“You look pleased about something, Blake,” Aleta said, ringing up his gloves and handing them back to him.
“It’s such a pretty autumn day, how could you help but smile?” Blake stuffed the gloves in his pocket. “Percy said you wanted to speak to me about something. What can I do for you and George?”
“We heard you were looking for some additional work and we’ve been meaning to get in touch with you anyway to have you build more shelves in our storeroom. Would you be interested?” Aleta asked.
“I’d be happy to build your shelves and can get to it in a week or two,” Blake said, suddenly feeling a prick of concern at Aleta’s words. “Where did you hear I need additional work? With the holidays coming, I usually end up with so many projects, I stay up a lot of nights to get them all done by Christmas Eve.”
“Oh,” Aleta said in surprise. “Well, she said… I just thought… if you don’t have time to do the shelves, they can wait until January.”
“I’ll build your shelves for you as soon as possible, but who is she? Who implied I needed work?”
“It might have been… or perhaps it was…” Aleta stammered, her face blushing red.
“Let me guess,” Blake said, feeling his jaw tighten in irritation. “It wouldn’t have been Ginny Granger, by chance?”
Aleta nodded her head, suddenly finding a speck of dust on the counter in need of immediate attention as she picked up a rag and rubbed vigorously at the surface.
“I thought so,” Blake said, clenching his hand into a fist. He was one of the most peaceable men in town, but that woman knew how to provoke him more than anyone else ever had. He could only imagine what she’d said to his neighbors and friends. How could she possibly think he needed more work? “You don’t happen to know if she mentioned my need for work to anyone else, do you?”
“Actually, Mrs. Ferguson from the boarding house mentioned something about it this afternoon when she came in for some soap and Mrs. Camden inquired if I knew more detail about your sudden need for work when she purchased thread this afternoon,” Aleta said, shaking her head. “Oh, and Mrs. Daily from the newspaper office said her husband was printing some flyers to put up around town.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Bruner,” Blake said, tipping his hat then running out the door and down the street to the newspaper office.
“Mr. Daily,” Blake called as he opened the door, hoping his voice carried over the running press. “Mr. Daily?”
“Hello, Blake. How does life find you on this glorious day?” Ed Daily asked as he wiped his ink-stained hands on his apron and stretched one out to Blake.
“Concerned, mostly,” Blake muttered, shaking Ed’s hand.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch that!” the man shouted.
“Did Ginny Granger order some flyers for my business?” Blake fought the urge to punch something. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d been this angry.
“Yes, she did. Got them right here,” Ed said, digging through stacks of papers on a desk and coming up with a pile neatly tied with twine. “She also said she wanted to purchase an ad for next week’s paper.”
“Never mind the ad,” Blake said, fighting down the fury building from his toes to his head. “If she comes in asking for anything to be printed or advertised in regard to me or my business, would you please check with me first or completely disregard it altogether? She seems to have taken it upon herself to act on my behalf unbeknownst to me.”
“You don’t say,” Ed said, looking at Blake with a mischievous grin. “Then you aren’t just a stone’s throw away from ‘destitution and despair’ as she put it?”
“What?” Blake yelled, his voice echoing through the building as the press stopped running. “That woman is an infernal…”
Taking a deep breath, Blake asked how much he owed for the flyers, paid the bill, and stalked out the door.
Infuriated, he read one of the flyers, his anger changing from bubbling to a full-fledged boil. How dare that meddlesome woman? Spreading rumors around town, as if his family hadn’t always had plenty following their every move.
He couldn’t imagine what inspired Ginny to tell folks he needed work. In fact, Blake had plenty of work to keep him busy. When he wasn’t working on projects for the good people of Hardman, he crafted unique chairs and side tables that were quite popular at a furniture store in Portland as well as several locations in England. He shipped the finished pieces to his parents who then managed his overseas sales.
Blake absolutely didn’t need more work, and he was a long way from destitute. What no one knew, especially the gossiping busybodies in town, was that his father held titles.
The Earl of Roxbury brought his wife and son to America when Blake was quite young. Outcast from the family by his brother, Reginald, who was desperate to claim all the family lands and titles for his own, he refused to acknowledge Blake or his mother as part of the family.
The entire situation began when Blake’s parents, Robert and Sarah, fell in love. She worked as a maid at the family estate. When Robert confessed his feelings, Sarah tried to convince him he couldn’t marry her, but marry her he did, upsetting his parents and brother. When Blake was born three years later, Robert decided he didn’t want to raise his child around the hostile environment created by his power-hungry brother and disapproving father. They never forgave him for marrying beneath him, so he brought his little family to America for the opportunity to start fresh.
Six years ago, they received a letter from Robert’s ailing father asking for their return home when Reginald died in a hunting accident.
Called back to England, Robert planned to pay one last visit to the old man. His father passed away during their visit, leaving everything to Robert and Sarah. Assuming his titular responsibilities as Earl, Robert invited Blake to return to England. Anytime he wished, Blake knew he could join his parents at their estate outside London and take his rightful title of viscount.
He preferred, however, living a quiet, simple life in America. He’d grown up there and planned to die in Hardman, on the land his father worked so hard to keep during the years when they had nothing except each other.
