How had Greyson managed to woo and win a wife in such a short time?
Greyson’s accusation from their last private encounter, at Christmas, echoed in her mind. “You never loved me. Not as a woman loves a man she wants for a husband.” He’d certainly pressed that point enough for her to know it was true—she’d always pulled back from his rather frantic kisses and embraces.
Sadie Duvall’s warnings—were they true? “He’s after one thing, Maudie—and it isn’t what you think.” And what did that mean?
After she arrived home, Maude went to their private parlor, seated herself at the Baldwin piano, and poured herself into a favorite Tchaikovsky piece, her fingers pounding the instrument as though she could overpower the discordant melody in her heart. But to no avail. She ceased the melancholy piece. Tentatively, she began to play the strains of her own composition, this song full of crescendos more hopeful—of finding one’s own true love. She pulled her tingling fingers from the piano, as though the inanimate object discerned her ambivalence. Why did her thoughts continue to drift off to the stranger rather than to her childhood sweetheart?
She rose and arranged her skirts before moving toward the fireplace. Soft footfalls announced their new maid—her friend Sadie’s sister. Although it sometimes seemed awkward to have her friend’s sister in their employ, Maude was happy the girl received steady pay and was safe, fed, and warm every night.
Bea Duvall set down a box of cleaning supplies and rags near the hearth. “She fired her, Miss Maude.”
“What?” She’d not yet grown accustomed to Bea’s cryptic messages. “Who fired whom?”
“Sadie’s been fired. She’s looking for a job.”
Maude reached an unsteady hand out to the back of the nearby divan. “Mrs. Luce can’t …”
“You go tell her that, then.” Bea huffed and commenced polishing the revolving mahogany bookcase near the wall. “Greyson’s wife, the new Mrs. Luce, fired her. Too bad you weren’t her.”
The Grand Hotel’s porch stretched several football fields long. Ben forced himself to not gawk. He affected a blasé air as he approached the building. Gleaming alabaster white, it nestled high on the hill overlooking woods and verdant fields. Pavilions punctuated the lush grounds here and there like Bavarian Easter eggs nestled in rye baskets. A folly built at one end of the lower park was meant to entice sweethearts, no doubt. Would he find himself entangled there with someone who believed he was the wealthy Friedrich König?
Once inside, the multitude of crystal chandeliers rivaled anything he’d viewed as a newspaperman covering the swankest events in Detroit. Yet the decor was more “affluent rustic camp” for a fair amount of the building, particularly the halls leading to the bedchambers. Unpainted paneling covered the entryway, which was as wide as his entire apartment building in Detroit. Overhead, the coffered wooden ceiling with its impressive intersecting beams and sunken panels suggested a large lodge in the north woods. Yet moving into the social areas, the decor became more formal. Highly polished hardwoods and marble reflected in the gilded baroque mirrors in the spacious lobby.
Ben followed the man toting his baggage to a semicircular walnut counter, behind which a silver-haired clerk wiped his glasses. Adjacent stood a large, rectangular, wheeled cart, similar to those used at the newspaper to transport papers to carriages for delivery, but this one was covered with luggage.
“König,” the porter told the clerk. “Friedrich König.”
Donning his eyeglasses, the man blinked at Ben before bowing quickly. “Welcome, Mr. König. You have one of the diplomat rooms—one of our best.”
“Very good.”
“I’m Mr. Morris, and we’ve been directed to assign a manservant to you.” The clerk handed a heavy brass key to a tall dark-skinned servant wearing the hotel’s distinctive red jacket. “Blevins will be caring for your needs, since you didn’t have your valet accompany you.”
“No.” Because he had no valet.
When the men frowned, Ben corrected himself. “I mean, ja, I’d appreciate the assistance.”
The porter grinned over his shoulder. “This way, sir.”
Following the red-jacketed man down the hallway, Ben again appreciated the difference a fine pair of shoes made. He’d had neither foot nor leg discomfort, which he often did running all over the city in his old broughams. And his jacket’s cut facilitated his movements, as well.
A young woman attired in a low-cut gown sashayed by them, fixing her gaze on Ben.
