by Joanna Shupe
“She is managing them on behalf of Hyde, who cannot travel at the moment. I know it’s not ideal but we have little choice in the matter.”
“The other men, sir, the crew members? They won’t care for a woman being underfoot. They’re not thrilled about Carew as it is.”
His construction superintendent was one of the best engineers in the country. Phillip didn’t give a damn about the color of a man’s skin. What mattered was finding the most qualified person for the job, and Carew had more than proven himself on previous projects. These petty complaints had to be thoroughly quashed for things to progress smoothly. “I understand Miss Ashford’s presence is unusual for the men. Believe me, if I feel she’s not up to the challenge, I’ll have her on the first boat back to London.”
Milliken nodded though he hardly appeared appeased. “Fine.”
“I’d like you to meet her.” Raising his head, he found Eva standing a few feet away, clearly waiting for him, and motioned her over. “Miss Ashford, this is Mr. Milliken, the head of Milliken and Brothers. Milliken, this is Miss Ashford.”
Milliken tipped his derby. “Miss Ashford.”
“Mr. Milliken. I look forward to working together.”
She was self-possessed and polite but Milliken did not thaw. His jaw remained tight, lips flat and lifeless. He gave her a brief nod and strode away.
“Well,” she said, facing Phillip. “He seems quite thrilled to have me around.”
“You had to expect it. The workers won’t be any easier to win over, you know.”
“I can handle them. You needn’t worry—this project shall come off without a hitch. In no time at all you’ll be welcoming your first guest.”
He wished he shared her confidence. Surprises were unwelcome with millions of dollars on the line and he’d already had his fair share thus far. “Did you meet Carew?”
“Yes. He was a good deal more welcoming than Milliken.”
“What did you think of today’s ceremony?”
“I thought it was the perfect amount of pomp and circumstance. The reporters were eager and your answers were to the point. A success, I’d say.” She shifted from one foot to the other. “What did you mean when you said you plan to be directly involved in the day-to-day process?”
“Precisely that. I plan to be here every day.” Color crept up her throat and over her cheeks, a reaction he noted with rabid interest. Had she been hoping he would disappear? “If you thought I’d summer in Newport while construction began I am sorry to disappoint you.”
She kept her gaze on the emptying crowd. “No, no. This is your hotel, of course you should do as you please . . .” Her voice trailed off and he had the impression there was more she wanted to say.
“However?”
“No, nothing.” She peered up at him. “It’s just that most of my father’s clients trust the plans and the crew. They don’t bother themselves with the small details and the tedium of the job.”
“That may be the case but last time I checked you were not E. M. Hyde. So let’s merely say I am entirely invested in watching over my investment.”
“I’ll quickly prove to be entirely capable, Mr. Mansfield.”
Mindful of the crowd still milling about, he leaned in a hair’s breadth closer. She didn’t retreat, merely stared up at him with her stubborn chin high in the air, defiance simmering in her wide gaze. “I do hope so, for your sake. You’d best accustom yourself to my presence because I’ll be looming over your shoulder until your father arrives.”
Chapter Five
Eva sat on the stone garden wall, a pile of pebbles at her hip that she organized into shapes and mounds. Squares, rectangles, pyramids. Anything to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.
Phillip Mansfield was nothing like the wealthy patrons she’d encountered over the past few years. This building meant something to him. He actually cared about the result, much more than merely putting his name on the cornerstone. The echo of his words from this morning sat ominously in her stomach, a sour apprehension of all that could go wrong.
I’ll be looming over your shoulder until your father arrives.
And what would happen when her father never arrived? Would Phillip stand over her shoulder like a hawk for two years? Lord above, she’d be an utter wreck by then.
“What are you doing out here?”
Eva glanced up from her rock pyramid and found Nora sauntering along the garden path. Her friend had been out with Julius last evening for dinner so she and Eva hadn’t had a chance to talk since Eva discovered the identity of her boss. Eva was dashed glad to see her friend. “Thinking.”
