by Jen Turano
“Do I look like a woman who’d have a reason to run from the law?”
“You could be a master of disguise. Do you need those spectacles?”
Unable to help but wonder how she’d apparently been coerced into revealing almost all of her secrets—and to an elderly woman who went by the name of Aunt Birdie, a name that should have belonged to a dear, dotty woman, not an overly astute and crafty one—Isadora felt her shoulders sink into an honest-to-goodness sag.
“I don’t need them,” she finally admitted.
“What do you need? The truth, if you please.”
Her shoulders sank another inch. “I need a place of refuge to hide from a man who wants to marry me.”
Aunt Birdie folded her arms over her chest. “Now, that wasn’t so hard to divulge, was it?” She nodded. “Thank you for being honest, and your secret is safe with me. I’ve never been fond of men who can’t respect a woman’s wishes, so you’ll have the refuge you need at Glory Manor. Do know, though, that Ian is a man who is fiercely protective of anyone in his care. You should tell him your secrets. I assure you, he’ll go above and beyond what is needed to keep you safe if you take him into your confidence.”
Even though Isadora knew divulging her true identity to Ian MacKenzie was a logical solution to her problem, there was a part of her that wasn’t ready to resume being Isadora Delafield.
She was woefully inept when it came to living in the real world and had made a complete and utter mess of the few tasks she’d sworn to Ian she’d be able to complete with proficiency.
She knew she needed to truly prove, if only to herself, that she was capable of more than simply being a wealthy lady of high societal standing. And perhaps, just perhaps, she’d find that purpose in life that Aunt Birdie seemed so convinced God meant for her to find—a purpose that would be more fulfilling than buying new wardrobes every season or attending balls that all seemed to be the same after a while.
Rising from the chair, she smiled. “I will consider that, Aunt Birdie, but I would appreciate it if we could keep my secret, for the moment, between the two of us.”
Aunt Birdie inclined her head. “Then that’s what we’ll do, dear. And now, with that settled, let us return to the list Ian left for you to complete. Your secret will be easier to keep if you’re able to convince Ian you’re worthy of permanent employment, but you might need some help with learning how to do all the tasks he’s left for you.”
Isadora picked up the list, reading down the items, lingering on one that caught her eye. Lifting her head, she smiled. “While I know this is not a task he left for me, I’m very proficient with shopping. Shopping is an experience in and of itself, which means . . .” Her smile widened. “The appeal of shopping for new clothing may very well give the children the incentive to allow me to complete one almost impossible task Ian left for me—getting them into a bath.”
Chapter 17
PITTSBURGH
“Are you confident you’ll be able to convince the labor that it’s in their best interest to accept the decrease in wages we’re proposing?”
Rising from his chair, Ian nodded to Victor Laughlin, a man who had a large fortune wrapped up in the iron and steel industries. Victor was one of the few industrialists Ian considered more friend than business associate. He’d also become a mentor of sorts after Ian made his acquaintance while he’d been a student at the Western University of Pennsylvania. Victor had come to speak on the opportunities available within the iron and steel industries. Ian, more than impressed with the man, had sought him out after the lecture. From that point forward, Victor had taken a personal interest in him.
He’d introduced Ian to influential Pittsburgh businessmen, and then had gone out of his way to direct Ian into lucrative investment opportunities once Ian had begun to draw a steady wage and had a few dollars to invest. Those few dollars had quickly multiplied, as had his esteem for Victor Laughlin. That was why, when Victor sent him the telegrams asking him to return to Pittsburgh to handle some delicate negotiations with the men from the Amalgamated Association of Iron and Steel Workers of America, Ian hadn’t hesitated.
He’d been more than a little wary about leaving Izzie to manage Glory Manor. But after Aunt Birdie had reassured him that she was feeling almost like her old self again and would be able to guide Izzie through any situation that might arise while he was gone, he’d been put somewhat at ease.
“The union men aren’t unreasonable, Victor,” Ian began. “They know their members need to work to put food on their tables and provide shelter for their families. And they’re also used to being asked for concessions based on the supply and demand for their products.” He nodded to the other men gathered around the table in the office building not far from the Pennsylvania Railroad depot. “As I mentioned earlier, we may need to ask for an eight percent decrease in wages as opposed to twelve percent. We might also need to consider shortening the average work day from twelve hours to ten and abandoning the double shifts many of the mills are requiring their laborers to work.”
Murmurs of dissent were immediate.
Mr. Benjamin Jones, chairman of Jones and Laughlin Limited, banged his fist against the table. “Have you gone mad, MacKenzie? We can’t cut hours. Production will suffer, as will profitability.”
Ian shook his head. “Profitability will suffer more if the workers go on strike, effectively shutting down the mills. It will be more beneficial for everyone involved if we modify our demands of cutting wages while giving the workers some manner of compensation for cutting the wages to begin with.”
“They’ll not be making as much money if we cut their hours,” Mr. John Collingwood pointed out, taking a puff of his cigar and then blowing out the smoke in Ian’s direction.
