Love on Assignment (41 page)

“Congratulations, Horace! And Mother, best wishes!”

Daniel leaned back against the veranda railing and stared at the happy couple through new eyes. He suspected the wiry little fellow, a few inches shorter than his tall, frail mother, had romantic inclinations. But after several years of courting, Daniel wasn't sure Horace would ever progress to marriage. He was an excellent catch for his difficult mother. Daniel felt sure Horace would soften her and smooth out her sharp edges. Her life with his father had been intolerable. She deserved a second chance at happiness and the Lord had given her one.

“There's no reason for us to wait. The sooner we can arrange for the ceremony, the better. It will be a simple affair with just family and friends. We'll take a trip to Boston and then I'll move into his charming home on Narragansett Avenue.”

“That sounds wonderful.”

Vivian nodded. “But first I'll interview governesses. Without me here to supervise, caring for the children will be too much for Mrs. Finnegan. But don't worry, Daniel. I'll hire a capable, mature woman, not some young and flighty thing who might have designs on you.”

Daniel winced. “Mother, you're totally wrong about Charlotte. Despite her mistakes, she's kind and unselfish. And if it wasn't for her, my picture would've been on the front page of the
Rhode Island Reporter
with my student Missy Le Beau. I have a lot to thank Charlotte for.”

Vivian's mouth dropped open. “Grant you, she finally came to her senses, but her spying on you in your own home is unforgivable.” Her face scrunched with distaste.

“She's very apologetic, Mother. And she deserves to be forgiven.”

“Perhaps, but don't give her more credit than she deserves.” Vivian's voice held a note of uncertainty.

“You're forgetting her good qualities. The children love her. She's playful and high spirited and—”

His mother sighed. “Yes, she was a conscientious and fun-loving governess. So perhaps she wasn't as ill-suited as I first supposed.”

“Are you going to sell Summerhill or will you keep it?” Mr. McClintock asked.

Daniel shook his head, glad for the change of topic. “I'm not sure. There's much to pray about and consider.”

TWO WEEKS LATER Daniel watched the whirl of wedding preparations from the sidelines. Vivian organized an intimate ceremony at the campus church with a small reception at Summerhill. She invited a few family members from Boston, neighbors, and summer friends, and hired extra help for Chef Jacques. In record time her favorite Newport dressmaker designed a simple cream gown, tasteful for a woman of her age, and galvanized an entire force of seamstresses.

Two weeks later the wedding day arrived with a burst of sunshine and cool late summer breezes. Only a few puffy clouds floated across a deep azure sky. At two o'clock Daniel walked his mother down the aisle of the campus church, grateful for her happiness. She leaned heavily on his arm, and he wondered if her nerves caused her weakness or an unfortunate resurgence of her heart problems. Her insistence on a quick wedding brooked no disagreement.

As the pastor declared the couple man and wife, Daniel prayed they'd have a joyous marriage. His mind wandered to his own life, not blessed with much happiness lately. Loneliness for Charlotte soaked his spirit, destroying the peace and joy he usually experienced. Before the altar he gave his mother to Horace and wished he and Charlotte were standing together in front of the minister pledging their own love and fidelity.

Moments later, Vivian and Horace became a newly minted couple proudly walking down the aisle to the strains of the joyous recessional. Despite her fragility and hesitant footsteps, his mother looked lovely as she beamed at her guests. Ruthie marched behind the couple, still strewing the leftover rose petals from a straw basket, tears glistening in her eyes. Tim pulled at his too tight, starched collar as he followed along with Daniel.

They returned to Summerhill, which was decorated with pink and white roses from the garden, and had a delicious luncheon with melon, soft-shelled crabs, squab, and salad, followed by ices and cake in the dining room.

Daniel would've enjoyed it, he mused, if hadn't felt so alone in the crowd.

CHARLOTTE COUNTED THE money she had left from her last payday at the
Rhode Island Reporter
and from Daniel. Just a few dollars remained. She had enough for a week's worth of groceries, which was more than many people had, so she ought not worry. The Lord would provide, but He couldn't tarry much longer. She needed a job.

Charlotte shoved the funds into a box on her wardrobe shelf and then collapsed in a hard chair by her bedroom window. Aunt Amelia and Becky had taken in more sewing and mending lately while she scoured all of Newport for a position.

