Wildfire Love

by Rue Allyn

  The man, no taller than Mae, wore great sideburns, which blended into a walrus-like mustache that hid his mouth entirely and made his flat-nosed, round face resemble a fringed pillow. The woman towered over her husband and brought to mind a large, steam-powered riverboat. Her white ensemble was fenced with enough black tatted lace to form a mile of balustrades. Angry sparks lit the tiny black pupils that bulged from her eyes, as if the ship’s boiler was about to burst.

  “We are delighted to meet you, Mr. Collins.” Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen nodded.

  Her husband extended his hand. “Yes, oh, yes indeed, Mr. Collins. As Elspeth says, we’re most happy to meet you. Knew your father, God rest him. Heard a great deal about you from Mr. Cabot, and hope to—”

  “What Henry means to say is that our secretary will call on your clerk to set an appointment for a business discussion.”

  “Yes, yes, exactly what I meant to say. We’ll meet in a day or…”

  “That’s quite enough, Henry.” She gave her spouse a reproving look, then transferred her gimlet glare to Mae. “This is a social occasion. I’m certain Miss Alden has no desire to listen to talk of business. A young woman—especially one in uncertain circumstances and with so little to occupy her—should be focused on finding a husband. Don’t you agree, Miss Alden?”

  James saw no sign of fear, nerves or dismay from Mae. Her eyes were cast down, so predicting her response was impossible.

  She raised her face, blinked once, and her smile broadened. “You are such a thoughtful woman, Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen, and absolutely right that business does not interest me at present. Nor, might I confess, do I have so little respect for my grandfather’s name that I would seek to engage myself to any man while in mourning. My immediate concern is all the talk I have heard of your generous and far-reaching charitable activities. I am of like mind, as was my grandfather, whose largesse to friendless canines is widely known. I cannot dare to match his generosity to those poor animals. However, I have hopes that you might share with me some of your experience regarding charity to those men and women in less fortunate circumstances than ourselves.”

  Well done, thought James, admiring how Mae had sailed around the vortices her guest had created. At the same time, he worried that in taking up arms against Mrs. Riverboat , his burgeoning warrior might well wound herself.

  The aggressive gleam in Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen’s eyes sharpened. “What sort of charity most interests you?”

  Mae held the older woman’s gaze. “I’ve a small interest in the health and well-being of manufactory workers, similar to the concerns you demonstrated for our troops during the Great Rebellion.”

  Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen raised her eyebrows. “I would think you too young to know of or care about such efforts.”

  “Madam, I was too young to aid women such as yourself and Mrs. Clara Barton. But even as a girl, I could not fail to hear of your efforts on behalf of our brave wounded and their families. So I have always been concerned for the well-being of the common worker.”

  “Hmm. Your interest does you credit.”

  “Now that I am of age, I am eager to make my contribution. Blessedly, we are no longer at war, so I have turned my efforts to improving the lot of the Alden mill workers. It is my belief employees who are healthy and well fed will work harder and better, thus producing better products and increasing profits.”

  Careful, thought James, recalling Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen’s attitude toward business talk. Don’t overstoke the boilers with the wrong fuel. If the ship explodes, you will be hurt and no one will be helped.

  “Business is the concern of men, and not appropriate conversation for grieving children at entertainments.” Mrs. Lyttle-Bowen lowered her heavy brows to soften the remark.

  Mae fluttered her lashes and blushed. “You are right, of course. Living retired as I have, I have much to learn. Would you take a turn through the gardens with me so I might gain the benefit of your wisdom?” She reached out, clasping the woman’s arm and guiding her toward the garden path.

  “I do wish my own daughter showed as much interest in charity and the niceties of proper behavior.”

  “Let us leave the gentlemen to their cigars,” Mae responded respectfully.

  “Disgusting things.” The matron cast a fulminating glance at her husband. “Behave yourself, Henry, and find our daughter. She’s been on her own longer than is proper for a girl of good name and modesty.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  The women walked off.

  Henry Lyttle-Bowen excused himself, and James was left to muse over the changes in Mae’s personality. He couldn’t decide if her flowering bravery was a good thing or not. She skirted the edge of social disaster.

  Bodyguards could keep her physically safe, but how could he protect her from committing social suicide when he didn’t even know she was in danger? She should have told him about this picnic. His aunt should have told him. Later, he’d ask Lydia why she did not.

  Meanwhile he’d also speak to Lalie. She needed occupation, and guiding his young lioness through the hazardous social forest would serve very well.

  Pleased with his plans, James strolled off to find refreshment and wait for his opportunity to speak with Mae about her charitable excesses. One thousand dollars for equipment; had she a clue as to what the equipment did? How could she possibly imagine new equipment would benefit the workers?

  • • •

  Mae entered the study two hours later to find James standing by the mantel. His fingers drummed on the hardwood surface, and he stared into space. He appeared upset, though she could not imagine why. It amazed her that she felt almost no fear. The walls held so many terrifying memories. Just a few short weeks ago, she would have done everything possible to avoid this room.

