Summer Holiday
Page 1
Summer Holiday
Timeless Victorian Collection
Nancy Campbell Allen
Sarah M. Eden
Annette Lyon
Copyright © 2017 Mirror Press
E-book edition
All rights reserved
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form whatsoever without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief passages embodied in critical reviews and articles. These novels are works of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialog are products of the authors’ imaginations and are not to be construed as real.
Interior Design by Heather Justesen
Edited by Jennie Stevens and Lisa Shepherd
Cover design by Rachael Anderson
Cover Photo Credit: Richard Jenkins Photography
Published by Mirror Press, LLC
eISBN-10: 1-947152-01-7
eISBN-13: 978-1-947152-01-4
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Summer Holiday (Timeless Victorian Collection, #1)
Table of Contents
Breakfast at Sommerpool’s
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About Nancy Campbell Allen
However Long the Wait
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About Sarah M. Eden
The Last Summer at Ivy House
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About Annette Lyon
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The Timeless Romance Authors
Timeless Victorian Collections
Summer Holiday
A Grand Tour
Orient Express
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Summer House Party
A Country Christmas
A Season in London
Falling for a Duke
A Night in Grosvenor Square
Road to Gretna Green
Table of Contents
Breakfast at Sommerpool’s by Nancy Campbell Allen
Other Works by Nancy Campbell Allen
About Nancy Campbell Allen
However Long the Wait by Sarah M. Eden
Other Works by Sarah M. Eden
About Sarah M. Eden
The Last Summer at Ivy House by Annette Lyon
Other Works by Annette Lyon
About Annette Lyon
Breakfast at Sommerpool’s
Nancy Campbell Allen
Chapter One
Tessa Baker stood in the managers’ offices at Sommerpool Department and Mercantile and silently fumed. She tapped a sealed envelope against her fingertips and counted first to ten, and then fifteen. The manager, Mr. Neville Blight, watched Tessa and her fellow employee, Grover Welsey, with a gleam in his eye.
“The winner will be promoted to the position of supervisor of shopgirls in the Linens, Gloves, and Ribbons Department.”
The man probably thought Tessa and Grover would brawl with each other right there in the office, and she dearly would have loved to prove him correct. Aunt Valentine’s husband, Max, was a former prizefighter and had taught her to fight quite effectively. She sucked in a deep breath instead.
“Very well,” Tessa said. “A contest, it is. And may the best person win.”
Grover smirked. “I am certain he will.”
“Remember,” Mr. Blight said, “each day you will be presented with an emergency scenario, which you must solve to my satisfaction. You will also be given a scavenger hunt list, which will show your dedication and ability to focus on detail. Whichever of you brings me the entire list by closing next Friday and successfully completes each day’s emergency scenario will be the victor.”
“To whom shall go the spoils.” Grover grinned at Mr. Blight and then turned his obsequious charm on Tessa. “Almost seems criminal, Baker, to force you to compete with me. I trust you’ll recover well enough.”
She narrowed her eyes and smiled. “Mmm. I shall manage.”
“Good, then!” Mr. Blight clapped and briskly rubbed his hands together. “Nothing like a friendly competition to impress our mysterious new owner to no end. Whoever wins the contest will be promoted and prove himself”—he paused grandly—“or herself clever and equipped to handle the responsibility.”
The new owner. It was all anybody in the seaside resort town of Sommerpool had talked about for weeks. A benefactor swooped in just as the store was facing financial ruin at the hands of unscrupulous bookkeepers. Sommerpool was the place to see and be seen for summer holiday, but the store had been losing money, despite its popularity. The deceptive accountants had been apprehended, but the money was gone. The store’s new mystery savior rescued it and hundreds of employees’ jobs.
Tessa made her way out of the business offices on the fifth floor and hurried to ring for the lift before Welsey could catch her. She gritted her teeth when she heard his voice.
“I would also run if I were you, Baker.” He joined her at the lift gate, all smiles.
“I’ve no idea why you’re so cheery, Welsey. Your win is not a foregone conclusion.” She glanced at him and returned her attention to the lift, which made its way smoothly upward. “In fact, I rather think the lady doth protest too much.”
He laughed. “Very glib of you. I am not surprised you must turn to humor. Keep those spirits up and all.”
The lift came to a stop, and the attendant, Henry, opened the gate. Tessa looked again at Welsey, and the thought of being contained with him in that small contraption was more than she could stomach. “I’ll take the stairs. Your head occupies too much space for the lift to carry us both.”