“Brooding, you mean. I know that look you’re wearing.” Her friend perched on the stone, half turned toward Eva. “Now, why so glum?”
There was no use hiding the news from Nora; she would find out regardless. “The Phillip from the ship?”
Nora’s eyes twinkled and her mouth curved into a knowing smile. “Mr. Love Mark?”
“Turns out he’s Phillip Mansfield, who also happens to be—?”
“Your employer.” Nora covered her mouth with her hand, mirth quickly morphing into horror. “Oh, no. I cannot imagine his reaction. What did he say? Did you tell him about your father? What of Lady Unlucky? Had he heard of the nickname?”
Eva rubbed her brow as she sorted through the mess in her mind. “At first, angry. Said he paid good money for my father and had been promised E. M. Hyde would personally oversee the project. When I explained my father is ill and I would be stepping in until he is able to travel—”
“Wait, I thought he couldn’t travel.”
“True, but Mansfield need not learn that fact now.”
“Oh, goodness.”
“Do not give me that face, Nora. You, of all people, understand why I am doing this.”
The two women had been friends for years and Nora knew how hard Eva had worked. How many years she’d studied and practiced to learn her father’s craft. How her father’s health had deteriorated along with the money. If Eva hadn’t accepted this job, she and her father would soon be destitute. “Almost two years now since Father has been able to work,” she explained. “I don’t have a choice.”
Nora grasped Eva’s hand. “You know Julius would be more than happy to help with your debts, if I asked. So would my aunt and uncle. It’s appalling how terrible your father was with his finances.”
The offer touched her deeply, but this was not Nora’s problem. Eva had to handle this in her own way, not borrowing money and keeping them dependent on the kindness of others. “I cannot disagree, but getting angry won’t solve the past. And thank you for the kind offer, but I need to handle this myself. I’ll think of something to tell Mansfield when the time comes.”
“Perhaps you can stall until it no longer matters. You are talented, Eva. Once he realizes you drafted those plans, he’ll come around.”
Eva wished she shared her friend’s confidence. “He almost sacked me, saying my reputation will cause the crew to believe the site cursed.”
“Oh, dear. Is that not what we feared?”
“Yes, most definitely. To keep from losing the project, I promised to keep my identity a secret from everyone.”
Nora blinked a few times and then swatted at a nearby bee. “Wait, you are not telling anyone other than Mansfield that you’re Lady Eva? What are we to call you in public?”
“I doubt the crew will attend the opera so you may continue using my real name,” she said dryly. “If you visit the construction site, however, I am Miss Ashford. Thankfully Mansfield has agreed to the scheme for now.”
“He has? I find that surprising. Mansfield is not known to be flexible. He’s . . . rigid. Very old money and proper manners.”
After today, Eva believed it. “You make him sound like a stodgy old duke.”
“The comparison is a fair one. His family is at the very top tier of New York society, richer than anyone save the queen.” Nora squinted as she studied Eva’s face. “You
know what else I know about Mansfield?”
The carrot had been dangled and Eva couldn’t resist, desperate for any sort of information. “What?”
“He’s quite handsome.”
Eva rolled her eyes heavenward. “Tell me something I do not already know.”
“Fine. Do you know he has a mistress? At least, he did. One of the most well-known actresses in the city.”
She tried not to react to that news, but the truth of it settled on her tongue like a spoiled sardine. Did you believe him a monk? Of course he has a mistress, one who is probably beautiful and talented. Revered and successful. A worldly woman with social graces, one accustomed to showing men a good time.
In other words, the exact opposite of her.
Nora’s jaw dropped. “You like him.”
“Do not be absurd. He’s my employer. And he’s much too . . . unyielding for my tastes.”
“Come now, this is me. I know you better than anyone so there’s no need to lie.”
“Fine. There was something there, aboard the ship. He was much different.” Nora’s brow quirked in question so Eva continued. “He was charming. Humorous.”
