Flights of Fancy

by Jen Turano

  “I do believe you’re right.” She smiled. “It’s quite an improvement over my having to run down a clerk when I couldn’t find the roller skates.” She glanced down at her plain white blouse and black skirt. “I never realized I would be treated differently if I dressed in a manner I usually don’t dress to shop in, especially when I’m off to . . .”

  She swallowed the word Paris and returned her attention to the suit she was holding. “I must say, the salesclerks certainly changed their attitudes once you informed them I was here at Ian’s request.”

  “Where do you normally shop?” Jonathon asked instead of addressing the service she’d first experienced at the store, proving her suspicions about his being far too astute for his own good were spot-on.

  Giving an airy wave of her hand, she held up the jacket, inspecting the sleeve. “I shop in stores, same as everyone.”

  “Stores in New York?”

  “Why would you assume that?”

  “Because when you insisted I take you to a telegram office before we came here, I couldn’t help but notice that the telegram you sent was going to New York, and to a Mr. Hatfield, if I’m not mistaken.”

  “You weren’t anywhere near me when I composed that telegram.”

  “True” was his only response to that. “Is that where you’re from, and is Mr. Hatfield the same Mr. Hatfield who Ian told me penned a reference letter for you?”

  “Are you always this inquisitive?”

  “Are you always so reluctant to answer a simple question? Questions regarding a person’s home, I should point out, are considered acceptable to bring into conversation, at least according to the etiquette books Ian has lent me to read.”

  “You enjoy reading Ian’s etiquette books?”

  “Enjoy might be a bit of a stretch, but returning to Mr. Hatfield?”

  Isadora blew out a breath. “Mr. Hatfield, who did provide me with a reference letter, is also acquainted with a dear friend of mine, one who wanted me to keep her apprised of any moves I might make. Since I’ve now moved from Glory Manor to Pittsburgh, I simply sent Mr. Hatfield a telegram telling him of my new location, which I know he’ll pass on to my friend.”

  “Why does Ian believe you’re confused about your last name?”

  Unwilling to delve into that disturbing business, she held up the velvet suit and tilted her head. “What do you think about this?”

  “I didn’t know it was the fashion for little girls to wear trousers.”

  “It’s not for the girls. It’s for Henry.”

  The horror that immediately sprang into Jonathon’s eyes was all Isadora needed to replace the suit, looking around for other racks that might have clothing more suitable for a little boy who didn’t seem to enjoy much fuss when it came to fashion.

  “What may we assist you with now, Mrs. Delmont?” A saleswoman wearing a blouse similar to Isadora’s asked as she joined them, her pad of paper and pencil at the ready.

  “Boys’ clothing, but nothing with frills, lace, or velvet.” She glanced back to the suit she’d found darling and Jonathon had found anything but, releasing a sigh of longing, which Jonathon ignored, although he did roll his eyes.

  “For the same little boy who’s getting the red wagon?” The clerk consulted her notes. “Henry, age seven?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  The woman’s eyes sparkled. “And is there a limit on how much you’re going to spend on young Master Henry’s clothing?”

  “There’s not,” Jonathon answered for her. “Mr. MacKenzie would like the children to have a variety of choices to wear when they return to school, as well as for when they’re at their leisure.”

  “How marvelous,” the saleswoman exclaimed before she hurried off, her heels clicking against the wooden floor, telling them over her shoulder she’d be back in a trice with some selections.

  Isadora consulted her list. “I must admit we’ve accomplished far more than I thought possible today. I do thank you for your advice as pertains to the furnishings in the receiving room. It never occurred to me that large men might not like the dainty chairs that are so popular these days.”

  “It’s hard to get comfortable when you’re forced to squeeze yourself into those types of dainty chairs.”

  “Again, something that never occurred to me. I certainly don’t believe my mother ever sought my father’s opinion about chairs, which”— she frowned—“might explain why he never spends much time at home.”

  “Home in New York?”

  “You’re very tenacious. And I’m not complimenting you, if that’s in question.”

