by Stacy Henrie
A moment of silence accompanied her words. Phoebe resisted the urge to take them back. She had enough money to purchase the house, whether James felt she was worthy of such a residence or not. Deep down, though, she secretly hoped he would approve of her plans. James had always treated her kindly, unlike his sisters or the Austins’ high-society guests.
“That is . . . marvelous, Phoebe.” A full smile lit his face. And spurred a repeat to the rapid thumping of her heart. “About the inheritance and wishing to buy Baywood.”
She had a sudden urge to embrace him in gratitude. Here stood the eldest son of George and Gwendolyn Austin, and he wasn’t scoffing at her or looking down his nose at her as others back in New York City had done.
“I’ll be rooting for you at the auction.”
Phoebe’s happiness shattered like glass. “The auction?” She’d been told the sale of the house would be handled by the accountant of the late Mr. Austin.
“Yes, Mother recently decreed she wanted the sale to be conducted through an auction. The event will take place at the end of the month.”
The blood rushed to Phoebe’s head, making her feel faint. She reached out to steady herself, but there was nothing to hold on to. Her plans had been contingent on acting swiftly in purchasing the mansion. Pitting her newly acquired fortune against those of far wealthier buyers at an auction would likely prove disastrous. She didn’t have as deep pockets as many of them, and she had to hold a sizeable sum in reserve to comfortably provide for herself and to assist her mother.
“Are you all right, Phoebe?” James took her elbow gently in hand. “Do you need to sit down?”
Shaking her head, she gathered what little remained of her courage and composure. Her dreams had been foolish after all. “Thank you. I’ll be well enough in a moment.” She took a step toward the door, breaking his kind grip. “It was wonderful to see you, James. I . . . wish you all the best.”
“Shall I see you at the auction?” he asked.
Tears stung her eyes. “Perhaps.” It might be worth still coming, but then again, she couldn’t stand the idea of being laughed at for bidding everything she had, only to lose to someone with more money.
He trailed her out the door and into the shadowed hallway. “Are you staying at one of the hotels?”
“Yes, but my mother and I are only here for a day,” she replied, instinctually turning back the way she’d come. Through the servants’ entrance. Even in that, she couldn’t maintain her new position as an independent, wealthy heiress. “I need to return to the hotel. My mother’s waiting there.” Margaret Hill had been hoping to see the house too, after her rest from traveling, but Phoebe wasn’t sure there was a point now.
James dogged her escape through the house and outside. “I’m thinking of staying here, while I get things ready for the auction.”
“That sounds nice,” she murmured. She drew in a cleansing breath, but the tears wouldn’t leave her alone. “I’ve got to go, James. Good-bye.”
With that, she rushed forward, ignoring how un-heiress-like she must look. The tears wet her cheeks as she reached the canopy of trees. At least she’d been able to see inside the mansion one last time, before relinquishing her plans and consigning the beautiful place to her dreams once more.
• • •
Bewildered, James tabbed his shoe against the gravel pathway as he watched Phoebe’s flight toward the front of the house. He’d never expected to run into someone he knew from his boyhood days, least of all little Phoebe Hill.
Who isn’t quite so little anymore, he thought with a rueful shake of his head.
She was all grown up, a beautiful and poised young woman, and an heiress to a fortune apparently. He was pleased to see her delightful, down-to-earth demeanor and mischievous smile hadn’t changed with her altered circumstances. He could recall, in the past, how her smile had always coaxed him to return the gesture. Only just now in the ballroom, when she’d smiled, he’d felt more than a desire to smile back. He’d felt as if the autumn sunshine had taken up residence inside his chest.
He’d dreaded coming here today, knowing that in less than a month the mansion would be sold. But God had clearly answered his repeated prayers for strength in the sudden appearance of Phoebe Hill. Not only did she represent a friendly and familiar face, but she was also someone who clearly loved and cherished Baywood House as much as he did.
So why had she blanched when he’d mentioned the auction? James slowly began walking after her, his mind awhirl. Phoebe had sounded happy and excited at the prospect of purchasing the place—and truth be told, he would prefer she owned the mansion than anyone else. But something had upset her, something do with the auction.
After a minute or two, his thoughts merged into sudden understanding, a reason as to why she was no longer thrilled about buying the house. He couldn’t know if it was the truth, though, until he spoke with her again. And if he didn’t catch her, he might not have another opportunity to do so.
James broke into a slow run. He rounded the front corner of the house and saw Phoebe slipping into the backseat of the automobile parked in the drive.
“Phoebe, wait.” He jogged toward the vehicle. “Wait up a moment.”
She thankfully didn’t slam the door shut and order the driver to speed away. Instead she glanced up at James with a drawn expression. Her lovely brown eyes appeared wet with tears.
Gripping the door frame, he leaned forward. “You don’t wish to come to the auction, do you?”
Phoebe pressed her lips closed and shook her head, her gaze falling to her lap, where her gloved hands were clasped together. No one peering into the car would ever suspect she’d grown up in his family’s household as the only child of their exceptional cook.
