by Jen Turano
“How is it possible you didn’t know that putting a lid on a pot makes the water boil faster?”
“I didn’t know because, again, I’m used to grand estates, and I was never required to perform any specific tasks in the kitchens. That’s what people hire cooks to do.”
“Which makes it confusing why you’ve suddenly decided you’ll be a proficient housekeeper at Glory Manor. You don’t appear to have the experience needed to take on this position.”
She abandoned the shirt still halfway through the wringer. “That almost sounds as if you’re having second thoughts about hiring me.”
“Truth be told, I’ve passed second thoughts and moved on to around the fifth thoughts.”
She returned to the wringer, giving the handle a decidedly determined crank. “Haven’t you ever wanted to prove something—something that might seem downright impossible but will mean the world to you if you can succeed in the end?”
The offer he’d been about to make to her regarding looking after the children died on his tongue. He’d set about proving his worth from almost the time he’d arrived at Glory Manor. He’d been able to do just that because Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos had had faith in him and given him a chance. Without that chance, there was every likelihood he’d be laboring in the mills, earning a meager salary, and living in the same derelict neighborhood he’d grown up in.
“I’ve never been challenged,” Izzie continued, sending the shirt the rest of the way through the wringer and then picking it up and tossing it into the basket and retrieving another piece of laundry, which she stuffed into place before she looked at him. “I can do this, Ian, or I mean, Mr. MacKenzie. I know I can. Besides, you’re needed back in Pittsburgh. I doubt you’re going to be able to find a suitable housekeeper simply strolling around the streets of Canonsburg anytime soon.”
“One never knows.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I realize I’m not what anyone would call the best candidate for the position, but one cannot underestimate the power of enthusiasm, something I guarantee you I’ve acquired for this particular position.”
She gave the crank to the wringer a turn, smiling when the pair of trousers began rolling through the cylinders. “See, I told you I’m a fast learner.”
“And while I appreciate that, along with your clear sense of enthusiasm,” he began, bracing himself for the reaction he knew his next words would bring about, “as a man of business, I’ve always demanded a certain level of competency from the people I work with. I’m afraid to say, from what I’ve seen today, that no matter how much enthusiasm you have for this . . .”
The rest of his words died a rapid death when Izzie suddenly let out a yelp right as a loud ripping noise sounded, and then . . . she was standing remarkably close to the wringer, missing the front half of her blouse, along with her apron, those two articles of clothing having been sucked right up into the cylinders.
“It won’t let me go,” she breathed, giving her blouse a tug even as she gave the handle another turn, effectively pulling her even closer to the wringer.
“Stop cranking it. You’re making it worse. And I don’t want to alarm you, but I think your chemise is being sucked up as well, and . . .”
Stripping his shirt off, Ian moved directly beside her. He yanked his shirt over her head, having to wrestle it down her body when she seemed to be fighting him.
“Quit moving. You’re not helping matters.”
A second later, she was standing still as a statue, her eyes wide when she turned her head and settled her gaze not on his face but on his chest.
“Goodness,” she breathed. “You’re, ah . . . practically naked.”
“I am not, I’m merely without a shirt, something I do believe you should appreciate since my shirt is now offering you a semblance of modesty.”
“Oh right, but . . . goodness.”
Stepping back, he shook his head. “Your reaction does seem to lend credence to the fact that there truly is no Mr. Delmont. But should I also assume you’re not in possession of any brothers?”
“I have three, but they’re not, well . . .” She took a second to look him up and down before her eyes widened and her gaze seemed to linger on his chest.
Even though he’d received his fair share of admiration from the ladies over the years, there was something remarkably satisfying in knowing Izzie, no matter that she’d proclaimed herself uninterested in setting her cap for him, seemed to be slightly fascinated by the sight of his bare skin.
That fascination went far in soothing his pride, and . . .
“Perhaps we should try to figure out how to get my shirt out of the wringer,” she said, pushing all thoughts of soothing his wounded pride aside.
“Good idea,” he said, leaning forward to inspect the wringer. He straightened. “I’m afraid your apron and your blouse are ruined, so it might be faster to simply have you remove the blouse. If you’ll just shrug out of the sleeves, I think it’ll come right off you, since there’s not much left to it.”
“That’s not something I was expecting to hear today,” she muttered before she shrugged out of the sleeves of her blouse. She then began fighting with his shirt to get her arms into those sleeves, twisting and turning until she slid on some water that had splashed on the floor, letting out another yelp as her feet swept out from under her.
Catching her before she could hit the floor, Ian brought her up against his chest, pulling her close.
Regret was immediate because the feel of her hands pressed against his skin sent his senses reeling and a bolt of lightning traveling from where her hands were touching him all the way down to his toes.
He also felt the most unusual urge to tilt her head back and kiss her, an urge he knew he shouldn’t give in to, but it was an urge he couldn’t—
“Primrose is gonna be sad she missed you kissin’ Izzie again, Ian,” a voice suddenly said from somewhere in the laundry room. “She and Aunt Birdie keep talkin’ about how nice a weddin’ is. Can I be the one to tell them one’s gonna be happenin’ now?”