  Jonathon surprised her when he grinned, but that grin suddenly slid off his face. The next second, he had hold of her arm and was escorting her rapidly across the floor, telling the salesclerks who immediately fell into step behind them that they’d just realized they were parched and were going to repair to the tearoom. After assuring the clerks they would return after their tea, Jonathon tightened his grip and increased his pace, Isadora forced to break into a bit of a trot to keep up with him.

  “Should I assume you’ve detected something of a dangerous nature?” she all but panted when they reached the elevator and he hustled her into it once the elevator operator opened the grated door.

  “The only danger you’re in is if I have a face-to-face encounter with Mr. Nigel Flaherty. He’s a vile man who was responsible for getting me fired at the mills a few years back, although now that I think about it, because that firing led me to being employed by Ian, perhaps I should kiss the man instead of tearing him limb from limb.”

  Isadora bit back a smile when the elevator operator began edging as close as he could to his lever, and he seemed to get them to the street level in no time at all, a circumstance that had her stomach roiling. She turned to thank him after she’d stepped out of the elevator, but that thanks got caught in her throat when she realized the man had already shut the door and sent the elevator whizzing upward again.

  “You do realize you just frightened that man half to death, don’t you?” she asked, receiving a shrug from Jonathon in return.

  “That was not my intention, but I’ve always wondered how rapidly those elevators can move, and now I know.”

  Shaking her head, she looked around for the tearoom, stilling when she caught sight of Ian moving their way. He saw them a second later and quickened his pace, stopping directly in front of her.

  He was still dressed in his suit, but his tie had been loosened, and a shadow of stubble was just beginning to appear on his face.

  “I was hoping I’d still find the two of you here,” he said, nodding to Jonathon, and then sending tingles up her arm when he drew her gloved hand to his lips and placed a kiss on it, quite as if he’d become accustomed to kissing her hand and seemed to believe she now expected it.

  Not willing to tell him those types of gestures weren’t exactly what a housekeeper, or rather, household manager, expected since she did enjoy the gesture, she smiled at him as he released her hand. “We were about to get some tea.”

  “Then I’ve arrived just in time.”

  As Ian took her arm and Jonathon walked on the other side of her, Isadora soon found herself seated at the best table in the tearoom.

  “So, tell me about the shopping,” Ian said after they’d placed their orders, deciding to include some small cakes to go with the tea.

  “There’s much to tell.” Isadora pulled out the sheaf of papers she’d been carrying all day, setting them on the table. “We managed to get furnishings for all the rooms in the nursery, including Miss Olive’s room, as well as toys for the children, and yes, they’ll have roller skates, and—”

  “Izzie also bought you a pair,” Jonathon said, amusement lurking in his eyes as he nodded to Ian.

  “I haven’t skated in years,” Ian said.

  “Well, you’re going to skate with the children tonight, so . . .”

  For some curious reason, his eyes clouded over at the mention of the child
ren, but then he inclined his head as a ghost of a smile flickered over his face. “I’m sure I’ll remember the basics of skating, even if I’m also certain I’ll sport a bruised backside tomorrow.”

  Isadora nodded. “That is a distinct possibility, but returning to my list. We have saleswomen currently picking out new outfits for the children, and we have some salesmen up in furnishings who are putting together some samples of colors for the parlor, the receiving room, and the library.”

  “You have been busy.”

  “We have,” Isadora agreed as the server returned and poured them all a cup of tea while another server placed a silver tray filled with small cakes on the table.

  After thanking the men, she returned her attention to Ian. “But enough of the shopping. How did your meeting go today? Did Mr. Andrew Carnegie monopolize the floor, or were you able to have your say?”

  “You remembered I was worried I wouldn’t be allowed a say?”

  “You told me that last night. It wasn’t that long ago, so yes, I remembered.”

  Her cheeks began to heat when he considered her for an unusually long time. To distract from the fact that her face had to be bright red, she helped herself to a cake, almost choking on it a second later when a young lady glided over to their table, her flaxen hair arranged in a most attractive manner, wearing a dress Isadora was sure she’d seen in Paris when she’d been there last. That the young lady immediately began fluttering her lashes in an outrageously flirtatious fashion at Ian set Isadora’s jaw to clenching, which turned out to be somewhat problematic since she’d taken such a large bite.

