Flights of Fancy (American Heiresses Book #1)

by Jen Turano

  “It is, but we can discuss that further if I happen to win . . . and it will also allow me to figure out exactly what a household manager does.”

  He grinned. “And if I win?”

  “I’ll tell you my real name.”

  Ian’s grin faded as he considered her for a long moment. “You really are proficient with a rifle, aren’t you?”

  Retrieving the rifle, she arched a brow his way. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Chapter 26

  While it was certainly true that Ian didn’t particularly enjoy losing, finding himself now in possession of one household manager and paying her fifty dollars a month to take on that position wasn’t bothering him in the least.

  Glancing to his right, he smiled as his gaze traveled over everyone sitting in the pew they were occupying. Directly next to him was Henry, who’d put up a bit of a fuss when Izzie insisted he wear one of the jackets she’d chosen for him at the general store, proclaiming it was far too hot to have to sit through church in a jacket. But after Izzie pointed out he was going to be wearing short pants with that jacket, which would allow his legs to be sufficiently cool, unlike his sisters who were expected to wear hosiery with their new frocks, he’d settled right down.

  Next to Henry was Uncle Amos, remarkably coherent today. He had hold of Henry’s hand, which Henry didn’t seem to mind at all. Sitting beside Uncle Amos was Aunt Birdie, looking lovely in the new dress Isadora had picked out for her.

  He’d not neglected to notice Aunt Birdie glancing from him, to the children, and then to Izzie. But because he didn’t want to encourage whatever new matchmaking scheme she was most assuredly thinking up, he was pretending not to notice the pointed looks she was sending him, even though she was becoming more and more obvious as the service wore on.

  Sitting beside Aunt Birdie was Primrose, her hair braided in what she told him she was calling “the fishbone.” She’d taken a great interest in styling hair over the past few days, practicing on anyone who’d let her. She’d set her sights on him that morning, but because he wasn’t keen to attend church sporting braids, he’d encouraged her to let the other little girls she’d be introduced to at church know she was looking for victims. To his surprise, she’d done exactly that, having five little girls waiting in a line before the service, chatting with Primrose as she braided one head after another, as if they’d all been fast friends for years.

  Next to Primrose was little Violet, wearing a cream frock with little dots of purple sprinkled throughout and clutching the doll that she rarely let out of her sight.

  Daisy, dressed in a different frock than she’d been wearing the day before, but one that still had daisies scattered on it, was sitting on Izzie’s lap, fast asleep, little snores erupting out of her mouth as Izzie absent-mindedly stroked Daisy’s red hair. Izzie didn’t seem to mind that Daisy’s little hands were stained with icing from a cookie Anna had slipped her outside the church. That icing was smeared on the front of the rather plain gray dress Izzie was wearing, the plainness relieved by a pink scarf Aunt Birdie had insisted Izzie wear.

  Izzie was once again wearing her spectacles, claiming her vision had been a little blurry after she’d gotten up. Ian was beginning to believe she was hiding behind her spectacles, although why she was doing so was evidently one of the mysteries she wasn’t yet ready to disclose.

  As the choir stood and began a hymn, which had everyone standing to join them, Ian shared his hymnal with Henry, who shot him a look of what could only be horror after Ian began to sing, whispering that Ian should think about mouthing the words instead of singing them.

  After the hymn, everyone resumed their seats. Reverend Davis then walked to the pulpit, smiled, and launched into a sermon about retaining a sense of peace and a relationship with God while living in a world that was rapidly turning industrial.

  Looking at Aunt Birdie, who was leaning forward, soaking in every word, Ian knew full well his aunt had suggested the topic to Reverend Davis, probably as a clear reminder for Ian to rethink his priorities.

  In all frankness, he was beginning to believe that Reverend Davis might have the right measure of the world. Ian knew he’d been consumed with climbing out of the poverty he’d been born into, concentrating on the next investment opportunity, so much so that he’d forgotten what it felt like to simply enjoy a Sunday morning at church with family and friends.

