by Danni Roan
“Ms. Middleton,” he called, striding toward her. “Won’t you let me call you a cab?” He spoke precisely, tamping down on his bogue self-consciously.
“Ms. Melissa, who is this man?” the blonde man spoke, “Why is he following you?”
Melissa laid a hand on the man’s tailored sleeve. “This is Carl,” she said, a haughty tone entering her voice. “Carl, this is Mr. Miller, an old friend of my brother’s.” She smiled up at the man admiringly and the hackles along Carl’s neck bristled. “Carl works for my father, Paul,” she added coldly.
Carl stopped a few inches away, her words piercing his heart but reminding him of who he was, what he was. He was nothing but a bare-fisted brawler from the wharf area. A dock hand who’d been given a job.
Tipping his head to the gentleman, who now held Melissa’s hand captive where it rested on his arm, Carl forced a smile. “Good-day to you, Mr. Miller. As Ms. Middleton said, I work for her father and I was only trying to ensure that she arrived home safely.” His eyes were cold when he spoke again. “We wouldn’t want her to come upon the wrong sort.” He knew his voice had an edge to it, but he tried to dull it with an outstretched hand.
Mr. Paul Miller took the proffered hand and shock it lightly. His hands were soft and smooth. No scars marred this dandy’s knuckles.
“I was just offering Ms. Middleton a lift home myself,” the man spoke again. His hazel gaze roamed over Melissa’s form. “For her brother’s sake of course.” He smiled, giving the young woman’s hand a reassuring pat.
“Isn’t that considerate of him,” Melissa simpered, turning her green gaze on Carl.
He couldn’t read her expression; it wasn’t like Ms. Middleton to sidle up to strange men. As a matter of fact, in the whole time that he’d known her, he’d never seen her favor any of the young men who came to her parents’ home or parties.
“I’ll be quite alright, Carl.” Her words were dismissive. “You can report to father tonight.”
Melissa turned to Paul Miller, offering him her brightest smile. “I accept your offer, Mr. Miller. You are indeed a true gentleman.”
Carl watched as Melissa was handed into a shiny new carriage, then followed by Paul, who whisked her away.
A deep angry growl reached his ears and he turned, looking for the inevitable mongrel only to realize that the animalistic sound was coming from his own throat. He curled his hands into fists, wishing for something to strike, then stormed back to the office in a red haze.
Chapter 3
Melissa settled into the plush interior of the fancy coach and gazed out the window. Paul was saying something but she couldn’t focus on what it was, so instead nodded occasionally. She knew her behavior was beneath her, but frustration had made her careless.
The frustration and hurt of the day had built up in her until she’d struck out trying to hurt Carl, trying to make him show some feeling toward her.
“So you’ll go!” an excited voice intruded on her dark thoughts.
“Excuse me?” she questioned, wondering what in the world she might have agreed to.
“The Harvest Dance,” Paul said, “you’ll go with me.”
Melissa blinked at the man for several moments, trying to piece together what he had been saying. Apparently he’d been asking her to attend the Harvest Dance with him. Perhaps this was the way to get to Carl. Perhaps if she went out with another man, he’d realize what she meant to him.
“Yes,” she finally replied, “yes, I’ll go but only if I can bring a friend.” Her heart warmed as she thought what a perfect opportunity it would be to take Niamh to a party.
“Delightful,” Paul beamed. “I’ll call for you and your companion at eight on the twenty-second, then.”
Melissa smiled a secret smile, then started at the happy expression on her companion’s face.
***
Carl slammed the office door so hard, he was sure he’d cracked the glass in the pane as he threw himself into his desk chair. What a fool he’d been, what a terrible fool.
He knew it was only a matter of time before Melissa Middleton found someone right for her. Someone from her social circle. She was young, and smart, and beautiful, and wealthy.
It wasn’t her fault his ridiculous heart had grown to care for her over the days and weeks and months they’d worked together. He would have to come to grips with the situation. It would be best if he put the whole thing out of his mind and concentrated on his work.