  “You wished to speak with me.”

  “Did you order new machinery for the cloth manufactory?” His voice was stern but not unfriendly; his expression was unreadable in the late afternoon light.

  “Yes, I did. It arrived yesterday.”

  “Did you consult Mr. Carver?”

  Mae bit her lower lip. “Well I would have, but Mr. Carver was not available. The assistant manager, told me he is out of town on a vacation. I will wager Mr. Carver did not seek your permission before abandoning his post. We might wish to consider replacing him.”

  “Whether Carver sought permission or not, I am the one who will deal with him. Now explain this machinery you ordered.”

  “It’s the very latest design from a young man who studied at Cambridge. He’s determined to produce equipment that is good for workers as well as efficient to operate. Production was only halted for three hours while the new equipment was installed.”

  “Delaying tactics will not work, Mae. Tell me why.”

  “Well, I presume the workmen who performed the installation were—”

  “No, why did you purchase this equipment?”

  “It was a necessary improvement for the safety of the workers. You agreed.”

  “I agreed to allow you onto the premises to perform charitable works.” His fist thumped the carved mantle hard enough to make the candelabra adorning each end rattle.

  Mae felt rattled herself, but she would not cower before James’s small display of temper. What cause had he to be angry? “You, yourself, signed the note giving me permission to make improvements.”

  “For the benefit of the workers.”

  “The new spinning machines do benefit the workers. The fact that the machines also benefit production is secondary.”

  James raised a brow. “How could you possibly know the benefits to production?”

  “I took careful note of all the problems I saw when I toured the manufactory. The old design of the pincers that hold the cotton feed in place was sharp and needle-like. Injury to workers’ fingers—most often childrens’—was common, and blood damaged the thread. The new machines have blunt pincers shaped like paddles, not needles, and the tension is adjustable. It won’t poke or squeeze their fingers. Wor
kers will be able to remain at their tasks rather than losing wages to take time out for medical treatment. Blood won’t damage the thread, and production will continue uninterrupted.”

  James closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to his temples. “I can see you’ve given careful thought to this purchase, and I cannot fault your logic. Nonetheless, the money invested in the new machinery will most probably be a loss to the estate.”

  “Why?”

  He pressed his lips together. “Since you refuse to marry, and your sisters are unlikely to fulfill the terms of the will, the unpleasant reality is that the estate will be sold and the assets liquidated.”

  “Wouldn’t the new machines be an asset?”

  “They would if the manufactory were to be sold as a whole. However, your grandfather’s will instructs that the buildings be given to the Boston Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. The machinery will be removed and sold by the piece as used equipment. No matter how recently installed, used machinery is less valuable than new. If the estate recovers half of the machinery cost, I will be surprised.”

  “Oh, dear. I had hoped to prevent that.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Prevent what?”

  “I thought if production improved and the manufactory became more profitable, it wouldn’t be sold. Perhaps the Society would keep the mill running as a source of regular income to support their mission .”

  “The manufactory’s profitability is not a factor in the sale of the estate assets, and since the will requires liquidation, the Boston Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals has no say in keeping Alden Cloth Works open. They would have to retool the entire manufactory and are unlikely to want to go to the expense.”

  “That Grandfather should be able to reach beyond the grave and harm so many people is absurd and tragic.” Hands twisting, Mae paced to the windows to stare out at the street before turning to face James. Hope withered despite the sunny day. She should never have attempted to change things, for the workers, for herself. Everyone would have been better off if she’d stayed hidden in the manse until poverty swallowed her. The thought shook her to her core. How could she possibly believe that? Even if she could not save herself and her sisters, at least the workers using the new machines would suffer less pain and injury. The dispensary had helped dozens and would help more before the will could destroy all. She hadn’t failed, not completely, and any success was better than none. She squared her shoulders and faced reality as she turned toward James.

  “You are right, of course. How I neglected to consider the exact terms of that horrid will, I don’t know. Nonetheless, those workers shall be out of jobs. I may not be able to change the Grandfather’s orders, but I must do everything possible to improve their lot while I can.”

  “Admirable as that is, I cannot allow you to spend thousands of dollars of the estate’s money for such efforts.”

  She frowned. “You said I could send bills for my charitable efforts to you and the estate would pay for them.”

  “Yes. However, purchasing new equipment cannot be regarded as a charitable effort, since improved production is presumed to lead to increased profit.”

  “May I at least continue with the dispensary and similar efforts?”

  “As long as the cost is reasonable.”

  “What do you deem reasonable?”

  “I imagine fifty dollars would be adequate to restock your supplies.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but thought better of speaking and closed her lips.

  She had wanted to purchase a building across the street from the mill in order to start a school. Working women would be able to leave their children under supervised care without worry, and the children would not have to work. Open positions at the mill could be filled by adults, despite any objections that adults must be paid more.

  Clearly James would see the building as another asset that would be devalued when the estate was liquidated. She’d have to find another way to acquire the building.

