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Authors: Cara Lynn James

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BOOK: A Path Toward Love
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“Do you wish for me to accompany you?” Andrew asked.

“No, thank you, Andrew,” her father said. “I'll only be gone an hour, I imagine.” The big man propelled himself forward with a burst of energy that Katherine had never imagined possible.

When the front door closed, she turned toward Andrew. “I do hope I'm not making a big mistake.” Once she left Florida, her parents would use every weapon in their arsenal to keep her from returning in the fall for the harvest. But she would return, if she really wished to. No one would physically stop her, but the reality of a business barely limping along, on top of these new revelations about her marriage, had seemed to rob her of any meager wind she'd had left in her sails.

She turned away to the staircase before Andrew could see what was happening in her heart. Charles had deceived her right here, in this house, under her sightless eyes. Remaining in a home filled with such sad memories was far more than she could bear. She pictured Charles clattering down the staircase, valise in hand, as he had so often, calling out that he'd be gone on business for a while. A while usually stretched into days and sometimes weeks.

Andrew cleared his throat and she met his puzzled gaze. “Katherine, one of those letters convinced you to leave here, didn't it?”

She nodded. Collapsing into a soft chair, Katherine closed her eyes for a few moments. What point was a secret between them? “Yes. I've just discovered Charles had a mistress and a child I knew nothing about. He planned to leave me, but he fell ill and died before he had the chance.”

Her voice faltered. Blinking back tears, she said, “I'll have to make a list of all the chores I'll have to do before we leave— assuming Papa can convince Stuart to oversee the property in my absence.”

Andrew took the seat beside her. “I'm so sorry about Charles. Is there something I can do to help?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, but thank you all the same.” She looked up at him. “I was a fool not to listen to you about Charles. Forgive me, Andrew.”

He nodded. “You were young.”

She tossed her head back and groaned. “And headstrong and stubborn. I should've listened to my head, not my heart. You can be sure I'll not make that mistake again.”

His gaze captured hers with a seriousness she hadn't seen before. “Remember to look for God's path for you. To listen to His still, small voice.”

“More good advice, my friend,” she said.

But what if she couldn't discern what the Lord had to tell her?

Chapter Five

A
week later they waited in the carriage, ready to leave Osborne Citrus Groves. Glancing back at Buena Vista, Katherine felt a twinge of sadness. Would she regret abandoning the dreams she'd invested in the business, even temporarily? Memories of earlier hopes for a happy life flooded her mind. None of her expectations had worked out. Buena Vista was a beautiful home, but filled with memories of her loneliness.

Numbness froze her heart, and she doubted it would ever thaw. Yet somehow a few hot tears escaped and rolled down her cheeks.

Her father patted her hand. “You'll get over this, princess. Once we're back at Birchwood you'll forget all about Florida and your citrus groves. You'll have a grand time at camp. Did your mother tell you I added a bowling alley last year, and a new game room?”

She smiled and ignored his unintended jibe about her dreams. Papa was still trying to promise her joy, something he couldn't deliver. Raising her gaze, her eyes met Andrew's, and his sent a message of concern. He seemed to read her mind and discern emotions she'd never admit. It was most disconcerting.

They soon boarded Mr. Wainwright's private railcar attached to the back of the northbound train. The varnish was custom-built by George Pullman to Mrs. Wainwright's exact specifications. Andrew had heard that his boss had paid seventy-five thousand dollars for the
Isabelle
, named after Mrs. Wainwright.

Andrew settled into his stateroom, a compact area with everything he needed—a double bed with brass headboard, a desk, washstand, and wardrobe. Like the parlor, the walls of his stateroom were paneled in mahogany and trimmed with a design in gold leaf.

Surrounded by wealth since the age of ten, Andrew had never quite adjusted to extravagance. Like the millionaires' servants, he lived among someone else's treasures, without owning any of them himself. Yet, unlike the servants, he had luxuries to indulge in because he was part of the family. A cherished nephew, but on the periphery.

He held the best of both worlds in the palm of his hand. With the Clarkes' connections, he received countless opportunities for success in the law—yet he hadn't enough funds to become lazy or even vaguely dissatisfied, chronic conditions plaguing so many sons of privilege.

Andrew unpacked and then wandered into the parlor. His boss glanced up from a stack of papers piled beside him on the plush green sofa.

“Just the man I want to see.” Mr. Wainwright gestured for him to sit in the nearest chair.

Andrew sank into a coordinating seat, overstuffed with the softest of cushions.

“You remember that trunk line for sale in California? Well, I might buy it, especially if I can get it at a lower price. I've made inquiries. I hear they might be ready to sell this fall, for much less than their asking price.”

Andrew nodded. The line from San Francisco down to San Diego was already profitable and worth a lot of money. “It's a good opportunity.”

