The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons
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Josie’s face heated, but it was due, no doubt, to the fog burning off and the warmth of her wool skirt and shirtwaist. It certainly had nothing to do with Daniel being fond of her.
“He’s been barraged for weeks. Having me around seems to abate the problem a bit.” Josie lowered her voice as a pair of ladies strolled past. “And he’s like a brother.”
“So Olive Gloss locked you up because you’re like Daniel’s sister.”
“That’s why I’m a good companion to Daniel. Others might think his heart is unavailable, but I am a safe person to him.”
Fannie laughed. And didn’t stop for a full half minute. “Oh, Josie.”
Josie’s foot tapped. “Don’t you need to be somewhere?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Fannie handed Josie the parcel, which was squishy under the brown wrapping. “You’ll laugh, too, someday.”
Josie doubted it. After Fannie kissed her farewell, Josie took the parcel to the parlor. She opened the paper, revealing three balls of pale pink yarn, when a knock on the door sounded.
“Fannie,” Josie called, waving away the manservant, Finch, who readied to open the door. “You are so wrong about Daniel.” She swung the door wide.
“What about me?” Daniel stood on the porch, his chocolaty brow arched.
“Just that, ah, Fannie was here and I told her about our arrangement.” She was so glad he’d come. Leaving things as they had this morning gnawed at her stomach like a rat in the wall. “Shall we sit on the porch? Mother’s in the studio, but I’ll fetch her if you’d like to come inside.”
“No, don’t interrupt her. I wanted to see how you are, after the cable car.”
“Fine.” Except for the bruise on her hip. “You? You fell, too.”
“Fine.” An awkward moment passed. “The truth is, I didn’t like our disagreement. I thought it might help set things right if I showed you my completed plans for the Mothers’ Home.” He held up the tube.
Warmth suffused her. They would set things right but not because of the plans. Because of his heart. “We need a table for that, like last night. Mother’s door is wide open, and it’s just for a minute. Do come in.”
The desire to express regret welled in her chest. “I owe you an apology.” They walked down the hall to the dining room, past the parlor, when a blur of pink caught her eye. “Thisbe!”
The kitten rolled on her back, an unraveled ball of yarn caught in her claws. The other two balls were reduced to strings. Josie bent to extricate the string from Thisbe’s busy feet. “How could one animal cause such a mess in thirty seconds?”
“Let me help.” Daniel bent down, and within a minute they had three lumps of yarn.
“Hold your fingers like this.” She raised her hands chest level, a foot apart, pointing her fingers to the ceiling. The corner of Daniel’s lip quirked, but he obeyed. Too high, though. She repositioned his elbows, found the end of a string, and wound it around his fingers.
Daniel laughed. “You’re shackling me?”
“You’ll never escape my cuffs of yarn.”
“Pink, too. My favorite color.”
She giggled. “Pity. You’re about to be freed.” She pulled the bundle off his hands. Trading it for a tangled lump, she found Daniel where she’d left him, his hands ready. “The Ladies’ Aid Society thanks you.”
“Is that what this is for?”
Nodding, she wrapped his strong hands in pink again. “We’re crocheting blankets for the Home. Fannie picked the color.”
She expected him to tease, but instead his brow furrowed. “You didn’t need to apologize. You were right. I seek acknowledgement from other places because I don’t have a relationship with my father. I say I look to God, but I don’t. I look to myself.”
She’d been thinking about it, too. “We all do, I’d guess. I got so swept up in doing something good I forgot why I set out to do it in the first place. For the women.”
His eyes were soft. “Speaking of the Home… I didn’t design it for our agreement. I did it because it’s the right thing to do. And you’re a difficult person to say no to.”
“I am not.” She feigned offense. “I’m persuasive.”
“Pesky.”
Like a little sister. She had told Fannie so, and she’d been right. She just wished she’d been wrong. She tugged the coil off his hands. “Then you needed some peskiness in your life.”
“Wilson’s ad is plenty troublesome.” Daniel took the bundle of yarn. His warm fingers lingered against her palms. “But it hasn’t been all bad.”
