by Rue Allyn
“I’ll go incognito by train to Pittsburg and board a company paddle wheeler there to float down the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. I’ll have the perfect opportunity to observe the company assets and customer service without having a bunch of unctuous potential partners trying to hide all the warts from me.”
James nodded as he opened the door and escorted his cousin to the street entrance. “That sounds like an excellent plan. Let me know if you believe it to be a good investment. I may be persuaded to purchase stock.” John might be a bit wild, but he wasn’t stupid. In fact, his was one of the shrewdest financial minds James knew.
“I’ll certainly do so.”
“Tell your mother I’ll arrive promptly at one o’clock on Sunday.”
“Certainly. Until then.”
They exchanged manly pats on the shoulder. John left, and James turned back to his office. On his way he passed the settee—provided for the comfort of waiting clients—on which his clerk still slept. Shaking his head, James retrieved a lap rug from his own office and spread it over Harry’s recumbent form.
At his desk, James settled in to contemplate the best way to propose to Mae Alden. Marriage would benefit them both, but he needed to build a solid case for their wedded partnership. He must also take care of the legal technicalities that would remove him as executor of the Alden estate and have them ready for signature as soon as she accepted his offer. Lacking any conflict of interest and given the very reasonable arguments he had in mind, Mae would see all the advantages and agree.
Today was Wednesday; with careful timing he might even be able to bring her to Sunday dinner with his aunt and announce the engagement to his family.
CHAPTER THREE
Worried sick, Mae stood looking out the window of the back parlor late Wednesday morning and shivered. She had received no reply from Edith to the telegram sent informing her of Grandfather’s death. As if lack of news from her older sister weren’t enough, the troubles kept piling up. Nearly a week had passed since the funeral and two days since her attempted abduction followed by the reading of that horrible will. Two days of worry over how to keep Edith, Kiera, and herself from destitution or worse. Two days since James promised to send papers for her signature with no sign of papers or clerk. She probably wasn’t his highest priority, and she’d probably disgusted him, arriving at his office muddy, disheveled, and stinking of spirits. Then she’d been so forward, asking all those questions. She felt alone and inadequate to the task of preserving her sisters’ inheritance, especially when she considered reading those mysterious papers. She could not relax until that task was done and she could cease to think about her circumstances for a few moments.
The rains had stopped, the skies cleared, heat shimmered in the bright June day, but she couldn’t get warm. Nor could she see any solution to her problems. She wished she could unload her dilemma onto James’s broad shoulders. However, only in dreams was he a friend. They had barely a nodding acquaintance outside the requirements of the will. Despite their exchange of first names, that professional relationship stood in the way of any friendship. He was the executor, and thanks to his ethics, seeking his council was a waste of time and effort.
The only bright spot in the dim shadows where she hid had been a brief spark of exhilaration as she’d emerged, filthy and odorous from that tun, knowing she’d somehow found the courage to foil that abduction all on her own.
A knock on the parlor door drew her from introspection. “Come in.”
Henries, the butler, entered. “Some, er, women are requesting to see you, Miss Alden.”
“How many women, and who are they?”
“Three, miss,” he uttered with chilly disdain. “Mrs. MacKenzie, Mrs. Jonas, and Mrs. O’Malley from the mill, and they’ve brought children.”
Mae nodded. She was acquainted with the women and others, who—to supplement meager incomes—labored at Alden Cloth Works. Some of her happiest memories were of her weekly visits to the parsonage where she escaped Grandfather and her restrictive life to teach a few of the poorer workers. She knew the women appreciated her efforts to educate them and their children, but none had ever approached her outside their small classroom. By their very deference, they’d placed her behind a protective barrier.
She smoothed her expression and folded her hands at her waist. “Escort them here and have cook prepare enough tea, biscuits, and jam for all.”
“Shall I bring the tea here?”
Mae stared at Henries’ impassive face. Was he thinking that women who worked in the mill didn’t belong in Carlton Alden IV’s back parlor? Grandfather would have agreed. She did not, and Grandfather could no longer forbid the hoi polloi entrance to the home of their supposed betters. She was safe enough from punishment and censure. If she had poor folk in the back parlor for tea, no one who mattered would know, and only Henries would care about this small act of rebellion. “Of course you must bring the tea here.”
“Very well, miss.” He left, his rigid posture the only hint that he might disapprove.
Mae gnawed her lower lip. Serving tea to poor visitors wasn’t just a change in her cowardly habits; it was a largesse she could ill afford. Unless she or one of her sisters conceived an Alden heir within the next two years, they would be poorer than these working women. Until that time, she must live on the meager means provided in the will. However, the visiting women could not know she was near penniless. Regardless of her personal difficulties, Mae would share what she could with these women who had little more to their names than hovels and hope.
Henries returned, ushering in the women and a number of children. A maid followed, pushing an ornate silver tea cart loaded with china, sugar, cream, lemon, biscuits, jam, and a steaming pot of fresh tea. The parlor door shut discreetly as the servants left.
