by Stacy Henrie
She located a clean sheet of stationery and wrote a reply to Mr. Strauss first. While she felt certain he would be fine, she still felt bad at having to tell him that she’d chosen another man. She did reassure him, though, that he would make some woman very happy one day with his practical perspective and heartfelt integrity.
With that task completed, she removed another piece of paper from the drawer. She would inform Mr. Harris that she would only be corresponding with him from now on. A smile pulled at her lips with the thought of meeting him in person for the first time. Perhaps he would even agree to come to Woodland so that if they married that day, those people closest to her could be in attendance.
Like Clay.
She frowned. Her feelings for Clay were buried, gone. Weren’t they? He hadn’t rushed to woo her after Marian Holley’s abrupt departure and subsequent marriage to an English lord.
The past is over, she told herself. It’s time to look to the future.
Before Georgie could begin writing her letter, someone knocked at the front door. Mrs. Shaw was in the kitchen, preparing supper, and Gertie, the maid, had the afternoon off. That meant Georgie would have to see who was calling.
She set down her pen, walked into the entryway, and opened the door. A dark-haired young man stood on the stoop, his hat in hand.
“Can I help you?” Georgie asked.
“Is this where Clayton Riley works?” He glanced past her.
“Yes, but he isn’t here right now.” She motioned for the man to come inside. “Would you like to wait for him? He shouldn’t be long.”
Frowning, the young man shook his head. “I’ve got to catch the next train— urgent business out of town. Could you give him a message for me?”
She nodded. “Certainly.”
The stranger shifted his weight. “Will you tell him,” he said, lowering his voice and forcing Georgie to lean forward so she could hear, “I can’t rewrite anymore of those letters for him not until I get back in a fortnight or so. Tell him I’m real sorry.”
Letters? she thought. The word echoed through Georgie’s mind as loud as a gong, prickling her skin with confusion and a touch of alarm. Clay wouldn’t be corresponding with someone else who’d also placed an advertisement in the newspaper, would he? He’d abhorred the idea of her doing so.
“What letters?” she asked, hating how her voice squeaked, betraying her growing concern.
“The letters he’s been writin’ to some girl named…” He squinted, seemingly unaware of the dread his words had churned anew inside her.
So Clay is writing another woman. But who and why? A sudden roaring filled Georgie’s ears.
“Uh, her name is… Georgie,” he finished. “Yes, that’s it.”
Georgie reared back as if she’d been slapped. Her hand rose to her heart, which was pounding like a bass drum.
Did Clay know another woman named Georgie? No, she thought. My nickname is too unusual. But she hadn’t received any letters from Clay. If he had something to tell her, he would have simply handed her a note or, better yet, told her in person.
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” The entryway seemed to drain of air the longer she stood there.
The young man glanced over his shoulder. “Look, I gotta go, miss. All I know is that he was corresponding with some girl who had placed a mail order bride advertisement, but he didn’t want her to recognize his handwriting. Just tell him what I said.” With that, he put his hat on and turned away, muttering, “Nosy secretary.”
Georgie stood staring after him until he disappeared from view, her legs unwilling to move. She’d been corresponding with Clay for the last month? She shut the door and sagged against it.
“He’s Mr. Harris,” she whispered. The man displayed the same easygoing manner, even in writing, that Clay possessed, and he had mentioned being very close to his grandfather. Then she recalled Clay’s defensive reaction when she’d said that Mr. Harris sounded a bit like him.
Forcing her feet to move at last, she returned to the study. She made her way to her desk chair and sank down onto the cushioned seat, her bustled skirts ballooning around her knees. Why the subterfuge? she wondered. The thought that Clay would deceive her into believing him to be someone else made her insides twinge with hurt. Hurt that was quickly followed by anger.
What was he trying to prove? That she hadn’t a clue about who she was marrying? That she was simply being foolish? Or, was this his way of sabotaging her venture, one that he’d objected to from the beginning? Perhaps his motives had more to do with her money or with not wanting to give up his place in her household.
No, Georgie thought, resting her forehead on her hand. She knew Clay too well to believe his actions had been motivated by money or position. But she’d also believed him to be forthright and above deception. She needed to see him, to speak with him, to discover the real reasons for what he’d done.
She picked up the letter from Mr. Harris and read through his thoughts on love once more: Do I hope to find love still? Do I think such a thing is possible between two people who’ve only just realized their connection? Unequivocally, yes.
Her anger began to soften. Was he thinking of her when he wrote those words? Of them? Hope sprang to life, almost painfully, inside her. And this time, Georgie couldn’t uproot it with the memory of her past hurts.
If there is a chance that Clay’s feelings for me have changed…
“You’re looking rather deep in thought.”
Georgie jumped at the sound of Clay’s voice, her pulse pounding in her throat. She watched him as he crossed to his desk and sat down, a whistle on his lips.
He looked every bit as handsome as he had the day she’d first set eyes on him as a teenage girl. But today, in this moment, the gap in their ages no longer felt like a barrier to her heart’s desires. She’d been given a glimpse of Clay’s feelings, and for the first time in years, they appeared to match her own. This realization frightened her to her very core, and yet, it also made her feel lighter and happier than she had felt in a long time.
