The American Heiress Brides Collection

by Carter, Lisa; Davis, Mary; Dietze, Susanne

The woman had piqued his interest. There was no walking away from this assignment now. She might not have told him her secret yet, but she would. He bowed slightly at the waist. “I am at your disposal, Miss Eison.”

  “Thank you.” She didn’t say anything more, simply tugged on her worn leather gloves and started for the front entrance. Matt followed in her wake, the blue material of her skirts swaying in a lovely rhythm with each step.

  Dania didn’t speak again until they were settled in a hired carriage. “It’s really no big secret, why I need to go to Mr. Shonkwiler’s. It’s just I don’t want it to get back to the folks at home.”

  Well, that sounded interesting. Maybe Miss Eison was more like the heiresses he knew than he’d first thought. He leaned back into his seat. “Well, if the fabric isn’t for you, maybe it’s for your younger siblings?”

  Dania glanced at him. “Do you promise not to tell anyone?”

  “I’m a reporter, Miss Eison. It’s my job to tell people’s secrets.”

  “All right then.” She turned to look out the window.

  Oh, for Pete’s sake, her secret couldn’t be that newsworthy. “Fine, your secret is safe with me. But I do ask one thing in return.”

  There was a wariness in her eyes when she turned to look at him. “What would that be?”

  “Please.” He leaned toward her. “Call me Matt.”

  Her lips trembled into a slight smile that sent his pulse racing. “Okay, Matt. As long as you call me Dania.”

  “Dania.” The name still struck him as unusual, yet he liked the way it came off his lips. “So? What’s your secret?”

  “Are you always this nosy?”

  He shrugged. “It’s a vice of the trade.”

  “A very annoying vice,” she huffed, fiddling with the reticule in her lap.

  “For those with something to hide.” Matt waited for her response. If past experiences were anything to go by, Dania would either clam up or give him a dressing down.

  Her laughter surprised him. “You must be terribly good at your job then.”

  Something about her response made his heart do a little flip in his chest. Matt shifted away from her slightly. “Only if I can get people to talk.”

  “Which, I’m certain, you have no trouble doing.” Color stole into her cheeks making her eyes an even brighter shade of blue. “It’s nothing really. I just noticed that most of the children who work in our mill are in need of clothes. So I thought I’d buy some material and offer it to their mothers. Those without anyone at home who sews, I’ll make clothing for.”

  She’d just given him his confirmation. There were children working at the Eisons’ mill, the information Evers wanted, yet her explanation was so unexpected. Most mill owners concerned themselves with their profits, not the basic needs of their young employees. Were the Eisons different? Or were they working some kind of angle he hadn’t uncovered yet? “You’re not doing this out of your company store, are you? Because those families might want food on the dinner table more than clothes.”

  “I don’t understand.” Confusion clouded her expression. “What do you mean by a company store?”

  He’d have to push a little harder. “Your employees might not be able to manage the bill for both.”

  Sudden anger flashed in her eyes. “I’m not charging for the fabric. It’s a bonus, along with the boots I’m having made for them.”

  Sweet mercy. Giving away clothes and boots without a thought to her profits. If true, Dania was full of surprises. “That’s a strange philosophy for a business owner.”

  “Yes, well.” He felt her relax slightly. “I feel that mill owners have a moral obligation to make sure their workers are fed and cared for. It’s like my papa always used to say—you can’t expect a person to understand the goodness of the Lord when they’re cold or hungry. I think it works in business, too.”

  Strange indeed, Matt thought. Had this been her father’s idea, or was Dania doing this behind his back? Did it really matter? It was an incredibly kind thing to do. “Why did you want to keep it a secret?”

  She gave a small sigh. “People have their pride, even those without very much. I didn’t want word to get back home that this is anything other than what it is: a benefit of employment. If folks thought it was something else, they might refuse the garments, and that would be bad for the children.”

  She’d considered the workers’ feelings. No business owners did that, at least, not the ones Matt was acquainted with. But then he’d known Dania was different from the moment he saw her kick her assailant in the shin. She took care of herself and those around her. Maybe that’s why she’d drifted into his thoughts at odd moments last night. Despite everything Senator Evers had told him about Dania, she was telling him a different story. Not of a self-absorbed heiress, but of a woman who took her responsibilities seriously.

  He hadn’t expected to like her, but he did. He liked her very much.

  “Matt, are you all right?”

  “Just thinking,” he answered, trying to put his jangled thoughts back in some order. “What does your father say about all this?”

  “My father?” Her lips trembled slightly.

  Matt didn’t know why, but he felt a sudden need to put his arms around her and offer his shoulder to lean on. Reassure her everything would be okay. Instead, he took her gloved hand in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “You want to talk about it?”

  “It’s just that …” She sniffled then glanced up at him, her lashes wet with unshed tears. “My father passed away a few months ago. Since then, I’ve been running the mill.”

  “You …” The carriage came to a stop before he had a chance to ask the million questions running through his mind. Why had Dania been left in charge? Was there no Eison male relatives to take over the family business? And if she felt such a moral obligation to her workers, why did Dania still employ children?

