A Perfect Silhouette

by Judith Miller

  Soon Morgan returned with their desserts. He placed the gingerbread in front of her and a piece of cake at his place across the table. She looked at his plate. “Is that nutmeg cake?”

  He nodded. “Mr. Putney said the apple dumplings are still in the oven, so I decided on the cake. I’ll be back with the tea.”

  On his return, he carried a tray with two cups and saucers and a dainty flowered teapot. After removing the items and placing them on the table, he nodded to the teapot. “I’ll let you pour. I usually end up spilling some when I pour that first cup.”

  Despite her shaking hand, she didn’t spill a drop. When they’d both added cream and sugar to their tea, he took a sip and settled the cup back in its saucer. “I’ve been trying to think how best to explain my situation in order to make everything clear, and I think the first explanation I need to give is the reason I didn’t reveal to you my true identity.”

  She gave a slight nod. “I believe that’s a good beginning, too. However, please don’t try to be too proper with your details. I want the truth, not politeness.”

  “Of course. Some of what I told you about myself is true. I did study engineering in school. If I recall, I told you I hadn’t immediately been able to find work and so I’d taken the job as a mechanic. That wasn’t true. When I returned home after completing my education, I presented my father with a plan to start work in the mills, but as a laborer—not a manager. You see, I wanted to explore possible ways to improve conditions for the workers. If they knew my identity, they wouldn’t have spoken freely about their experience. Nobody in the mills knows who I am. I let the agent at Stark Mills as well as my overseer and manager believe that I hadn’t completed my education. I didn’t tell them the truth because they wouldn’t have hired me as a mere assistant if they knew I had completed my education.”

  “Yes, of course. When telling lies, you must include everyone.”

  Morgan’s head snapped back as though she’d slapped him. “I hoped to somehow improve conditions for the workers. One day I’ll be in charge of Stark Mills, so I wanted firsthand knowledge of the daily responsibilities and obstacles that confront the men and women who work there. The only way I could do that was to conceal my identity—from everyone. Surely you agree that the workers would have avoided me if they’d known I was Mr. Stark’s son. While my methods may have been dishonest, my intentions were honorable.”

  She carefully considered what he’d said, silently beseeching God for wisdom. There was little doubt the workers would have shunned him if they’d known who he was, and his desire to help would have been thwarted. She stirred her tea, then took a sip. “And you didn’t believe you could trust me to keep your confidence?”

  He sighed. “So many things had happened, each connected to the other, that I feared if I shared even one thing, I’d be forced to share it all. And I couldn’t. Not back then. It would have been like pulling a loose thread and unraveling an entire piece of cloth.”

  She nodded, though she wasn’t entirely satisfied with his explanation. “Go on. What came next?”

  He detailed the secrecy surrounding the drawings for the new looms that he’d hidden and studied at Mr. Harrison’s shop, and the fact that they’d somehow been copied. “If someone else had patented our design before Mr. Baldwin was able to, I would have been responsible. I became obsessed with discovering who had copied the design.”

  “It’s good to know what had so captured your attention. You didn’t seem to hear anything I told you. That’s why I didn’t mention I was going to the party. You’d been so preoccupied, I doubted you’d care.”

  “Yes, the party.” He shook his head. “My mother insisted I attend, and you know the rest. Isabelle and I thought it great fun that our parents were plotting our futures when we’d already made our own decisions.” He hesitated a moment. “She is a lovely young woman, and I think the two of you could become great friends in the future.”

  Mellie didn’t comment. Her future remained unclear at the moment. If she continued working at the mill, she doubted Isabelle Armstrong would be interested in a friendship. Besides, there was much more that Morgan needed to clarify. She could see where he might have been justified in being hired to work in the mills, but the things they’d shared had gone beyond exchanging work experiences. She’d told him about her sister’s marriage and how it had come to ruin. He knew her feelings about gambling, and now she knew his own mother had headed up the lottery that he’d claimed to dislike. Had he been lying about that, as well?

  She cut a piece of the gingerbread with her fork and focused on the questions to which she needed answers. “I’d like to hear about the lottery. You declared great opposition to the idea, yet you had to know your mother was the one who initiated it.”

  “I didn’t know about the lottery until Mr. Vance made the announcement at the ball. I was as surprised as you. My mother never mentioned one word of it to me. If she had, I would have done everything in my power to dissuade her from the idea.”

  Mellie wanted to believe him, she truly did. Yet she couldn’t imagine there hadn’t been some mention of the lottery in his presence.

  “You don’t trust what I’m saying, do you?”

  She tipped her head and met his eyes. “I want to, but it’s difficult to believe you didn’t have some suspicion.” When he shook his head, she continued, “I’m curious as to why she decided to start a lottery in the first place. Is this something she’s mentioned in the past? Does she have plans to continue the practice?”

  “Why don’t we go and visit my parents and let them answer your questions? I want to regain your trust, Mellie, and if that’s going to happen, I think you need to hear from them—not just me. Would you go with me?”

  Her heart thundered at the thought of seeing his mother again. “I’ll need to think about that. I’m not sure they would be open to meeting with a mill girl.”