  After Reverend Davis completed his sermon, and after Aunt Birdie sent Ian a most telling look, they concluded the service with another hymn. This time he distinctly heard Izzie’s less-than-dulcet tones, which had Henry shaking his head and grinning. When the last note from the organ sounded, everyone began exiting the church.

  Ian stopped Henry in the aisle, bending closer to him. “You need to take Violet’s arm and walk with her out of the church.”

  “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because it’s what gentlemen do.” He nodded to where Uncle Amos was already holding Aunt Birdie’s arm, walking down the aisle.

  Henry seemed to consider that for a second before he walked over to Violet, took her by the arm, and then took Primrose by the other. Together, and with Violet and Primrose grinning, the children made their way down the aisle.

  Turning back to Izzie, Ian smiled. “I’ll take Daisy.”

  “I cannot believe she slept through the entire service,” Izzie said, carefully handing Daisy over to him.

  “She’s three. It’s what they do at that age. Jumping in ponds to swim with the ducks one moment, and the next, they’re snoring away, not a care in the world.”

  Izzie smiled. “At least she’s stopped throwing herself in the pond. I think the bathing helped with that. She seems to enjoy clean water over murky.”

  Returning the smile, Ian shifted Daisy to his shoulder, extending Izzie an arm, which she promptly took. Strolling out of the church, he felt a sense of rightness, one he’d never felt before, and one he knew had something to do with the woman walking beside him.

  That she had secrets was not in question, but oddly enough, he wasn’t concerned about them. He was more interested in getting to know the woman of the present than the woman of her past.

  That thought caused his pace to slow just the tiniest bit as the realization struck that somehow over the past day he’d begun to think of Izzie in a rather permanent manner.

  She was his household manager, whatever that was, and he didn’t even know her true name, but . . . that didn’t seem to bother him, although he’d never—

  “Shall I take Daisy so you can get the wagon?”

  Realizing they’d left the church behind and were now standing in the crowded churchyard, Ian smiled, although he found it a tad concerning he’d been so lost in thought he didn’t remember walking down the church steps. “She’s not too heavy for you?”

  Izzie wrinkled her nose. “Hardly, although she might have been too heavy for me a few days ago after I finished the laundry. I thought for certain my arms were going to fall right off after all the cranking, hauling, wringing, and then hanging out to dry I did.” She tilted her head. “Did I tell you that Aunt Birdie banned me from using the iron?”

  “Should I ask why?”

  “I think that’ll become evident after you put on a pair of trousers I attempted to iron for you.” She grinned. “They’ve now got a lovely scorch mark on them. . . . Which is exactly why I wanted to broach the subject of a few other women I have in mind who’d love to come work at Glory Manor.”

  “Women I suggested to Izzie.”

  Turning to the woman who’d just joined them, Ian found Maggie Rogers, accompanied by her daughter, Susan, both women looking at him far too determinedly.

  Shifting Daisy higher on his shoulder, Ian allowed his lips to curve. “How many women are we talking about?”

  Maggie glanced to Susan. “What did we say, four?”

  “Well, five, if we can convince Ian that Glory Manor is in desperate need of sheep.” Susan sent him a nod. �
��Miss Lydia O’Dell has recently arrived from Scotland, and she’s an expert on sheep. Knows all about how to shear them and what to do with the wool after the sheep have been sheared. I imagine that’s a business you won’t want to neglect getting into.”

  “Why would I want to bring sheep to Glory Manor? If you haven’t noticed, we’re having a bit of a difficult time of it as it is, and that’s with only having limited animals on the farm. And”—Ian continued before Susan had an opportunity to start arguing—“what would I do with those four women you mentioned? I’ve already hired Miss Perkins to watch over the children and Izzie to manage the household.”

  Maggie’s chin lifted. “I’m sure there must be a variety of jobs you could offer these women. You’ve not been home to Canonsburg often over the past few years, but work is hard to come by and there are many people in need of positions.” Her chin lifted another inch. “You, everyone knows, have the funds available to assist these people.”