Walking toward Granger House, Blake wondered what Miss Ginny Granger would say if she knew he had more money than all the Granger family together, not to mention ties to royalty.
He bet even her mother couldn’t turn up her snobbish nose at that.
Not even noticing Bart as the dog ran out to greet him, Blake absently patted his head and stormed down the back walk.
Rapping briskly on the kitchen door, he wasn’t surprised to see Filly open it with a friendly smile.
“Did you forget something, Blake? You just left a little while ago,” she asked, motioning him into the kitchen.
“No, I didn’t,” Blake said, holding onto his anger with both hands. He refused to take any of it out on Filly. She was kindness itself and had no ability to control her impetuous, impertinent sister-in-law. “Would Ginny, by chance, be around?”
“She’s supposed to be dusting the books in the library, but she’s most likely curled up with one in front of the fire,” Filly said, nodding her head toward the hall. “Go right ahead.”
“Thank you,” Blake said, tipping his head politely as he marched down the hall, his boot steps ringing out his anger every bit as much as the tension in his shoulders and the set of his jaw.
Stepping into the library, he looked around at the walls filled with shelves of books and interesting objects, masculine leather-covered furniture, and a fire popping merrily in the fireplace.
Ginny sat just as Filly predicted, curled into a chair with her feet under her, an open book on her lap and a loose strand of that silky golden hair wrapped around her finger. Slightly parted, her pink lips moved as though she was reading quietly to herself. Her discarded dust rag sat on a corner of Luke’s desk, apparently long forgotten by her casual and comfortable pose in the chair.
Transfixed by the picture she made, he shoved down any tender
feelings for the beguiling woman and let his indignation have full reign.
“Well, isn’t this just a picture of domesticity, little Miss Busybody?” Blake sneered as he walked farther into the room.
“Oh!” Ginny said, startled at his voice near her chair. The book fell to the floor and before Ginny could retrieve it, Blake grabbed it, looking at the title.
“Love poems, is it?”
Ginny blushed to be caught reading such drivel, but with thoughts of Blake consuming her, the slim volume of heartfelt prose captured her interest.
“What are you doing, Blake? Why are you here?” she asked, trying to untangle her legs from her skirt so she could get to her feet.
“Let’s just see what you were reading, shall we?” Blake opened the book to where a thin ribbon marked a page. Standing with his legs pressed against the front of Ginny’s chair, he made it impossible for her to stand.
Blake snorted in disgust as he read a verse aloud from the book:
Your heart you gave unto my keeping -
No words more fitly spoken,
Than the depths of love poured from your soul,
Contained in one sweet token.
“What would you know of love, Ginny? Hmm? What would you possibly know about love?” Blake asked, tossing the book onto her lap and turning his cold gaze on her in full force.
Shocked beyond the ability to speak, Ginny sat looking up at him with her mouth half-open, trying to think what would make Blake act so strange, so angry.
That’s when she noticed the flyers in his hand. Reaching up to take them, he slapped the stack of paper on the arm of her chair, making a startled whimper escape her lips. He looked, for all the world, like he wished he could have beaten her about the head with them.
“What right do you have to go around town spreading rumors and ordering flyers? What right, Ginny?” Blake demanded, shoving the flyers in her face.
“I… well, I thought…”
“No. You didn’t think. As usual, you just rushed headlong into some brilliant idea you dreamed up without stopping to think what you were doing or how it could hurt others,” Blake said, running a hand over his brown hair and releasing a sigh. “Thanks to your meddling, half the town now thinks I’m destitute and in need of work. Next thing you know, they’ll blame my lack of income on my shoddy craftsmanship.”
“Blake, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I just wanted to help,” Ginny said, close to tears. “You do such beautiful work, I just wanted to let everyone know they have a talented carpenter and wood craftsman in their midst.”
“Then why did you make it sound like I’m nearly homeless? The way I heard it, you went all around town trying to drum up business so I wouldn’t starve this winter. Whether I need the work or not is none of your affair,” Blake said, yanking the twine off the flyers and throwing them in the air.
As they fluttered down around Ginny, she swiped at the tears now rolling down her cheeks, sticking out her bottom lip in a pout that had charmed many a man, including Blake.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, trying to look contrite.
Blake glared at her with narrowed eyes, his jaw tightly clenched.
Leaning down, he braced his hands on either side of her against the arms of the chair, putting his face just inches away from her own. Jerking her head back, she had nowhere to go, trapped as she was between him and the chair.
Watching her eyes widen with astonishment and a hint of fear, Blake almost calmed his tone, almost tamped down his anger.
Almost.
Bending so close he could see three different shades of blue in her beautiful eyes, he hardened his resolve and his heart, taking her proud chin firmly in his hand.
“Just suck in that luscious little pout. You are well past the age to behave in such a childish manner, woman. It won’t do you a bit of good with me, anyway. Not one little bit. You forget I know you too well.”
“You don’t know me at all,” Ginny tried to protest, but Blake gave her chin a gentle shake.