His chortle rang out behind her as she spun on her heel and made her way around the corner to the stairway. She held her skirt in her hand and clomped down three flights, each step punctuating her frustration. She had worked in Linens, Gloves, and Ribbons, or the LGR Department, for four years—the last two as an assistant to the department supervisor, a position unheard of for a woman. Old Mr. Gibbons was due to retire in a matter of weeks, and he encouraged Tessa to apply for the position. She knew the department backward and forward and had earned the respect of the shopgirls who worked it. Mr. Gibbons had taken her under his wing and taught her well; he was one of few men who believed she could handle the stresses of supervising, and she didn’t want to disappoint him.
Emergency tests that mirrored actual potential scenarios made sense. But a scavenger hunt? Mr. Blight might as well call it a Wild-Goose Chase. She didn’t know what sort of nonsense he carried up his
sleeve; summer holiday week—the biggest of the season—was knocking at the door. They would be busier than ever with people vacationing from all over England. More specifically, the city would host those vacationers who enjoyed not only Bank Holiday but also an additional week’s holiday from work. What had once been a summer luxury for the wealthy was now available to the middle classes, and many families saved all year for their time at the seashore.
She would be needed next week and most assuredly did not have time for a scavenger hunt. She found Mr. Gibbons organizing a display of beautiful new gloves that had arrived only that morning from France.
“I am to compete with that odious toad of a man for the position,” she told her superior without preamble. “Emergency scenarios and a scavenger hunt. A scavenger hunt!” She paced restlessly, and Mr. Gibbons continued to calmly position the gloves to their best possible visual advantage.
He glanced at her, brows drawn. “What kind of competition is that, I wonder?”
“A ridiculous one, that’s what.” The more she considered it, the more she fumed. “A ridiculous waste of time that in no way showcases my skills or abilities to effectively manage a team of shopgirls and oversee this department.” She stopped pacing and planted herself beside Mr. Gibbons. “I am to accomplish this ridiculous feat next week, when I shall be needed desperately here.”
At her pronouncement, Mr. Gibbons’s eyes widened slightly. On the mild-mannered and even-tempered gentleman, it was an expression of abject horror. “What is on this list, then? How long will it take, do you suppose?”
Tessa sighed and looked at the envelope she held but hadn’t opened. Briefly closing her eyes, she retrieved a letter opener from a nearby counter and slit open the missive. She unfolded it to reveal a long list in tiny print.
Her mouth dropped in dismay as she began reading. “What on earth?”
Mr. Gibbons left the gloves and joined her, pulling spectacles from his pocket. “Hmm,” he said, squinting and reading over her shoulder. “Seems to be a wide assortment of goods along the promenade and down the pier.” He took the paper from her and studied it.
“I shall never accomplish all of that”—she motioned at the paper—“in a month’s time, let alone a week!”
“An extracted tooth from the dental offices, an item of jewelry from Farr’s, a ticket stub from the late-night theater signed by at least three of the main cast . . .” Mr. Gibbons shook his head. “Perhaps I ought to speak to Mr. Blight.”
Tessa shook her head, eyes wide. “No, you mustn’t. He will believe I’ve asked you to do so, which will only confirm his belief that I am ill-equipped to be a supervisor.” Her shoulders slumped. “Mr. Gibbons, it was a lovely thought, and I had hoped to be the store’s first female department manager, but I’m beginning to believe the prospect might as well be a wish to see the far side of the moon.”
Mr. Gibbons narrowed his eyes. “You’re quitting then, are you? Giving up before the fight’s even begun?”
“No! But you see how ridiculous this is. I cannot be running around town next week collecting extracted body parts and jewelry while this department is overrun with excited customers ready to spend their hard-earned cash.” She rubbed her forehead. “We cannot spare anyone, let alone me.” She flushed. “Forgive my arrogance.”
His moustache twitched. “Nothing to forgive. You’re quite right. However, the thought of Grover Welsey heading this department is laughable. We’ve no choice. I shall borrow two of the shopgirls from Dry Goods. They’re overstaffed, considering the bulk of the clientele next week will be tourists and not inclined to purchase ten pounds of flour or wheat.”
“But they know nothing about this department.”
“They can stand behind the counter and conduct sales transactions as easily here as downstairs. Our seven regular girls can aid customers amongst the merchandise.”
Tessa sighed and closed her eyes. “This is impossible—the whole idea.” She lifted her hand and dropped it back to her side. “And that such a monumental opportunity should hinge on such a ridiculous test? I am bitterly disappointed.”
“Understandably. But life does have its share of disappointments. You’re hardly the first to face them.”
“I know.” She looked at the elder gentleman. “You are patient with me and supportive always. You’ve taught me all I know, and my gratitude is boundless.” She smiled, pained. “I did so hope to make you proud.”