“You fear you’ll be outbid.” It was the only reason he could think of for the abrupt change in her behavior.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
He could relate to the loss and defeat emanating from her. “If I could change my mother’s wishes and allow you to buy the mansion, I would.”
She lifted her head to look at him. “Really? Why?”
Why indeed? James swallowed, trying to understand his reasoning himself. “I think it only right and fitting that someone who adores this place should be its rightful owner. Someone with memories of what it once was.” He turned to look over his shoulder at the grand house. “What it can be again.”
He and his mother had shared numerous heated discussions throughout the last five years about the fate of Baywood House. Gwendolyn Austin wanted it gone and no longer draining money from her children’s fortunes. The mansion represented her old life, not the one she now had in England with James’s stepfather and their children. For James, though, the house represented a time of happiness when his father had still been alive.
As the eldest and the only one of his siblings with an affinity for the house, James had been commissioned to ready it for auction and oversee the sale. A task he no longer wanted.
If he could buy Baywood House for himself, he would. But the yearly stipend from his stepfather and his inheritance from his own father wouldn’t be enough to purchase the mansion. Phoebe likely had more funds at her disposal than he did at present. Besides, his mother was likely to throw an apoplectic fit if he didn’t return to England after the auction.
“Will you at least consider coming to the auction?” he asked, focusing on Phoebe once more. “Better yet, if you wished to, you and your mother could come a day or two early and look the place over. I’d very much like to put the furnishings and rooms back to rights—as they once were.”
She peered up at him, her head tilted in thought. Her eyes no longer glimmered with tears but with undisguised interest. “You’re auctioning off all of the furnishings as well?”
“My mother believes that will bring more buyers to the event.”
“And you want everything to look as it did?” When he nodded, she continued in a gentle but teasing tone, “Do you remember how it all
looked?”
James chuckled as he fell back a step from the car. “If that isn’t simply pulling the sheets off the chairs and wiping away some of the dust, then I’m sunk.”
Phoebe’s wonderful smile reappeared. “You could do that . . . or . . . you could solicit the help of two people I know who are very well acquainted with each and every room of the house.”
“Is that so?” he countered, enjoying their banter. “And how are these two people so familiar with the place?”
She twisted to the side to face him directly. “Because they were part of a larger group who traveled ahead of the family and readied the place for their arrival.”
Relief mingled with hope inside him. “What would these two people require in exchange for providing such important help?”
Phoebe pretended to look thoughtful. “A place to live, rent-free, until the auction.” A shadow flitted over her pretty face, erasing her merriment and furrowing her brow. “And a chance to spend a few more weeks in a place they dearly loved.”
James tasted the bite of sorrow and regret on his tongue. If he could hand over the house to her, he would. Other than himself, he couldn’t recall anyone else ever looking at it with such fondness as Phoebe was at this moment. He might not be able to grant her wishes to buy the house without an auction, but he did like the prospect of spending more time with her. And ensuring the house looked as it once had.
“As an authorized representative of the Austins,” he said, with mock formality, “and a fellow servant in this endeavor to ready the house, I accept the terms you’ve outlined, Miss Hill.”
Reaching out his hand, he waited for her to shake it and seal their agreement. Phoebe hesitated a moment, then placed her hand in his in a firm handshake. James grinned. “And may I be the first to say, welcome back to Baywood House.”
Chapter 2
New York City
“Phoebe Christine Hill,” her mother intoned in a firm voice as she sank into the nearby armchair, her cane propped between her hands. “Will you kindly stop moving about this room like a thundercloud?”
Grabbing up another pile of clothes from the bureau drawer, Phoebe remarked, “We’ll be late for the train, Mother. I told James we’d be back in Newport today, which means we need to finish packing up both of our hotel rooms—”
“Phoebe . . .” Her name came out as much a command as a kind entreaty. There’d be no budging until she stopped and listened.
With a sigh, she shut the drawer and turned around. “Yes?”
Her mother regarded her with curious concern in her blue eyes. They shared the same hair color, or had until Margaret Hill’s turned gray, but Phoebe’s brown eyes were a gift from the father she’d never known. She loved that she shared one thing with the man who had adored her mother and her, however briefly.
“Why are we going to Baywood House now instead of waiting for the auction?”
“I told you earlier. James needs our help to ready the house.” She moved to place the clothes inside her suitcase. They only had four pieces of luggage between them, a far cry from what a typical heiress would own. But after purchasing a few new dresses, Phoebe didn’t wish to spend any more of her inheritance on frivolities. Especially after learning Baywood House was for sale.
Her mother rose and moved with a slightly limping gait toward the bed. After years of service—as a maid, then a cook, and until their employer’s recent death, as a housekeeper—her knees were no longer what they’d been in her youth. She sat on the edge of the bed and placed her hand on Phoebe’s sleeve.
“I understand why James wants us there. What I don’t understand is why you want to be there for so long before the auction?” She gave Phoebe a sad smile. “He already told you he can’t change his mother’s wishes and sell you the house outright.”
Phoebe flinched at the reminder as she stared down into the half-full suitcase. “I know that,” she murmured. The heaviness she’d felt the other day after learning about the auction stole back onto her shoulders. “But it will be nice to live in Baywood House for almost a month. And not as servants this time, Mother, but as guests. I’ve enjoyed these last few months on our own, but like you, I want a home we can call ours.”