  “Perhaps not, but they would likely be willing to discuss the entire matter with my intended wife.”

  She sucked in a breath. Intended wife . . .

  Though the idea warmed her, warning bells sounded in her mind. He was taking a great deal for granted. Not only did he think she was going to forgive and forget, but he was also assuming she’d become his wife when he hadn’t even proposed.

  “I think you’re assuming too much, Morgan. Do you understand how deeply I’ve been wounded by your actions? When I saw you at the party, my trust was completely broken. I felt as if I were staring at a stranger, not the man I’d come to love and care for over the past months. My trust can’t be restored by an apology and a list of circumstances you believe justify your actions.”

  He nodded. “I don’t expect you to immediately forgive me. However, I want you to know the whole truth. I realize I wasn’t forthright, and I apologize for that. I give you my word that if you agree to build a future with me, I will never withhold the truth from you ever again. I understand that it may take time before you trust me again, but I’m willing to give you all the time you need.”

  “You’re right. It will take time for me to trust that you’ll be completely open with me.”

  She moved her plate to the side. Her heart wanted to forgive him on the spot and declare her undying love, but her head told her she needed more time. She’d already seen what lies could do to a marriage, and she would not join her life to his unless she could believe he valued the truth as much as she.

  He pushed cake crumbs around the plate with his fork. “I know our situations aren’t the same, but you weren’t completely forthcoming about your past when we first met. How long do you think it would have taken you to tell me about your past if Olive and Charity hadn’t found your journal?”

  His question surprised her. She hadn’t considered that she’d withheld a portion of her past from him. At least until she’d had to reveal the embarrassment that had been cast upon her by her brother-in-law’s penchant for gambling and his subsequent suicide. When Morgan had learned of Olive’s threats t
o have her supposed journalist friend publicize the humiliating realities, he’d come to Mellie’s defense. He hadn’t belabored the fact that she hadn’t confided in him. He’d merely done what he could to help her. But this was entirely different. Withholding the truth about her family wasn’t the same as what he’d done to her. Was it?

  She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “If Olive hadn’t threatened me, I don’t know exactly when I would have told you about my past and why I’d come to Manchester, but I want to believe it wouldn’t have taken me until now.” She offered a fleeting smile. “I know that’s easy to say, yet I do believe I would have told you months ago—at least I hope I would have.”

  “I believe you would have, Mellie. I merely wanted to point out that it isn’t always easy to reveal the truth, no matter how much you love someone. I feared I would lose you, and I didn’t want to take that chance.” He reached across the table and enfolded her hand in his own.

  She could sense his sorrow over what had happened, and her heart ached. She didn’t want to add to his pain, but the closeness they’d shared couldn’t be restored with a cup of tea and one conversation.

  “I know you’ve said you aren’t certain you want to speak with my parents, but I would be grateful if you’d give the idea some consideration. I want you to understand all of the circumstances that surrounded everything and have influenced my actions since I’ve met you. Otherwise I don’t think you can ever truly trust me again.”

  While in her heart she had already forgiven him, if they were to share anything deeper, she needed more. She needed to know everything. Only then could she make her decision.

  She swallowed hard. “Very well. I’ll meet with your parents.”

  Morgan sat in one of the wing-back chairs opposite his father’s sturdy walnut desk. There was much groundwork to be laid before his parents would agree to meet with Mellie. The decision to speak first to his father had been an easy one. Unlike his mother, his father was accustomed to listening and evaluating facts rather than interrupting and taking the offensive.

  Admitting his love for Mellie hadn’t taken long, but detailing the intricate events that had created the breach between them had consumed most of the morning. It was nearing noon when his father leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers beneath his chin. “I’m willing to speak to your young lady and explain the role I’ve played in all of this, if you believe that is what will restore her trust in you. However, you need to understand that if she betrays our confidence, you stand to lose a great deal. We all do. I would be asked to resign my financial position with the Amoskeag Company, and even though we’d still own the Stark Mills, our reputations would suffer. Even though the money was repaid to the Amoskeag, our customers would view us as untrustworthy. Business would suffer and much would be lost. If you’re willing to take that chance, my boy, then I’ll speak to her.”

  “Thank you, Father.”

  His father nodded. “In the end, I’m the one who’s responsible, not your mother. She didn’t have the authority to withdraw the funds from the Amoskeag accounts. It was I who signed the check. It was my lack of strength and my inability to reject your mother’s idea that placed us in jeopardy.”

  “But she’d already set the plan in motion before you—”

  His father held up a hand. “No. I’m the one who bears responsibility. Your mother has a strong personality, and I’ve never been able to tell her no. Once she sets her mind to something, I tend to let her have her way—even when I disagree. It’s a weakness I need to overcome. I’ve given this matter more thought than you can imagine. I haven’t told your mother yet, but I plan to meet with the board of directors of the Amoskeag, confess my wrongdoing in this matter, and resign my position. I’m prepared to suffer the consequences of my actions. Taking the easy way out of a situation isn’t what builds character, now, is it?”

  Morgan shook his head. “No, but building character can be painful.”

  His father chuckled. “On that we can agree.” He sighed. “Your mother has plans to visit Eugenia Higgins late this afternoon. Could you bring your young lady around then?”