He waved a hand and returned the ridiculous list to her. “Already done, girl. Now, silly or not, are you going to do this or allow that toad of a boy to waltz his way over to this department hoping to waltz with every girl here?”
She smiled reluctantly. “That is his design, is it not?”
“Oh, most assuredly. Sized that one up in the first five minutes, I did.”
She looked down at the list and rolled her eyes. “Of course I will do it, and I will beat him, and one day I will have Mr. Blight’s position.”
Mr. Gibbons beamed. “That’s the spirit! Now, when can you begin the”—he motioned a hand toward the list—“hunt?”
“He said we may begin immediately. Tomorrow being Sunday could pose problems with many of the items, but not all.”
Mr. Gibbons smiled. “Get to it, then. I am leaving for the Riviera next month one way or the other.”
“And you deserve every sunny moment.” She smiled and winked. “You shall be as fashionable as the sunbathers who now view tan skin as healthy and preferable to a chalky hue.”
He chuckled. “Most would call that hue milky rather than chalky.”
“Mmm. I call the whole of it poetic justice. I was teased more than once about spending so much time out of doors without my bonnet.” Tanned skin was becoming de rigeur; she was a self-sufficient young woman with a good career; and, with a little luck, she might find herself as Sommerpool Department and Mercantile’s first female in a management position. Throw a handsome man into the mix, and she might consider herself charmed.
She shook her head and made her way to the LGR Department employee room to brief the shopgirls on expectations for the following week. Five hundred handsome men could come clamoring to her door, and she’d not have time for any of them. She would be spending her time scavenging.
Chapter Two
David Bellini, second son of the Italian Conte Bellini and now the eldest of the three eligible bachelor brothers, smiled as he gave the department store his full regard. He looked out the window of the carriage at the five-story behemoth and felt a sense of satisfaction knowing he owned it.
“You are certain you want this much responsibility? A department store so far from home?” His friend, Mr. Maxwell, whom he called Max, eyed him dubiously from the seat opposite.
David nodded and inhaled a breath of fresh sea air mingled with a myriad of scents. Paramount amongst the olfactory delights was the delectable odor of fried fish, which made his mouth water. He’d only just arrived in Sommerpool, but fish and chips were high on his priority list. “I’ve rented a home near yours. I plan to remain and see the store back to sound footing.”
Max raised a brow. “I am glad to hear it, of course, but is this not a bit rushed?”
David smiled. “I have been looking for this for years. The second son of an Italian count bears the title, just as the firstborn, but he finds the world expects little of him by way of productive behavior. Matteo has his role as the eldest son and heir. This is something I can do that is mine.”
“You requested in your letter that Valentine and I refrain from telling anyone you are the D&M’s new owner. May I ask why?”
“I wish to observe . . . unobserved for a while.” David looked out the window at the people who strolled along the promenade, enjoying the view and laughing with friends. “People are honest when they do not realize their companion is their employer.”
Max chuckled. “True enough. I must tell you, however, that Valentine told her niece you were arriving today, and she knows of your family. Tessa is
aware you are European nobility.”
David shifted his attention back to Max. “But she does not know of my identity as the store’s owner?”
Max shook his head. “She is very much Valentine’s relation, though—too clever by half, the both of them. I could barely keep pace with the one.” His small smile suggested he did not mind the attempt. “Now I find myself overpowered and overruled before I’ve even recognized the threat.”
David smiled. “She has lived with you how long?”
“Six months. She lived on her own at a boarding house when Val and I moved here to open the new boxing salon. Val bullied Tessa into taking a room at our house when she realized the landlord fleeced the girls so heavily that saving wages for future security was almost impossible.” Max smiled again. “Tessa put steps into motion to secure smaller lodgings for herself and a handful of others at more reasonable rents, but Valentine is persuasive.”
David laughed. “Valentine is charming and delightful.”
“Yes, and she charmingly and delightfully convinced Tessa that she would still be, for all intents and purposes, independent and in control of her own fate. A very strong motivator for the Baker women, apparently. What did I know? I thought it was unique to Val.”
“And what is not to understand?” David caught sight of Max’s wife, Valentine Baker Maxwell, exiting the department store. “There is something to be said for having a purpose all one’s own.”
“Indeed.” Max leaned over and looked out the window. “There they are. Must have taken some doing to get her disentangled from the shopgirls. Tessa is waylaid at least five times a night while attempting to clock out.”
David squinted against the setting sun that glinted off the store windows. “She is popular with them?”
“She is the Linen, Gloves, and Ribbons Department supervisor’s assistant.” Pride was evident in Max’s voice. “First woman assistant in the store’s history. Her superior is set to retire and encouraged her to apply for his position. She was to have spoken with the head store manager today.”