Ian waved the smoke aside. “They won’t be taking as big of a financial blow if we put them on a set weekly wage instead of an hourly one. I’m of the belief they won’t balk as much at having their wages decreased if they find themselves with a few extra hours to spend outside the mill atmosphere.”
“They’ll just spend those few hours drinking in one of the many taverns in town,” Mr. Harry Paul pointed out, his ruddy complexion suggesting he spent many an hour in those very same taverns.
“Which is their choice,” Ian said. “If I need remind you, gentlemen, we’re not in the business of dictating what the workers do with the few scant hours they have when they’re not working. We’re in the business of industry, and occasionally, it does require compromise.”
“Seems to me you might not be the man for this job after all, MacKenzie.”
Looking toward the man who’d just spoken, Ian found Mr. Nigel Flaherty watching him out of narrowed eyes through the smoke of the cigar he was chomping on.
Of all the men gathered in the room, each one of them men of industry and fortune, Nigel Flaherty was the most ruthless, immoral, and unpleasant of the bunch. Not only was he heavily invested in iron and steel, but he also held interests in numerous railroads, bridges, oil, and just recently, coal. He was driven to become the wealthiest man in the nation, and because of that it was always difficult to reason with him, especially when it came down to matters of profitability.
Ian inclined his head in Nigel’s direction. “If you will recall, Nigel, I was chosen for these negotiations because I have a proven reputation for succeeding with delicate contract matters where others have failed. However, if you and everyone else in this room have concluded I’m not the right man for the job, by all means, find someone else. There are other attorneys in this country—many, I’m certain, with degrees obtained from one of the esteemed law schools America offers these days. I, as I’m sure everyone knows, earned my law degree through an apprenticeship. And while I fully understand the laws of the land, I also understand that some in this very room would be more comfortable having their interests looked after by a Harvard or Yale man. Because of that, feel free to bring on someone else. I have more than enough work to keep me occupied and would actually
be relieved to have these negotiations taken off my plate.”
Nigel leaned forward, taking the cigar from his mouth. “Your skills at negotiation are well known, MacKenzie, but it’s been my observation over the last few years that you tend to sympathize with the laborers a little too much for my liking—a direct result of your once being one of them, and a result of your being a son of an immigrant.”
Ian arched a brow. “I haven’t worked in the mills as a laborer since I was seven years old, and the only reason I was working then was because I was large for my age and my father lied about how old I was. As for my being the son of an immigrant, if my memory serves me correctly, your own father arrived on these shores from Ireland years ago with nothing to his name but the clothes on his back.”
Nigel’s dark eyes narrowed. “True, but unlike your father, mine set himself up in trade from the moment his foot hit American soil. Your father took a menial job at the mills. From what I understand, he never left those mills, whereas my father enjoyed great success with building up the Flaherty empire.”
“My father died over ten years ago, and we hadn’t spoken for over ten years before that, which makes it somewhat confusing why you believe my interaction with the laborers would be colored by my relationship, or lack thereof, with my father.” Ian tilted his head. “It’s also confusing why you seem to have taken a great deal of time to ferret out information regarding my history.”
Nigel waved aside a plume of smoke. “I always make it a point to learn as much as I can about my . . . contemporaries.”
Ian strove to maintain his temper. Clearly, Nigel didn’t view Ian as his contemporary, no matter that Ian had built up a considerable fortune of his own. It was an attitude he’d experienced often while climbing his way out of the world he’d been expected to embrace. However, it was an attitude he’d experienced less and less over the past few years, his reputation as a savvy man of business and a man capable of successfully negotiating with the many different unions going far to prove he was not a man easily dismissed.
“Why don’t we wait and see what Ian can do with the union men before we decide to bring anyone else into the negotiating process?” Victor said, rising to his feet and moving to stand beside Ian. “I believe I speak for the majority in this room when I say we have every confidence you’ll be able to navigate your way successfully through all the demands the unions are certain to broach. And, on that note, we should let you get on with matters.”
Before Ian could do more than nod to the table at large, Victor had hold of his arm and was walking with him across the room, down a long hallway, and then out into the smoky air of a Pittsburgh early afternoon.
“You shouldn’t put much stock in anything Nigel said” were the first words out of Victor’s mouth as they moved farther into the never-ending smog that blanketed Pittsburgh at all hours of the day or night, making it difficult to judge the current time without the benefit of a pocket watch. “He’s being difficult because he’s set his sights on Miss Lillian Moore, who everyone knows has set her sights on you.”
“Nigel is a good twenty years older than Miss Moore, and besides that, I have not given Miss Moore any reason to believe her interest in me is returned.”
“She’s one of the most eligible young ladies in Pittsburgh, and it would not hurt your social or business standing if you were to align yourself with her and her family. Mr. Richard Moore is worth millions, and his wife has set herself up as one of the leading society matrons in the city.”
“They don’t live in the city, Victor. They live in Shadyside, right up the road from me, and only four houses removed from you.”
“Which could prove convenient if you’d settle your attention on Miss Moore.” Victor shook his head. “How many times have I told you that the key to great success lies more with whom you know and your connections than the talent you have with making prudent business investments and deals?”