“Good afternoon.” His voice came out low, almost a growl. He didn’t find such immodest attire appealing. But Friedrich König might, and he needed to act the part. He smiled at her in what he hoped was a charming fashion.
She raised one golden eyebrow. “Good day.” Her accent was pure New York. She slinked past.
Two doors down, the employee paused. After turning the key in the door, the servant pushed through, bringing the cart ahead of Ben. As he entered the room, a faint musty odor battled with the breeze, wafting in through the open, expansive mullioned windows. The hotel had only recently been reopened for the season. Extravagant wallpaper in hues of ivory covered every wall. A large bed covered in sumptuous silks featured prominently in the room.
“I’ll put your clothes up for you, sir.” Blevins chuckled. “I do have other duties, but I’ll be assigned to you as your manservant.”
He recalled his uncle’s manservant, Hans, an overworked but loyal man who used to slip Ben pfefferminze candies. “Go ahead and unpack then.”
“Yes, sir.” He opened the heavy brass latches on the black leather trunk stamped in gold with “CROSLEY’S LUGGAGE,” the London shop being the finest purveyor of such goods and on loan to Ben from his boss.
The big man began hanging Ben’s clothes in the armoire.
Crossing to the window, Ben gazed out at the brilliant blue water and whistled in appreciation. Then realized such behavior could be considered crass. He fisted and unfisted his hands.
“Your first visit here, sir?”
“Ja. Indeed.” Ben assumed a casual slouch, attempting to give the air of a wealthy gentleman accustomed to such digs. But his uncle would have stood erect, soldier stiff, awaiting orders. Ben straightened.
“If I can be of any assistance to you, please let me know.” He lifted Ben’s undergarments between two meaty hands and transferred them to the open bureau drawer.
Ben needed a friend in his corner, inside the hotel. And he didn’t want to ask for assistance from too many people. This man seemed to be an honest fellow.
But a little cash incentive couldn’t hurt.
“Ask for Ray downstairs at the counter.” He grinned. “Mr. Morris is the only one calls me Blevins.”
“Thank you, Ray.” He pulled out some crisp bills, but the man shook his head.
“No tipping at the hotel, sir.” The man’s brilliant white teeth contrasted with his dark skin.
He’d forgotten the hotel’s policy. He shrugged and grinned, and then Ray’s features relaxed.
Ben frowned at the dark, liquid-filled cut-glass decanters that covered a low table. “You can remove those from the room.”
Another faux pas—most wealthy young men would be celebrating the premium brandies, sherry, and whiskey contained in the crystal containers.
“Always good to wait on a fellow temperance man.”
“Yes, a temperance man. That’s right.” But Friedrich König would surely imbibe. “At least when I’m keeping my own company. For business, I must keep up appearances or I’ll be considered staid.”
Ray’s dark eyebrows pulled together and then relaxed. “There’s a dance tomorrow night in the ballroom, sir. Sure to be plenty of young ladies there—including some who live nearby. Some you might know, you being from the city and all.”
Fear prickled up the back of Ben’s neck. He could identify most of the elite from Detroit because of his work. Hopefully they’d not recognize him if he crossed their paths. He strafed his hand over his naked jaw. No more th
ick beard. And his unruly hair had been cut in the latest fashion. He’d even begun oiling it and using pomade to keep his thick hair well dressed.
Might he get a chance to see the young lovely he’d spied earlier at the docks? Would the young woman reside in one of the fancy “cottages” that dotted the cliff side like miniature castles? He cringed. Without love and Christian charity, even life in a castle could bring das Elend, complete misery.
Chapter Two
Only a day had passed since Maude’s encounter with the kind stranger at the wharf, but it seemed several had trailed by. She’d tossed and turned all night long as dreams became nightmares, but turned out to be the truth when she awakened. Greyson was married. They’d not be wed this summer. Nor would they run the inn together.
She was thoroughly humiliated, but in her heart of hearts she was more angry than lovesick. For months now, God had seemed to be telling her that Greyson was not the man for her. With Greyson’s marriage, deception’s cloth had been lifted from her eyes—not sheer bridal veil mist but a heavy swath of wool thrown free.