Sitting up, he looked at the ledger that lay open on the desk before him, but the words and figures refused to make sense to him. All he could see was the girl of his dreams climbing into another man’s carriage.
Closing the ledger with infinite care, he stood and left the office. Old man McKenna would settle his mood. This time he left the office without slamming the door.
A half an hour later, his tightly wrapped fists thudded into a heavy canvas bag suspended from a chain at the old wharf barn. Carl hadn’t been back since the day he’d climbed onto the back of that buggy two years before.
“You’ve always had it in yak’ son,” an old man’s voice croaked at him from the other side of the bag. “n quick on da’ feet and lightenin’ with the fists.”
“Kenna, I did na’ come here ta jaw wit’ ye.” Carl let his native land possess his tongue. “I needed to blow off some steam an’ this was the best place I could think to do it and not land in the jail.”
“Where ya been hidin’ yarself then lad?” the old man grumbled. “Not seen hide nor hair of ya’ since two years past. I even come ‘round to yar place and you was gone from there.”
Carl leaned back from the compact stance he’d taken while he jabbed at the bag, standing tall and looking at the old man, but with his elbows still tight at his sides, fists raised.
“Now why would ya be lookin’ fer me any how?” he said, his blue eyes searching his one-time trainer’s face.
“Folks was wantin’ ta know where ya’d gone to,” McKenna said, non-committedly.
“What folks?”
The old man shifted his stance against the bag, his eyes looking off in the distance. “Folks as were makin’ money when you was fightin’,” he said.
Carl McHain tensed his shoulders and struck at the heavy medicine bag with his whole weight. McKenna came off his feet and landed in a heap on the floor.
“No one had a hold on me then, nor do they have one on me now,” McHain barked, his eyes flashing with anger.
“I never said they did, son.” The old man leaned back on his elbows. “On’y said they was lookin’ fer ya.” There was no anger in the man’s voice and Carl stretched out his hand to help him up.
“I’ll thank ye ta keep my visit here quiet, then,” Carl finally said, beginning to pull the thick cotton wrapping from his hands. “I’ve left that life behind and I’ll not be comin’ back to it.”
Old McKenna laid a twisted hand on Carl’s shoulder. “Ya should na’ have come back son. Good as it was to see ya, you shouldn’t a’ come. Go on with ya then, you’ll have to find another way to blow off steam from now on.” He chuckled, but his eyes were sad.
***
Melissa scurried toward Carl’s cottage on the far side of the property. Originally the small house had been a home for their head groom and his family, but he and his wife had moved to their own place in the country now, leaving their son in charge of the horses. Michaels saw no reason to leave the accommodations above the stables, so Carl and Niahm had their own place to live.
It was already well past dinner and still Carl hadn’t come to see her father. She was sure something must have happened to him and she felt like a heel for the way she’d treated him earlier. Besides, she wanted to tell Niahm about the harvest dance.
Melissa smiled to herself as she walked. She’d apologize to Carl and let everything get back too normal.
Her hand had barely touched the door when it was jerked open and Niahm stood there looking concerned.
“Oh,” she said, loo
king up with worried eyes. “Mel, I thought…” she trailed off as she peeked behind her guest. “Never mind,” the girl sighed. “Please come in.” She turned, brushing dark brown hair from her shoulders.
“I take it Carl isn’t back yet?” Melissa spoke as she entered, stripping off her gloves.
“Non” Niahm said. “I thought maybe that was him at the door, then when I saw you I was sure he must be with you.” The girl’s blue eyes were worried.
“I didn’t come to see your silly old brother, anyway,” Mel spoke cheerfully, despite the pit that had opened up in her stomach. “Let’s have a nice cup of tea. I have a surprise for you.”
Niahm was delighted that she’d be able to accompany Melissa to a dance and they sat at the small kitchen table late into the night discussing what to wear and what shopping needed to be done.
“That’s far too much for one dance,” Niahm said finally as the evening wore on.