Sanity returned in a split second. Placing his arms on Izzie’s shoulders, he took a step away from her, made certain she’d found her balance, then almost forgot someone else was in the room with them when he caught her gaze and saw a most curious look in her eyes, or perhaps that was . . .
“Ah . . . Ian? You want me to come back later?”
Forcing his attention away from Izzie, Ian turned and found Henry standing just inside the doorway, holding a telegram in his hand and grinning.
“I wasn’t kissing Izzie, or ah, Mrs. Delmont, Henry,” he managed to say. “She got her shirt stuck in the wringer, and then . . . well, no need to go into all the particulars. What’s that you have there?”
“Another telegram. And the man who delivered it said he was gettin’ annoyed over havin’ to travel out here so often.”
Striding across the room, Ian took the telegram from Henry, who was still grinning. Opening it, he read the contents, blowing out a breath as he lifted his head.
“It appears matters have turned dire in Pittsburgh. I’m being met at the train station tomorrow morning by one of my business associates.”
“Which is why it’s fortunate you have me to step in and oversee Glory Manor while you’re away.” Izzie walked to join him, then laid a hand on his arm, snatching that hand away a second later, quite as if she’d somehow forgotten he was missing a shirt. “I can do the job. You simply need to give me a chance.”
“You just got yourself stuck to a washing machine.”
“I’m sure that happens all the time.”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”
“Only because the people who’ve gotten stuck have obviously been too mortified to admit it to anyone.”
“Which is an excellent point, but you and I both know you’re woefully deficient with basic housekeeping skills.”
“Woefully deficient might be a bit harsh.” She sighed, drew in another breath, t
hen narrowed her eyes a second later, quite as if she’d come up with yet another argument. “You’re a man of business.”
“Was that a question or a statement?”
She ignored that as she took to tapping a finger against her chin. “I know men of business, and it seems to me they’re always looking for the best deal.”
“I won’t argue with that, although successful men of business are also always looking for the most competent people, ones worthy of the salary they’re going to be paid.”
“Exactly,” Izzie agreed. “I’m going to offer you a deal.”
“A . . . deal?”
“One you won’t be able to refuse.” She nodded. “If you’ll offer me the position of housekeeper at Glory Manor, I’ll work for no salary for . . . shall we say two weeks?”
“You really don’t understand how business deals are supposed to work, do you?”
She ignored the question. “If after that two weeks, you still find me woefully deficient, I’ll leave Glory Manor on my own accord and won’t even make you feel guilty about sending me away.”
“But what if you burn down the house?”
“I assure you, I am not so inadequate that I would burn down the house.” Her eyes flashed. “Why, I have to imagine that when you return from Pittsburgh, you’ll be so impressed with my proficiency that you’ll be begging my pardon for insulting my abilities and offering me a tidy wage to continue working for you.”
Glancing at the telegram he was still holding, and realizing that he really didn’t have many options, Ian looked up and caught her eye. “You promise me you won’t burn down the house?”
“You have my word.”
He shot a look to Henry, who was nodding back at him, evidently adding his approval to a plan that was sheer madness. Looking back to Izzie, he frowned.
“You’ll work as a housekeeper with no salary for two weeks, but more importantly, you’re giving me your word this house will still be standing when I return in a few days?”
She smiled. “I am, and you won’t be sorry. I have every confidence you’ll not be disappointed with my efforts, especially when you find this house not only still standing but running in a very organized and efficient fashion.”
Chapter 16
Catching the biscuits on fire was most assuredly not the best way of honoring her promise to keep the house from burning to the ground.
Beating the now-flaming biscuits with a towel she’d grabbed from the sink, Isadora coughed and gave a bit of a wheeze as a plume of black smoke rose from the disaster on the baking sheet.
A large torrent of water suddenly flew past her, and with a hiss and a sizzle, the flames went out, leaving only a smoldering mass of charred biscuits behind.
Waving away the smoke that was obscuring her vision, Isadora lifted watering eyes and discovered Primrose standing beside her, holding an empty bucket.
“That was close,” Primrose said, setting aside the bucket. “Are you all right, Izzie?”
Izzie found the simple question a bit perplexing.
Was she all right? It was truly difficult to say.
The chore of watching over the biscuits had been a simple one. And yet, because she’d become absorbed with an image that kept springing to mind of Ian not sporting a shirt and displaying muscles that should come with a warning attached to them, she’d failed—miserably.
She was not a lady disposed to fanciful thinking about any gentleman, and yet, for the life of her, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Ian MacKenzie, thoughts that had seen her almost catching the house on fire.
It was beyond peculiar, this fascination she seemed to have for the man. But that fascination, instead of fading the moment he left Glory Manor that morning at the unheard-of hour of six, seemed to be growing. Thoughts of Ian were coming to mind every other second, even as she’d been trying to complete a few of the tasks he’d left written for her on a very long list.
Those thoughts had left her with some interesting conclusions, the most important of those being this—he was an intriguing man.
He was kind, charming, undoubtedly handsome, and he was a man of compassion. His sense of compassion was exactly why she’d known that bringing up her desire to prove herself and rise to the challenge of taking on the role of housekeeper would have him changing his mind and offering her the position.