Aunt Amelia peered into the room, a shirtwaist draped over her arm. “Would you mind running an errand? I need a spool of white thread and a packet of needles.”

Charlotte rose. “I'd be glad to. And while I'm at it, I'll continue my search.”

As she strode up and down Thames Street, she realized she'd inquired into every respectable store in the commercial district. The only places she hadn't considered were pubs and the wharves, which required strong young men with muscular backs and salty tongues or saucy young women able to endure their long looks and heavy flirting. She purchased her aunt's items and then turned toward home. Approaching the
Rhode Island Reporter,
she gave an inadvertent shiver.

Lord, please don't let me run in to anyone I know
. Taking long strides, she quickly passed the newspaper offices and kept up her brisk pace. She glanced across the street clogged with wagons and carriages and noticed newly painted gold letters on the second story windows of one of the many brick buildings lining Thames Street. The
Newport Gazette
, Arnie Phifer's competitor.

If Daniel didn't write a column for the newspaper, she would've run to their office and applied for a position the moment she quit the
Rhode Island Reporter
. But he did work for them.

She missed Daniel, the children, and Mrs. Finnegan, though not the cranky Mrs. Wilmont. Charlotte sighed. Her optimism drained, she returned to Bridge Street without hope for the future.

Aunt Amelia poured Charlotte a cup of tea and sat beside her at the kitchen table. A stack of mail lay before them. Slowly, Charlotte opened each envelope and grimaced after scanning the contents.

“Are we falling behind on our bills?” Aunt Amelia looked up from her mending. Her long face looked so fearful, Charlotte couldn't bear to look upon her.

“Yes, but I'm sure a suitable job will come along soon.” Charlotte gave a humorless laugh. “I'd like to work at the
Newport Gazette
, but that's the one business where I can't even apply.”

Aunt Amelia touched her hand with sympathy. “Because of the professor?”

“Yes. Working for the same newspaper would be more than a little awkward. He doesn't go into the offices often, but when he does we'd be bound to see each other. And besides, I'm quite sure he'd object to me working there.”

“You don't know that for certain. He might be more forgiving than you realize.”

Charlotte laughed. “He might
say
he wouldn't mind, but of course he really would.”

Squeezing Charlotte's hand, Aunt Amelia shook her head. “It's time to put aside your differences and face up to reality. We need money to pay our expenses. I'm doing my best, but sewing only brings in a little bit.” She gave a weary sigh. “I'm sorry to burden you with so much responsibility.”

Charlotte sipped her tea then rose from the table, anxious to try out a new plan. “I happen to have an idea for a job that may just work. If you'll excuse me, I must change my clothes and be off.”

“Tell me what's bubbling in your mind,” Aunt Amelia coaxed.

Charlotte shook her head as she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. “No. I don't want to raise your hopes. Nothing may come of it.”

“Oh, do tell,” Becky insisted as she wheeled into the parlor. “We can use some excitement around here. We've moped long enough.”

“You'll have to wait, but not for long. I'll be back within a few hours. But truly, don't be too optimistic or you might have your hopes dashed. Say a prayer I'm doing the right thing.”

Charlotte closed the door, dressed in her favorite summer outfit—a lavender blue skirt and her new shirtwaist and her best hat with a feather rising on the side. Parasol and reticule in hand, she'd hire a carriage on Thames Street. She could ill afford the luxury of traveling in such style, but neither could she ride her bicycle in the heat for several miles. She didn't wish to appear sweaty and disheveled when she arrived at Summerhill. Taking a handful of coins from her top bureau drawer, she gripped them firmly, reluctant to part with even a penny. Hard to come by, but so easy to spend.

Lord, I hope I'm doing the right thing
.

Her heart twisted as the hired cab drew closer to the Wilmonts' cottage. Perhaps she should direct her driver to turn about and head back to town as quickly as his horse could gallop—before she made a fool of herself in front of Daniel, and God forbid, his dreadful mother. They slowed and rolled onto the driveway leading up to Summerhill. Charlotte's eyes widened. At least thirty or more carriages waited on the circle in front of the porch, and dozens of people dressed to the nines, along with uniformed servants, lingered around the veranda and yard. In the distance, probably from the back lawn, came the genteel sounds of a string quartet. What was going on? Curiosity grabbed hold as she climbed down from the carriage.

