by Rue Allyn
“She knows nothing of my past with women.”
“Idiot boy, it is not your past that interests me, but how you apply what experience you might have to Miss Alden.”
He wrinkled his brow. “How that can be important, I don’t know. Mae is quite reserved and unused to society. Her grandfather believed women were evil incarnate and kept the girls isolated to prevent them from sin.”
Lydia rolled her eyes. “Horrible, absolutely horrible. I’ll call at my earliest opportunity.”
“Perhaps you should take Lalie with you.”
“What an excellent idea. Morbid as it is, they will have mourning in common, and I suspect that drawing out a shy acquaintance is the very thing Lalie needs to distance herself from her own grief. I’ll need to broach the topic to Lalie carefully. I’ll ask John and the Damato siblings to accompany us as well. Cressida is very amusing. However, her brother is a bit too intense for my tastes. Thank heaven Victoria is unaffected by his dramatic good looks. Go away now, nephew, and let me think. Put down your coffee and join the young people.”
He set his cup aside and stood but shook his head. “Croquet is not for me. However, I will spend some time with Lalie, if you’ll excuse me.”
• • •
Monday morning, Mae contemplated her myriad problems while finishing a late breakfast.
“Mrs. Lydia Collins-Morton and her family are here to see you, miss,” announced Henries. “I’ve settled them in the formal parlor.”
“Thank you, Henries, I will join them. Please see to refreshments for our guests.”
“Yes, miss.”
Too weighed down to be curious, Mae walked the short distance and opened the door to the formal parlor kept dim and cool by the old oaks shading the front of the manse. The visitors watched her with more than enough curiosity to make up for her lack. Uncomfortable with being an object of anyone’s interest, she lowered her lashes and studied her guests as best she could while taking a seat behind a low butler’s table. “Good day, ladies, gentlemen; welcome to the manse.”
The older woman wore a fashionable walking outfit with a tiny bustle and a minimum of trim, which flattered her fuller figure. Her sapphire eyes gleamed, and her hair was restrained in a chignon with a small fringe of bangs to hide an overly broad forehead.
“I am Mr. James Collins’s aunt, Lydia Collins-Morton. We have come on a belated condolence visit. I’m very sorry for your loss and that our journey to the continent prevented us from attending your grandfather’s funeral. These are our friends Cressida Damato and her brother Vincent Damato, whom we met on the crossing from Europe. They are visiting with us while Vincent settles the last of his late wife’s affairs before returning to Virginia.” She gestured toward a couple sitting on a formal settee.
Mae nodded acknowledgement. Mr. Damato was handsome in a tall, slim, dramatic sort of way that made one think of golden-haired poets. She noted the dark armband adorning his elegant dove gray morning coat. His sister smiled, a pretty girl as petite as her brother was tall. She, too, wore a black armband. Both had the most compelling sherry-colored eyes Mae had ever seen.
“Beside Cressida is my niece Lalie, Lady MacKai,” Mrs. Collins-Morton continued. She bent her head toward a dark-haired beauty in pale gray half mourning, with eyes as deeply sapphire as her aunt’s.
Again Mae nodded.
Then Mrs. Collins turned her head to gaze fondly at a couple seated on her other side. “And these are my children, Victoria and John.” She indicated a girl with mink dark curls and a man with similar coloring and dimples in both cheeks. Both had the blue eyes that characterized the Collins family.
Mae took in her visitors with a sweeping glance. “I am delighted to meet all of you. Please call me Mae.”
A chorus of agreement ensued with reciprocal invitations and all were soon on a first name basis.
“I must confess,” said Lydia after tea had been served, “to an ulterior motive for today’s visit.”
Having just taken a sip of oolong, Mae raised her brows.
“Entering an unfamiliar social scene is difficult enough without mourning requirements,” the older woman continued. “Since you, the Damatos and Lalie have that unfortunate circumstance in common, I felt it would be good for you to meet and discover if you might become friends. Toward that end, I am holding an informal tea this Thursday. I would very much like for you to attend. If you enjoy that, you could join us for some other entertainments I hope to hold this summer.”
“I couldn’t…”
“Forgive my interruption,” said Vincent, his steady gaze gentle on Mae and his voice encouraging. “That is exactly what I said to Mrs. Collins-Morton when she first proposed the idea to me. However, she persuaded me that my sister and I could raise our spirits if we escaped our grief for a few short hours. No one could possibly disapprove a modest entertainment under her sponsorship. Nonetheless, I would feel much better if you would accept the invitation. Please say you’ll come?”
A pleading note accompanied his earnest request. Mae blinked, uncertain what to make of such intensity directed at a virtual stranger.
“Yes, please,” Cressida and Victoria chorused.
“Several young people will be in attendance along with their parents,” added Mrs. Collins-Morton. “Most of them are my dearest companions and will have no qualms at seeing friends lighten their cares for a few hours.”
Lalie added her pleas to those of Lydia and the Damatos.
“It would be a kindness for you to attend,” said John, smiling.