Releasing her sleeve, Margaret placed her palm on Phoebe’s cheek and gently turned her face. “Is that the only reason you agreed to James’s plan?”
She couldn’t quite meet her mother’s eyes. Truth be told, it was James who’d agreed to the arrangement, not the other way around. And Phoebe did have another reason for wanting to help him restore Baywood House to its former inner glory.
“Phoebe?” her mother prompted again.
After pushing aside the suitcase, she sat on the bed. “I was the one to suggest to James that we could help him. And I did it for more than just living in the house.”
Silence met her confession, but it wasn’t censoring or unkind. Her mother would let her talk before voicing her own thoughts. Phoebe glanced down at her hands. They’d known less work while she’d served as the companion to the elderly Mrs. Tanley, a widowed heiress with no children. But still, her hands weren’t exactly the same as those of other wealthy young ladies, and she hoped to keep them that way. If Baywood House became hers, she planned to live and work there, employing only a small staff of servants to help alongside her and her mother. She would be as independent as she’d longed to be for years.
“I’m hoping our help might mean an advantage over the competition.” Phoebe turned to look at her mother. “I know James said he can’t do anything, but he’s an Austin. Perhaps he can pave the way for us so we still have a fighting chance at buying the house.”
Margaret frowned. “And if our help doesn’t change anything in the end?”
“Then we still get to live for nearly a whole month, rent-free, in a place we both adore.” She rested her hand on top of her mother’s where it gripped the cane. “Nothing may come of our helping James or even bidding everything I have at the auction, but I’m not ready to give up on this dream completely. Not yet.”
Her mother’s troubled expression eased. “As long as you understand the situation may not change, even with our help, I’m willing to lend a hand.”
“Thank you, Mother.” Phoebe hugged her tightly.
“You’re welcome,” she said softly when Phoebe sat back. A sly smile appeared on her lips a moment later. “James must be about twenty-nine years old now. You haven’t yet said what he looks like. Even as a boy he was rather handsome.”
Laughing, Phoebe climbed to her feet and resumed packing. “He is quite handsome, but it doesn’t matter. So there’s no use matchmaking.”
“Oh?” She knew her mother was feigning innocence. “And why is that?”
“Because he lives in England, Mother, and Mrs. Austin would never condone her son marrying the daughter of a former servant. We are there as his guests, and possibly his friends, but nothing more.”
Margaret stood, an impish glint in her blue eyes. “Be that as it may, James is his own man, my dear. And far more unsuitable marriages have taken place and thrived.”
Phoebe shook her head at the futile conversation and felt relief when her mother dropped the topic to help her finish filling their suitcases. The thought of seeing James again and spending time together was more than a little appealing to her. But she was going to Newport for the house, not the man. A fact she felt certain she wouldn’t soon forget.
• • •
Newport, Rhode Island
James strode down the front steps as the automobile pulled to a stop in front of the mansion. Deciding not to wait for the cabdriver, he opened the door for the two women. “Welcome to Baywood House, Mrs. Hill.” He handed her out of the car, noting the cane she used to steady herself on the gravel drive. It wasn’t something she’d needed when he’d known her as a boy.
“Thank you, James.” Her lined face radiated mature beauty and kindness from beneath her large hat. “It’s wonderful to see you again.”
�
��And you,” he said, nodding. Reaching back inside the car to help Phoebe, he felt a familiar jolt of warmth in his chest when she smiled up at him and clasped his hand. “Phoebe. Welcome back.” She wore a wider hat than the last time he’d seen her, and he liked the way the green color offset her dark hair.
“Thank you, James.” She slipped out the door and released his hand to grip the skirt of her long dress. A sliver of disappointment moved through him at no longer having her hand in his. Tipping her head back, Phoebe gazed up at the house as if she hadn’t seen it just three days earlier. “Isn’t it as lovely as you remember, Mother?”
Mrs. Hill murmured agreement. “Which rooms should we put our things in, James?”
He’d been watching Phoebe and the way the afternoon light played with her cream skin. Clearing his throat and pushing aside his embarrassment, he turned his attention to Mrs. Hill. “How about two of the guest rooms?”
“Really?” Phoebe exclaimed, her brown eyes as bright as a child’s on Christmas morning.
Had they expected him to put them up in the servants’ quarters? “You are here as guests, both of you. So please, feel free to make the place your home too.”
He motioned for the two women to enter the house, then started after them. From the corner of his eye, he caught sight of the cabdriver unloading their bags. With no other able-bodied men about, he didn’t see why he shouldn’t help, though his mother would likely have plenty of objections over such a menial task. James hefted two of the suitcases, leaving the other two for the driver.
The man’s eyes widened with surprise. “Thank you, sir.”
James led the driver inside, where Phoebe and her mother stood waiting. Then he guided the group up the grand staircase. The red plush carpet muffled their footsteps as they made their way to the second floor. He stopped in the hallway to indicate which two guest rooms the women could use. Neither of the bedrooms had been cleaned, which would likely be the first order of business.