  “I was unaware there was that much of a need in Canonsburg,” he said as something unpleasant settled in his stomach.

  “Well, now you know,” Susan said, stepping closer to give his arm a pat. “All that’s left now is to see what you do with that knowledge.” Taking her mother’s arm, Susan nodded. “We can discuss this further today at the picnic you’re hosting. I’ll be more than happy to introduce you to the women I’m certain you’re going to try your hardest to employ.”

  “They’re such delightful ladies,” Izzie exclaimed as Susan and Maggie strolled away.

  “I don’t know how delightful it is that they seem determined to part me from my money.”

  “From what I’ve been told, you have plenty of that. Besides, you might discover a way to make Glory Manor useful again—perhaps even profitable—and you’ll be employing people in need in the process.”

  Taking Daisy from him, Izzie settled the child on her shoulder, sent Ian a smile, then moseyed her way over to a group of women who immediately began exclaiming over Daisy, who was waking up from her nap, rubbing her eyes, and then beaming her gap-toothed smile at the women now cooing over her.

  Making his way to the wagon, even though he’d offered to bring out the carriage he’d purchased for Aunt Birdie years ago, one she rarely used, Ian found Uncle Amos and Henry inspecting the wheels.

  “Now, you always want to be certain, my boy,” Uncle Amos was saying to Henry, “that the bolts and pins are in fine order and that the wheels don’t wobble. That’ll lessen the chance of having a wheel come off during a journey.”

  “I checked the two front wheels, Uncle Amos,” Henry said, puffing out his little chest. “They don’t wobble at all.”

  “Good boy.” Uncle Amos straightened and sent Ian a wink. “Henry’s real quick with learning, and did I tell you how good he is with animals?” He ruffled Henry’s hair. “I imagine you’ll find yourself a good future on a farm someday, once you grow up.”

  “I’m gonna stay at Glory Manor forever, Uncle Amos,” Henry said. “I love it there, and I’ll be able to help you make sure no cows go missing, or chickens either.”

  Uncle Amos gave him another pat on the head. “You’re already doing a fine job of keeping the chickens safe. We’ve not lost a single one since I gave you the job of looking after them.”

  Henry’s cheeks flushed, and then he grinned when Ian lifted him up, set him on the driver’s bench, then climbed up to join him.

  “You will see to it that the boy has that future, won’t you, son?” Uncle Amos asked quietly, stepping up beside the wagon.

  The sense of peace he’d recently experienced faded away, replaced with remorse as an unpleasant truth about himself settled into his soul.

  He’d been selfish.

  His pursuit of success had consumed him over the years, and in that time he’d neglected to realize that people in this very community were in need, struggling to provide a living for themselves.

  Clearly, there’d been something to Aunt Birdie remarking time and time again that God had a purpose for him, one she implied didn’t revolve around increasing his fortune. All he needed to do now was discover that purpose, but he could start by relieving Uncle Amos’s concerns.

  He leaned down closer to his uncle. “You don’t need to worry about the children. I promise I’ll see after them.”

  “Good boy,” Uncle Amos said with a smile, quite as he’d said to Henry only moments before. With that, and seemingly of the belief the matter was settled since Ian had given his promise, he walked away, telling Ian he was off to fetch the girls.

  “Uncle Amos don’t seem as confused these days,” Henry said, drawing Ian’s attention. “I bet that’s ’cuz Hank isn’t filling his ears with those fibs Aunt Birdie thinks he’d been tellin’.”

  “I believe you’re right, Henry. But don’t you worry about Hank. I’m planning on tracking him down and squaring matters with him. He’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

  Flicking the reins, which set Clyde into motion, Ian drew the wagon to a stop in front of where Aunt Birdie, Uncle Amos, Izzie, and the girls were now assembled. Smiling as Izzie called out to Susan that she’d meet her at the farm, he climbed from the seat, helping everyone into the wagon.

  “Is there room for me?” Olive Perkins asked, appearing by his side.

  Ian frowned. “If memory serves correctly, Olive, Izzie arranged for you to have every Sunday off, as well as every Wednesday.”