“The owner is returning from abroad in September. I'd like to go to California to negotiate, but it seems Mrs. Wainwright has other plans. There's a wedding of some cousin of hers in Boston the same month. It's a nuisance, but she has her mind set on attending, and I don't have the heart to turn her down.”

Andrew kept his amusement from invading his smile. He doubted Mr. Wainwright had ever turned down that domineering wife of his.

The big man leaned forward, holding out a sheet of paper. “I'd like you to go to California in my place. I anticipate you'll only be there for a week or two. The entire trip should take less than a month.”

Accepting the paper, Andrew glanced at the details of his itinerary. “Thank you, sir. I'll look forward to it.” As Mr. Wainwright's private legal counsel, this assignment was the most important given him to date. “I'm most grateful for the opportunity. Thank you.”

Mr. Wainwright nodded, apparently satisfied. “Good. I know you'll do an excellent job.”

Together they reviewed Mr. Wainwright's potential offer and all his detailed instructions over cups of coffee and a midmorning snack of Danish pastries made within the
Isabelle
's well-equipped galley. When Mr. Wainwright adjourned to his stateroom, Andrew cupped the back of his head in his hands and let a grin spread across his face.

“Why do you look so self-satisfied?” Katherine swept into the parlor, a partially refurbished hat and a bag of feathers and flowers in hand. She took her father's spot on the sofa. She wore a gray-green traveling suit, appropriate for a widow but hardly a flattering color. Yet she flashed the first truly relaxed smile he'd seen since his arrival in Florida, and she looked young and beautiful again.

He pulled his attention back to her question. “Your father just gave me a big assignment. I'll be heading west this September.”

“Why, good for you! No wonder you look so pleased.”

“I'm thrilled,” he admitted.

“I have no doubt you deserve the assignment,” she said, examining the plain straw hat. She glanced up at him. “My father doesn't lend his trust readily; I'm glad you've conquered that hurdle.”

Deep pleasure from her secondary praise rose in waves of heat and probably stained his face tomato red.

“Do you enjoy working for my father? He's a dear man to his family, but I don't know how he treats his employees.”

“He's a stickler for detail and getting things exactly right. We work hard, and he rewards us with fairness and respect. What else could a man ask for?”

Katherine nodded, then riffled through her small bag and pulled out pieces of pink ribbon, rose tulle, and clusters of silk roses interspersed with something small and white, maybe baby's breath.

“That'll look lovely on you,” he said, envisioning Katherine topped with the wide-brimmed hat boasting as many flowers as a garden. It might threaten to overwhelm her delicate face, but those luminous blue eyes would still dominate.

A smile turned up the corners of her lips. “Oh no, this isn't for me. It's for my maid Etta Mae. She loves pretty things. I want to finish it so she can have it before we reach New York.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I have a feeling she'll quit once we stop in the City.”

“Why would she do that?”

She shrugged her narrow shoulders. “Because she wants to experience New York. She's lived in the country all her life, and she's tired of it. Who would blame her, with the opportunity so literally at hand?”

“Not you, I take it.”

Katherine laughed. “Of course not. I love the citrus groves and the sounds of crickets and tree frogs, but she doesn't. She thinks there's more to do in the evening than just catch fireflies in a jar. I'll miss her, but if she's happy, then I'll be glad to let her go.”

“That's very generous of you.” Most ladies would show at least displeasure at the departure of an efficient servant. But Katherine had always helped others without even realizing it. “And I'm sure a new hat will be a kind send-off.”

“Well, thank you, Andrew, but I'm not doing anything special. Decorating hats is no chore. It's my favorite way to relax.” She tilted her head and gauged the top of his. “I can make over one of your straw boaters, if you'd like. Should I add a handful of daisies or would you prefer pink carnations?”

He smiled back at her. “I think I ought to stick with a plain, black band,” he said.

“Ah, well. I'm hoping to spruce up many more hats once I'm at Birchwood. It'll fill up some of the hours I might idle away otherwise. I can't imagine being content just making social rounds with my mother. Not after growing accustomed to the constant demands on my time.”

“If you're looking for a way to keep busy, decorating hats could be a useful summer project. Maybe you could turn your hobby into something more meaningful.”

“What a splendid idea, Andrew. I could design hats for a few of my friends. If they were lovely enough, they might even pay me. I'd donate any profits to charity, of course.” Then she sighed and shook her head. “But my mother would never approve.”

“Approve of what, Katherine?” Mr. Wainwright asked as he entered the parlor. “Here's more information about that trunk line.” He handed Andrew a sheaf of papers.

Hesitating for a moment, Katherine quickly regained her confidence. “I believe I might try my hand as an amateur milliner. Just for the season, of course. I'd donate any proceeds to that orphanage you support in New York.”

Her father's jaw dropped. “You're quite right, your mother would never approve. Besides, you need not work at all. This summer is about rest for you, recuperation after all your trials in Florida. I'll gladly give you whatever you want.”

BOOK: A Path Toward Love
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