by Aubrey Wynne
“It seems fate has stepped in,” beamed her grandmother.
“Oh!” Fenella clapped a hand over her mouth. “There was a tiny glitch.”
Her grandmother raised an eyebrow.
“When Mr. MacNaughton—Ian—asked about my family, I mentioned that Papa was gone. Before I could finish my sentence, telling him where, Ian had interrupted me with assurances he would not pry. I’m certain he thinks Papa is dead.” She studied her dusty leather shoes. “Then he made a comment about women not considered for such positions and I forgot about it until now.”
“Humdudgeon! Be sure to set him straight when ye return.” Aileen reached out and squeezed Fenella’s hand. “Now, we should celebrate. I’ll see what I have in the kitchen and make a special sweet for this momentous day.”
“First, I must find Rose and then write to Evie. It is so exciting.” Fenella stood and twirled around, giving herself a tight hug. “A month ago, I wanted to hide behind the potted plants at Almack’s. Tomorrow, I will begin a position that could provide me with independence.”
“And what would ye do with such freedom?”
“Not worry about dances, or stepping on toes, or making appropriate, mundane conversation.” She stooped to kiss the top of her grandmother’s white kertch that covered most of her gray hair. “Or husbands!”
“Never say never, lass. It will bite ye in the backside when ye’re no’ watching.”
*
That night, the women nibbled on Grandmama’s shortbread and a new imported tea purchased on their last outing. Fenella licked the remaining sugar from her mouth and wiped a caraway seed from her lip onto her tongue, relishing the last of the special treat. The fire crackled, Aileen’s rocker creaked cheerfully, and Rose sat in the corner, mending and humming an old lullaby Fenella remembered from childhood. The maid’s clear, sweet voice had sent both sisters into a restful slumber countless times over the years.
“Rose, lass, ye should have this last biscuit,” said her grandmother. “Ye only had one, and we’ve had several.”
“Thank you kindly, ma’am.” Rose stood, walked over to the table, and picked up the piece of sugared fruit. The glow of the fire cast red streaks in her gleaming black hair. “You should retire soon, Miss Fenella. Tomorrow is an important day.”
“I still don’t see why you can’t eliminate the ‘miss’ while we are here,” she said with exasperation.
“I’ve told you. If I were ever to slip in front of Lady Franklin, I’d be out on the street.”
Fenella sighed, then covered her mouth to hide a yawn. “My clothes are laid out and ready. Is the carriage ordered, Grandmama?”
“Aye, I spoke with MacGregor, and he’ll bring ye to the mill as he did today. But he willna wait tomorrow, so ye’ll have to tell him what time to return.” She pursed her lips, eyes narrowed. “And he’ll be looking out for any randy Scots.”
Merciful heaven! “I beg your pardon?” Fenella froze, fists clenched and nails biting into her palm as she avoided her grandmother’s eyes. She recognized the teasing tone but knew an explanation was expected. She’d only confided in her maid, worried about her grandmother’s reaction to a total stranger kissing her in public. She met Rose’s amused, but startled, dark eyes. Then it must have been the footman, who also served as Aileen’s driver.
A low chuckle brought Fenella’s gaze back to the older woman. “Sit back down, child. Ye’ve no’ told me everything about yer visit to the mill.”
“MacGregor told you?”
Aileen nodded. “But I’d rather hear yer version of the story.” She patted the stool next to her and began rocking again. “Give an old woman a wee diversion, eh?”
“Well, it had begun to rain,” Fenella said, lowering herself onto the stool. “I had my head down and ran into this man. I swear I’d hit a stone wall, he was that solid. Tiny stars danced before my eyes before my legs gave out. I must have fainted for when I woke, I was in the man’s arms.”
She paused, remembering the sensation, and the same warmth flooded her body again. His breath had been hot against her cheek as she stared up at the deepest blue eyes she’d ever seen. And so handsome. Divinely handsome.
“And then?” her grandmother prompted.
“I made some ridiculous sound, and he said ‘aye,’ and he kissed me.”
“Just like that?”
She nodded. “After a bit of staring at one another, yes.”
“Go on, lass!”