What would it be like to sit here, together, not as employer and employee but as husband and wife? Georgie cleared her throat of emotion, pushing the remnants of her hopeful vision aside for now.
“You’re cheerful,” she said, infusing nonchalance into her tone.
Clay shot her a smile. “A friend of Mrs. Huckabee’s has asked me to help her with her finances.”
“Another client? How wonderful,” she managed to say.
“You don’t sound as if it’s wonderful.” He chuckled. “Is something wrong?”
She found herself staring at him again. That boyish grin and his earnest blue eyes, directed straight at her, succeeded in melting away any remaining irritation she may have harbored against him for his secret. She didn’t understand his reasons for corresponding with her as Mr. Harris. But, if he wished to remain anonymous, she would oblige him a little longer.
“Actually,” she said as she straightened, “I’m doing well. I believe I’ve determined which of the two men I intend to marry.”
The merriment drained from Clay’s face. “Is that so?” he asked, his voice sounding tight.
Georgie pushed out an exaggerated sigh. “Yes, I think so. Though it wasn’t an easy decision.” She stood and approached his desk, her letter to Mr. Strauss in hand. “Will you mail this letter of apology to Mr. Strauss for me?”
A flicker of triumph lit up Clay’s gaze before he shadowed it behind a passive expression. The brief window into his thoughts was enough, though, to set Georgie’s heart galloping wildly. He hadn’t wanted her to choose the other man; he’d wanted her to choose himself.
He took the letter from her and glanced at it. “Apology?” he echoed. “So, it’s this other fellow who won you over?”
“Yes, Mr. Harris is the one. And I should thank you, Clay.” She studied him from beneath lowered lashes as she continued. “I know you didn’t wish for me to go about marriage in this way, so I app
reciate your help all the more.”
He shifted in his chair, his eyes on everything in the room but her. If he had nothing to hide, he would have stoically congratulated her or held onto his initial annoyance at her plans. But his silence betrayed him most of all.
“We’ll need to discuss later,” she added, lifting her chin in a feigned show of determination, “what arrangements must be made to move your things to a new office. But first, I’d like to send Mr. Harris a telegram. Before I lose my nerve.” She gave a light laugh. “So, if you’ll just give me his address.”
“You want his address… now?”
She pressed her lips together to keep herself from crowing over his panicked expression. “That would be helpful, yes. I assume you’ve been writing my address on the envelopes, apart from that first exchange of letters through the paper. So his address should be on his envelopes, too, shouldn’t it? I’d like to know if and when he wishes to meet me in person.”
Clay ran a hand over his jaw, his entire manner agitated. “I… um… don’t mind sending a telegram for you.”
Frowning, Georgie shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s a rather personal message. It might be best if I sent it.”
“No, truly. I insist.” He offered her a smile, but she could tell it was forced. “After all, I did promise to help you.”
“Well, if you’re sure.”
“Of course.” He brandished a pen while Georgie swallowed a laugh at his eagerness. “Just dictate what you want me to say.”
She began pacing the rug, pretending to think long and hard over what to say in the telegram. “Am I correct in assuming he lives in San Francisco or Sacramento?”
Clay grunted agreement without offering more information.
“Perfect,” she said. “Then ask him if he can meet me for lunch at the hotel this Friday, say one o’clock. A pity we haven’t exchanged photographs yet. But tell him I’ll be the one in the pale blue dress.” She arranged her expression to look innocent and hide her amusement as she spun to face him. “I suppose if we suit each other, we can walk down to the church and have the marriage performed right away. That is usually what mail order brides do, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” he said, strangling the single word.
“Wonderful. Thank you again, Clay— for everything.”
On impulse, she moved around the desk and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. Perhaps the touch would remind him of what he might have missed and of what lay in store if he cared as much for her now as she did for him. She caught sight of his wide-eyed response before she bolted from the room, her cheeks stained with a blush she feared would give her away.
Only three more days to go, she reassured herself. Three days until I learn the whole truth about Clay and his heart.
Chapter Ten
1883: One year earlier
Clay covered Georgie’s eyes as he followed her at a slow pace into the dining room. “No peeking,” he directed.
A full and genuine laugh escaped her lips. The sound warmed him more thoroughly than the hearth in the study. It had been days since he’d last heard her laughter. Too many days.
He hated the helpless feeling in his gut during the last month each time he had found Georgie staring at nothing or quickly brushing away tears. The anniversary of her father’s death had come and gone, and with it, some of her brightness for life. But Clay was determined to help her get it back.
“All right,” he said to Georgie. “You ready?” He grinned over her head at the three members of her household staff who watched with amused expressions on their faces.
Georgie nodded her consent.
Clay cued Chester, Georgie’s man-of-all-work, to light the single candle on the cake’s top tier. Then Clay lowered his hands from her eyes. Georgie stared at the cake as another enchanting laugh bubbled from her.
“It’s beautiful, Mrs. Shaw,” she said, reaching out to touch the arm of her housekeeper in gratitude.
The older woman beamed. “It did turn out rather nice, didn’t it? Gertie helped me frost it.” Mrs. Shaw and the maid exchanged a smile.