  “Mr. MacKenzie,” the young lady all but gushed. “What a delightful surprise. I wasn’t aware you enjoy coming to this tearoom, or that you even enjoy tea.”

  Setting aside his napkin, Ian rose to his feet, as did Jonathon. As Ian took the hand the young lady immediately thrust his way, Isadora felt the most unusual feeling sweep over her when Ian gave the lady’s fingers a kiss, but she took solace in the idea that the kiss couldn’t be considered lingering by any stretch of the imagination.

  The floor suddenly felt as if it had dropped out from under her, leaving her slightly light-headed as truth took that moment to rear its ugly head.

  She was jealous of the lady now fluttering her lashes more rapidly than ever.

  She’d never been jealous of anyone in her entire life, but that was exactly what was flowing through her—jealousy. The reason behind that jealousy could only mean one thing.

  She, Miss Isadora Delafield, had fallen ever so slightly in love with the man who was currently her employer.

  Granted, she’d come to the conclusion she was somewhat smitten with him, but . . . love?

  It was an epiphany she was going to have to consider more closely, but not while in the middle of tea, or while Ian was being all but accosted by a—

  “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting this . . . delightful creature.”

  Forcing a smile, she turned her head to the lady who was apparently talking about her, although the snotty tone in which she’d said delightful creature suggested she found Isadora anything but.

  Ian stepped forward to perform the expected introductions. “Miss Moore, allow me to present Mrs. Delmont. Mrs. Delmont, this is Miss Lillian Moore.”

  “Of the Richard Moore family here in Pittsburgh,” Miss Moore added, frowning as she peered at Isadora. “You have icing, dear, smeared to the right of your lip.”

  Blotting her lips with her linen napkin, Isadora kept her smile firmly in place, not being able to recall a time she’d left icing on her face, but curiously enough, not being put out in the least that Miss Moore had pointed it out, nor that the young lady was now considering her in a most condescending fashion.

  “I do so enjoy cakes,” Miss Moore chirped before she smoothed a hand over her waist. “But since my parents are hosting a ball two days from now, I’m afraid I can’t allow myself to indulge in such a treat, not if I want my delicious froth of a gown to fit to perfection.”

  Fighting the curious urge to release a snort over that blatant attempt to get Ian to remark on her figure, even though, to give the lady credit, she did have a lovely figure, Isadora blotted her lips again, grimacing when more icing showed up on the linen, something Miss Moore certainly hadn’t bothered to point out to her again.

  “But you must come to the ball,” Miss Moore suddenly exclaimed, and for a second, Isadora thought she was talking to Ian. To her horror, she realized Miss Moore was directing her attention back to Isadora again.

  “Ah, well,” Isadora began. “Ah . . .”

  Miss Moore waved Isadora’s sputtering aside. “If you’re worried about what to wear, you mustn’t concern yourself over that. What you’re wearing now is fine, dear.” She smiled. “I especially adore your spectacles.”

  Knowing full well that the woman was lying through her teeth, Isadora frowned, spared a response when Ian suddenly cleared his throat.

  “While it’s very kind of you to extend Mrs. Delmont an invitation, Miss Moore, I’ve already asked her to join me as my guest at your ball.”

  Miss Moore’s mouth dropped open even as Jonathon turned and began taking an absorbed interest in the tearoom, rubbing a hand over his mouth quite as if he were trying to hide a smile.

  “My mother never mentioned that you were bringing a guest.”

  “My invitation did read Mr. MacKenzie and guest.”

  “Well, certainly it did since that’s proper etiquette, but . . .” Miss Moore shot a glare to Isadora before she summoned up a smile. “It’ll be lovely to have you there, and do know . . .” Whatever else Miss Moore was going to say faded away when they were suddenly joined by another gentleman.