“Do tell.” Nora nudged Eva’s arm with her elbow. “And spare no detail.”
Eva laughed and proceeded to tell Nora about his mal de mer and then the night of the storm. “There were all these open bottles of champagne and we couldn’t let them to go to waste,” she finished with.
“Oh, an act of public service. So what was kissing him, then? Generating your own electricity?”
Electricity, indeed. Eva could still feel it buzzing through her whenever Phillip was near. “A night of drunken hedonism, nothing more. We are entirely unsuited. He actually called me ‘second best.’”
“Well, you can hardly blame him. As far as he knows, the architect who drafted the plans for the Mansfield Hotel is in London.”
A fair point, but Eva was not finished. “He asked why Father was so desperate to marry me off.” Nora gasped but Eva continued, “He also asked if I was in love with any of my fiancés. Can you imagine the cheek?”
Nora looked down and began smoothing the wrinkles in her perfectly pressed dress. “This is all very interesting.”
Eva knew that tone, knew that expression. Knew it well enough to be frightened. “Do not start hatching a plan. Whatever scheme you’re imagining is unwise and unwanted.”
Her friend pushed off the wall and brushed her skirts as she stood. “Eva, you have been engaged three times. Three different men who might have been decent husbands, with their only crime boring you to tears in six months. You wouldn’t have been miserable but none of them put a spark in your eye and brought a flush to your skin. Not one of them affected you as Phillip Mansfield does.”
“But—”
“And there is one thing Mansfield clearly has going for him those other three did not.”
Broad, delectable shoulders? The ability to kiss her senseless? A shockingly low opinion of females in general? Eva could list a hundred reasons how Phillip was so unlike any of her fiancés, but none appropriate for polite conversation. “What?” she asked when Nora fell silent.
“Mansfield lives here, in New York. I also happen to now live in New York, and it would please me greatly to have my closest friend here as well.”
Panic began to flutter inside Eva’s chest, her heartbeat stuttering. Nora was a locomotive when she set her sights on something, barreling straight ahead without considering the consequences for anyone else. “Do not start plotting. I mean it. Whatever you are contemplating, forget it. Even if I were amenable to an American husband—which I am not—my father is in London and I cannot desert him, not now.” To desert him was the height of cruelty, even if he didn’t always recognize her these days. He may not ever recover, but he was still her father. He was her responsibility.
“He would want you to be happy—as do I.”
Eva rose as well, rocks scattering to the ground. “Then leave it alone. A man like Phillip Mansfield would never understand my ambition or me. It would be a waste of everyone’s time.”
The Bowery was no place for a gentleman.
Thieves, whores, murderers, and toughs abounded, these streets a safe haven as the city’s police force had long thrown up its hands and given up here. Street gangs were the Bowery’s ruling class, the saloons their drawing rooms. The sounds of a brawl were as common as ragtime piano.
Anything could be had in these blocks of vice for the right amount of coin. Tattoos, liquor, opium, or a roll in the sheets with a woman—or a man, if that was your preference. Phillip came for a different reason, the one type of physical exertion the uptown men deemed too violent to try.
Sullivan, Phillip’s driver, dodged an oyster cart and hurried to catch up. The Irish-born servant insisted on making these trips with Phillip. “You certain this is wise, sir?”
No, he wasn’t. These outings always happened at night. The Bowery was more dangerous then but there was less chance of being recognized. Phillip took great pains to keep his pastime hidden. He could only imagine what society—including his mother—would think if they learned how he kept himself sane.
But there was no help for it today, not when a pair of sultry brown eyes haunted his every breath.
What if we took advantage of one another?
He wished he could stop thinking about her. Yet the memories were there, dogging him. Forcing him to remember how responsive she’d been, how perfect.
Damn it, he’d liked her. Now that his brain had learned the truth about her, he kept waiting for his body to receive the message. Eva was not for him.
So why did that realization merely depress him?
“You are welcome to wait with the brougham on Canal,” he told Sullivan.