“Nonsense,” Mel chided. “You’re like my own little sister and it will be my treat.” She touched the side of her nose conspiratorially, “Not a word to your brother now, you hear. It’s our little secret.”
“What’s a secret?” Carl’s voice carried from the front of the cottage as he came through the door.
“It wouldn’t be a secret if we told,” Melissa said, peering at him carefully.
“Where ever have you been?” Niahm had jumped to her feet as soon as her brother entered. “I was worried. You haven’t been out like this since…” her voice trailed off when he curled his hands into fists. “Carl have you been…”
“No,” he snapped, making the girl gasp. He never raised his voice to her. “No,” he said more gently, “that’s behind me now.”
Mel stood, realizing it was time to go. For a long moment she studied Carl’s face, wondering where he’d been all this time. She knew he didn’t gamble and he seldom drank, so where had he been?
Her heart plummeted at the thought of a woman. Where else would a handsome young man be until this hour, but out with a woman?
“Well, I see you two have much to discuss,” she snapped, the pain in her chest gnawing at her like a trapped animal. “I trust you stopped to speak to Father on your way home.” She hated the way she sounded, but she couldn’t keep the hurt out of her voice.
“I’ll walk you back,” Carl offered.
“No,” she replied flatly. “I’m sure I can find my way to my own house, even if I am only a woman.” Without another word she left, slamming the door behind her.
“You’ve been boxing again, Cathal Oisin McHain, and don’t you deny it to me!” Niahm turned on her brother, eyes flashing. “I can see it in your hands.”
“I swear, ma chroí,” Carl began raising his hands toward her, “I haven’t.”
“Don’t go ‘your hearting’ me,” Niahm stood, hands on her hips. “I can see the marks of the wraps plain as day.”
“Niamh,” his voice was soft. “I went to McKenna’s and had a go at the bag, I promise I’m not boxing.” He lifted his hands toward her, knuckles showing, “Would my hands look like this if I had been?”
The girl squinted her eyes at his outstretched hands, taking them in hers and turning them. Even now she could see the white scars plain across his large hands.
“Aye, I’ll believe you then,” she said, stepping in and hugging him tight. “You shouldn’t go down there though. That’s not our place anymore.”
Carl pulled his sister to him. She’d grown a good deal in the past two years. She was becoming a young lady now and was already a beauty at age thirteen.
“Come and have your supper now.” Niamh pulled away from him, dragging him to the table by the hand.
“What was Ms. Middleton doing here?” Carl asked, his voice gruff.
“Looking for a grumpy old billy goat by the looks of things.”
“Niahm?”
His sister placed a plate before him before replying and he knew she had something special to say.
“She’s come to inform me that I will attend the harvest dance with her in two weeks’ time.” Her eyes sparkled with delight. “It will be my first real social, I’m so excited!” She leaned her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands as her feet fairly pranced.
Carl smiled despite his concern. It was true he was earning a good income and the fact that his housing was included had made their lives easier, but he still didn’t feel he should be laying out money for a dress that would hardly ever be worn.
“Niahm, I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said, holding his fork poised above his plate. “Dresses can be pricey.”
“I know. Mel and I talked about it and she said I should have a present for all of my hard work and study.”
Carl’s eyebrows furrowed. “I’ll not take charity,” he barked, his gaze hot.
“It’s not charity, Cathal.” His sister stood, crossing her arms across her middle. “Mel’s going to have a few of her old dresses remade so that they’ll fit me.”
“I still don’t like it.”
“You don’t like anything anymore, Mo dheartháir.”
Carl resisted the urge to look over his shoulder at the door where the source of all irritation had just exited, but Naimh’s use of the word brother, said so sweetly, touched his heart.
“If you have your heart set on this fancy dance, I won’t stand in your way,” he finally sighed, lifting his fork.
Niamh’s enthusiastic squeal and equally enthusiastic hug made the food he’d just lifted from his plate drop back down, but he smiled anyway.
Chapter 4
A gentle tapping on the office door disturbed what was usually a quiet morning, snapping the tension in the room like a twig.
