“There are people who could use the money, I suppose. I trust you won’t be too terribly disappointed when naught comes of your endeavor. I still cannot believe you just walked in there and ordered them to begin cleaning.”
“People like to take commands, I have found. It makes life so much simpler if someone tells them what to do. And then, I have the name of Ellington. I suppose that makes all the difference.”
“I suppose it does.” She turned to watch as he tied the horse to the post. “But why on earth they should believe you is beyond my understanding. Do they think you a Christmas angel dropped from the sky to answer their prayers?’’
“It’s just a pageant, after all.” Alan shrugged and offered his arm.
“You’ve not heard the rumors, then. They are pinning all their dreams on you. I trust you’ll not go near the factory again. I cannot imagine what else has brought about the belief that you mean to open it.”
He made no reply as he held the front door for her.
When he remained ominously silent as they removed coats and gloves, Marian watched him warily.
“You do not mean to open the factory, do you?” She tried to keep the accusation out of her voice, but incredulity entered instead.
“It’s well-built and modern. There isn’t any reason it can’t turn a profit. But I’ve made no decisions. There are men more experienced at these things than I am.”
“Like Will Harris. You’ve been talking to Will Harris, haven’t you?” This time, the accusation was obvious. “He would say anything to see that hateful place opened again.”
Alan answered slowly, his gaze never leaving her face.
“He admits that some of the machinery is ill-designed for safety. That mangle should never have been left unshielded. Improvements can be made. People do not have to die there.”
Marian went white at the mention of the machine that had taken her fiancée’s life. Then, without another word, she gathered her skirts and swept from the hall to the kitchen, leaving Alan to fend for himself.
She scarcely spoke to him over dinner, and with the children home from school to eat, there was little opportunity to expound upon his discoveries. Unexpectedly frustrated by his inability to speak with her, Alan left soon after the meal to continue his explorations. No doubt the choir would be arriving to vent their mischief for the afternoon. There would be no place for him here now, or perhaps ever. He should never have mentioned the factory.
Feeling oddly cheated of a glimpse of heaven, Alan turned his mind to more practical things and tried to forget Marian’s white face and the childish voices and the smell of hot cider and spice that for him embodied the Chadwick home. It wasn’t his home, but a temporary lodging until he took himself out of here.
But the more he talked to people like the vicar, and the Methodist minister, and the former factory manager, and the people who had served at the Hall, the more engrossed Alan became in this rural world. The place had a feeling of permanence that the crude Arizona town of his origins did not. He felt he could make a difference here, while his father would not. For a man who has lost all goals in life, these things mattered, and Alan’s excitement mounted rather than diminished as he returned to the house to begin his letter campaign.
He was immediately assaulted by childish caroling when he entered the foyer, and he had to hold back a laugh at the two maids sneaking a peek into the parlor. His stomach rumbled at the smell emanating from the kitchen, and he couldn’t help but wonder what happened to all the goodies that were being made daily. No one family could possibly eat them all. When he found little John sitting on the bottom step watching him, Alan decided to find out.
Holding out his hand, he took the little boy’s, and they made a show of tiptoeing down the hall to the kitchen in search of the treats that surely must be piling in great mounds in some pantry. The maids watched them with laughter but made no attempts to put a halt to their mischief.
Replete with spiced currant cake and hot cider, satisfied with a child’s beaming smile, Alan retreated to the relative solitude of the study to put his thoughts about the factory down on paper. Floors buckled from the flood were easily replaced. Retaining walls could be built at a minimum of expense. Safety features could be added. Costs would rise, but it was worth the attempt if people could be kept from starving. Remembering his tour of the workhouse with Bernard, he shook his head and applied his pen industriously. Something had to be done.
But before he sanded the ink and folded the paper and mailed it off, Alan hesitated over the memory of a white face and angry words and a feeling of desolation as a slender figure marched away. He was being unnecessarily foolish, but he really needed to hear her arguments, seek her approval. It seemed the only hospitable thing to do.
Piping voices had faded into shouts of farewell not long before. Alan could hear the children of the house scampering up and down the stairs with restless energy as their mother attempted to round them up and herd them into the nursery for their supper. He was aware that there were two or three more he had not yet really met except over the noon meal, but Mrs. Chadwick courteously attempted to keep them from annoying their gentleman guest. That was what he was here, a guest. He really ought to think about moving out. It could be arranged, he knew, but he was not yet ready to make the break.
Laying the sheets of paper on the desk, Alan went in search of the one voice he had not heard in the confusion outside.
He found her straightening out the chaos of the parlor after the children’s departure. Returning an antimacassar to a chair back and unrumpling a corner of the carpet as he traversed the room, Alan waited for Marian to take notice of him. When she did, it was only to ask him to return the candlesticks to the mantel.
“They are a rowdy lot, aren’t they? I don’t know how you keep them in line.” He attempted a placatory note.
“According to Bernard, I do not. Did they disturb you? I am sorry.” Her reply was clipped and perfunctory as she gathered a tray of punch cups and crumb-smeared plates.