  Chapter 4

  The morning flew by. Mr. Shonkwiler was everything Dania had been told to expect, helping her pick out soft yet durable fabrics that even the youngest of her charges would have a tough time ripping. The prices he’d given her left enough money to buy several bolts of white cotton for undergarments and bedsheets.

  Waiting at the counter for the bill, Dania glanced over at Matt as he studied fabric samples. Talking about her father’s death had been impossible these past few months, yet with Matt, it had felt right, as if he alone understood.

  He glanced up at her, and she jerked around, her cheeks suddenly warm. She didn’t make it a habit of staring at men, though in all honesty she hadn’t noticed that many before Matt. Maybe it was because she’d caught him watching her a time or two. Well, as far as she was concerned, turnabout was fair play.

  Dania turned her head to find him watching her again. “What?”

  He shook his head. “Excuse me?”

  “You’ve stopped asking me questions, but now you’re studying me like I’m some animal in the zoo.”

  “I’m sorry.” He came and stood in front of her. “I just find you … interesting.”

  Her, interesting? “You need to get out among young people more.”

  He chuckled. “You don’t think you’re interesting?”

  “No,” she huffed. “Why would I?”

  Matt watched her for a second longer than was comfortable. “Are you asking my opinion?”

  “You’re the one who thinks I’m interesting, not me.” And not anyone who really knew her. To most, she was simply Dania: reliable, practical Dania. They found nothing remotely interesting about that.

  “Well,” he began. “You’re a woman in a man’s world, yet you’re running your family mill on your own terms. You care about the people who work for you—so much so you’re taking some of your profits and putting clothes on their back, which I think is quite admirable.” He leaned toward her, close enough to where only she could hear his next words. “You’re too lovely for your own good. And I can tell from the color in your cheeks that yo
u don’t take compliments easily.”

  Dania’s heart skipped a beat as Matt stepped away. He thought she was lovely? She thought he’d expected someone with a little more polish, more like the debutantes at the Peachtree Driving Club. What would he think if he saw the calluses on her hands? Or the old shirt and linen pants she wore to work on the equipment at the mill? If he saw her then, he wouldn’t find her nearly as interesting.

  She didn’t have time to thank Matt before Mr. Shonkwiler hurried back. The pencil trembled in her hand as she wrote down her address for the delivery.

  She thanked the tailor then turned and placed her receipt in her reticule. This was silly, of course, these emotions Matt sparked inside of her. She had a community that depended too much on the jobs she provided to be allowed to have her head turned by the first handsome man to pay her any notice. A brief flirtation, maybe? No, she’d never been one for such nonsense. She was simply too practical for that.

  “What are you thinking about so hard?” Matt asked as he took her elbow and steered her toward the door.

  A warm tingle ran up her arm, and she had to stop herself from leaning into him. “How did you know I was thinking about anything?”

  There was a soft smile in his voice. “I just notice things.”

  “Like what?”

  “People’s expressions. A scowl here, a tiny line there. It helps me figure out what question to ask next or whether to take the interview in another direction entirely.”

  Goodness gracious. She prayed the man couldn’t read her mind! “That must come in handy in your profession.”

  “Very.” He slid her a glance. “Like you, for instance. You nibble at your lower lip when you’re deep in thought.”

  She did? She’d never known that. “Anything else?”

  “You normally smile a lot, but you’re a little out of practice, probably because of your father’s passing and the responsibility of running the mill.” He gently squeezed her elbow. “That’s a lot for one woman to take on.”

  She stiffened. “You don’t think I can manage the family business because I’m a woman?”

  “No, that’s not what I meant at all.” Matt turned to face her, concern written in his expression. “I just think it doesn’t give you very much time to mourn your father, whom you clearly adored.”

  Matt was right. Since Papa’s passing, she’d thrown herself into running the mill, implementing changes, trying to convince the parents of her young charges they needed to be in school, not working from dawn to dusk. Only in the quiet of her bedroom, when it was just her and the Lord, did she pour out her sorrow for the one man who believed she could move mountains. “I miss him.”

  Matt walked her to a nearby bench. As she sat down, he settled in next to her. “Tell me about him.”

  That was all the invitation she needed. Over the next hour, she shared stories of Papa’s dry sense of humor, of his concern for their small community, of his love of the Lord and his family. With each memory she shared, it was as if Papa was with them. Matt had been right. Talking about her father made her feel unmeasurably better.

  He must have sensed she was finished because he pulled out his handkerchief and handed it to her. “You okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you for listening.” She blotted the snowy white square against her lips and inhaled Matt’s clean scent. “I don’t know about you, but I could do with a cup of coffee and a sandwich.”

  “Is it lunchtime already?” He pulled out his pocket watch and glanced at it. “One o’clock.”

  One o’clock! If she didn’t hurry, she’d miss Mr. Young’s secretary and any chance she had at meeting him. But she hadn’t had a real meal since what? Yesterday morning? If she didn’t get something in her soon, she might pass out in front of Mr. Young, and that wouldn’t do. “Well, maybe a quick bite.”

  “Good, because I made reservations for us at a nice little café around the corner.”

