d captured it, he released her hand.
“I’ll read them tomorrow.” He glanced down at his dinner again. “You asked me to help, and I will, I promise.”
“Very well.” She resumed her seat.
An unspoken tension cloaked the room, but Georgie couldn’t identify its source. Was Clay angry with her? Or was it resignation she felt radiating from him? Shouldn’t she be happy that he’d promised to help? Instead, she wanted to weep or to ask him to hold her hand again.
No, she firmly told herself about both. She’d wasted more tears than she could count, pining after Clayton Riley through the years and wishing he’d see her as a woman he could love. She’d finally locked her heart against feeling anything more than sisterly affection for him, and she didn’t plan to unlock it only to be hurt again. But something had to be done to dispel the gloomy cloud hanging over them.
“Will you stay and play chess?” she asked, not daring to meet his eye for fear that he’d refuse. She didn’t want him to leave now, still frustrated with her.
Clay cleared his throat. “A game of chess sounds wonderful.”
She threw him a grateful smile. “Good. Because I plan to beat you tonight.” She wagged her finger at him. “And no letting me win, either. You know how that annoys me.”
His answering smile brought Georgie an inward sigh of relief. They were back on familiar ground, old friends once more. “I would never,” he said, throwing her a mock look of solemnity, “dream of letting you win, dear Georgie.”
Dear Georgie? Clay thought. The words had slipped so easily off his tongue. Too easily.
He shifted his weight in the armchair and stared hard at the chessboard between them. What was wrong with him? He’d surprised himself by caressing Georgie’s hand at dinner, which had felt delightfully soft and smooth, then he’d up and called her by a term of endearment.
He gave an emphatic shake of his head. It hadn’t been an affectionate term. He’d only been teasing her, nothing more.
“Clay,” she said, arching her eyebrows. “It’s your move.”
Pushing aside his muddled thoughts, he took his turn, but his mind wasn’t on the game. It had strayed to the four envelopes stowed inside his desk drawer. He’d put off reviewing these replies to Georgie’s advertisement, though his week had been every bit as busy as he’d said. There’d been his usual work to complete. But he’d also taken the time to visit several buildings in town in hopes of finding a new office since, once Georgie married, her future husband wasn’t likely to appreciate Clay sharing a study with his wife.
He frowned, drumming his fingers on the chair arm with irritation. The idea of Georgie marrying still rankled, especially knowing one of the letters in his desk likely represented her potential groom. He lifted his gaze from the chessboard to Georgie’s face and found her brow furrowed with concentration.
As he’d predicted all those years ago, she had grown into a real beauty. Her hair, swept up off the nape of her neck, gave him a clear view of her creamy throat where it met the lace of her collar. Her nose sloped perfectly over pursed, pink lips. Kissable lips, he thought.
He sat back with a start, suddenly fearful of what he might think or do next. His foot tapped with frustrated impatience beneath the table. Impatience at himself and his clearly addled brain. When had he begun to think of Georgie as kissable? They had kissed once, four years ago, but he’d regretted his foolishness almost immediately. Now, a part of him wished to turn back the clock and create a different outcome.
Georgie had looked so beautiful that night, a beauty she still possessed. Though it was more than her outward appearance that he’d begun to take note of the last week. He liked her sincere smile, her passion when she spoke of the orphans, and her ability to converse with him on any topic.
“The intense looks and finger tapping will not throw me off,” she murmured as she bent forward and moved one of her knights. “As I said, I intend to win tonight fair and square.”
Clay stopped fidgeting long enough to make his next move, though he didn’t check his staring. How ironic that he’d shared a study with her for two years now and seen her every day the preceding five but only now felt as if he were really seeing her. He didn’t want to imagine someone else sitting at his desk, talking or laughing or good-naturedly arguing with Georgie. He wanted it to still be him.
To still be him…
This thought ricocheted through Clay, filling every corner of his mind with its declaration. Could he possibly… have feelings for Georgie? Feelings that went beyond brotherly affection or dutiful protection? Reeling at the possibility, his next move proved sloppy. Georgie was quickly gaining ground.