It had not been her finest moment, especially when she’d hardly risen to that challenge by neglecting the biscuits and allowing them to burn to a crisp.
Shoving that less-than-comfortable thought aside, she poked a finger in the charred mass of dough, her thoughts, annoyingly enough, immediately returning to Ian.
He was far more intelligent than she’d first assumed, a trait she’d always been drawn to, although the few intelligent gentlemen who’d struck her fancy over the years had been quickly dismissed by her mother as unsuitable. Hester’s loftiest goal apparently centered around acquiring a title for Isadora, no matter if Isadora wanted it or not.
Her lips began to curve at the thought of her mother’s reaction if she learned that her only daughter was a tad intrigued by a man who’d grown up on a farm and gave an entirely new meaning to the term masculine, and . . .
“Izzie, come quick! The goats are eating the laundry.”
Even though goats eating laundry was not something she’d imagined anyone ever bringing to her attention, Isadora couldn’t claim it came as any surprise, not with how her day was shaping up.
Bolting for the door with Primrose at her side, she rushed into the backyard, skidding to a stop at the chaos transpiring before her.
Goats, creatures she was not familiar with in the least, were frolicking through the laundry, kicking up their heels and bleating up a storm as they snatched one piece of laundry after another from the clotheslines.
To her disbelief, they were then eating that laundry as they continued racing through the remaining wash that was snapping merrily away in the breeze. In all honesty, they were acting like they’d not eaten in months because as soon as they finished a piece, they snatched fresh laundry from the line, as if they wanted to sample everything she’d hung out to dry.
For a second, all Isadora could do was watch the horror unfolding in front of her, thinking of all the hours it had taken to wash the laundry being eaten or scattered willy-nilly. As her gaze drifted from one naughty goat to another, she suddenly realized that it was going to be up to her to stop the madness before every piece of laundry was soiled or consumed. Surging into motion, she dashed through the lines of laundry, annoyed when her efforts only had the goats scattering to all corners of the yard, taking laundry with them.
Setting her sights on a goat that was racing around with a frilly apron trailing out of its mouth, she ran after it and got it cornered by the side of the house, but when she lunged to grab it, it feinted to the right and Izzie landed in the dirt, clear sounds of amusement coming out of the goat’s mouth as it pranced away from her.
“Get back here,” she yelled, pushing herself to a sitting position as the goat bolted across the yard.
“Goats can be highly unpredictable.”
Shielding her eyes with a hand that was no longer what anyone would consider clean, Isadora found a man standing a few feet away from her, shaking his head as his gaze traveled over the destruction the goats had left in their wake.
“I didn’t know Glory Manor had a flock of goats,” she said, accepting the man’s outstretched hand when he moved to stand in front of her and offered her a hand up.
“Goats don’t travel in flocks. They travel in herds.”
“Something I never thought I’d have a reason to learn,” she said. “You must be Hank.”
He nodded, released her hand, then raked his hand through straw-colored hair. “I am, and you’re Mrs. Delmont.” He nodded again to the goats running amok. “I’m sorry about the goats. I was busy showing the new hires around the farm and didn’t realize Amos must have forgotten to shut the gate where the goats were g
razing.” He scratched his chin. “I’d best get them collected before Amos returns from fishing. Wouldn’t want him to decide someone is now trying to steal the goats along with the cows and chickens.”
Wiping her hands on her apron, Isadora frowned. “Does Uncle Amos forget to close the gate often?”
Hank shrugged. “He won’t admit to that, but it has been a recurring problem.”
“Then you don’t believe someone is trying to steal the animals?”
“Glory Manor doesn’t have many animals to speak of, not compared to the other farms in the area. Doesn’t make much sense that someone would want to steal the few on this farm.” He suddenly looked worried. “Best not to mention that to Amos, though. He’s a little peculiar these days, so I’ve found it’s better to let him believe all the conspiracy theories he’s come up with of late than argue with him.”
“Wouldn’t it be better to let him know he’s just been forgetful when it comes to closing the gate?”
“He’s sensitive about his memory. The slightest thing can set him off, so it’s easier all around if I just agree with him.” His gaze returned to the laundry scattered around. “I’ll help you clean up this mess after I collect the goats. As I said, it won’t do to have Amos find them out here. He’ll think some type of skullduggery is taking place.”
“We wouldn’t want that, but . . .” Isadora stopped talking when her gaze landed on Violet clasping a muddy frock in one hand while dashing what looked to be tears from her face. “Excuse me,” she said to Hank as she hurried over to Violet.
Kneeling beside the child, Isadora touched her shoulder. “Violet, what’s wrong?”
A small sob was Violet’s only answer as she held up the small dress, then wiped her nose with a dirty hand.
“The goats ate our clothes,” Primrose said, coming up to join them, holding another dress that had a large hole in it in one hand, while holding Daisy’s hand in the other. She nodded to Henry, who was running after a goat that had a pair of trousers in its mouth. “We only had a few changes of clothing, and now I think we might be down to the ones we’re wearing and the one other change of clothing that’s up in our rooms.”