“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll be in touch.” He tipped his hat.
“You’d better be!” With a toss of her head, the scornful customer turned her back to him and proceeded to take long strides toward her house.
The encounter had left Averil shaken. Losing a sale in such dramatic fashion would have been a disappointment at any time, but the loss was especially troubling in his current circumstance. With the cancelled MacGregor sale, Averil was left with no forthcoming commission. Combined with a carpet renovator that didn’t work, he had no way of making any new sales. Plus he had to pay for a rug. The collateral damage was enough to make Averil want to return home, hat in hand, and admit to his father that he was a failure. A complete, abject failure.
With these despairing thoughts, Averil ascended the five steps to the Eaton porch. The windows were open, allowing him to hear a halting rendition of some classical piece being played on the piano. He guessed, based on his limited knowledge of music, that Mozart had composed the work. Whoever had written it, Averil surmised he wouldn’t be honored to hear the piece played in such a stilted fashion. Missed notes and all floated into the air, disturbing what was otherwise a silent evening. Averil wondered if Cecily was playing. She’d told him earlier she preferred the piano to voice lessons. Somehow, he had imagined Cecily’s playing would be flawless. . . .
“Evenin’, Mr. Kingsley,” Hattie greeted him as she answered the door. “Mr. Eaton’s expectin’ you. I’ll go get him.”
Averil tipped his hat. “Thank you.” If he harbored hope that Hattie might invite him in, that idea was dashed as she turned around and sauntered down the front hall without so much as opening the screen door.
“Who was that, Hattie?”
Averil’s heart began beating rapidly. That was Cecily’s voice! Maybe she would invite him in for a cup of tea. He consulted his pocket watch. Supper time at the boardinghouse was nearing. The unexpected delay he had been forced to endure as a result of his impromptu visit with Mrs. MacGregor left him precious little time to conduct his business at the Eatons’ before he would be obliged to rush home. He sent up a silent prayer that the confrontation would be brief and the settlement agreeable to all concerned.
“Never you mind, Chile,” he heard Hattie call out.
Her answer left him with little hope he would even be able to steal a look at Cecily’s face, much less linger over refreshment. The next instant, he heard footfalls that sounded like a woman’s high-top boots clacking across hardwood floors. Only a moment flashed by until his dream appeared at the door.
“Well, of all things! Letting you stand out here like this. I’ll have to speak to Hattie about that. Please accept my apology, Mr. Kingsley.” Cecily motioned for him to step back, then opened the door.
He tipped his hat. “That won’t be necessary, Miss Eaton. I’m sure your maid is aware this isn’t exactly a social call. If anything, I should be extending my deepest apologies to you—and to her—for the uproar I caused here today.”
“You were hardly alone in its cause, Mr. Kingsley. Father realizes that.”
“So you’ve already explained things to him. How kind of you to intercede on my behalf. Truly, I am no villain.”
She laughed, a dainty sound not unlike the melody of a harp. “There are no villains in this story, Mr. Kingsley. It’s not as though you could be an evil banker calling the mortgage on our house, since there is none.” She studied the room as though she were seeing it for the first time. “Grandpa Eaton built this place with his own hands long ago.” Pride filled her voice.
Averil had been so occupied with selling the carpet renovator earlier that he hadn’t taken time to notice the workmanship of the Eaton home. Wainscoting and crown molding decorated the edges of the foyer. Unlike the view in his boardinghouse room, not a crack was to be seen in the plastered walls. The hardwood floors were as even and polished as he remembered. A quick glance into the other rooms visible from his vantage point proved that the superior workmanship extended to the rest of the house.
“Your grandfather was talented indeed. This is a fine house.” His words were sincere, and he could see that Cecily knew it.
“Thank you.” She studied the foyer. “I cherish this place. Not that one should treasure things, mind you. You know what the Bible says about that.”