  Olive sent him a cheeky grin. “Which is lovely for me, but I know perfectly well I’m off work today.” She waved to Primrose. “I’m merely hoping I can squeeze in because Prim told me she’s got a new idea she wants to try out on my hair.”

  “Does she want to be called Prim now?”

  “I think the nickname makes her feel accepted,” Olive whispered back.

  “Then Prim she’ll be.” Ian helped Olive into the wagon before he climbed back on the driver’s seat. Setting the wagon into motion, he led the way back to Glory Manor, glancing over his shoulder every now and again to make certain everyone was still in the wagon, and that the wagons and buggies following them, which were many, were keeping up.

  Before he knew it, they were back on the farm, the women immediately bustling into the house, carrying a variety of covered dishes, as the men took seats in the chairs Izzie had dug out of the barn. That she’d set up those chairs under the shade of large maple trees suggested she was a woman with an eye for detail, but before he could find a seat and relax, Henry was standing next to him, brandishing his slingshot.

  Unable to resist the little boy, especially when he’d been joined by seven other little boys, all looking at him hopefully, Ian went about setting up an area for target practice, soon joined by a crowd of men, all of whom were more than vocal about the proper way to wield a slingshot.

  Good-natured arguing ensued, along with rocks flying every which way, not many of them hitting the tin cans he’d set out as targets for the boys.

  “Now, this looks like fun,” Izzie said, coming up next to him, carrying a tray that was filled with glasses and a pitcher of lemonade.

  He took the tray from her, following her around as she poured out glasses for everyone until her pitcher ran dry, which was then immediately replaced with one Susan brought over.

  “Are the women allowed to try?” Susan asked, setting the now-empty pitcher on the tray he was still holding.

  “You know how to use a slingshot?” Henry asked, stopping in his tracks as he’d been racing by with more small rocks in his hands, his eyes filled with skepticism.

  “Seems to me, Susan, that we need to show these boys and men how it’s done,” Izzie said, linking her arm with Susan’s.

  “Do not say that you know how to use a slingshot as well as a rifle?” Ian asked.

  “I’m a little rusty with a slingshot, but I have used one before.” She grinned. “Should we have another challenge?”

  “I’m not increasing your salary.”

  “Spoilsport,” she muttered before sh
e brightened. “What if we play for what book we read to the children next?”

  “You’ve been reading to the children?”

  “Every night.” She leaned closer to him, lowering her voice. “Prim was worried for no good reason about her reading abilities. She, along with Henry, and even Violet, are incredibly bright children. Prim has even taken it upon herself to do the majority of reading out loud at night, no matter what we’re reading. So far we’ve read The Princess and the Goblin, and we just finished up The Prince and the Pauper last night.” She smiled. “Considering Mr. Twain uses some very impressive words in that story, I’d say Prim is not as far behind other children her age as she thinks.”

  “What book do you want to read next?”

  “I was thinking Little Women.”

  “That’s a rather depressing tale.”

  “That’s what Henry said, but I think it’s good for him to understand the worth of girls, so . . . if I win our challenge, that’s what we’ll read. You’ll also have to agree to join us and take your turn reading out loud.”

  “And if I win?”

  “You get to choose the book.”

  Ian didn’t hesitate. “Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson.”

  “Oh, that’s a good one. I have to admit I’m not going to be disappointed if I lose.” With that, she pulled Susan forward, smiled charmingly at the men who were still assisting the boys, then held out her hand to little Thomas Crail, ruffling the boy’s hair when he immediately handed her the slingshot.

  Her first two attempts went wide, but then she seemed to find her confidence, and after knocking five tin cans over, she turned and gestured him forward.

  Feeling more pressure than he’d felt even when he’d been in his last negotiation meeting with the laborers, Ian walked through the crowd, the pressure increasing as the men kept sending him expectant looks.

  “Just so everyone knows,” he said, taking the slingshot from Izzie, “Izzie did best me yesterday in a shooting challenge, so this might not conclude the way all of you think it will.”