Clay ran a hand over his face as he debated what to do with this new insight. He couldn’t very well declare himself at least, not yet. He was sure he had hurt Georgie in the past, even if she hadn’t ever said as much. But he’d never considered that their friendship could change into something more. Now, only time and effort could prove to her that he felt differently than he once had. And time was not something he had in abundance. Not when he’d told her that he would read over the Matrimonial News replies tomorrow.
Too bad he couldn’t throw his own response into the ring with those desiring to correspond with her.
The sudden idea made Clay sit up straight. Why couldn’t he converse with her? Let her see he had changed when it came to matters of the heart? Per her request, he would choose the best of the four who’d replied and add his own letters to the mix. Of course, he would have to disguise his handwriting and assume a different name. But, then Georgie would be able to choose for herself.
And if she doesn’t choose you? he asked himself.
His jaw tightened at the prospect as he took his next turn. The idea of having her reject him sent sharp regret lancing through him— regret that he’d been blind for too long. But he had to try. Surely, he could be convincing in his letters, and perhaps it wouldn’t be too difficult. After all, he had no idea of the caliber of the men who’d already written to her.
“Checkmate,” she announced in a victorious tone. “I won!”
He grinned. “Yes, you did.”
Georgie narrowed her gaze at him. “You usually don’t take to losing this easily. You didn’t let me win, did you, Clay?”
“No.” At least, not on purpose. “Congratulations,” he added. “You played splendidly.” Unlike he had. But he didn’t care. He had a plan now, a way to win her over. And that move was far more important to him and to his heart— than any game of chess.
Chapter Four
1879: Five years earlier
“Georgie, who is that,” Clay asked, “talking with your father?”
Seventeen-year-old Georgie whacked the croquet ball with her mallet, then turned to see whom Clay was referring to. An older gentleman and a stunningly beautiful young woman had joined her father on the veranda.
“Oh, that’s Roger Holley and his daughter, Marian. They’re old family friends. They’ve come to stay the week with us.” Georgie strolled across the shaded lawn toward her ball. “They came to Mother’s funeral last year. Don’t you remember?”
The memory of her mother’s death brought a twinge of deep sadness. How she missed her, though Clay’s continued presence in her life had helped. It was nice to have someone else, besides her father, to talk to.
“I think I would have remembered them.”
Clay’s awed tone brought Georgie up short. She glanced at Marian again and found he
r watching Clay with unmistakable interest on her porcelain face. A surge of jealousy soured Georgie’s stomach. Marian Holley was a twenty-year-old heiress from San Francisco, who had dark eyes and ebony hair. The young woman was only three years Georgie’s senior, but they had never been bosom friends. Marian struck Georgie as snobbish and unfriendly. But somehow, the older girl had succeeded, in less than five minutes, in obtaining the one thing that had eluded Georgie for the last two years: Clay’s interest.
“She’s very beautiful, don’t you think?” Georgie moved to stand beside Clay, their croquet game abandoned. He cleared his throat, his telltale sign that he was uncomfortable or didn’t wish to answer.
“Uh, yes,” he finally admitted. “She is nice-looking.”
Georgie gave a light laugh, though it was laced with pain. “It’s all right, Clay. You haven’t stopped staring at her since she came out onto the porch.”
“That obvious, huh?” He turned his back to the house and ran a hand through his hair in agitation. “Whose turn is it?”
“Never mind.” She dropped her mallet on the grass. “Come on, Father can introduce you.”
She led him to the porch, where she greeted Roger Holley and Marian. Mr. Holley was all smiles and exclamations over how much Georgie had grown the last year, while Marian offered a simple hello without taking her eyes off Clay. Georgie’s father made the introductions, then Mrs. Shaw brought out bowls of ice cream for everyone’s enjoyment.
To Georgie’s consternation, Marian took the porch swing, and Clay asked to sit beside her. The two men occupied the only other chairs, which meant that Georgie had to perch on the porch steps like a child. Irritation warmed her skin. Every few seconds, she glanced at Marian and Clay, who were deep in conversation.
If only I could have inspired that look of enthrallment on his handsome face.