Sullivan made a noise. “And leave you alone on these streets? Not bloody likely.”
They stopped before a three-story brick row house. Other than the address, the dismal storefront had no sign, no mark to designate what lay beyond. Phillip pushed inside and entered a dark anteroom. After a trip down the stairs and along a dank corridor, he reached his destination. He rapped on the door and waited.
A grimy face appeared. Suspicious eyes assessed the newcomer and a toothless smile emerged. “Why, it’s the Prince. What are you doin’ here in the daylight hours?”
“Let me in, Joe.”
The wood swung wide and Phillip strode inside. The familiar smack of flesh on flesh greeted him, and anticipation hummed in his blood. His muscles were tight and ready, energy coursing through him. He heard Sullivan speak a few Gaelic phrases behind him but paid no attention. Head down, he continued to the small changing area.
It had been Sullivan who had introduced Phillip to McGirk’s. After attending a boxing match, Phillip had expressed interest in the sport, prompting Sullivan to suggest a visit here to try it out. The release of aggression and frustration during a bout quickly won Phillip over. The pain and danger caused him to feel alive like nothing else ever had.
The men who visited McGirk’s did not box for sport. They boxed because they had to hit someone, to burn off the rage and helplessness that could weigh a man down. Each boxer was capable of killing a man with his bare hands, which is why they were only fit to fight each other. If you walked out still drawing breath, you were welcome to return.
He stripped efficiently, pulling on a clean pair of woolen drawers and flat leather shoes, which helped one keep from slipping on the canvas. His chest remained bare. He returned to the main room where he found Joe waiting.
Joe tugged the padded gloves on Phillip’s hands then tied the laces. “Anyone here worth my time?” Phillip asked.
“Maybe one or two. Warm up and I’ll see who’s interested.”
Phillip moved toward a large leather bag anchored between the ceiling and the floor. Sullivan trailed behind, reproach hanging heavy in the air. “You sure you want to leave with that pretty face bruised and bloodied in the sunlight, sir?”
�
�Don’t worry about me,” Phillip said.
“Does this have somethin’ to do with your hotel?”
“You could say that.” In fact nothing had gone as planned, not since he’d met Eva. His whole life felt topsy-turvy and he hated it. Her father could not arrive soon enough for Phillip’s liking.
Getting through each day—watching her, wanting her—would be agonizing. How was he supposed to keep his distance while overseeing construction of his hotel? She had obviously hoped he’d disappear and leave her in charge. He nearly snorted. As Sullivan had just said, not bloody likely.
Sullivan braced the bag from behind and Phillip started swinging with a series of punches, jabs, and hooks, keeping to the balls of his feet as his arms worked. After several reminders from Sullivan to “loosen up,” he finally relaxed and let the movements take over. His mind became entirely focused on the task at hand, the rapid and powerful strikes to the thick canvas. Soon he was breathing hard and a fine sheen of sweat coated his skin.
“Prince! You’re up.”
Phillip dropped his arms and spun around, eager to spar against a real partner. He froze for a beat when he spotted the man leaning lazily against the ropes framing the ring.
“What’s he doin’ here?” Sullivan murmured at Phillip’s side. “Thought he was doing exhibition matches in the Southern circuit.”
The man awaiting Phillip in the ring was none other than James “Brick” O’Reilly, a Tammany favorite and one of the most famous boxers in New York. He’d first gained notoriety as a bare-knuckle brawler in illegal matches over in Five Points. One match had lasted eight hours, finishing only when O’Reilly’s blows finally killed his opponent.
Phillip started forward—and then Sullivan caught his arm. “Are you sure, sir? I don’t have a good feelin’ about this.”
“I’ll be fine. I could use the challenge.” He pulled free and climbed through the ropes and up into the ring.
Joe stepped forward and glanced between the two men. “Either of you want me to referee?”
Out of habit, Phillip shook his head. “Not necessary.” Then he caught O’Reilly’s slow grin and wondered over it.