  So instead of protesting, she wondered aloud. “I declare, business makes no sense if making a profit by improving workers’ conditions is not regarded as charitable.”

  James smiled and moved to take her hands. “I can see how you might think so. I suggest you not concern yourself with trying to understand business, but maintain less direct efforts to improve the lives of these workers. Concentrate on educating the Brahmins and barons, which is a great deal less dangerous.”

  “Dangerous?”

  “If the workers’ lives improve greatly now, when the will is executed and you must end your charity, they may well be worse off and therefore resentful. Resentful, unemployed workers would have little to occupy them besides fomenting discontent. All your good work may be undone.”

  She looked into his eyes, the hazel orbs warm with empathy and understanding. Then stepping away, she broke his hold and turned back to the window. If she managed to found the school without using estate money, the school would endure when the manufactory closed. “That must not be allowed to happen. I will find an alternative source of funding.”

  His hands settled on her shoulder, his heat easing away the chill of worry.

  “There is a solution, Mae.”

  “Not under the present circumstances.”

  She was certain he intended once more to urge her to marry him. Even if he declared undying love, which she knew he wouldn’t, she could not accept. Marriage was a trap. She would not marry without love, and, even with love, would not marry just to keep herself safe and comfortable. She would live in sin first. She was done hiding behind the strength and fortitude of others. She would not go back to her life before Grandfather died. Nothing, not even love, would be allowed to make a coward of her again.

  “Look at me.”

  She turned beneath his hands but stared at his chest as if the buttons of his suit were the most fascinating object ever discovered.

  “I asked you to look at me.” He placed his forefinger under her chin and urged her head up.

  She resisted. “You did not ask. You demanded.”

  “I apologize. Please Mae, look at me.”

  She yielded to the pressure of his hand and the gentleness in his voice.

  He smiled at her. Some emotion she could not name grew in the yellow-green-blue pattern of his irises. He bent his head and brushed his lips against hers, lingering a moment as if waiting for some signal to continue.

  The caress was sweet and tender, an invitation rather than a demand.

  Resisting the urge to accept the unspoken request, to kiss him back, to throw herself into the shelter of his strong arms and legal authority, took all her willpower.

  He raised his head but continued to hold her shoulders and keep her close, so close. She could smell the man beneath the sandalwood of his cologne. Her heart raced and every nerve ending tensed in anticipation. Pray heaven he wouldn’t kiss her again. She would never be able to resist. Yet fool that she was, she wanted him to kiss her, to demand her response.

  Sadly, thank the stars, he stepped back, easing his hands down her arms to grasp her slack fingers.

  “You have several suitors. Surely one will soon propose. If you will not marry me, accept that proposal. End the senseless idiocy of your grandfather’s will. Take the chance for a home and children of your own.”

  He stared down at her. That brief, gentle caress had been nothing but a kiss of friendship. His touch on her shoulders was not the heated grip of love, but the warm comfort of brotherly interest.

  Her heart nearly broke. Of all the men she knew—she now knew several besides her grandfather and the household servants—James was the man she would most want to love her. The man to whom she could give herself—heart, body and soul. However, he did not want her. He’d proposed out of pity, and of course she’d refused.

  As she’d predicted, he was losing interest, since he was urging her to accept any other man’s offer. Even if he still wished to marry and for all the right rea
sons, she could not do so just to solve her problems. No man who proposed to her now would believe she loved him. The Alden fortune and her sisters’ well-being stood between her and any slim possibility of wedded happiness—as solid a barrier as any brick wall.

  She moved her head slowly from side to side. “I’m sorry, James. No man would be happy with a wife who married only to solve her financial problems. Until the will is executed, I shall entertain no offer of marriage from any man.”

  And after. . .well, after, no man was likely to want a pauper, so after hardly mattered.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The next morning, her maid and footman in tow, Mae set out to inspect the building she wished to purchase. Mr. Alvin and Mr. Tolley met her at the manse portico.

  “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  “G’morning, miss,” they chorused.

  She didn’t think she’d ever heard them speak separately more than once. “We’ll be visiting the empty building across the street from the cloth mill.”

  “Very good, miss.”

  Soon enough the party arrived at the three-story brick building. The sign indicated it had once been the Eldstein Brewing Company. With some work and a few cosmetic changes, Mae knew she could erase the building’s past.

  The owner’s representative stood on the steps waiting for them.

  “Good morning, Miss Alden. I’m Mr. Green. The owner has authorized me to act for him should we need to negotiate terms.”

  “How thoughtful of him. May I know the owner’s name?”

  “I regret I cannot say. He prizes his privacy and wishes to be anonymous.”

  “Very well. Let us examine the premises, shall we?”

  He unlocked the door and led them through. He described the features of each room, but was especially effusive over the pneumatic elevator. “Before retiring from the brewing business last year, the owner had the most modern Otis lift-works installed. I can assure you this elevator is as safe as can possibly be. Capable of handling tremendous weights and any sort of goods. I don’t believe you said what kind of materials you will be storing here?”