  Any other time, the action would have irritated her, but with Matthew, she only smiled and took the arm he offered her. “Pretty confident I’d have lunch with you.”

  He shook his head. “No, just ruled by my stomach. Besides, you need a break after all the work you’ve done this morning.”

  She chuckled. “I don’t call buying material and arranging for a boot maker to come to Tifton work, Matt.”

  “Maybe not, but it should be. You went through more fabric swatches than my mother when she’s making a quilt.”

  Dania felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. “Well, if you had suggested jeans for the boys earlier, it wouldn’t have taken so long. That was a brilliant idea.”

  “I’m sure Mr. Shonkwiler would have suggested it eventually.” Matt looked down the street then back at her.

  Was it her imagination or was the man blushing? She lowered her gaze. “Still, what made you think of giving the boys those?”

  “I had a pair when I was growing up.” Matt opened the door to the café then stepped aside for her to enter. “Ma must have figured the expense would be better than constantly mending my clothes.”

  Dania waited as Matt talked to a primly dressed waitress. He’d probably been a rambunctious little boy, always into something, trying to figure out how the world worked. What kinds of activities had he liked? She’d wondered what it would have been like to go fishing or climb trees. Whatever Matt did, it had to be more exciting than the hours she spent learning every aspect of the mill.

  “You’re thinking again.” His low whisper rumbled against her ear.

  She waited until they were seated at their table before answering. “I was wondering what things you liked to do when you were a little boy.”

  “Not much,” he said, staring at his menu. “There wasn’t time.”

  Why had he not had time? She lowered her menu to look at him. “But you said your mother spent all her time mending your clothes. I thought you must have torn them climbing trees or something.”

  Matt glanced up at her. What she saw in his gaze caused a sudden ache in her chest. “I didn’t play a lot when I was a kid.”

  “But—”

  He interrupted her. “I worked from the time I was seven.”

  Matt worked as a boy? “What did you do, sell newspapers after school? Or did the grocer hire you to make deliveries?”

  He hesitated. “I was a threader at the Perkinson Mill in Athens.”

  Dania’s heart sank. Her father had refused to do business with Marvin Perkinson. Said he was a tyrant to his family and even worse to the children who worked for him. “How long were you there?”

  “Almost ten years.”

  That didn’t make any sense. How could he go to school if he worked long hours at the mill? How did he get into college? “But I read you graduated from the University of Georgia. How could you go to school if you worked twelve hours a day?”

  “I studied for two hours every night and Sunday afternoons after church.” His smile had turned melancholy. “I didn’t want to work in a mill for the rest of my life.”

  “I don’t blame you. And the university?”

  He focused his attention back on the menu. “I was offered a full scholarship.”

  A full scholarship. She’d known the man was intelligent, but it had taken more than smarts to get him into the university. “That took a lot of get-up-and-go.”

  “Ma called it plain old stubbornness.”

  “She must be mighty proud of you.” She relaxed a bit into her chair. “Is she still in Athens?”

  “No, she and my sister, Mary, live here in town. Mary is on scholarship to Agnes Scott.”

  “So determination runs in the family.”

  Dania glanced down at her menu. “I keep telling the children education is important. That’s why we started a mill school during the middle of the workday. We furnish lunch and provide instruction in math and reading during the hottest part of the day.” She glanced up to find him staring at her. “What?”

  “You really think about those k
ids a lot.”

  “Every waking moment, and sometimes in my sleep.” She chuckled.

  “You know, most people wouldn’t do that.”

  Dania was all too aware of that fact. Her father, for all his goodness, thought her ideas a bit too progressive for the textile industry. Now that she was in charge, she fully intended to live up to her convictions concerning the mill.

  Or at least most of them.

  “You’re very different than what I expected.”

  Dania grimaced. What exactly had the man expected? Queen Victoria or something? “You must not be keeping company with the right kind of ladies.”

  “Miss Eison,” he replied, his lips turning up in a crooked smile. “Is that your way of asking if I’m courting someone?”

  “Of course not,” she stammered, scorching heat flaming her cheeks. Why would she care if the man was in a courtship or even engaged for that matter? “Are you?”

  “No. What about you?”

  She shook her head, strangely relieved by his response. It was time to change the subject to something less personal. “Why am I not what you expected?”

  “Well”—he cleared his throat, his cheeks ruddy as if he was actually ashamed of himself—“I figured you would be more like Mr. Perkinson’s daughters.”

  “I’m nothing like those two.” Dania pressed her lips together. “Heddy and Matilda Perkinson are more interested in the number of flounces in their skirts than the poor people who work for them.”

  “You’re right. You are nothing like them. Will you please forgive me for my assumptions?”

  Dania bit her lower lip then released it. It was perfectly normal for Matt to think that way. He had worked under Mr. Perkinson’s iron rule. Yet she wanted him to judge her for herself, maybe even like her just a little. “Working for their father like you did, I can understand why you might have drawn that conclusion.”

  “Still, it was wrong.” Matt’s gaze softened. “I hope you can forgive me.”

  The man said it with such conviction, almost as if he hated the thought that he’d hurt her in some way. Without thinking, she covered his hand with hers. “There’s nothing to forgive.”