“No?” It was hard to think with his thumbs tracing over her skin.
“I’ve enjoyed our time together. And betwixt the two of us we’ve set some ladies straight.”
Saying it was her pleasure seemed wrong, so she nodded. Was he going to kiss her again? Like a beau, not a brother?
The rat-tat-tat of the door knocker made her jump. Daniel stepped back.
“Harvey Whitstone, miss,” Finch announced as the man strode into the room.
“Thank heavens.” Harvey wiped his brow. “You’re here, and so are the plans.”
Daniel’s gaze followed Harvey’s to the tube. “The Mothers’ Home schematics?”
“Don’t even joke. I regret every prank I’ve played if you think this is fitting revenge.”
Josie’s stomach seemed to slope to her stockings. “He’s not joking. You’re saying the plans for the Humphries Competition are missing?”
At Harvey’s nod, Daniel’s face leached of color. “They’re on my desk.”
“Are you certain? Because they’re not there now.”
“I—don’t remember the specifics. I brought them here last night.” Then Daniel turned to her, his lips parted. And the doubt on his face was replaced with something cold. Like betrayal.
Chapter 7
A shudder rippled under Josie’s skin. No wonder Daniel’s eyes had grown dark. If the sketches weren’t turned into the Humphries Competition by tomorrow at noon, he and Harvey would forfeit by default.
“The plans aren’t here.” She shook her head. “We would have noticed by now.”
His expression didn’t thaw. “Are you certain? Do you remember me taking them?”
She remembered him donning a silk hat at the door, but not gripping plans. “No, but that doesn’t mean they’re here.” She crossed to the bellpull and gave it a tug. “I’ll ask Finch. One of you can check the dining room, where we viewed the plans, if you wish.”
With a nod, Harvey dashed out the door. Daniel tossed the bundle of pink yarn onto the sofa and began to pace. “I’m sorry to be harsh. But I need those plans.”
“I know.” Harvey and Finch’s appearance forestalled further speech. When Harvey shook his head, Josie beckoned to the manservant. “Have you seen any architecture plans, like these, Finch? Sketches? Either in sheaves or rolled into a cylinder.”
“No, miss. Just the ripped one you and Mr. Price put together after Tilly got to it.”
Daniel growled. “If that dog mangled the plans—”
“Thank you, Finch. Would you be so kind as to inform Mother I need her, please.” Josie sighed. “Tilly didn’t get to the plans. We’d have seen the mess.”
Daniel rubbed his neck. “Could your mother have done something with them?”
The question roiled in her gut like gall. “Like what? Paint on them?”
“She doodled on your father’s map.”
Josie folded her arms. “She wouldn’t paint on your plans.”
Harvey waved his hand. “What about Wilson?”
“He hasn’t been by.” Josie’s tone rose in pitch. “Nor would he steal.”
Daniel snorted. “He’s done plenty to threaten my chances with Humphries.”
Mother entered the room, smelling of turpentine and dressed in a splattered smock. “Good afternoon, gentlemen. Care for tea?”
“They aren’t staying.” Josie chomped her cheek, tasting blood. Daniel all but accused her dog, moth
er, and brother of ruining his work. She’d thought—no matter. Daniel’s true feelings about her family were clear, and he’d gone too far. “They’ve misplaced their architecture plans. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
“There’s a cylinder on the sofa.”
“Not those,” Daniel said. “The ones I showed you last night.”
Mother smiled. “No, but I have cheery news. I’m planning a landscape series now that my sculpture is done. Water lilies.” She spread out her hands like the sea stars that dwelled in the bay’s tide pools. “Your mother was so fond of them. I thought you might like one as a gift.”
Josie’s hand went to her throat. This was the way Mother showed affection, but it wasn’t what Daniel wanted right now. His smile was pinched.
“Thank you.” He took up the cylinder, gripping so hard his knuckles looked skinless. “We must take our leave. If you see the other plans, we’d be obliged if you’d send word.”
Mother’s face fell. “Of course. I hope all turns out well.”
Daniel’s look was apologetic as he headed to the door with Harvey. Finch waited by the open door. “Thank you, ma’am.” Daniel paused. “Josie.”