Mae swallowed more tea, giving herself time to gather her thoughts. She had never been invited anywhere and wanted very much to accept, but wasn’t certain she should. She was in mourning after all. However, this could be her only chance to experience society before becoming so poor as to be considered inappropriate company. All the more reason to accept, she told herself. She might not get another opportunity.
“I…I’m honored, of course, b…”
“Then it is settled. We’ll see you at our home on Thursday afternoon.” Mrs. Morton gave Mae no opportunity to protest. “Now tell me how you’ve been occupying your time. Grief is less burdensome when we are active.”
Mae had not imagined that her activities would be of interest to anyone, least of all a leader of Boston society.
“Other than signing a large number of very boring documents related to the estate, I haven’t done much. I am concerned for the fate of Alden Cloth Works employees who will lose their jobs, and possibly their homes, if the mill must close, which is very likely. A deputation of workers visited me last week. They had heard rumors and looked to me for reassurance that their jobs were safe.”
“I can well imagine they would be concerned. Can anything be done to counter the loss of work?” queried Lalie.
“I am considering a number of possible courses but need to consult with your brother as to legalities before taking any action.” From the corner of her eye she noticed Cressida staring about the room as if disinterested. “I apologize, but the fate of some downtrodden workers cannot be of general interest.”
“On the contrary,” said Vincent. He had been staring raptly at Mae and now moved to sit beside her. “I am very interested in the plight of mill workers. I understand the conditions at a cloth works are hazardous, yet without fine cloth, what would we wear? Every step must be taken to ensure that laborers are able to do their work and do it well.”
Whether his interest was the supply of fine cloth or the plight of the workers, Mae could not tell. The ambiguity bothered her but not enough to press her guest on the issue for fear of being rude. Yet his words inspired an idea that she shared on reckless impulse.
“Then I’ll tell you that I plan to tour the manufactory and observe conditions myself before deciding on a specific course.” She hadn’t planned a tour, not consciously, but having stated the intention, she decided that no harm—and perhaps some good—would come from visiting the mill.
Including
Mrs. Collins-Morton and the others with a glance, Mae continued. “I intend to ask Mr. Collins if the Alden estate will bear the cost of improvements and perhaps establish a dispensary on the mill premises.”
“Oh that’s a wonderful idea. I understand injuries are very common,” said Lalie.
Inwardly, Mae preened under the other woman’s approval.
“Could we join you for your tour? I’d welcome the opportunity to see a northern cloth mill in action,” Vincent asked, that dulcet pleading note once again in his voice. His ardent, unnerving gaze suggested his desire was to see Mae as much as the mill.
“A splendid notion, brother. We could all come.” Cressida cast a sidewise glance across the room at John.
“When do you plan this tour?” asked Mrs. Collins-Morton.
“I hadn’t decided, but I will go tomorrow if I can manage it.”
“I’m afraid Victoria and I have a dress fitting tomorrow that cannot be rescheduled,” said Lydia. “However, I see no reason why the rest of you cannot go.”
“Oh dear.” Cressida pressed two fingers to her lips then looked at John. “I had forgotten I am promised to the Ladies Aid Society tomorrow. John, you were supposed to drive me there after dropping your mother and sister at the dressmaker.”
“And I will keep that promise.” He cast a tender look at the petite southerner.
“I would still like to join you,” murmured Lalie. “I was quite involved with the welfare of the workers at my husband’s home, and I miss the activity. If you decide to go forward with charitable efforts, would you allow me to assist?”
Mae flushed with pleasure. “I would be happy to share my small project with you.”
“Then it is settled.” Vincent took charge. “Lalie and I will pick you up here at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.”
Mae wondered if she would ever stop feeling embarrassed by common place attention. “Thank you for the kind offer. However, I have a number of other errands to run after the tour. Please, let us meet at the manufactory at half past nine.”
“That will be perfect,” Lalie concurred.
“As you wish, ladies.”
“I have a suggestion to make regarding your dispensary, should you proceed with that plan,” stated Lydia.
“I welcome any contribution.”
“You must approach Dr. Hugh Kerry to supervise the dispensary. He is young but highly regarded by other physicians.”
“He’s dreamy,” murmured Victoria with a slightly dazed smile.
Vincent lowered his gaze but not before Mae saw him frown.
“Victoria.” Lydia cast the girl a quelling gaze.
She colored and lowered her head. “Sorry, Mama.”
“He is charming,” added Lalie with a smile. “And in Vickie’s defense, very handsome.”
Lydia’s brows arched, but she did not correct her niece. “His obvious attractions aside, I’ll be sure to invite him to the tea so you may meet him. What other improvements had you in mind for the manufactory? Do you think you will want to form and raise funds for charitable organization that will continue your efforts once your grandfather’s will is completely executed?”
“I hadn’t thought of that. Do you know how it might be done?”
Lydia smiled.
After her guests departed, the future of her charitable plans bubbled like stew in Mae’s brain. How fortunate she had those papers to return to James and planned to deliver them in person. While at his office, they could discuss what costs the estate would bear for charity then clear up some questions about her rights and responsibilities under the terms of Grandfather’s will.
The old goat would roll over in his grave if she managed to discover a way to make the will benefit the workers for a while instead of beggaring them.