“Please wait. I'll not take longer than ten or fifteen minutes.” Her throat dried and her body trembled. Whatever possessed her to come to Summerhill, today of all days? She must be mad. Or perhaps merely desperate.

Simone smiled from around the corner of the cottage, a silver tray in hand. Charlotte wove through the crowd and greeted Mrs. Wilmont's maid. Simone's smile looked genuine, if harried. “What is going on?” Charlotte asked.

“A wedding. Mrs. Wilmont just married Mr. McClintock. We could have used your help. Look at me, carrying a tray like a footman or maid. But some of the extra help didn't appear, so Jacques needed assistance. How could I refuse my dear husband?”

“Of course you couldn't,” Charlotte mumbled as she took in the crowd. Tomorrow might be a better day to speak to Daniel, though her courage could easily fail between now and then. She glanced toward her waiting carriage and retraced her steps, eager to leave. Head down, Charlotte avoided some of the curious glances from the servants.

When she reached the hired cab, the anxiety in her chest rushed out and relief filled her. The driver assisted her inside and she settled onto the seat. She'd probably find Daniel alone tomorrow in a quiet house, much more conducive to conversation. Yes, she'd return then, after praying for a courageous spirit.

Running footsteps crunched against the pebbled path and grabbed her attention. Daniel. He pulled open the carriage door and heaved himself inside. Charlotte's heart lurched as her hand thumped against her chest.

“You surprised me, Daniel. I hoped to slip away.”

He slid beside her, crowding her into the corner. Her breath felt trapped deep inside her lungs.

“I'm so glad to see you again, Charlotte. And so surprised.” He took her hand in his. “Excuse me for speaking so plainly, but have you changed your mind and decided to return to Summerhill? To me?”

His turquoise eyes sparkled with hope. She couldn't bear to disappoint him, but she must. Quickly, before she lost her nerve.

“No. I've come to ask a favor.”

He still smiled, but the sparkle in his eyes faded.

“I know it's audacious to request anything from you, Daniel, after the way I came into your home and deceived you. If you decline to hear me, I understand.”

He squeezed her hand and waves of heat singed her heart. Her love for him hadn't diminished. She glanced toward the guests milling around the front lawn and veranda, their eyes wide with curiosity. “May we talk tomorrow when there aren't so many people about?”

“Please stay.” He pressed her hand and melted her resolve.

Charlotte's voice quavered. “You ought to return to your guests. We're attracting too much attention.” She slid her hand away but made no move to direct the carriage forward.

“I'll go back to the party as long as you come with me.”

She strangled a bitter laugh. “I won't spoil your mother's wedding day. But please send her my best wishes.”

Daniel shook his head. “I shan't leave this carriage unless you come with me. If you refuse, I'll sit here with you for the rest of the day.”

Charlotte chuckled. “Daniel, think of your mother. This is
her
day.”

He groaned. “All right then, come inside and wait for me. The reception will end soon and we'll have time to talk.”

“But my driver—”

Daniel reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out some coins, and handed them up to him. “I'll send you home in my carriage,” he said, helping her out.

“Thank you, Daniel, but I really shouldn't linger.” Much as she'd like this to become a personal visit, it concerned business, nothing more.

But Daniel's crestfallen face convinced her to reconsider. Perhaps she ought to speak with him now and not delay. “Oh, all right, but I'll wait in the servants' hall.”

“Please come to the reception with me, Charlotte.”

She shook her head.

He shrugged, and his shoulders slumped in defeat. “As you wish. The guests are leaving, so I'll not take long.”

Charlotte followed him down the driveway, then skirted around the cottage, brushing against the blue hydrangeas edging Summerhill's stone foundation. She hurried to the basement, relieved to find it empty except for a few servants scurrying around with trays laden with
petit fours
and crystal glasses brimming with champagne. The maids in their best black uniforms and spotless pinafores and caps greeted her with bright smiles and quick greetings, too busy to stop and chat. Charlotte settled into a hard chair and waited in the empty servants' hall.