  “I was wondering where you wandered off to,” the man said, smiling at Miss Moore before he turned to Ian and stiffened.

  For a second, Isadora thought the man might be Miss Moore’s father, Mr. Richard Moore of the Moore family, until Ian gave a jerk of his head in the gentleman’s direction and said, “Nigel.”

  “Ian,” Nigel bit out before he turned to Jonathon and frowned. “Do I know you?”

  Jonathon, Isadora was alarmed to see, was all but bristling with animosity. “You do. I’m Jonathon Downing. You got me fired from my job at the mill because I punched you after you mocked a man recently arrived from Germany who didn’t know much English.”

  “Which is exactly why I stepped in and hired him,” Ian said with a smile, even though his eyes had begun to take on a rather dangerous look.

  “Proving that what I’ve said about you being too sympathetic to the laborers is right on the nose,” Nigel said, even as he took a few steps backward, putting distance between himself and Jonathon. “Interesting meeting we attended today, MacKenzie. Even though you won the union men over with your proposal, the investors and owners of the mills aren’t thrilled you proposed such an unusual solution to the labor problems.”

  Ian shrugged. “It’s a solid plan, Nigel. As I said when I got up to speak, Mr. Thomas Harrington of the Harrington Iron Mill was forced to cut wages a few years back. But because he also cut hours and made the men salary instead of hourly, production didn’t slow. And after the demand for iron increased, he saw a substantial profit, all due to what I believe was an increase in morale among his employees.”

  “Time will tell if it works, but it’s a risk many of us aren’t excited to take, including Mr. Carnegie, even with you winning the day and getting everyone to agree to the concessions.”

  “I didn’t win all of my points, Nigel, as you very well know. But reducing the twelve-hour shifts down to ten, even though I wanted them down to eight, and decreasing wages by eleven percent instead of twelve is a start. And my negotiations, whether you want to give me the credit or not, have taken the threat of a strike off the table.”

  Miss Moore let out a bit of a titter and reached out to touch Ian’s arm, earning a frown she didn’t see from Nigel in the process. “Not that I know much about bu
siness, Mr. MacKenzie, but you should use caution in how you handle those business matters.” She sent a charming smile to Nigel. “Why, if you’re not careful, Mr. Flaherty might not include you in that new coal venture he was trying to explain to me a short time ago. From what I could understand of what he was saying, it’s certain to prove a most lucrative investment.”

  For the briefest of seconds, Ian merely stood there, until his eyes narrowed and he took a single step toward Nigel. “I haven’t heard any specifics about a new coal venture being planned. Where’s it to be located?”

  After sending a look of irritation toward Miss Moore, Nigel resettled his gaze on Ian and shrugged. “It’s no secret that geologists have been scouring the southern part of this state, as well as Ohio, looking for coal reserves. They’ve been successful with their investigation, and I’m pleased to say that plans to mine the coalfields are well underway.”

  “Are they, now?”

  Nigel nodded. “Indeed, but after your abysmal display today at the negotiations, I’m afraid this particular investment group won’t be interested in having you onboard.” Nigel turned from him and set his sights on Isadora. His eyes sharpened on her face right before they filled with male appreciation. “Forgive me,” he began, taking a step toward her. “Ian has completely forgotten his manners and not introduced me to you. I’m Mr. Nigel Flaherty.”

  When Ian didn’t step forward to perform the introductions, and even though Isadora was already all but convinced Nigel was not a man she wanted to know, she inclined her head. “I’m Mrs. Delmont . . . of the Delmont family,” she added, sending a smile Miss Moore’s way. Her smile widened when Miss Moore’s eyes clouded with confusion, quite as if she couldn’t quite figure out if Isadora was serious or not.

  “How lovely to meet you, Mrs. Delmont,” Nigel exclaimed, reaching out his hand as if to take her hand in his and place the expected kiss on it.

  Not feeling in an accommodating state of mind, Isadora abandoned every etiquette rule that had been drummed into her head since birth and snatched up another cake, making it impossible for Nigel to take her hand. Blinking, he stopped his advance.