The Valiant Hearts Romance Collection

by Kristin Billerbeck

  At least temporarily.

  Thankfully the little parade had stopped on the steps of the Gazette, oblivious to the incident. Henry leaned against the side of the mercantile and watched Miss Morgan receive each urchin’s package, then reward him with a coin. When all members of the group had dispersed, Miss Morgan began to stack the items to carry inside. The bundles listed dangerously toward the street, and several seemed about to burst at the seams.

  Miss Morgan looked as though she could use some assistance. A perfect invitation to an accidental meeting. Henry smoothed his lapels and strolled as casually as he could toward the woman in blue. Until he could make other arrangements, he’d just have to see to Miss Morgan’s safety himself.

  “Well, good morning,” he said with a politician’s practiced smile. “Fancy meeting you again.”

  Helen jumped, and a paper-wrapped parcel went flying, nearly hitting a farmer square in the back of his head. Mr. Hill showed his athletic prowess by catching the bundle before it landed on the sidewalk—or the farmer. A quick flip of the politician’s wrist, and the item lay in her arms once more.

  “Thank you,” she managed to whisper, “b–b–but I can manage, really.”

  “Nonsense.”

  He nodded to a passing citizen, who called him by name, then turned his attention back to her. Helen made the silly observation that his eyes were just a shade lighter than his hair. His smile seemed just for her, as if he’d created it special and saved it just for this moment. She shook off the romantic notion and squared her thoughts and her shoulders as she watched Mr. Hill heft an inordinately large pair of boxes onto his left shoulder.

  “Where do you want these, Miss Morgan?”

  “No, really,” she said as she scurried behind him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

  Ignoring her comment, he set off toward the door. “You cannot leave these packages on the street corner, and I’ve seen the womenfolk this paper deems suitable for employment. While they are pleasant to view, not a single one of them, yourself included, could be termed particularly muscular.”

  Not like you. Her face flushed with heat. What a simpering idiot I’ve become.

  Before she could protest further, the politician had deposited the packages on the counter and returned to gather up an armload of items. She followed his lead, removing a box or two from the steps while he stole her breath by taking twice as many on each trip.

  “What is going on?” Penney called as Helen dropped a box of newspapers atop the heap on the counter.

  “I’ll just put these on the floor,” Mr. Hill said as he positioned a pair of small barrels against the wall and strode back outside.

  Penney smiled. “Why, Helen, it looks like you’ve found a knight in shining armor.”

  The heat in her cheeks turned up a notch. “Oh, hush.”

  Penney giggled. “I would help, but then the job wouldn’t take nearly as long, and your knight would have to disappear back to the castle far too soon.” She said the last of the words just as Mr. Hill walked back in with another armload of items.

  “Something wrong?” he asked as he straightened his hat and pressed his hand over his lapel.

  “No, nothing,” both women said at once.

  He gave them a quizzical look, then headed back to his work. Penney’s giggles followed Helen as she ducked back outside.

  In short order, the items were stacked inside, and Helen found herself standing on a busy sidewalk staring at one of the most public figures in San Francisco. Perspiration glistened at his temples, and his damp hair clung to his forehead beneath his hat. His starched collar hung a bit limp, and a smudge of dirt decorated his right cheek. As heat-wilted and mussed up as Henry Hill looked, the politician was still the handsomest man she’d seen in quite a long time.

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, arms crossed. Helen braved eye contact only to look away. On the street, a horse nickered, a patron of the local mercantile shouted a salutation to a passerby, and a pair of nicely dressed young ladies offered Mr. Hill a giggle and a greeting.

  All the while he kept his gaze fixed on her.

  Say something.

  “I don’t know how I would have m–m–managed without your help, Mr. Hill.” Wonderful, Helen. You sound like a simpering idiot. And a Morgan does not simper.

  The politician looked around as if he was trying to find someone. “My pleasure, I assure you,” he mumbled.

  Helen followed his gaze and saw nothing but the usual collection of San Franciscans going about their daily business. Something caught his attention, and he seemed instantly distracted by it. Only a tug at his watch chain and the checking of the time on a gold pocket watch seemed to change his focus.

  Did he have an appointment elsewhere? Helen tried not to feel disappointment. Of course her knight in shining armor had just been an ordinary man coming to her aid. No ordinary man, she corrected, but a busy attorney and possibly the next mayor.

  “I’ve kept you from your duties far too long, s–s–sir.”

  He seemed surprised that she spoke. “What? No, you see …” He paused and cast another quick glance over his shoulder before surprising her by turning his dark gaze on her. “Forgive me,” he said.

  “We seem to be saying that to each other quite regularly.”

  Another long silence fell between them. Finally, Mr. Hill cleared his throat and placed his hand on her arm. “With your permission, I would like to change that.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”

  “What I mean is, I would like very much if …”

  Another maddening pause. Helen had to remind herself to breathe.

  “Forgive me,” he said, then chuckled. “If only I had a vote for every time I’ve said that to you.”

  “And I to you, Mr. Hill.” She took a step backward and winced when her shin collided with the steps. “So now that we have that s–s–settled, I’m afraid I really must return to work.”