“Sorry.” Harvey had the grace to blush as they stepped outside.
Josie lingered in the threshold to see if Daniel would look back. Instead a stout fellow with a walrus mustache hurried up the walkway. “Daniel Blair, as I live and breathe.”
“I fear you have me at an advantage.” Daniel held out his hand.
“Horatio Bloom, at your service.”
“You’re a reporter with the Journal,” Harvey cried. Josie stepped onto the porch.
“Word is the ‘most eligible bachelor’ saved Miss Price from a cable car.” Mr. Bloom withdrew a pencil and tiny notebook from his breast pocket. “Is it true?”
“No one was hurt, praise God.” Daniel moved past him.
“Is it true she rewarded you with a kiss?”
Daniel paused, his expression ominous, but before he could speak, Mr. Bloom spied Josie and jogged to the porch. “Miss Price? Have you captured Mr. Blair’s heart and the cash reward?”
Josie’s lunch trudged up her throat. “This is not legitimate news.”
“Ladies love a hero.” The reporter grinned, his teeth hidden by his bushy mustache. “What did you think when he saved your life? I bet you swooned into his arms, didn’t you?”
“I do not swoon.” Josie folded her arms.
“Enough.” Daniel returned to her side, his arm in a protective gesture before her. “Take your rude questions and go.”
“Fine.” Mr. Bloom turned, bumping into a young lady in green plaid. Josie hadn’t even seen Olive Gloss on the walkway. What was she doing here? Last they’d spoken, Olive had locked her in the closet.
Mr. Bloom took steadying hold of her arms. “Do you live here? Any comment about Miss Price, the lady Mr. Blair rescued and kissed?”
Olive’s jaw dropped into the high lace of her ruffled collar. She shook off the reporter and glared at Josie. “He kissed you?”
“Ooh.” Mr. Bloom scribbled notes.
Daniel dropped his arm. “Miss Gloss, I think you and I should talk. Alone.”
“Dan?” Harvey held up his pocket watch. “Time is fleeting.”
“Mr. Bloom?” Daniel leveled his gaze. “I suggest you find something else to report.”
“Like the plight of our city’s needy women and children,” Josie called as Mr. Bloom trudged away. “That’s a story.”
Harvey, bless him, followed Mr. Bloom to the street like a guard dog. When Josie turned around, Olive glowered at Daniel. “As if I’d take you after you kissed her.”
“I just want to speak to you.”
Olive crossed her arms. “I’m not interested. I came to apologize to you, Josie, for what happened at the tea. It was undignified, and I hope the matter is settled.”
“All is well, Olive. Competition has a way of bringing out the worst in us.”
“I can see you’re upset, Miss Gloss, but as I told you, there is no reward.” Daniel’s words were trampled under Olive’s skirt as she stormed past him to the street.
“Well”—Josie folded her arms—“if the reporter doesn’t spread the story, Olive just might.”
Harvey threw up his hands. “One minute, Blair.”
Josie had best not waste it. She touched Daniel’s sleeve. “This has become a mess.”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that. I was just so—”
“Relieved.” She glanced at Harvey. “Meanwhile, you have plans to hunt down.”
“That’s not it.” He rubbed his brow. “I’m sorry. For everything. Accusing your mother and Wilson. And Tilly. And kissing you in public.”
The sigh escaping her chest ached. “I think it best that we halt our arrangement. The Home is designed, after all.”
Daniel’s brows were low over his eyes. “I have not spent weeks of my life with you in exchange for the Home.”
“Dan?” Harvey called. “Plans due by noon tomorrow. Are you coming, or shall I go alone?”
Daniel’s gaze bore into her, his intent clear. “We aren’t finished.” Then he turned and caught up to Harvey.
But they were. As flat and useless as a punctured cycle tire. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and turned back toward the house.
Her footsteps echoed in the foyer. Mother must be painting. Josie should start on the blanket for the Mothers’ Home. Instead she went upstairs to trade her skirt for bloomers. She couldn’t escape her tumultuous thoughts while she sat with her pink yarn, but perhaps on her bicycle, she might out-pedal them for a while.
