by Keli Gwyn
No sooner had Alex’s footfalls faded than Henry’s could be heard on the porch steps.
“He’s here!” Marcie called out loudly. She jumped to her feet and rushed into the entryway.
Dot clambered off the settee and followed her sister. Giggling came from the top of the stairs.
Eager to make sure Gladys wasn’t about to be ambushed, Lavinia followed, reaching the entryway just as Henry stepped inside.
The children were nowhere to be seen. Odd.
He stood facing her, his gaze on the upper landing. “I saw the girls dash up the stairs. What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, but I hope they’re not plotting mischief.”
His eyes, now focused on her, held amusement. “Our darling nieces and nephew plotting mischief? Whatever gave you that idea? It wouldn’t be their little stunt yesterday, would it?” He sobered. “I didn’t know they had it in them. Alex usually keeps Marcie in line.”
“True, but I had the feeling the idea might have been his, as surprising as that seems. He was certainly acting strangely this morning, whispering with Marcie at breakfast, which makes me wonder what’s going on.”
“I’ll have a word with him, man-to-man, and figure it out.”
“I’d appreci—”
“Uncle Henry! Aunt Livy!” the children cried in unison. “Look up!”
She did. Alex, Marcie and Dot knelt on the stairway, peering through the bannister, each wearing an ear-to-ear grin. Alex gripped a long stick with a sprig of mistletoe tied to the other end, which he held above her head.
So that’s what they’d been up to. She stepped to the left.
Alex moved the mistletoe with her, keeping it in position above her. “You can’t get away this time.”
She cast an apologetic glance at Henry, expecting to receive one in return. What she saw instead made her breath catch.
Henry was looking at her with unmistakable attraction glittering in his blue eyes. The sight sent a jolt of awareness through her.
“Kiss her,” Marcie called out.
Wonder of wonders, Henry wanted to. Or so it appeared.
His gaze remained fixed on her face, moving from her eyes to her mouth, where it lingered for several seconds before he lifted it again.
He stepped closer, causing her heart to pick up its pace, and whispered. “It appears we can’t escape this time. Do you trust me?”
The word trust, spoken with sincerity and his beautiful rolled R overcame her hesitation. She nodded.
He leaned toward her, coming so close his breath fanned her face.
Her eyes slid closed, as though of their own accord.
She waited, scarcely able to breathe, for the feel of his lips on hers.
Chapter Nine
Fully aware of the three pairs of eyes trained on him, Henry hovered a scant two inches from Lavinia’s upturned face. Her lips, soft and inviting, trembled, a movement so slight he might not have seen it if he hadn’t been studying her so intently. Did she want this, or had she agreed solely for the sake of the children? She had reached up as if to brush his hair back in place when they were in the buggy. Although she’d stopped herself, her gesture had shown that she was drawn to him.
He couldn’t take advantage of her or the situation, though. She deserved respect, and he would give it to her. He placed a kiss on her flushed cheek, lingering just long enough to feel the softness, inhale the rosy scent that would forever remind him of Lavinia and—hopefully—satisfy their eager audience. He drew back, bracing for her reaction.
She opened her eyes, blinked twice and averted her gaze. The corners of her mouth drooped momentarily, quickly replaced by a shy smile. If he didn’t know better, he might think she was disappointed.
He looked up at the children, who made no move to hide their disappointment.
Alex withdrew the stick with the mistletoe, his expression glum. “You were supposed to kiss her.”
“I did.”
“But you kissed her cheek,” Marcie countered. “That’s not a real kiss.”
Lavinia had turned away, as though unwilling to face him after what had transpired. “You’ve had your fun, children, so head into the kitchen for your snack, please.”
As if on cue, Gladys appeared in the dining room doorway. “I’ve got some soft gingerbread waiting, fresh from the oven. Who would like some?”
“Me!” the children hollered in unison. They raced down the stairs and followed Gladys into the kitchen.
Henry inhaled the spicy scents of ginger, cinnamon and nutmeg that combined with the crisp pine from the evergreen boughs on the console table to create a festive atmosphere. He’d been too preoccupied earlier to notice anything but Lavinia. Although he’d spent the day with her, he’d rushed to get back to the house as quickly as possible after returning the buggy to the livery, eager to enjoy more of her company.
Arriving to discover that the children were up to more mistletoe mischief had come as a surprise. He ought to have been irritated or annoyed with them, but he wasn’t. Truth be told, he’d thought about their previous prank several times since, wondering what might have happened if Lavinia had welcomed his kiss instead of stepping out from under the mistletoe. Thanks to his nephew’s ingenuity, she hadn’t been able to escape this time.
Henry smiled. Although brushing his lips across her soft cheek wasn’t as exciting as a real kiss would have been, he’d enjoyed the experience nonetheless.
There could never be anything between Lavinia and him, but he couldn’t deny being attracted to her. After all, she was a beautiful woman. She was somewhat misguided when it came to what was best for the children, though, but she obviously loved them.