“They did not disturb me in the slightest. It is I who should be apologizing for disturbing you. I am the intruder here.”
She gave him a startled look but continued at her task. He always seemed so irritatingly sincere. Even the dark lock falling over one eyebrow had a certain sincerity to it. There was no need to even consider the expression of his lean features or the warmth of his eyes. She wouldn’t think about him sleeping in the chair, holding little John. She didn’t want to think about him at alt.
“You are our guest. You do not intrude. Supper will be ready shortly. Or would you prefer it sent to the study? You seemed quite absorbed there.”
“No, I need to hear more opinions before I can continue with my work there. I am a stranger to this place, after all. I need insight from those who live here.”
Marian lifted the tray and regarded him from beneath raised brows. “Shall I invite Bernard and some of the gentlemen from the neighborhood? I am certain their opinions would be of far more value than that of a couple of women.”
Alan gritted his teeth and attempted to hold his temper. She had to be the most irritating woman he had ever encountered. The women he knew seemed content to anticipate his needs and see him happy, but this one seemed determined to plant herself in his way and challenge him. He didn’t understand why he valued her opinion, but he did.
“I know their opinions. It is yours I seek. Or have I done the unforgivable and dared to think differently than you?’’
Properly chastised, Marian glared at him but nodded her agreement. “The London paper is on the table. Make yourself comfortable and we will call you when supper is ready.”
Alan had the urge to offer to help, but he knew nothing of kitchens or women’s work and wasn’t certain where to begin. The Chadwick women seemed to have more than their fair share of tasks, but he could think of no simple way of relieving them. From things he had heard, he knew they were not as well off as they would seem, but they had much
more than most in this place. Perhaps he needed to discuss with Bernard how much he should offer for his room. The cash might be welcome at this time of year. Which made him think of the impending holiday and gifts. He needed to consider that, too.
As it turned out, Alan received very little of use from the women when he discussed his tentative theories concerning the factory. Marian listened dispassionately as he expounded on the opportunities, then returned to her meal while her mother all but patted him on the head with her soft flatteries.
When he confronted Marian with a direct question, she merely answered, “It does not really matter what I think, does it? You will do as you wish.”
Frustrated, Alan wanted to throttle her, but he awaited his opportunity instead. When Mrs. Chadwick disappeared upstairs later with the children, he cornered Marian in the dining room while she polished the silver tea set on the sideboard.
“I am tired of apologizing to you, Miss Chadwick. We seem to be at constant odds, although I cannot fathom why. Before, you chastised me for not thinking women had minds or opinions. Now, when I ask for your thoughts, you ignore me. What do I need to do to please you?”
“I cannot think why you need to please me.” Marian rubbed briskly at the tea pot, trying not to look at him. It was difficult to do. He stood too close, and she could sense his masculine shoulders near to hers. He was nearly a head taller, she noticed. A perfect size. Embarrassed by that wayward thought, she rubbed harder.
With firm hands, Alan reached over and removed the pot from her grasp. He had meant to take her shoulders and steer her toward the parlor, but somehow, her startled gasp at his touch provoked other instincts. Beneath the crisp serge of her gown, her shoulders were soft and malleable, and her parted lips and wide eyes seduced his thoughts away from rationality. Without giving any thought to what he did, Alan leaned over and touched his mouth to hers.
Marian stiffened and backed away, only to discover the sideboard against her spine. She touched a hand to his chest to push him away, but the heat of him scorching her palm paralyzed any protest. His kiss wasn’t demanding or hungry as she remembered other kisses. It was gentle, exploratory, and almost as eager as her own.
She couldn’t help it. She’d not been held in longer than she cared to remember. The comfort and security of Mr. Ellington’s arms as they closed around her tempted her, and the tenderness of his kiss drew her closer. When she found herself responding eagerly, she shivered and reluctantly pulled away.
Alan didn’t stop her. He touched a wondering hand to the curve of her cheek and stared down into her eyes for a moment before stepping back to a proper distance. “I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he murmured, but there was no apology in his voice.
Marian closed her eyes and wished down her embarrassment. “We’ll just have to see that it doesn’t happen again,” she whispered in response. “You wished to speak with me, I believe.”
Her full skirts swaying, she led the way into the parlor, lighting another lamp and stirring the fire before taking a chair, not the sofa.
Alan followed her in but his thoughts were suddenly full of a slender, supple waist and firm breasts pressed against him, and he could scarcely remember what it was he had meant to discuss. She looked at him with curiosity, and he wondered what she would do if he pulled her back into his arms again. It had been a long time since he had held a woman in his arms. He had forgotten how good it felt.
He had to get his thoughts back where they belonged. He didn’t know his future, didn’t know whether he would be here one day or one week or one month. And he was quite certain Marian Chadwick was not a woman to dally with for whatever time he had here. They scarcely knew each other. There would be time to wait and see what the future might bring. But he was having great difficulty getting that message across to the rest of his body.