  Chapter 6

  Henry stood on the sidewalk like a fool and tried to think of something witty to say. What was it about this woman?

  “Wait!” he called, but the doors had already closed behind her. He looked around and saw nothing untoward. No thugs lurking in the shadows or other oddities held him there. Why then did he follow Helen Morgan inside the offices of the Gazette, the very place where he’d humiliated himself venting his anger only days ago?

  To keep her safe, he decided as he picked his way through the packages and barrels to reach the counter. Once the thugs had been caught, he and Helen Morgan would part ways. Until then, he had a duty to protect the innocent woman he’d unintentionally involved in a potentially dangerous situation.

  “Excuse me,” he called, but instead of Miss Morgan answering his call, another young lady appeared from behind the boxes. He vaguely remembered her as the woman whose handbag he’d retrieved from the Independence Day celebration. The same woman he’d upset along with Miss Morgan on his last visit to the newspaper.

  “Hello, I’m Penney. May I help you?” she asked brightly.

  If only he hadn’t made such a fool of himself before. Where to start?

  Penney leaned against the counter and gave him a sideways look. “Is there something wrong?”

  “Actually, yes,” he said. “I owe you an apology. I was terribly rude before, and I—”

  “Don’t give it another thought.” The woman waved away his concerns with a sweep of her hand. “I would be upset if I were in your shoes, too.”

  “Yes, well, thank you.” He tried to effect a casual demeanor. “Would Miss Morgan be about?”

  “About what?” Penney covered her mouth with her hand and giggled. “Sorry,” she said a moment later. “I couldn’t help that one. Why don’t I go and fetch Helen?”

  She disappeared, and soon Henry heard whispers coming from somewhere behind the boxes. The whispers became a bit louder, a bit more insistent. One voice belonged to the young woman, the other, h
e decided, must be Miss Morgan. Unfortunately, any understanding of the words spoken escaped him.

  And then Penney returned. Alone. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hill. I told her she had a visitor, but I can’t seem to budge her from her desk.”

  So, he’d been spurned. Worse things had happened, to be sure, and yet it stung. “I see.”

  Penney’s face brightened. “So there’s nothing left to do but go to her. Follow me.”

  Henry followed Penney through a maze of desks and chairs and the odd table or two until she turned abruptly. There, in the farthest corner of the building, sat a desk that looked very much like his—piled with papers organized in neat but towering stacks. Atop one stack was a thick volume of Shakespeare’s tragedies, and beside another lay a battered copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility.

  So the woman knew about politics and enjoyed Shakespeare. Interesting.

  Behind the desk sat the object of his concern—and consternation. When she saw him, she stood.

  “Penney!” Her cheeks flushed the most interesting shade of pink as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You know I don’t want visitors back here.”

  “Mr. Hill is not a visitor, are you, Mr. Hill?”

  “I know you’re busy, Miss Morgan.” Henry stepped forward as much to garner Miss Morgan’s attention as to shield Penney from her coworker’s ire. “I assure you I’ll be brief.” Her countenance softened a bit, but the color remained high in her cheeks. “All right.” She began to drum her fingers on the surface of her desk. “Be brief, then.”

  “Have dinner with me.”

  “Dinner?” Penney and Miss Morgan said the word at the same time.

  “Yes,” Penney said with a grin.

  “No, thank you,” Miss Morgan answered a second later. “I have plans.”

  “Nonsense,” Penney said. “What time?”

  “Penney!” Helen protested. “I demand you both remove yourselves at once.” She turned her wrath on poor Penney, who merely broadened her smile. “I can accept my own dates, thank you very much.”

  “Then you do accept,” Henry said. “Excellent. I’ll call for you at half past seven so we can dine before the opera.”

  “Dinner and the opera? Wait, you don’t even know where I live,” he heard as he stepped outside.

  Helen narrowed her eyes and stared at Penney. “I cannot believe you actually made a date for me, in my presence. I am not a child. I can answer for myself.”

  Penney shrugged. “Oh, you answered for yourself,” she said as she turned and began to walk away. “You just gave the wrong answer, so I corrected it a bit.”

  “Corrected it a bit?” Helen followed Penney back to the typesetting table. “I’d say that telling a man I would have dinner with him when I specifically said I would not is somewhat more than ‘correcting it a bit.’”

  “Oh, now don’t be angry.” Penney reached for the tray of letters and began to arrange them on the table. “It’s just one evening, and he does seem to be a nice fellow.” She pressed her palms to the table and looked Helen in the eye. “Besides, what did you have planned that would be more fun than having dinner with one of the most eligible bachelors in San Francisco?”

  “For your information, I had planned to finish Sense and Sensibility this evening.”

  “Jane Austen again?” Penney rolled her eyes like a petulant child. “Dear, I love Miss Austen’s novels as much as the next person, but I will never choose one of her books over the possibility of a lovely evening of male companionship.”

  “Who’s spending a lovely evening with a male companion?”

  The pair whirled around to see Mr. Madison standing at the door.

  “Helen,” Penney said quickly. “She has plans for the evening with a gentleman caller.”

  Helen slid Penney a warning look. Was her friend blushing? She shook her head.