Was she a believer, a true follower of Christ? Her Bible knowledge seemed to indicate so! In his excitement, Averil’s words rushed forward. “Yes, I’m aware that our Lord and Savior said not to put our trust in things of the world—”
Cecily completed the quotation: “ ‘Where moth and rust doth corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal: But lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust doth corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal.’ ”
“Yes,” Averil said. “Exactly.”
“ ‘For where your treasure is, there will your heart be also.’ ” Cecily looked thoughtful as she recited this part of Jesus’ admonition.
“If your mother is as understanding about her rug as you are, I shall be a fortunate man.”
“I’m afraid she’s quite upset. I told her it’s only a thing, an object,” Cecily assured him. “But it was Grandmama’s, and so she’s in quite a mood over it. She shall recover.”
The sound of heavier footsteps clomping toward the foyer interrupted their conversation. Averil was suddenly aware that his throat was dry. He swallowed. He was not looking forward to meeting the owner of the house.
Three
As Mr. Eaton approached, Averil saw that he was a tall man, which was no surprise considering Cecily’s height. Cecily’s father was large enough to be intimidating except for the compassionate expression in his light brown eyes with gold flecks that were a replica of his daughter’s. When Mr. Eaton was close enough, he extended his hand.
“You must be Averil Kingsley.”
“Yes, I am.” Averil nodded and took the older man’s hand. Mr. Eaton’s grasp was firm and businesslike, not the least bit threatening.
“I understand you had quite an adventure here today.”
Averil nodded. “And I do apologize, Sir. I hope you will allow me to make amends. I want to make everything right.”
A ringing dinner bell interrupted their conversation.
“I see this is not an especially good time for you,” Averil said. “I can stop by tomorrow.”
He heard soft footfalls entering from the hallway. “Of course you may stop by tomorrow.” Cecily sent an appealing look toward her father. In spite of his silence, or perhaps because of it, Cecily turned to Averil and gave him a devastating smile. “If you haven’t had dinner, won’t you stay here and dine with us? Our cook makes fabulous roast. That’s what we’re having tonight.”
Averil suppressed a gasp. This vision of loveliness had broken convention by inviting him to dinner. Should he accept? The prospect of sharing a meal with Cecily was more than tempting. And now that the roast had been called to his attention, Averil noticed the delectable aroma of cooked meat wafting through the foyer. The food at his boardinghouse was better than average as accommodations of that sort went—at least, that’s what the other boarders told him. Judging from the smell of the Eatons’ anticipated meal, Averil knew for a fact that anything Miss Hallowell’s cook conjured up wouldn’t be nearly as delicious.
All the same, good manners prompted Averil to push aside his yearning to be with Cecily—and his sudden recognition of how hungry he was. “I appreciate such a generous offer, but I really shouldn’t impose.”
“Please do impose,” Cecily insisted. “Unless you have a previous engagement.” Her lower lip protruded into an ever-so-slight pout.
Averil was pleased to note the strain of disappointment in her voice and face. “I did promise my landlady I would be home for dinner.”
His confession was rewarded by a disappointed look on Cecily’s face. “Oh.”
Her barely uttered admission spurred him into acceptance. “I must say, my landl
ady warned me she wouldn’t hold dinner for me should I tarry.” He extracted his gold watch from its accustomed place in his vest pocket and noted the time. “It seems I’m already running a few minutes late. I doubt my fellow boarders would miss me much should I not make my appearance. More likely, they’ll be grateful they can divide my portion of the meal among themselves.”
“Then I insist that you join us,” Mr. Eaton said. “I can see that in both breeding and manners, you are far and above most of the salesmen we encounter. Surely you were reared to enjoy much better than boardinghouse accommodations.”
“I must admit, this is my first boardinghouse experience,” he muttered. Averil wasn’t ready to share his life story with the Eatons. At least, not yet.
“I suspected as much,” Mr. Eaton said. “I shall look forward to learning more about you at my dinner table. As I’m sure we all will.”
Unwilling to seem too eager, he hesitated. “If you insist, then I shall be pleased.”