“I recovered from my surprise and demanded he put me down. He did try to apologize, but I could tell by his smile that he was far from sincere.” Her jaw tightened, remembering the man’s smug look. “Because after he released me, he said there was nothing he’d enjoy more than to do it again.”
“The rogue!” her grandmother cried with a laugh. “What did he look like?”
With a deep breath, Fenella closed her eyes and remembered the man’s features. “A straight nose, eyes the color of the blue ocean on a sunny day, thick chestnut hair—a little shaggy in my opinion—and a square jaw. His smile…” The thought of those soft lips, turned up to reveal straight white teeth, sent a shiver through her.
“But ye’ve no idea who he is?”
“No, he set me down, and I stormed up the steps. But I have a suspicion that he’s connected to the mill.”
Rose gasped. “You didn’t mention this earlier.”
“I didn’t think of it before. He must have been coming down the steps as I was going up.” She tried to recall the scene just before her collision with the human wall. “I suppose I’ll find out soon enough if he is.”
Another throaty chortle came from her grandmother. “This will be a curious summer, to be sure.” She stood and hugged Fenella. “I’m so happy ye came to stay. Now, off to bed with ye. And no dreaming about handsome men, or ye’ll be tired on yer first day.”
As Rose helped her undress for bed, Fenella’s mind wandered back to the three men she’d met that afternoon. Two of them would be at the mill tomorrow, but her heart told her she had not seen the last of her mysterious rescuer. And against all reason, she hoped her heart was right. Perhaps he ran one of the machines or was an overseer.
“What has you smiling, Miss Fenella?”
“I’m just happy,” she murmured.
For the first time in her life, she was not dreading her future. Rather, Fenella Franklin felt as if destiny had taken her by the hand, and she couldn’t wait to see where it led her.
*
The dawn broke, promising a beautiful day. Fenella lay in bed, her cheek against the soft linen of the pillow, remembering her dream. Her pulse pounded and vibrated all the way through her body. That arrogant, attractive, infuriating, unforgettable man had the nerve to invade her sleep. She closed her eyes, her palms skimming down her nightrail to ease the thumping low in her belly. Instead, the cad’s face grinned at her, and heat flushed her cheeks. Something about the color of his eyes nagged at her. Would she see him today? Tomorrow? She was certain they would meet again.
Climbing from the bed, her toes gripping the cold floor planks, she opened the window and sucked in the crisp morning air. Goose bumps prickled her arms, and she hugged herself.
“Hello to you, brilliant Glasgow.” No reply from the brick homes facing her. The fog was dissipating, sneaking back into dark corners and leaving the cobblestones glistening under the morning sunshine. A coal wagon rumbled up the street, the driver in his homespun clucking and pulling on the horses’ reins. He stopped next door. Their neighbor was a widow who ran a modiste shop downstairs and lived in the two upper floors. A grimy, young boy jumped off the back, lugged a black sack over his shoulder almost as tall as he was, and disappeared around the corner of the adjacent building. A dog followed the lad back, jumping on the boy’s sooty wool breeches, and whined when the wagon lurched forward and lumbered on.
“Hullooo, scroungy little mutt. Looking for a scrap, are you?” The small brown and white dog perked up its ears and looked up at her. It
s tail wagged furiously, flinging a light spray of mud in all directions. He answered her greeting with a high-pitched bark, then stopped to scratch behind his ear.
A knock sounded, followed by Rose peeking around the door. “Ah, good, you’re up. Ready to start the day?”
The maid held a gown of dark blue serviceable cotton that would have made Lady Franklin cringe. Or break out in a rash, Fenella thought with a giggle. The only adornment was tiny pale blue lace scallops along the cuffs and hem of her skirt, and a matching ribbon cinched just under the bustline. After exchanging her nightrail for a thin shift, donning the short stays, and finally the petticoat, Fenella raised her arms one last time for the dress. It fell to the floor rather than floated as her muslin or pretty gauzes would. However, with the colder temperatures this far north, she’d appreciate the thick layer.