Plunging in, Alan finally said as he paced before the mantel, “I think I understand some of your objections to the factory. There is the safety factor that can be remedied with the proper engineering. You mentioned the children and the hours that they worked. Although it is against common practice and will undoubtedly be costly and cause a furor, I see no reason why children must be employed. I suppose if the family is needy, children might be employed for a few hours a day sweeping or doing other simple jobs. There will need to be some discussion as to the age hiring begins. Some of the girls down there are married at fourteen and fifteen. I would think of them as children, but they have families to support just as any other.”
Marian’s eyes widened. “You have thought this through very seriously. You really do mean to open the factory, don’t you? Why? Aren’t there factories enough in America?”
Alan shrugged and met her gaze briefly, before turning to stare at the fire with empty eyes. “Why does one decide to do anything? Because it feels right, I suppose. The opportunity and the need is here. I believe I have the ability to make things right again. Isn’t that reason enough?” He could have listed several more pertinent reasons, but he wasn’t ready to reveal that much of himself yet. He wasn’t certain why. Perhaps he had just become accustomed to keeping to himself this past year.
Marian shivered and stared into the flames as he did. She remembered the sounds of the factory, the suffocating closeness in the heat of the summer when all the machinery groaned and creaked and backs bent over moving metal for hours without stop. She didn’t really remember the mangle to differentiate it from the other horrible pieces of metal. Nor had she been allowed to see Robert’s body when they carried him out. But she could imagine it, and tears welled up in her eyes.
“You mean well, I’m certain,” she whispered, choking back her sob. “But you cannot know what it is like. There is no light. The air fills with this terrible dust until everyone is coughing and sneezing. The noise is something that nightmares are made of. There must be some other way for people to make a living. That cannot be called a life.”
“It is not so pleasant a life as you have here, admittedly.” Alan spoke slowly, seeking the right words. “But starving in the streets is much worse. Farm prices are going down. There aren’t enough jobs in the fields. And those families without fathers or husbands to support them have nothing. I haven’t seen the books. I don’t know yet if it can be done. But the factory seems to be their only hope. Would you deny them that one chance?”
“I think I should prefer starvation,” Marian replied stiffly. “I told Robert that, but he thought he would make our fortune by working hard and long in that evil place. He was just out of Oxford and the earl’s solicitors hired him to make the place profitable. He was of good family but not wealthy and he wanted to buy us a house. Instead, his savings went to pay for his funeral. He was but a year older than me.” Marian turned her tear-stained face in Mr. Ellington’s direction. “Are you sure there is no other way?”
Alan didn’t answer her directly, but finally taking a seat, he clenched his fingers over the curved claw of the chair’s arm. He focused on a point somewhere above her shoulder as he answered. “Isabel and I had been married only two years when I decided to take her traveling. She had never been beyond the small ranch and town where we grew up. I had traveled considerably by then and knew the dangers involved, but there are always dangers in living. I wanted her to see something of the country, decide if she wanted to spend her life on the ranch, or if she would prefer a more civilized world.”
He released the chair to rub absently at his knee. “She wanted to ride a train. Your railroads here are more advanced than ours, especially the ones we have out west. But traveling in a train is faster than by coach, and I agreed. The engine spewed smoke and ash night and day and the cars rattled and shook incessantly. Isabel became nauseated from the smoke and noise and motion, and we agreed to abandon the train at the first large stop. The train derailed in a canyon before we made it.”
He didn’t say any more, and Marian understood that was all he would say. Just as she couldn’t speak of how Robert had died, he would not indu
lge in the details of the train wreck that had taken his wife’s life. They had both suffered tragedies, he was telling her. But they seemed to be employing different methods in coping with them.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I suppose all trains can’t be banned because of one accident. Life does go on; I understand you. I just can’t see why it can’t go on in a more civilized fashion. If the Sedgwicks aren’t going to return to the Hall, they could at least sell it to someone who might return the estate to what it once was. That would take care of much of the problem without ever looking at the factory.’’
She rose and started for the stairway before he could pluck any more of her heartstrings. Despite his kiss, she was well aware she wasn’t the sort of woman that a man like Alan Ellington addressed his attentions to. A man who was widely traveled and had wealth enough to open a factory was from a different circle than a rural miss like her. She couldn’t allow herself to become involved in his private pain.
Alan stood up when she did, grasping the chair briefly to balance himself, not daring to strike out after her until his knee caught. He wanted to say something that would make her stop, keep her here a while longer, but he could not imagine what it would be. She was not being realistic, of course. She was living in hopes of a return to a world that no longer existed. But there was just enough truth in her words to grate against his conscience. So there wasn’t anything he could say, and he watched her retreat to the safety of the upper story without offering one word to stop her.
* * * *
“I cannot believe they are allowing him to open the Hall just for our Christmas pageant,” Marian whispered as she and her mother carried the tins of Christmas delicacies out to the waiting carriage that Christmas Eve. “Do you think he is doing this without the earl’s permission? ‘‘
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