Daniel arrived home empty. His hands lacked the plans for the Humphries Competition, which he and Harvey had failed to find. His heart was drained from his horrible conversation with Josie, and on top of it all, his stomach protested his failure to eat today.
I’ve got nothing left, God.
He’d wash up, change, and fill up on a bowl of Mrs. Beake’s thick stew. Then he’d be back at the office, where he and Harvey would work all night re-creating their plans for the Humphries Competition.
He stepped into the foyer, where his weekly gift of a floral arrangement sat on the credenza. Mrs. Beake stomped out of her parlor. “Mr. Blair.”
He knew that tone and braced for her wrath. “Good evening, ma’am.”
“I hope you don’t want supper. You were not here by six.” She sniffed. “And there’s more unwanted baked goods. A cinnamon crumb cake, if my nose isn’t mistaken, brought by that Goldie Addis girl. Again. She is relentless.”
“I spoke to her, honest.” Although right now, he was grateful for her efforts. It’d be crumb cake for dinner.
“This ‘eligible bachelor’ twaddle must stop.” Her fists planted on her bony hips. “A reporter from the San Francisco Journal darkened my door, looking for you.”
Before she could continue, a watery sneeze racked her body. Daniel offered his handkerchief. His set of monogrammed linen squares had never seen such use by females as they had in the past weeks.
She waved the hankie. “The lilies you sent—” She sneezed again.
“My apologies. I meant to honor you, not sicken you. I’ll put them in the dustbin.” Could he do nothing right?
But this wasn’t about him. This was about Mrs. Beake, and how her sense of order had been disrupted. He touched her shoulder. “If you wish, I’ll look for new lodging tomorrow. I have appreciated living here, but I don’t wish to cause any more harm.”
“Mr. Blair.” Her chin quivered. He waited for more words, but none came.
He lowered his hand and took the offending vase of flowers outside.
He had nothing. No plans for the Humphries Competition, which meant no boom in business for the firm.
No relationship with his father.
No home, until he found something else.
No Josie. And could he blame her, after he’d accused her family?
No peace with
God. He’d thought he’d been serving Him at the expense of his father, but the one person he’d been serving was himself.
Wilson would get a laugh. Not only had he bested Daniel, but Daniel had lost everything.
Chapter 8
Why did men never listen? Josie massaged her temples, but it did little to ease the ache that radiated forehead to jaw this past quarter hour since she called on Wilson.
He sat across from her on the fashionable sofa Nora picked out, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee, a cup of coffee in hand. “I won’t retract the reward, because I don’t regret offering it.”
“Not even for the collateral damage your actions have caused?” She’d already informed him of the pain experienced—or caused—by Olive, Goldie, Estelle, and the others.
“Daniel’s inability to set a few girls straight before their feelings got hurt is his fault, not mine.”
“How callous you are.” And delighted, by the looks of his smile. Now that his plans were submitted to the Humphries Competition, Wilson took the morning off and relaxed at home, the picture of ease.
They sat across from each other in his parlor, today’s edition of the Journal on the table before them. Josie scowled at the offending newsprint. That nosy reporter published a story on Daniel’s heroics yesterday—another man who hadn’t listened to her.
And then there was Daniel. Had he recovered the missing plans? Please, God, help him. Josie’s fingers fussed with the trim of her cornflower mohair walking gown.
Wilson sipped his coffee. “It’s man’s nature to be competitive. Rivalry is healthy.”
“But jealousy is not.”
Wilson snorted. “Jealous? Of what?”
“I don’t know. Daniel’s decision to go into practice with Harvey rather than you, which he no doubt did to preserve the fragile relationship you have. Or perhaps you envy Daniel’s peace, whether he wins or loses. You could have it, too, if you turned to God for it.” She sighed, at once weary. “For your own sake, for Daniel’s—for all the ladies’ sakes—let go of your jealousy. Retract the reward on Daniel’s head.”
“Heart, not head.” Wilson laughed. “Don’t you want him happy? With a little family to call his own?”