  With that, she began to make her way back to the solace of her little corner. Perhaps a few hours with her receipts and numbers would fade the humiliation she now felt. To her surprise, Mr. Madison appeared at her desk a moment later.

  “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, Miss Morgan.”

  She waved away his apology and picked up a pencil. “There will be no ‘lovely evening,’ because the man doesn’t even know where I live.”

  “Actually,” Mr. Madison said slowly, “he does now.”

  Helen dropped her pencil and watched it roll onto the floor. “What do you mean?”

  Mr. Madison grinned and began to study his ink-stained nails. “I told him.”

  Somehow, Helen managed to get through the afternoon, although she knew she’d spend the next morning double-checking each column she’d added to be certain the tallies came out right. At a quarter to six, with Penney’s prodding, she dropped her pencil into the drawer and reached for her reticule. Slipping Sense and Sensibility inside, she rose to walk past Penney and the others with as much dignity as she could manage.

  She’d almost reached the door when Penney came rushing up, her shawl pulled over her shoulders and her handbag under her arm. “I’m going with you,” she said as she pushed on the door and strolled outside.

  “On the date?” Helen asked.

  “No, silly,” Penney said. “I’m going back home to help you get ready.”

  “I assure you I’m quite capable of dressing myself,” Helen said, but a short while later, standing in the room she shared with Penney, she began to doubt the truth of that statement. It seemed as though each dress Helen pulled out of the armoire was rejected by Penney. Finally her friend sent Helen off for a perfumed bath while she picked out a “suitable outfit.”

  “You’d think I was headed for an audience with the queen,” she muttered as she sank into lavender-scented water.

  “I just want everything to be perfect,” Penney called.

  Helen submerged herself in the warm water up to her chin. “Why?” she called. “Are you worried I might not get another chance?”

  Penney arrived with a towel and an uncharacteristic frown. “No, but I am worried that you won’t accept another chance.”

  At ten minutes to seven, Helen donned a green frock that had been languishing in the back of her armoire. Leftover from her days back East, the dress was one she couldn’t bear to part with and yet had never expected to have use of again.

  Father had issued his only compliment of her adult years in regard to that frock. “Why, Helen,” she remembered him saying, “you look stunning, simply stunning.”

  She also remembered waiting for the qualifying “but” that always came after a kind word from her father. When he merely stood transfixed and smiled, she marked the moment both in her journal and in her mind. She also promised herself she would keep the dress forever.

  Penney fussed with Helen’s hair until Helen could stand it no more. “Enough, Penney,” she said as she attempted to stand.

  Her friend placed her hands on her shoulders and pressed her back into her chair. “A few minutes more and no longer, I promise.” She struggled to tame an obstinate strand into submission, then tied in a green ribbon. “There, all done.” She handed Helen the mirror. “What do you think?”

  Helen peered into the mirror, and her breath caught in her throat. Her hair, always hidden beneath serviceable hats or pinned out of the way, fell in curls and wound around a ribbon perfectly matched in color to her dress. A lump gathered in her throat, and tears stung her eyes.

  Penney knelt beside Helen. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her face stricken.

  “No one’s done this for me in such a long time,” Helen whispered.

  Her friend looked confused. “What do you mean?”

  She took Penney’s hand in hers. “My mother used to play with my hair for hours. She would braid it and tie it in ribbons, anything we could think of to do with it. When I tired of letting her fix my hair, I would take a turn with hers. After she died, there was no one to fix my hair. At least no one who could do it like she did.” A sob caught and held just
out of reach. “I miss her tonight.”

  “Oh, Helen,” Penney whispered. “I’m so glad we’re friends.”

  A knock at the door sent Penney scurrying. Helen followed a step behind, her heart pounding.

  “Go back in there this instant, Helen Morgan,” Penney said. “Don’t you know the first thing about courting?”

  “No,” Helen said, “actually I don’t.” She pressed past Penney to touch the doorknob, her reticule dangling from her arm. “And furthermore, I have no desire to learn.”

  Penney placed her hand over Helen’s and drew her back from the door. In a deft motion, she removed the reticule from Helen’s arm and opened it.

  “Just as I thought,” she said and made little clucking sounds of disapproval. “One does not bring Miss Austen on an evening out with a gentleman.” She pulled Helen’s copy of Sense and Sensibility out of the handbag and placed it on the table nearest the door. “Now, if you insist, go ahead and open the door, but if I had things my way, I’d send you off to the other room and make Mr. Hill wait a bit. It never looks good to be too anxious, if you know what I mean.”

  “No, I don’t know what you mean. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Helen opened the door and lost her breath, all in one hurried moment.

  The politician wore black, and he carried the loveliest bouquet of flowers she’d ever seen. If only she could form the words to thank him.

  Instead, she squeaked something that she hoped would pass for gratitude and let Penney take over. Somehow, the flowers ended up in water, and she ended up in a lovely coach with a handsome politician heading down Coromundel Street to dinner and the opera.

  As Mr. Hill gave directions to the driver, a hymn-singing fellow of lengthy years, she couldn’t help but think that this was a scene that even Miss Austen couldn’t have written.