“I think the spencer will do rather than the long pelisse, Rose. I can slip it off easily if I get too warm in the office.” As she searched for her flat leather shoes, she wondered if she would need something sturdier for the mill. Boots might be a better choice.
“Now, let me do your hair. Do you want a few curls as I did yesterday?” asked Rose.
“No, for today I think just a simple chignon.” Fenella hated pushing back the curls when she was working. With her head bent over multiple ledgers, the dangling locks would often block her side view. “And no fancy ribbons or pins. I’m an employee, not a daughter of an ambitious London mother.”
They both chuckled at that. Rose smoothed back a stray hair and handed her the straw bonnet with the dark silver ribbons.
“How do I look?” Fenella asked, turning in a slow circle.
“Like a governess,” she answered, her nose scrunched in dislike. “How long must you wear these plain clothes?”
“I have no idea,” Fenella said cheerfully.
“Why a lady would want to wear such drab fixings, I cannot understand.”
“Take comfort that I’m wearing fine linen and silk beneath this dress. Now, a bit of breakfast and I’ll be ready. Have you eaten yet?”
Her maid nodded. “Yes, I ate with MacGregor. He’s getting the carriage ready now.”
Fenella’s stomach jumped. This was not a dream. “Why am I feeling my nerves now? You’d think yesterday would have been the day to fret.”
“Some food in your belly will make it right again.” Rose pushed her mistress into the hall. “Now go and remember every detail. And keep an eye out for another handsome Scot for me.”
In the dining room, her grandmother was pouring coffee. “Would ye like a cup?”
Fenella shook her head. “I haven’t acquired a taste for it, but tea would be lovely.”
A small iron pot sat in the center of the table. She took off the lid and scooped some porridge into a bowl with the wooden ladle. The steam rose under her nose. Her mother never allowed oats to be served. Another reminder of Lady Franklin’s common childhood, she supposed. Adding honey and cream, she sank her spoon into the mixture and sighed.
“Are ye ready for yer first Scottish adventure?” asked her grandmother.
She nodded. “As ready as I will ever be.” Taking the offered cup of tea, she smiled as she stirred in the sugar. “What if I don’t go home, Grandmama? What if I do enjoy this position and want to stay in Glasgow?” Her heart pounded, torn between the thought of not seeing her family every day and a desire to jump into this new venture headfirst. But caution tugged at her.
“Nothing would please me more, my dear. Ye ken ye are welcome here for as long as ye want to stay. But let’s not measure the milk before we’ve even brought the cow in from the field.” She smiled when Fenella let out a laugh. “Now finish eating. Ye have work to do.”
It was a sunny morning, and MacGregor had brought the phaeton around. A stocky man of about fifty, his keen brown eyes were usually narrowed and his wide mouth turned down in a habitual frown. Today was no exception. His red hair was receding and faded, but he still had the energy and strength of a much younger man. He helped her into the new vehicle her grandmother had purchased after the sale of the book shop. It was lower to the ground than many she’d seen in Hyde Park. It also had a half-hood in case of rain, and shiny, black mud fenders that curved over the wheels to form a step. Fenella settled next to him on the cushioned leather seat and tied the bonnet straps under her chin. MacGregor shook the reins gently and clucked to the horses, deftly maneuvering the pair of bays through the narrow streets.
They left the residential neighborhood and turned down a side street. She sat back to watch the pedestrians already filling the lane. The commercial area was bustling with horses and wagons and peddlers pushing carts to unknown destinations. Two women haggled with a costermonger over the price of day-old bread. One pulled a coin from her apron pocket, then put it back and shook her head. The baker shrugged and wagged his finger before handing over the loaf. The woman gave him the coin and a broad grin.
A small girl trotted to keep up with her mother, clutching the back of her skirt with one hand. In her other fist, she dragged a tattered brown blanket behind her. A tall man hurrying by stepped on the tail of it, snatching it from the child’s hand. She gave a squeal and turned back to retrieve it. The woman stopped and adjusted the sack she carried. Then she squatted down, wrapped the blanket around the girl’s neck, and set off again at a brisk pace. This time the mother clutched her daughter’s wrist, the child’s small legs half-running to keep up.