“Good,” said Cecily. “I’ll tell Hattie to set an extra place at the table.”
The dinner proved as delicious as Cecily had promised. Averil would have welcomed almost any chance to skip a meal at the boardinghouse, but in the company of such a vision as Cecily, the event seemed more like a fantasy turned into a pleasant reality.
Cecily leaned closer to him. Averil breathed the delightful gardenia scent she wore. “I hope this meal is at least as good as what you normally would eat.”
He nodded with enthusiasm. “Far superior to anything I could hope to find at Miss Hallowell’s.”
“Miss Hallowell’s? Is that where you are staying?” Mrs. Eaton interrupted.
What a time for her to decide to join the conversation! Averil wiped his mouth before answering. “Yes, Madame.”
Her eyebrows rose. “And the accommodations are satisfactory to a man such as yourself?”
Averil wasn’t sure whether Mrs. Eaton meant that he was too fine to be living in a boardinghouse or if the boardinghouse were too fine for him. Regardless as to Mrs. Eaton’s opinion, his current accommodations were hardly his dream. Yet Miss Hallowell’s was the best he could afford at the moment. “Naturally the house is nothing like home, but I make do.”
“Perhaps you’d find the Swann more to your liking,” Mrs. Eaton suggested.
Thankfully, Cecily’s brother, Roger, chose that moment to distract Mrs. Eaton from Averil’s exchange with Cecily with a question about whether he could play a game of catch before starting his math homework.
All the same, Averil inwardly cringed. Friends familiar with the area had recommended the Swann to him, but when he inquired, he found the accommodations too costly for his current situation. Although her mother’s attention had been diverted, Cecily looked at him as though she expected some sort of comment. “Perhaps the next time I’m in the city,” he remarked.
“So you won’t be here long?” Cecily asked.
She had asked a sensible question. He wondered why he had said something so misleading. Did he hear the faintest bit of disappointment in her voice? Did she wish he would be staying in the city indefinitely, or was his imagination working overtime?
He cleared his throat. “This is my sales territory, so I’ll be here quite awhile, actually. I will have to leave the city upon occasion to visit other prospective clients, but as you can imagine, my primary clientele is among people in your social set.”
Cecily furrowed her brow as she buttered a roll.
Why had he offered such a garbled explanation? “And,” he added for good measure, “Miss Hallowell’s is the closest boardinghouse within walking distance of here.”
“Are you really obliged to walk everywhere, carrying that big machine with you?”
“Sometimes I make use of the streetcar,” he said.
“I suppose that helps,” Cecily admitted.
“Yes, but even though the Capital Duster Electric Pneumatic Carpet Renovator is as light as a feather, it can be a bit bulky to maneuver in such close quarters. I find it easier to walk most places, at least on the job.” He lifted a forefinger. “However, I have been promised a carriage. I’m expecting it to be available in a week or so.”
“A carriage! How impressive!” Cecily exclaimed.
“I hope so. It will bear a company sign. In blue letters, much like the color of the carpet renovators we sell.” Averil concentrated on cutting his beef. “I hate to admit it, but I don’t feel I’ve earned such a fine carriage. Salesmen aren’t generally assigned a carriage until after they’ve sold at least ten units.”
“But you are suffering difficulties, being asked to leave your home,” Cecily pointed out.
“Dining here with you can hardly be considered a hardship.” Averil grinned, then popped a small portion of beef into his mouth.
Cecily tittered in a delightful manner. “I’m certain you’ll sell ten units, or even more, in no time at all.”
“One can hope,” he said. “The record for sales is held by Otto Foreman. He sold seven in one day. That was the old Model 128. He retired ten years ago.”
Cecily’s eyebrows rose. “You certainly seem to know a lot about the company. No wonder they have so much confidence in you.”