“Yes.” Melissa stood from where she’d been looking over Carl’s shoulder. They’d found a discrepancy in the tea stores and were trying to ferret out where it had come from.
“A Mr. Miller is here to see you Ms.,” the middle aged secretary spoke briskly.
“I see,” Mel said, smoothing her dress and patting her hair dramatically while watching for Carl’s reaction. “Send him in.”
“Good morning. I do hope I’m not intruding,” Paul spoke as he entered. “Don’t you look enchanting, Ms. Middleton,” he gushed, bending over her hand.
Carl hauled himself from his chair and stood towering over Melissa, his broad shoulders blocking the light from the window and casting Mr. Miller in shadow.
“I know it’s presumptuous of me but,” the other man spoke hurriedly, “I was in the area on business and thought it might be pleasant to take you to lunch.” He smiled broadly, his smooth, white, even teeth flashing.
Carl forced a snarl into a sneeze. The man had teeth like a cow.
“How very thoughtful of you,” Melissa said. “We were just going over the books.” She lifted an ink-stained hand in the direction of the desk.
“How progressive of your father, letting his daughter work,” Paul said, still maintaining that infuriating smile.
Carl watched as Melissa stiffened at the slight, and waited for the terse words he was sure were dancing on her tongue.
“Well, I really just keep an eye on things you know,” the girl twittered.
Carl could feel his nails digging into his palms, but he kept quiet.
“I’m sure Mr. McHain can carry on without me, can’t you Carl?” she added with a smile.
“Of course Ms.,” Carl replied, his blood pounding. “I’ll do my very best.” It was almost a relief when she took Paul’s arm and left.
As the door swung shut, Carl situated himself in his chair and turned back to his work, forcing himself to concentrate in the deafening silence of the room.
Hours later when Melissa returned, Carl simply explained that he’d found the problem in the ledger and corrected it. Somewhere along the way a clerk had transposed a number and the error had been passed along until it had come through in the final count.
“That’s good work, Carl,” Mel spoke, laying h
er hand on his shoulder as she looked at the book. “I’m pleased you found the mistake, something like that could have cause real trouble down the line.”
“So happy I could help out,” Carl’s words were sharp, “it is after all what I’m being paid for. Now shall I fetch Charlie or is Mr. Miller escorting you home?”
Hot tears sprang to Mel’s eyes as the tone of Carl’s voice cut to the bone. “Please fetch Charlie,” she managed, holding back the hurt in her voice.
Carl could tell that he’d hurt Melissa by the slump of her shoulders and he felt like a heel. What right did he have to feel jealous of her? He reached out a hand, wanting to apologize, but no words would come. Instead he opened the door and headed to the barn.
Melissa Middleton let the tears slip from her eyes as the door closed. How could the man be so mean? She knew her attitude earlier had been condescending and guilt squirmed in her chest at how she’d treated him when Mr. Miller was present.
“I can’t really blame him,” she sniffed, wiping her eyes with a kerchief. Slowly she walked to the window and stood looking down into the tiny stable, watching for a glimpse of Carl. It had become a ritual, the one time she could look at him without him noticing.
She watched him lead the heavy carthorse from his stall and begin to buckle the harness to the cart. His usually smooth motions were jerky and when he pulled too hard on a harness chain, tugging the line tight, Char cocked a heel and turned his head with a huff.
Mel couldn’t help but smile as Carl turned apologetically to the horse, patting him on the hip momentarily to soothe the animal.
Perhaps her ploy was working, perhaps Carl was feeling jealous of her meetings with Paul. Melissa Middleton smiled. She’d been playing games with the upper crust of Boston her entire life, she could surely master one stubborn Irishman.
The whole way home she kept stealing glances at Carl as he slouched on the seat, holding the reins negligently in his hands. Once again she was thankful for Char’s unerring sense of direction as the brute carried them through heavy traffic and on toward home. He was an ugly animal, with no redeeming physical characteristics, but the one-time cab horse was dependable.