Thankfully, she’d welcomed his suggestions for gifts more in keeping with what Jack and Pauline had given the children in years past. Instead of filling a livery wagon with packages, as he’d expected, her purchases hadn’t even filled the small storage space beneath the buggy’s seat.
Lavinia turned toward him, wearing a shy smile. Pink still tinged her cheeks. “I haven’t had a piece of gingerbread in ages. I’m going to have one. Would you care to join me?”
Her question drew him back to the present. “I would, but I have something for you first.” As much as he wished he didn’t have to make this delivery, he must. He reached in his jacket pocket and withdrew a letter. “Mr. Little was standing in front of the American House hotel as I walked by. He asked if I’d give this to you.”
She stared at the envelope he held, her features taut. “I received mail? When?”
“Mr. Little said it arrived this morning while we were down in Jackson.”
“I see.” Her hand trembled as she reached for the letter. She took it, slowly turned it over and heaved a sigh of relief.
“What is it?”
“I was afraid it had come by Pony Express.”
That could only mean one thing. She was afraid her father had written. But why? “The postmark is from San Francisco.”
He’d shoved the letter in his pocket before he could see anything more, but he hadn’t needed to read the sender’s name. He knew who it was from—Stuart Worthington, the young manager Paul Crowne had chosen to serve as Lavinia’s escort on the trip west. The man she planned to have accompany her, Gladys and the children on their way back to Philadelphia.
Well, Worthington had a surprise in store. He would not be traveling with the children. They were staying in Sutter Creek where they belonged, with him—their uncle and legal guardian.
Lavinia wandered over to the staircase and plopped down on the second step. She removed a hairpin, slit the envelope with one of the two tortoise shell prongs and jabbed the pin back into her mass of curls with haste. “I wonder what he wants,” she murmured.
“Why don’t you open it and find out
?”
She started. “Oh. I’m sorry. I forgot you were there.”
“Would you like me to leave?”
“No. Please, stay.” She shifted to the side and patted the space next to her.
He debated the wisdom of sitting so close, but it appeared she dreaded finding out what Worthington had to say. If she wanted support, Henry would provide it.
He sat on the step, careful to leave as much room between them as possible.
Lavinia glanced his way, her soft, steady gaze conveying her gratitude. She squared her shoulders, pulled out the sheet of paper, unfolded it and began reading. Her mouth gaped at the start, but before long her lips were pursed and her eyes narrowed. Troubling news, no doubt. He fought the urge to pull her to his side and offer what comfort he could.
As she continued reading, her lovely features relaxed, easing the knot that had formed in his stomach. She clutched the letter to her chest, lifted her gaze to the ceiling and smiled. “Thank you, Stuart.”
A burning sensation formed behind Henry’s breastbone. He worked to slow his rapid breathing as he struggled to make sense of Lavinia’s reaction. What was her relationship to this Worthington fellow anyhow? Was he more than just an escort?
Her smile fled almost as quickly as it had come, releasing the tension in Henry’s chest. She set the letter in her lap and turned to him, her eyes filled with so many emotions he couldn’t begin to sort through them. “It’s going to be all right.”
Even though she’d said the words to him, he got the impression she was out to convince herself. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
She shook her head, causing several curls to break free from the hairpin she’d shoved in earlier. It came loose and clattered onto the step at Henry’s feet. He picked up the fancy thing and studied it. The silver crown at the top boasted several diamonds, accounting for the sparkle. A single pearl formed the point. He didn’t want to think about what a single pin cost, let alone the half dozen she wore.
He held out the hairpin. “Here you go.”
She took it, gathered the loose curls with one hand and inserted the pin with the other. Her attempt left several springy locks dangling over her right temple. She extended her lower lip and blew a breath out the corner, causing the curls to dance. “Oh, bother. I can’t do this without a looking glass.”
“Would you like me to try?” The words had rushed out before he could stop them, but he couldn’t very well take them back. He had no right to make such an offer and deserved the laughter sure to come.
But it didn’t. Instead, Lavinia pulled out the hairpin and handed it to him. “Please.” She glanced at the doorway to the dining room, as though assuring herself no one was privy to their conversation, and spoke in hushed tones. “Don’t tell anyone, but even with a looking glass, I have a hard time taming my mane. Gladys has offered to help, but I figure it’s high time I learn to do some things for myself. I’m happy to say I’ve made progress, but I won’t turn down your kind offer.”
He’d asked Pauline once, shortly after he’d arrived in California, what it was like not to have servants seeing to her every need. She’d admitted she missed the pampering but said the sense of independence she’d gained more than made up for it. It appeared Lavinia was experiencing a similar revelation. “You might regret accepting my help when you see my handiwork. Now, sit nice and still so I don’t poke you with this thing.”
He’d never helped a woman with her hair before. Why he’d offered to do so now was a mystery he’d unravel later. The task required him to focus.
Although Lavinia’s silky curls seemed determined to elude his clumsy fingers, he managed to corral them with one hand long enough to slide the hairpin in place with the other, careful not to graze her scalp.
She patted the spot and nodded. “That’s better. Thank you, Henry.”