“A basket has been packed for ye, Miss Franklin. Yer grandmother said ye’d be needing something to eat before I picked ye up.” He jerked his head behind him. “Cold meat pie, biscuits, and some of her shortbread to have with tea.”
“Papa took several tins of the sweet bread home with him. I’d wager at least one never made it across the border.” She clutched the seat as the vehicle turned onto Cheapside Street, a wider, busier thoroughfare.
MacNaughton Textile loomed to their right. Fenella thought it looked like some huge gothic manor from one of Evie’s romance novels. The stone was aged and gray, no embellishments or intricate carvings, with dull opaque windows reflected the morning sun. This could be a new beginning, an exciting future.
Her heart beat furiously as the wheels crunched to a stop. MacGregor stood and looped the reins to a hook on the other side of the front panel. He made his way down and around the phaeton, then handed her to the ground. This time, he followed her up the stairs.
“Thank you. I will see you at three?” Her stomach was twisting and turning now. Excitement and nerves. She wasn’t sure the hearty breakfast had been a good idea.
“Aye, Miss. If ye need me before that, just send word. There’s always a boy or two around, ready to run an errand for a farthing or ha’penny.” He pulled open the great door and poked his head inside. Satisfied, he stepped aside and gave her a nod.
“I assume it’s safe to enter? No marauding Scots who might accost my person?” She bit her lip, holding back the smile as his craggy face turned red. “Thank you. It makes me feel safe to have you watching over me.”
“I willna be caught off my guard again, Miss Franklin. Ye can be sure of that.” Then he tipped his hat to her as she entered.
Fenella could feel him watching while her eyes adjusted to the dim light, and she strode purposefully between the rows of power looms. With one hand in the air and the basket in the other, she waved farewell to MacGregor as she disappeared around a corner. She made her way up the stairs, her soft shoes gathering dust against the rough wood. Yes, boots for tomorrow.
As she reached the next landing, Colin emerged from the office with another Scot at his side. She stopped, her feet like lead. It was him. She’d recognize that arrogant smile in the dark. The two men spoke, Colin clapping the other on the shoulder, and then they parted. The mystery man continued up the next flight of stairs.
She watched him slowly disappear. First, the shining chestnut waves brushing against a carelessly tied cravat, next his broad back stretching a fine li
nen shirt and Apollo gold waistcoat to its limit, then the dark kilt and well-muscled calves that wool stockings could not hide. Her mouth went dry.
Chapter Six
Giggles and Gaffes
“Weel, if it isna the lovely Miss Franklin. We didna scare ye off, then?” boomed a deep baritone.
She dragged her gaze from the handsome spectacle ascending the steps and forced a smile, although her heart pounded almost as loud as the taunting voice. “Good morning, and no, Mr.—Colin, I do not frighten so easily.”
“Come in, please. Ian’s waiting for ye.” He held out a massive hand to take her basket. “Let me help ye with that.”
Fenella had a fleeting image of Colin picking her and the basket up as easily as a loaf of bread. The thought put a genuine smile back on her face. “I’ve brought some repast for later and some of my grandmother’s shortbread. I’d be happy to share.”
The smile transformed the giant’s face. He was quite handsome in a dark, rugged sort of way. Lines creased the sides of his cheeks like long dimples, and his blue eyes flashed with amusement.
“I’ve never turned down shortbread. Tell me what time, and I’ll be here.” He ushered her inside the office. “Ian, the woman isna only clever but comes bearing gifts. Her grandmother’s shortbread.”
Ian rose with a grin. “I’ve no’ had any since I was home last. Ma makes a fine effort but nothing like Lissie’s, er my wife,” he explained. “We’ll have to compare.”
“A contest it is, then.” Fenella set the basket next to the chipped desk, the seductive man on the stairs now gone from her mind. “I’m ready for my first day.”
Ian promptly opened a ledger and pulled out a chair for her. They sat side by side for the next two hours as he went over a list of the mill’s customers and expenditures, the monthly recurring bills for supplies and deliveries, and the weekly wages.
“Is this correct? A clothing allowance for each employee?” she asked incredulously. “You pay for their clothes?”