Ian smiled. “You’ve been quite vocal in sharing advice with me that will see my standing in the Pittsburgh social and business community grow. And while it’s obvious your marriage to Dorothy Clemson provided you with invaluable contacts, she’s also a lovely woman, possessed of a charming nature. Miss Moore, on the other hand, has what I can only describe as a questionable disposition. She’s spoiled, willful, and incredibly demanding.”
“That’s merely because she’s an only child and has parents who indulge her every whim.”
“Whims she would expect me to indulge if I pursued a courtship with her.”
Victor smiled. “Well, there is that. But what of Miss Florence Howe or her sister, Miss Ella Howe? They’re both lovely girls and well connected. I would think you’d find the idea of marriage to either of the Howe sisters intriguing.”
“The idea of marriage to a well-connected young lady is certainly intriguing,” Ian admitted before he shook his head. “But I’ve yet to find a young lady ensconced in Pittsburgh society who intrigues me. I find conversation with the Howe sisters to be rather difficult. They only seem interested in speaking of the weather or the fashions that can be found in the Pittsburgh department stores. When I’ve tried to engage in more stimulating conversation, such as inquiring about what books they enjoy reading, Miss Florence and Miss Ella always look completely horrified, as if reading books is something to be avoided at all costs.”
“Gentlemen such as yourself, ones who have social ambitions that rival their business ambitions, cannot have it all, Ian. Young ladies from the best families are raised to believe that intelligence is not a desirable trait in women and is a sure way to end up a spinster, thus the reasoning behind their limited conversational abilities.”
“That seems like a somewhat antiquated notion, especially given the strides the suffrage movement has made of late.”
Victor clapped him on the back. “I’m sure that society ladies in more established places, such as New York City, are more progressive. But this is Pittsburgh, and we’ve only just begun establishing our social presence. Because of that, our young ladies are encouraged to maintain a demure and, need I say, dull attitude.” He smiled. “But if you find that attitude not to your liking, perhaps you should travel to New York to discover if there’s a more progressive young miss just longing to abandon life in that bustling city and join you here in Pittsburgh.” He gestured to the clouds of black smoke swirling in the sky, smoke so dense it obliterated any sign of the sun. “I’m sure a New York socialite would love having an opportunity to enjoy all that Pittsburgh has to offer, notwithstanding the smog that does occasionally make actions like drawing in breaths of air hard to accomplish at times.”
Ian grinned. “Yes, I can see where our soot-drenched skies would be a compelling reason for a lady to abandon one of the greatest cities in the country. But from what I’ve been told, and I got this from none other than Andrew Carnegie, New York socialites are being swept up in the rage of procuring titles from across the ocean. I don’t believe my lack of a pedigree or the fact that I didn’t go to an illustrious university like Harvard is going to look all that impressive to ladies intent on securing themselves an aristocrat.”
“It’s only a matter of time before our university in Pittsburgh rivals Harvard, Yale, or even Columbia. As for your lack of a pedigree, I would have to imagine many a young lady would overlook that since, according to my wife, young ladies find you to be rather handsome, and they are apparently susceptible to”—he waved a hand at Ian’s chest—“all that.”
“I’m not certain my all that is enough to impress a New York society lady.”
Victor laughed. “Perhaps not, although it does give you an edge over other eligible gentlemen, at least here in Pittsburgh. Add that with the fact that you’ve amassed quite an impressive fortune over the last few years with all the prudent investments you’ve made, and I have to believe you’ll enjoy success with whatever young lady you set your sights on to marry.” His smile faded. “You should make that decision sooner than later, though. There are many
who still believe a man is more settled once he marries, and if you were to marry, I know your standing within society would benefit tremendously.”
Ian blew out a breath. “I know you’re right, but it all seems somewhat depressing, choosing a woman simply because she can elevate my social and business standing in the world.”
Victor stopped walking. “Don’t tell me there’s a heart of a romantic lingering under that broad chest of yours, because I have to admit that I’ve never taken you for a romantic sort.”
Ian stopped walking as well, as a truth he’d never once contemplated rose up inside him, leaving him feeling distinctly unsettled.
He’d decided years before that he’d need to marry a well-connected woman to ensure any children he might have would not suffer the slights he had in his youth because of his Scottish heritage, his abusive and alcoholic father, and the poverty he’d experienced until Aunt Birdie and Uncle Amos had taken him in.
But even having made that decision, and even though he’d been presented to more than a few young ladies who’d let it subtly be known they’d be eager to accept his suit, he’d yet to settle his attention on any specific lady.
Was his reluctance in the matter of choosing a wife merely because he was being overly particular or . . . could it stem from the idea that Victor was right and that he wanted more from a relationship with a lady than merely a means to achieve all the goals he’d set out for himself?
Could he, perhaps, be dragging his feet with acquiring a wife because he was actually looking for romance, or . . . love from a potential spouse?
Ian shook that thought straight out of his head because his main goal in life had always been to pursue business opportunities and increase his fortune with every new pursuit, which meant he had no room in his life for romance. He summoned up a smile. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I don’t have a romantic heart. I’m much too practical for that nasty business.”