Averil nodded, but he felt as though he were bearing false witness. If Father had true confidence in his capabilities, he would have taken Averil under his wing and trained him at corporate headquarters rather than choosing his opportunistic brother-in-law. Now here he was, banished to territory new and untried to Capital Duster. Here, he would have to make his mark.
“So,” Cecily asked after taking a sip of tea, “have you been in the city long?”
“No. Yesterday was my first day in Richmond.”
“In that case, I hope you enjoy getting acquainted with our city. I’ve lived here all my life, so I confess to a bit of partiality when I boast about its merits.” Cecily glanced out of the window. “Such as the lovely weather we have here in the spring.”
“Lovely indeed.”
She set her cup in her saucer and pushed her chair away from the table. “Mother, it’s so gorgeous outdoors today. I’m wondering if perhaps I can take dessert on the verandah.”
“I’m sure that would be fine.”
Cecily set her gaze upon Averil. “Perhaps you would care to join me, Mr. Kingsley?”
“Why, I most certainly would,” Averil agreed.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Roger open his mouth. Without missing a beat, his father placed a warning hand on his forearm. Averil wasn’t sure exactly why Cecily wanted relative privacy, but he had no intention of arguing.
“Hattie can bring out the tray,” her father said.
“That would be fine, Father.”
“Perhaps you would like some company,” Mrs. Eaton suggested. Her eyes narrowed, their stare boring into Averil as though he were some evil being.
Mr. Eaton chuckled. “My dear, they don’t need us old folks bothering them.”
Averil watched Cecily shoot her father what appeared to be a look of thanks. He couldn’t remember a time when any woman had showed such an interest in him without knowing he was heir to a significant business concern. The feeling was liberating. He relished it.
A few moments later, Averil and Cecily were sitting across from each other in matching white wicker chairs, enjoying apple pie and tea. The scent of a purple lilac bush in full bloom hung heavily in the air. Averil was grateful that the verandah roof sheltered them both from the afternoon sun. His friends in upstate New York might still be wearing shawls and light coats this time of year. In contrast, the Virginia sun could get strong at times, even though summer had not yet sighed its first breath of life. He envisioned that as summer waxed and waned, his fondness for tall glasses of minted iced tea would grow accordingly.
“So,” Cecily asked, breaking the silence, “I’m sure this afternoon is one that you wish had not happened?”
“I share in your wish, but I believe in the product I sell, and I trust in th
e Lord to lead me to those who can benefit from what I believe to be the best carpet renovator manufactured today.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Which one?” he couldn’t resist asking. “That I believe in my product or that I trust in the Lord?”
“Both. But especially that you love the Lord.”
He nodded. The knowledge of her fine spiritual state warmed his soul.
Cecily leaned over toward him, not too closely as to be improper, but closely enough that he could smell her delightful gardenia scent. “So do I. And speaking of giving Him each day, I’m wondering. . .” She paused and took a sip of tea. Her brown eyes looked at him over the rim of the dainty china cup.
“Yes?”
“Since you haven’t been here long, I’m assuming you have no plans as of yet for the Celebration of Spring?”
“Celebration of Spring?” Wondering where this was leading, Averil decided to hide his curiosity by taking a gulp of tea.
“Yes. Of course, there are many spring festivities all around the city, but why don’t you come along with us to the celebration at the boys’ school? My brother Roger is a student there. They—that is, a group of us ladies, not the boys—will be performing a Maypole dance, and the food is always quite good.”
He looked up. “Sounds delightful.”
She fluttered her lashes. “There’s a reason why we put so much extra effort into the food. It’s our way of raising money for Roger’s school. All of us unattached ladies make up picnic baskets for the bachelors to bid on.”
“The lucky bachelor has the honor of eating lunch with the maker of the basket he wins. Am I right?” Averil guessed.
“Indeed you are.” Cecily took a sip of tea in an obvious attempt to keep from looking at him. “Of course, I’m looking forward to such a lovely event.”
Averil didn’t think twice about taking the hint. “Perhaps I might arrange to be there as well.”
Loveswept Page 3