He’d never been overly fond of his name, but he liked the way she said it, swallowing the H slightly and removing the choppiness by flowing the N into the R. No doubt that was the result of having learned French at an early age. “You’re welcome.”
She picked up the letter and read it again.
As much as he’d like to know what was in it, he refused to pry. “I think I’ll get some of that gingerbread before the children devour it.” He stood.
“My father wants me to leave sooner than was originally planned.”
“What?” He plopped back down.
“He sent a letter by Pony Express. To Stuart. In this letter he relays Father’s wishes. It seems South Carolina is expected to announce its intention to secede very soon, making travel a risk. Stuart checked on the departures. The Sonora is scheduled to leave San Francisco December twenty-first, and Father expects us to be on it.”
Dread settled in Henry’s stomach like an anvil. “But he agreed to let you stay until Christmas.”
“He did, and I will. Stuart knows how important it is to me not to uproot the children before then.”
Uproot the children. How could she say the words so calmly? Had she thought about what she intended to do, or was she simply carrying out her father’s wishes? Pauline had stood up to the man, but from what Henry had seen, Lavinia rarely did, which concerned him. How would she fare when she returned to Philadelphia without the children? What price would she have to pay? If only there was some way to spare her the punishment Paul Crowne was sure to mete out.
“So you don’t plan to leave ahead of schedule?” Please, Lord, let that be the case. I’d like as much time as possible to show her that the children will be better off here and make the parting a little easier on her.
“Stuart did some more checking and discovered that the Golden Age won’t sail until January first. He took the liberty of telling my father that’s the one we’ll be taking.”
Had he heard correctly? “Mr. Worthington made the decision without consulting you?”
She lifted her head in regal fashion, her chin thrust forward, and assumed the imperious air he hadn’t seen since she’d first arrived and had stated her intention to take the children away from him. “Stuart and I have talked over the matter at great length. He’s aware of my wishes.”
Henry’s stomach pitched. “I didn’t realize the two of you were so close.”
Why it mattered, he didn’t know. But it did.
A wave of nausea washed over him as he waited for her response.
* * *
Why Henry’s observation bothered her, Lavinia didn’t know. But it did.
Her relationship with Stuart wasn’t something she wanted to explain or defend. She preferred not to think about it at all. Her father had put forth so many potential suitors over the years that she’d grown weary of the process. Stuart might be the latest one foisted on her, but he didn’t make her heart beat faster the way Henry did.
No. She mustn’t think about Henry in that way.
He sat beside her awaiting a reply. His curiosity was understandable. After all, Stuart would be accompanying Alex and the girls back to Philadelphia, provided she removed the hurdle of Henry’s guardianship in time.
She’d been praying, eagerly awaiting the Lord’s guidance, but she had yet to discover anything that could serve as grounds for successfully contesting the will. Not that she’d given up. She wouldn’t. She couldn’t. Returning without the children wasn’t an option.
There had to be a way to have the will invalidated and Henry’s roles as executor and guardian revoked, and she would find it. She reviewed her notes on the statutes regularly, so she was familiar with them. She’d written Stuart, asking for referrals to the best lawyers in San Francisco. She’d find one who would take her case, come to Amador Country for the trial and—despite Mr. Price’s doubts that it was possible to do so—win.
“As I told you the day you pulled that limb off me, Stuart works for my father.
He traveled with Gladys and me all the way to Sutter Creek, but he returned to San Francisco right away.”
“I take it he has business there.”
“That’s correct.” Was it her imagination, or did Henry look relieved? “Father’s heard the city is on its way to becoming the cultural center of the West. He asked Stuart to explore the possibility of opening a hotel there—the Golden Crowne.”
“So would Mr. Worthington oversee the project?”
“Not that I know of.” She could see why Henry might think that, given what she’d said so far. “Stuart believes Father is testing him to see if he has the skills and expertise needed to make an accurate assessment and formulate a plan. He’s already proven his ability to manage a hotel, but establishing one isn’t a task Father has delegated before. He’s always seen to that himself, but he believes the time has come to train a successor.”
“And he’s considering Mr. Worthington.” Henry was quick to grasp the situation, but he didn’t look happy about it. There was a firm set to his mouth.
“He is.” She focused on the carpet runner lest Henry see the pain she had a hard time hiding when she thought about her father’s insistence that she marry a man of his choosing, an heir to take over his hotel empire. Other than announcing her intention to attend Jack and Pauline’s wedding and her plan to travel to California after learning of their deaths, Lavinia had only faced off with her father one other time. Over this very issue.
It had been a dark, dreary day not long after Pauline had moved away. Lavinia could remember it in vivid detail—the ticking of the mantel clock, the scent of her father’s pipe tobacco, the jellylike state of her knees. She’d stood before his desk with her backbone as stiff as his ebony walking stick and stated in no uncertain terms that she resented his interference in her romantic relationships. Although she hadn’t yet turned seventeen, he’d already begun to introduce her to men he deemed suitable.
“I gather from the heat flashing in those dark eyes of yours that you don’t like the idea of Mr. Worthington at the helm.”