  Morgan frowned. “She’ll be at work.”

  His father reached into his desk drawer and withdrew a piece of paper. “I’ll send a note to the mill with my groom, asking that she be released from work at two-thirty. You can meet her at the front gate and explain.” He dipped the nib of his pen into a pot of ink and scratched out a quick message. After blotting the ink, he folded the paper and rang a bell on his desk.

  Once the maid had taken the note and disappeared, Morgan leaned forward. “I need to speak with Mother and make it clear that I intend to marry Mellie—with or without Mother’s approval.”

  His father arched his brows. “Perhaps you should join her for lunch. I’ll take my meal here in my office and finish this paper work that’s been piling up for several days. I think the two of you should speak privately. No need to tell her Miss Blanchard is coming to see me this afternoon. If your mother knows, she’ll insist on being present so she can take charge.”

  As if on cue, a knock sounded at the door and his mother appeared in the office doorway. “Morgan! I didn’t know you were here.” She frowned at the two men. “Why didn’t one of you tell me?”

  “I’m going to join you for lunch, Mother. Just the two of us. Father needs to attend to his paper work, so you’ll have me all to yourself.” He pushed to his feet. “We need to have a talk.”

  Her lips curved in a generous smile. “Yes, we do. I’m eager to know if you’ve called on Isabelle Armstrong since the party. I told her mother you’d likely be knocking on their front door the following day.”

  Morgan’s father shot him a pitying look before turning to his paper work. “You two have a good lunch. Don’t forget you agreed to visit Eugenia this afternoon, my dear.”

  She directed a puzzled look at her husband. “I haven’t lost the ability to read my schedule, William. I know I’m to see Eugenia at three o’clock.” That said, she waved Morgan forward. “Come along, Morgan. I’ll tell Lucy you’re joining me for lunch.”

  After directing Lucy to deliver her husband’s meal to his office and to set a place for Morgan, she rested her hand in the crook of his arm. “Let’s sit in the parlor until the table is arranged for us.” She smiled up at him. “Tell me what you thought of Isabelle.”

  They sat in matching chairs separated by a small round table bearing an ornate gold statue. He pushed it to one side in order to gain a better look at his mother while he spoke. “Isabelle is a lovely person. I enjoyed her company when we were children, and she remains a delightful young woman.”

  His mother clasped a hand to her bodice. “I am so relieved to hear that you appreciate my choice.”

  “Your choice?” He cocked a brow. “I said she is a delightful young woman. Nothing more.”

  Before he could further explain his position, Lucy appeared in the doorway and announced that their lunch was served. Morgan escorted his mother into the dining room and seated her at one end of the table and then sat in the chair beside her.

  His mother waited until Lucy served them and left the room before she continued their conversation. “I adore the Armstrong family.” She lowered her voice as though she were telling him a deep secret. “They are extremely well-to-do. Isabelle is an only child and would inherit everything. Together with the Stark family wealth, the two of you would hold a powerful position in Manchester—dare I say, in all of New Hampshire.” She beamed at him. “You and Isabelle make a perfect couple. I doubt either of you could find a better match.” She picked up her fork. “And Isabelle’s mother agrees with me.”

  He reached for his crystal goblet and took a drink of water. “I’m not sure where you got the idea that I wanted your help with choosing a wife. However—”

  “You don’t need to thank me, Morgan.” She patted his arm. “I’ve always known you would need help finding just the right woman, so I’ve been quite observant over
the past few years. Believe me when I say that Isabelle is the perfect match for you.”

  He shook his head. “You’re wrong, Mother. Isabelle is lovely, and I’m sure one day she will inherit a great deal of money, but she isn’t the woman I want to marry. You see, I’ve already found the woman I plan to marry.”

  His mother gasped. “How is that possible? You haven’t mentioned anyone.” Her brow furrowed. “I watched you and Isabelle at the party. You were both having a grand time. I can’t believe you don’t care for her.”

  “I care for her as a friend—nothing more. We enjoyed renewing our friendship, but neither of us is interested in the other as a marriage partner.”

  “She said that? That she doesn’t want you to court her?” His mother sniffed. “I find that difficult to believe.”

  Morgan chuckled. “I’m not so perfect that women are swooning at my feet, Mother.”

  “This isn’t humorous, Morgan, and I didn’t say she would be swooning at your feet. Still, I can’t believe she would dismiss your suit without due consideration, unless she has . . .” Her sentence drifted off like a kite sailing on a breeze. She cleared her throat. “Did she tell you she has a suitor? If she did, her parents aren’t aware. Her mother assured me Isabelle would welcome your suit.”

  “And I’m certain you assured Mrs. Armstrong that I would be eager to court Isabelle, but I’m not.” He picked up his knife to cut a piece of chicken. “I’m sure she has already told her parents that we have no interest in anything more than friendship.”

  His mother dabbed the corner of her mouth with her linen napkin. “Who is this woman that holds your interest? Every eligible young lady in Manchester was at the party, and you didn’t dance with any of them.” She placed her napkin back on her lap. “I didn’t even see you speak with another woman for more than a few moments.”