Mae studied the women. Carlton R. Alden IV didn’t pay his millworkers a penny more than necessary to keep them slaving in his factory. Worry was plainly writ on their careworn faces. She tried to smile, wanting to reassure but uncertain what to say or how. So their children could have food and shoes, these mothers did without. Practical and hard-working, Mae admired them for their sacrifices. With few resources of her own, what could she possibly do for them?
“Please sit and join me for tea.”
The women shuffled into chairs and stilled their children, taking cups and plates as Mae served. Finally each woman held tea and cakes to share with her children, save for Mrs. Jonas, who cradled an infant in her arms. An older boy by her side held the delicate cup and saucer in shaking hands.
Mae set her teacup aside. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”
The women murmured with their heads together. The children huddled close to their mothers as if afraid the house might bite them, or more likely, that a careless move would break something, costing precious coins and years of hard work to replace. Mae understood. She’d felt similar fear from the day she’d come to live in the manse with no mother to reassure her.
“Rumors are flyin’ that the Alden mills will be shut down and sold off. You mus’na let the manufactory close,” blurted Mrs. Mackenzie. “There’s no enough work to be had. If me and me husband lose our jobs, Charlie and Mary will starve.” She pushed forward two small children who took one look at Mae and rushed back to cling to their mother’s skirts.
“You cain’t let ’em do it, Miz Mae. I gots three babies t’ feed.”
Mrs. Jonas shoved the infant at Mae, who automatically took the babe. Uncertain what to do, she held the sleeping child in an awkward grasp. It smelled of soap and powder. She had the unaccountable urge to bury her nose in the tiny crook between its shoulder and neck.
The babe’s mother continued. “My man loses his job, that chil’ will go hungry. George here is sickly.” She took the cup and saucer from her son and pressed forward the stick-thin boy of about twelve. “We gots barely enough t’ pay for his med’cine now. How’s he gonna live, if we cain’t keep him well?”
“We’re n
o the only ones who’ll be hurt. If that mill closes, hundreds of families will go hungry; many of us will lose our homes,” added Mrs. Mackenzie.
Mae stared at the sleeping infant then raised her eyes to the pleading mothers. She returned the babe to Mrs. Jonas, who gave her tea back to her son. “I don’t have answers, ladies. If my grandfather’s testament is carried out and his estate is sold off, I don’t know how any of you will make your livings.”
“But it’s yours now, ain’t it?” asked Mrs. O’Malley, a thin, pale Irish woman. “You’re old Mr. Alden’s heir, ain’t you—you an’ your sisters that is. Surely you can do som’at to help us. You can stop this sellin’ off of your own prop’ty.”
“I wish it were that simple, but the will is complicated. I—I don’t have control of the estate.”
“You must have some influence?” asked another of the women.
“I—I’ll speak to the executor, but I cannot promise anything.”
The ladies were profuse in their thanks, nearly overwhelming Mae in attempts to show their gratitude. She accepted with as much grace as possible, but guilt ate at her. Without the means to contest the will, she could do little to help herself and her sisters, let alone those families dependent on Alden Cloth Works.
Later, as she once more stared out the window, another knock drew her attention. “Come in.”
Henries entered. “Mr. James Collins has called, miss. I’ve shown him to the formal parlor. Shall I order tea?”
James? She patted her hair, discovered it had come loose, then fingered the frayed bare neckline of her dark gray dress. The pressure surrounding her heart eased. James was here. How many times in the past two days had the handsome attorney sprung to mind? How many times had she considered going in person to retrieve the promised papers just so she could share his straightforward strength, no matter how cold? She’d rejected the idea each time, for fear he’d think her rude and fast. Staying hidden in the manse was safer.
“No, not tea.” She couldn’t stomach tea with uneasy emotions twisting her belly. “Offer Mr. Collins some of Grandfather’s cognac and tell him I’ll be with him momentarily.”
Henries departed, and Mae fled to her bedroom. Fifteen minutes later, nerves still aflutter, she descended the stairs, her hair neatly pinned, and her best black collar in place. She entered the formal parlor.
James was still the same strong, handsome man. A shock of ebon hair slipped over his forehead as he leaned in to get a better look at a painting. Turning at the sound of the door, he pushed the strands back. When he saw her the corners of his wide mouth lifted, and light filled his hazel eyes. Nothing about him had changed save his clothing, yet she felt as if she saw him anew.
“Mr. Collins.” She extended her hand as Henries closed the door behind her. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?”
• • •
James watched her approach. Her green eyes gleamed, and her lips smiled. Care still shadowed her pale complexion, and worry sat heavy on her slim shoulders. That would end soon. Her movements were graceful, her manner welcoming and gracious, her appearance all that was proper, if a tad dowdy—due to her parsimonious grandfather no doubt. That too would change. James would see her dressed in finer things, silks and jewels. Nothing garish. Pearls perhaps. Yes, luminous pearls to emphasize the inner light that shone with her every gesture and word. A smart man would give her pearls.
“I thought we agreed on first names?”
Her cheeks pinked. “You are correct, James. I’ve been distracted. Which reminds me, I’ve forgotten to thank you for arranging the return of the carriage and hiring a permanent coachman.”