Sitting at her dressing table, brushing out the knots in her hair, her errant thoughts diverted back to the man at the dock. Tall and well dressed, the newcomer to the island had never been on Mackinac before—she’d have remembered. His behavior and strong features suggested a man of purpose.
Rarely had she daydreamed about Greyson. Maybe he was right—she hadn’t loved him, not like when two were to be married. Last night she’d prayed for Greyson and Anna and asked God to help her to forgive them. She chewed the inside of her lip. Next, she’d need to pray to forgive herself. She should have obeyed the prompting of God to write to Greyson at school and share her concerns. Regardless of what he had done, she, too, had a responsibility she’d overlooked.
Three light knocks on the door announced Bea. “Good morning, Miss Maude.”
“Good morning.” She continued pulling the brush through her waist-length hair.
“Wish my hair was so pretty.”
“Thank you.” Maude glanced into the mirror, wishing that, rather than her medium brown hair, she viewed the ebony tresses that were the Cadotte women’s legacy—as was this inn. “Your eyes are beautifully expressive.”
The girl’s cheek turned crimson. “Always give me away, miss. Don’t be wishing that.”
Maude laughed. “Have you heard anything from Sadie?” She set down her boar-bristle brush.
“Yes, I went home and treated my little sisters to ice cream while Sadie looked for work, again. Nice having my own money to spend, Miss Maude.” Bea rocked back and forth in her sturdy black shoes.
She couldn’t help smiling at the girl’s pride in doing something kind. “I spoke with Father last night about Sadie.” She’d not worked up the nerve yet to tell him about Greyson, but she’d have to face him this morning and get it over with. “He’ll address the matter this afternoon with both Mrs. Luces.” Not that Maude expected Greyson’s new wife, Anna, to reinstate Sadie, but Father should at least say something since they’d been paying for Sadie’s help.
“There’s no need.” Bea opened the chifforobe and retrieved a hanger for Maude’s wrapper.
“Why is that?” Maude stood so Bea could help her get ready.
Bea took Maude’s dressing gown from her and hung it. “Sadie’s found a spot.”
“Wonderful!” Maybe it would be easier than caring for poor Mrs. Luce.
The girl examined the garments hanging in the center of the wardrobe, chewing on her lower lip.
“I’d like the skirt that Jane just pressed.”
With Bea’s assistance, Maude soon stepped into her skirt. “Who is Sadie working for?”
“The tavern.”
Maude stiffened. “What?”
“Needed something right away, and Foster had an opening.”
Mr. Foster? The proverbial cat could have gotten her tongue, for Maude couldn’t find another word to say. The man was the worst employer on the island. A bald-faced liar, with the shiny pate to match.
Bea pulled a matching blouse from the armoire. “Don’t you have the church’s social meeting this afternoon?”
Groaning, she held out her arms. “I forgot.” She waited as Bea slipped the sleeve on and then walked behind her to button the back.
“Won’t all those ladies ask about Greyson?”
Maude sucked in her breath as together they tucked her blouse into her skirt band. “I think you’re right.”
“You might be too upset to go to those old biddies’ meeting.” Bea handed Maude her stockings, and she sat on the vanity chair and pulled them on.
“It’s true. I didn’t sleep well.” Maude fished her everyday shoes out from beneath the vanity. “They aren’t biddies—they’ve all been very sweet to me, especially since Mother died.”
“Begging your pardon, but none of those ladies lifted a finger to help us when Pa went missing.” Moisture glinted in Bea’s green eyes.
Maude exhaled a puff of air. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault.” Bea bent and helped wrap the laces over the large black hooks on the shoes and then expertly tie off the bow.
“I best get down to breakfast.”
“I’ve got to run to the kitchen and see if Jane needs help serving.”
Maude followed Bea downstairs. They parted in the hallway, where Jack was just entering the family’s private dining room. Maude strode in behind him and ran smack into the back of her chair at the oval table. “Oh!”
“You’re getting even clumsier, Muddie!” Jack grinned as he moved behind her and pulled her Windsor chair out.