“But only one candle?” Georgie twisted to face Clay. “Not twenty-one? Are you trying to remind me how much younger I am than you, Clay?” She pushed a finger into his chest, but her pretty hazel eyes betrayed her mirth.
He held up his hands in surrender. “Mrs. Shaw wouldn’t let me.”
“Didn’t want that many holes ruining the effect,” the housekeeper muttered.
“Go on now. Blow it out,” Clay said, nudging Georgie toward the table. “I’d like a slice before I head home.”
“But you don’t like chocolate cake,” she countered.
“For your birthday, I’ll make an exception.” And he meant it. He’d eat every bite of the three-tiered cake if it meant seeing Georgie happy again.
“Very well.” Smiling, she leaned forward and blew out the candle in a single breath. Chester, Mrs. Shaw, and Gertie joined Clay in clapping.
“Take it into the kitchen, Chester,” Mrs. Shaw ordered, “and we’ll slice it up for everyone. You can help serve, Gertie.” The three of them trooped out of the dining room, leaving Clay and Georgie alone.
“I have one other surprise.” He pulled out a chair for her at the table.
“You do, do you?” She sat down and allowed him to push her chair in. “What is it?”
“You’ll know in just a minute.” He hurried to the study and removed the pile of cards and letters that he’d stowed in his desk the last week. Returning to the dining room, he took the chair next to hers and set the stack before Georgie.
She glanced down at the letters and back up at him. “What are they?”
“Have a look.” He couldn’t help grinning as she removed the twine holding the pile together.
Picking up the first letter, she unfolded the page and began to read the child’s large script. After a moment, she lowered the letter, her expression one of shocked delight. “They’re from the orphans?”
“Yes. And all of them were more than happy to wish their patroness a good birthday.” Her eyes sought his, and the warmth within them brought a strange twinge to his heart.
“You organized all of this?” she asked.
Nodding, he shuffled the cards closer to her, but Georgie clasped his hand, staying his movement.
“Thank you, Clay.”
He squeezed her hand, anxious for her to understand he would help her with anything. She wasn’t just his employer; she was his closest friend.
“You’re welcome, Georgie.”
She released his hand to pick up another letter. And as he watched her read each one, the smile on her face growing larger, he silently thanked the Lord that the sadness clinging to her had faded away. At least, for tonight.
The future looked bright and happy again, and there was nothing greater he could wish for than that for his dearest friend.
Chapter Eleven
The night before he was to meet Georgie at the hotel restaurant, Clay paced his room, circling the small space over and over again. Tomorrow, he would have to tell her the truth about his letters. The idea tightened his gut with apprehension. She had seemed hesitant but happy two days ago, when she’d announced her decision to meet Mr. Harris. Although, he was sure the kiss she’d given him on his cheek that afternoon had held more than friendship in the gesture. Or maybe that was only what he wanted to believe.
“Ahh,” he groaned, yanking his tie free and tossing it to the floor.
Would Georgie be thrilled or disappointed when she learned that he and Mr. Harris were one and the same? Perhaps I should never have pretended to be someone else, he thought. But if he hadn’t, he would have missed the chance to let her know his feelings had changed. He loved her— he had for some time now— and this knowledge filled every part of his heart. He was only sorry he’d been blind to that fact for so long.
Clay slowed his frantic pacing and sat on the bed. Though he still felt justified in and even compelled to do what he�
��d done, he hadn’t consulted the Lord. And now, he needed His help more than ever.
Lowering his chin, Clay whispered, “Lord, forgive me for charging ahead without Thy blessing. Please help good come from this, if possible. And if not, I only ask that I don’t hurt Georgie further. I love her…” He inhaled a shaky breath. “But I want her to be happy, first and foremost— even if it’s not with me. Amen.”
Then he lifted his head. Those last words, sincere as they were, had gutted him. And yet, while he didn’t know what the outcome of tomorrow’s meeting would be, he could face it now with more confidence. Whatever happened, he would do everything in his power to help Georgie— even if that meant stepping aside and denying his heart of its greatest desire.
Georgie fiddled with the hem of the table linen as she waited for Clay’s arrival. Sleep had eluded her for most of the night as she had vacillated between hope and fear.
What if Clay’s feelings hadn’t changed? What if she was simply setting herself up for more hurt? And yet, if he did love her as she loved him…
There was no denying he’d breached her heart’s defenses after she’d discovered the truth about his letters three days earlier. She’d always enjoyed conversing with him on any topic, but for the past few days, she’d become keenly aware of the respectful way he treated her opinions, even when he disagreed with them. He also appeared to take great pleasure in making her smile or laugh and in offering her sincere compliments. Those simple gestures had melted her insides to honey over and over again. There’d even been moments when she’d caught him staring at her, a hopeful longing in his blue eyes that matched the one growing inside her.
She’d become aware of other things too: like the way his hand brushed her sleeve when he pushed in her chair at dinner, igniting her pulse, or how his full smile made her want to kiss his fine, masculine mouth— not as she had as a foolish young girl but as a woman fully and ardently in love. There was no one else she wanted to spend her life with than Clay. But did he truly feel the same about her?