• • •
Later that afternoon, Harry ushered Mae to a chair opposite James’s desk and asked if she desired refreshments. She declined the offer, and the clerk departed, leaving the door slightly ajar behind him.
James rose to shut the door then returned to his seat, inhaling the delicate odor of violets as he passed Mae. He was glad she felt comfortable enough after refusing his proposal that she could come to see him. “To what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
“I came to return the packet of documents you wanted me to sign.”
“You signed them all so soon?”
She smiled, and a delicate flush rose in her cheeks. “I read them, too.”
His smile answered hers. “That was unnecessary. You must have exhausted yourself to return them so quickly.”
“Not at all. I found the whereases and wherefores of surprising interest. I finished before I realized how much time had passed.”
“Fascinating.” He’d been right. She would make the perfect wife—someone in whom he could confide his work without boring her to tears. “You said you had questions?”
“Yes, about the authority to make changes in the estate assets.”
James closed his eyes and shoved a spike of concern to the back of his mind. “Surely you can’t wish me to sell off stocks. Your grandfather’s portfolio is well balanced and changes could be risky. As executor, I’m responsible for maintaining or increasing the estate’s value, not for gambling on investments.”
She sat back, her spine stiffening. “You jump to conclusions. I’ve no interest in the stock market.”
He leaned forward, placing his hands shoulder width apart on his desk. “I apologize. What then do you wish to ask?”
“Is it true that as the only member of the Alden family present in Boston, I must approve any changes to the assets in the estate?”
“The answer is a qualified yes. Given that the Boston Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has authorized me to act in their behalf on day-to-day decisions regarding the assets named in the will, both you and I would have to approve changes. Since I must approve them anyway as executor, the limited authority the Society granted me will save time. You may do the same if you wish.”
“No, I prefer to be actively involved. Although, I must wonder why Grandfather allowed me to share this authority at all.”
“That clause granting approval rights to heirs is standard and is included to keep executors honest. Given his opinions of women, I was surprised your grandfather did not specify the Boston Humane Society or another lawyer in place of a family member, but we already know he did not review the will as carefully as perhaps he should have.”
“Hmmm. If I were to ask for changes at the Alden Cloth Works here in Boston, would that be a problem?”
Not stocks but manufacturing. She wanted to interfere where she should not. James saw a pit yawning before him. How should he maneuver around the potential trap without patting her on the head and telling her to let the men handle everything? Growing up with a grandfather like hers, she might be used to being dismissed. However, James doubted she would appreciate such treatment now that the old man was gone. “What kind of changes are you interested in making?”
“Oh nothing terribly significant. I simply wish to improve the plight of some of the poorer workers.”
James exhaled a quiet sigh of relief. If all she wanted was to carry a few food baskets or sew a few blankets, who was he to deny her? “Your charity does you credit. I see no reason you could not improve the lot of as many workers as you may please.”
The smile she gave him was blinding and so beautiful, James would give her permission to be charitable every day of her life if she would only smile at him like that again.
“Thank you, James. Shall I direct the bills for any expenses to you as executor?”
How much could some food and blankets cost? “By all means.”
“Then I’d best get busy.” She stood, placing the document packet on his desk. “Here are the signed documents. Thank you very much for answering my questions.”
Rising and coming around the desk, he stood with her. “I am always pleased to be of service to you, Mae.”
She made as if to turn away then turned back. That blinding smile still in place, she produced a folded paper from her handbag. “I nearly forgot. Perhaps you would sign this letter giving me permission to make those changes at the mill. I would not want the management to think I am overstepping my bounds.”
“Give me a moment to review the note, please.” He reached for the paper she placed in his hand.
“Certainly.”
The note was short and simply gave Miss Persephone Mae Alden permission to improve the safety and well-being of the workers at the Alden manufactories. Pleased that she’d carefully limited the permission to herself, James took his pen and signed. He dusted the note and returned it to her.
“Thank you very much.”
“You are most welcome.”
“Good day, James.” She held out her hand to bid him farewell.
He took her hand, but instead of releasing it, he used it to draw her closer.
“Have you thought more about my offer?”
She looked away. “James, please, don’t…”
He used a single finger to urge her face back to him and locked his gaze with hers. “I won’t press you, Mae, but I want to disabuse you of any idea that I proposed out of pity.”
“You’ve already attempted once to…”
His lips silenced her before she could finish, and his tongue stroked into her mouth. The kiss prompted a strange combination of excitement and lassitude, reality and illusion. She filled his world, and he gathered her ever closer, holding her secure and safe even as he felt himself falling. Her breasts pressed against his chest. His arm banded her, embracing and imprisoning. So why did he feel as if she conquered him? His fingertips brushed her cheek then pushed pins from her hair. His body clenched, and his heart raced. He wanted … wanted… Surely all he could want was to sway her thinking with passion. He could not possibly want more. Could not possibly want everything.
Her lips moved beneath his. Her tongue caressed his mouth. The swirling, falling sensation intensified. He was powerless and filled with power. He wanted to run and hide; he yearned to leap and shout for joy.