She frowned at him. “Don’t call me that.”
He laughed. “Aren’t you gonna thank me for holding your chair for you?”
“Thank you, Jack.” Praise might not be perceived as such when said through gritted teeth, so she tried again but with a sweeter tone, “You’re becoming quite the gentleman.” Unlike Greyson, who’d not even bothered to warn her he was pursuing Anna.
Father, seated by the bay window, sun streaming in over his shoulder, looked up from his copy of the Free Press.
Oh, no. Too late. She cringed, recognizing his piercing glance. An accusation was forthcoming.
Father’s glasses slid down the narrow bridge of his nose. “I hear Greyson is home.”
Should have realized that by now every islander had likely heard the story.
Jack, now seated opposite her, chomped on a peach, juice trickling down the cleft in his chin. “Yeah, he’s got himself a real purty redheaded wife!”
Removing his reading glasses with one hand, Father snapped his paper closed with the other. “Who’ll run this hotel then?”
“I will.” Maude deftly speared a piece of sliced peach from the blue willow china bowl set before her. Hadn’t she proven she could keep accounting books straight?
Stony eyes glared unblinking at her. She wouldn’t look away. Unflinching, she stared back at her father. When he averted his gaze, she didn’t feel she’d won anything. Disappointment clouded Father’s eyes. A sheen of moisture filmed them, and his complexion remained ashen. Worry gripped her heart as a cramp began in her stomach. He needed to go to the mainland to see a specialist—but he wouldn’t go.
“Maude, we’ve had this conversation many times. I’ve made my position clear.”
One of the maids tapped on the door. “Hot breakfast ready, sir.”
“Bring it in.” Father’s grumpy tone contradicted his command.
The young woman glided past Maude and set a tray before her father. The savory scent of bacon, eggs, biscuits, and fried potatoes tempted her appetite.
“Are ye eating this mornin’, miss?” The servant’s Irish brogue announced her recent arrival in America and her origins.
“Yes, Jane, if you have any left after the guests are served.” They’d had a family arrive earlier than expected. Maude had failed to send to the mainland for extra groceries. She’d been too busy hiding in her room and fr
etting over Greyson. She pressed her hands to her cheeks—what had happened to her? She’d always been so unflappable. But it wasn’t every day a girl got jilted.
Her father frowned. “No need to wait, Maude.”
To wait—for love again? She blinked at her father. Then dropped her hands as he pointed to the tempting food Jane set before her.
Stomach rumbling, Maude succumbed and filled her breakfast plate. Cook had outdone herself with the eggs. And the bacon was perfect. Hadn’t they been out of it, though?
“I ran down to Uncle John’s store last night.” Jack grinned and grabbed an extra biscuit for himself. “Got some extra stuff for that new family we got.”
Father shook his paper out and cleared his throat. “Thought you children should know I may sell the inn.”
Bacon stuck in Maude’s throat, almost choking her. She cleared her throat as icy tentacles of fear seemed to trickle down it.
“You can’t!” At Maude’s raised voice, Jane’s ruddy cheeks reddened further, and she tugged on her frilly apron before slipping out the door. “This hotel belonged to Mother’s family for decades.”
She fisted her hands until her nails bit into her palms. How dare he? What could he be thinking? She loved this gorgeous island—couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Furthermore, Mother had prepared her since childhood to take over the running of the inn—she said per Grandmother’s will that Maude would be inheriting eventually. Uncle Robert, her mother’s younger brother, had yet to meet with Father about the stipulations in the will. But he’d hinted that she should prepare herself. Could it be that Father would sell off the inn and all their properties purposefully, to ensure she wouldn’t be running it? She pushed her plate away, suddenly queasy. “Father, I don’t see how …”
If possible, Father’s skin glowed even paler than minutes earlier. “Quite enough, young lady!”
Young? At almost twenty-one and now with Greyson married, she’d soon be considered—an old maid. She had to do something. “Sorry, Father.”
He scrutinized her face before his features relaxed again.
“Here. Read the local paper—I’m finishing up the Free Press.”
My Heart Belongs on Mackinac Island Page 2