“Fool yourself all you like, but we both know the truth. You, however, don’t know a thing about me. Not a blessed thing. Don’t you ever do something like this again. Do you hear me? I don’t need your so-called help. I don’t need your interference with my work and I most certainly don’t need you. Stay out of my business you nosy little ninny!”
Ginny fought against his grasp on her chin so Blake held on a moment longer before standing upright and stalking back down the hall.
Entering the kitchen, he didn’t slow his step, tipping his head at Filly and muttering “thank you” as he slammed the door behind him.
Stunned by his behavior, Filly rushed to the library to find Ginny on her knees gathering up the flyers strewn about the floor.
“Ginny?” Filly asked, taking a tentative step toward the girl. “Are you well?”
“No! That horrid man! He’s so… he is such… Oh! I think I loathe him entirely!” Ginny exclaimed, slamming the flyers onto Luke’s desk and picking up the book of poetry from the floor where it had fallen without her notice. Throwing it down, she stomped on it.
Filly took her hand and led her back to the kitchen, making them both a cup of tea. Sitting at the kitchen table, Ginny wiped at her tears and took a cleansing breath as Filly slid a plate of molasses cookies her direction.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not particularly.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Filly asked, taking a sip of her tea, assuming with enough time, Ginny would tell her what happened to upset both her and Blake.
“I don’t believe so,” Ginny said, toying with a cookie. Taking a deep breath, the words seemed to spill out before she could stop them. “I may have made an effort on Blake’s behalf to generate some business and ordered flyers to post around town advertising his woodworking talents. The ungrateful wretch accused me of meddling in his affairs and he… he…”
Ginny dabbed at the tears freely flowing again.
“What, Ginny?” Filly prompted, handing Ginny a fresh handkerchief from her own pocket. “What did you do?”
“He called me a nosy little ninny,” Ginny said, sobbing as she crossed her arms and laid her head on the table.
Trying not to smile, Filly walked around the table and gently rubbed Ginny on the back, offering soothing words. She was still standing there when Luke came in the back door. His words of cheery greeting died on his lips as he took in his distraught sister and somewhat bemused wife.
Raising an inquisitive eyebrow at Filly, she mouthed “later” and gave Ginny an encouraging pat on her shoulder, suggesting she go freshen up before dinner.
Filly rushed to get supper on the table and was hurrying to take a casserole from the oven when she felt Luke’s arms around her waist, and his breath warm by her ear.
“What disaster has befallen Ginny this time?” Luke asked, knowing the girl was given to theatrics when life didn’t go just as she wished.
“Apparently, she took it upon herself to go about town encouraging people to do business with Blake, since he is so nearly destitute, or so the story went that she shared with everyone. She even went so far as to have Mr. Daily print up a stack of flyers to advertise Blake’s business. Needless to say, he was furious,” Filly said, still trying to keep from smiling as she thought about Blake setting Ginny straight. It seemed the girl had probably not received many reprimands in her lifetime.
“Since when did Blake become nearly destitute?” Luke asked, finding humor in the situation. Of all the people he knew, Blake was the least likely to ever be destitute. He did feel sorry for his friend, though, knowing his sister could be unbelievably annoying. “Remember, I’m his banker.”
“I never thought for a moment he was, but apparently Ginny equates his trade with being poor,” Filly said, kissing Luke’s cheek as she put biscuits on a plate and set it on the table. “I think the flyers are still on your desk in the library.”
“Then I’ll be sure to take a loo
k after dinner,” Luke said, washing his hands and waiting for Ginny to reappear so they could eat. When she didn’t immediately return, he looked impatiently toward the kitchen door.
“Ginny! Would you please hurry it up before it’s time for breakfast?” he called down the hall, hungry and ready to sit down to his dinner.
“Must you yell like a heathen?” Ginny asked, breezing past him into the kitchen, brooding and clearly out of sorts.
“As a matter of fact, I must,” Luke said, seating Filly and purposely letting Ginny seat herself at the table. “After dinner, you’ll be spending some time with me in the library.”
Ginny and Filly both turned questioning looks his direction, but he just smiled.
Following the meal, Luke took Filly’s hand and waited for her to get to her feet before announcing that it would be good for Ginny to clean up after dinner and do the dishes by herself since Filly had a long, tiring day.
She and Filly both started to protest. He gave Ginny an authoritative glare and silenced Filly by playfully smacking her backside as he nudged her out the kitchen door.
Going to the parlor, Luke stoked the fire and sat on the sofa with his wife. She picked up the newspaper and started to read, but before she’d made it through the first page, she found herself seated across Luke’s lap while he placed teasing kisses along her neck.
“What if Ginny comes in?” Filly whispered, enjoying Luke’s attentive caresses.
“What if she does?” Luke asked nibbling on her ear, not caring what Ginny thought. “My dear little sister can just stew in the mess she made while she does the dishes.”
Irritated with Luke for his high-handed ways, Ginny cleared the table, put away the leftover food and hurriedly washed the dishes, wondering what he wanted to discuss in the library. Dreading further reprimands from him, she felt her stomach tighten with anxiety.
Finished in the kitchen she dried her hands, took a deep breath and prepared to battle her brother.
The Christmas Token Page 5