“Think nothing of it. Having a coachman on staff should assure that you are safe when going out. As for your distraction, that is understandable given recent events.” Taking her hand, he bowed over it. When he raised his head and his gaze met hers, he noticed the blush deepening on her cheeks.
He swept his empty hand toward a side table where a good-sized packet rested. “I’ve brought the promised papers for your signature. Nothing terribly complex, simply documents that must be signed so you may receive your stipend and your grandfather’s businesses may continue uninterrupted over the next two years.”
“Please sit down.” She gestured to a chair then seated herself on a divan nearby and studied him. “You’ve come to deliver these documents yourself instead of sending them by messenger. Was there something else you wished to discuss?”
He blinked. He’d imagined her too worn with worry to consider the reasons for his visit. Regardless, she was right. He had something very intimate to discuss with her.
James swallowed. The moment had come, and somehow he expected proposing would be easier. He should have thought how sudden his offer would appear. For indeed it was. Certainly no untidy emotions were involved. She had a problem, and he had a solution. It was that simple.
Nonetheless, he felt slightly awkward and—if he gave it thought—no small amount of trepidation. He did not understand himself. Why was he suddenly filled with dread so great that his tongue tied and he struggled to breathe? Perhaps such emotions were natural. Never before having proposed marriage, he could not know. However, allowing such nonsense to stand in the way of a perfectly sensible offer was absurd.
Be business-like. That is the foundation of all our interactions to date. Surely Mae will be most comfortable with a professional approach and therefore more amenable. He swallowed once more and cleared his throat.
“It has not escaped my notice that your grandfather has been less than kind in his bequests.”
“Grandfather did not see kindness as a virtue.”
“Yet,” James forged on, “you have been everything that is kind and gracious. You’ve borne much with little or no complaint, and unlike your sisters, you have persevered. You remained with Mr. Alden throughout a protracted and difficult illness.”
“I love my sisters; please do not think unkindly of them.”
“Your loyalty does you credit. However, it concerns me that you will see no reward for that loyalty and may very well suffer for it.”
“James, I am certain. . .”
He raised a palm to forestall her comments. “Please, hear me out.”
Her brows rose, but she nodded and fell silent.
“I have great admiration for you and would not see you suffer needlessly. Therefore, I believe you should marry.”
Her brows arched higher. “Have you a candidate in mind for my future husband?”
Some of the tension left his shoulders. Excellent, she was considering the idea, which gave him hope of her acceptance. “I had thought to wait until my term as executor of the Alden estate was complete, but that contemptible clause has made me reconsider. I believe any delay would be to your detriment, causing you no little embarrassment and exposing you to the attentions of men of unsavory character. Thus, I am willing to transfer my executor’s duties to another attorney. Miss Alden, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
• • •
Mae felt the blood rush from her face. She could not have been more shocked had he asked her to remove her clothing. His proposal made her feel utterly exposed. Which was odd, since there was nothing unusual or invasive about a proposal of marriage. No, she was being silly, once again reading more into his expression than could possibly be there. He’d phrased his offer in businesslike terms. His features showed kindly disinterest of the sort one bore toward pitiable children.
However, his features were also set, frozen, as if indifferent to her response. She’d seen her grandfather arrange his face just so before a business appointment. James’s expression, when added to his words, caused her momentary panic. He could have been negotiating a contract for all the emotion he displayed. There was nothing in a contract to cause panic, yet anxiety twisted her stomach and made her slightly ill.
“Mae.” He moved to her side, taking her hands in his.
She heard him as if from a distance.
“Are you all right? Shall I ring for smelling salts?”
She shook her head, staring at him in horrified wonder. She finally found her voice. “No!”
Heavens, she hadn’t meant to shout. Nor had she meant to be so blunt. Frankness was no way to maintain a safe and secure reserve. Yet, recalling the time in his office, she showed an alarming tendency to forget her self-preserving methods in his presence.
“No,” she murmured with greater moderation, taking back her hand. “I am fine. You simply surprised me.”
The look of concerned doubt on his face melted her heart, but he would look so for anyone suffering a shock, president or pauper. She shouldn’t take his innate thoughtfulness for anything more—just as she must reject a proposal made out of pity.
She tapped her fingers against the settee, angry and embarrassed to be the object of anyone’s pity. However, she suppressed the irate spark—temper was unproductive and harmful.
He nodded, but he regained her hands in a gentle clasp. “You will need time to think.”
Yes she would need time to think, but not about his proposal—and for the rest she had almost two years. “You honor me, James, but I fear I cannot accept.”
He blinked and clenched his jaw.
Was her refusal so astounding he feared his jaw would drop or did he bite his tongue on words of relief? The thought saddened her. She did not wish to see him suffer, and he truly thought his proposal a kindness. However, kindness was far from the type of proposal she would entertain had she considered marriage worth sacrificing her independence. She pulled her hands from his once more and stood. He rose to his feet, remaining at her side.
She admitted to herself that in the dark hours of the night she’d often seen James Collins’s face when she imagined love. She’d heard his voice when she fantasized a suitor. She’d felt his lips, his arms when she’d joyfully accepted and returned his passion. That was idyllic nonsense and would remain so.
