The Most Eligible Bachelor Romance Collection: Nine Historical Romances Celebrate Marrying for All the Right Reasons
Page 8
Josie still gazed at his landlady. “The Society would love for you to join us.”
“How thoughtful,” Daniel said, earning another of Josie’s wide smiles.
“Aren’t you late to work, Mr. Blair?” Mrs. Beake glowered.
Oh. Yes. “So nice to see you, Miss Price.”
Josie took hold of his sleeve, a gesture that burned through the layers of fabric to his skin. Or perhaps Mrs. Beake’s gaze shot flames of disapproval. Either way, his arm tingled.
“Will you be at the office later? I have a business matter I wish to discuss.”
“Yes, all day. Nothing on my plate.” A fib Mrs. Beake confirmed with a snort. “I mean, I can spare a few moments.” Why was he so tongue-tangled around her? It wasn’t always so. But then she finished school and something changed.
“Until later.” Josie shifted so he might exit the house. “Mrs. Beake, I am certain you must be moved by the conditions faced by our city’s poorest residents….”
Daniel passed a jonquil-painted bicycle propped against the house and smiled. No wonder Josie had worn trousers; she’d cycled here on her Yellow Fellow Stearns. The desire to take out his own bicycle coursed through his stiff muscles, but fresh air and exercise—and training for his race in six weeks—would have to wait until he’d submitted his plans for the Humphries Competition.
“Yoo-hoo! Mr. Blair!” A female in purple stripes waved.
Another girl. Another basket. The churchwomen might have been more efficient to send a single representative, but how touching to be thought of when one was ill. Even after the fact.
He tipped his bowler. “Miss York.”
“Good day.” Estelle York dipped her blond head. “You seem in a hurry.”
A tremendous understatement. “After my bout with influenza, I fell behind on my work.” Not that he wished to bore her on the subject of architecture. Last he’d seen her, at a supper party at her house, she’d yawned at his conversation attempts.
“You’ll never find a decent wife if you can’t make decent small talk,” Father complained.
Well, Daniel didn’t want just any wife. There was but one lady who’d sparked his interest, but she—
“You were ill?” Miss York batted her lashes. “Perhaps this will cheer you up.”
She hadn’t known? Then why did she hold out a basket, if it wasn’t filled with chicken soup or hot rolls? He could almost hear Mrs. Beake’s harrumph. With a sinking feeling, he took the handle. The basket was light in his grasp. “Thank you.”
“Open it.” She stepped close, filling his nostrils with tuberose perfume so strong his nose itched. Mrs. Beake would have apoplexy if she saw.
God help me, I’m too tired for this.
The fastest way out of this odd encounter seemed to be through obedience, so he opened the lid. Inside lay something furry and white, much like Mrs. Beake’s tippet. “What’s this?”
“A Turkish Angora, of course.” Miss York’s face brightened. “Moppet’s girl.”
A flash of remembrance. The dinner party. Miss York’s pride over a new litter of kittens and their fluffy mother. Then something moved under his hand. “A cat?”
“Kitten.” A small white head nuzzled his fingers. Such petite ears and thin whiskers and, mercy, tiny teeth like needles sinking into his thumb. He mashed his lips to hold back a yowl, but he couldn’t help jerking his hand back.
“You’ve scared her.”
“Sorry.” He shook the pain from his thumb. “Fine cat.”
“Then take good care of her.” Miss York stepped back. “She’s a gift.”
No, she was a cat, something he couldn’t keep. Why a female who scarcely tolerated him thought he’d want one of her pets was a mystery he couldn’t ponder on this little sleep, but perhaps he’d expressed more enthusiasm over the litter than he recalled. He’d tried to be polite, he remembered that much.
“Polite and boring, that’s why no females take notice of you.” Father’s words again.
He wouldn’t be boring when he won the Humphries Competition and the entire world of architecture knew his name. “Too kind. However, my landlady’s health forbids animals.”
Miss York shook her head. “You’ll be in your own home soon enough.”
No, he wouldn’t. “Wait—”
She was gone in a swirl of skirts, leaving him with a chewed thumb, clutching a basket, and attempting to rub the confusion from his forehead. This was the oddest day of his life. One might think someone had played a terrible trick on him.
His jaw clenched. Harvey.
When he arrived at the partnership, he strode straight into Harvey Whitstone’s office and set the basket on the mahogany expanse of his desk, smack atop a pile of newspapers. “Annoying as your pranks are, replacing my ink with glue and all that, they’re preferable to telling Miss York I love cats, or whatever you did.”
“A good morning to you, too.” Harvey’s pale brows rose as he stretched out his lanky legs to stand. “I didn’t tell Miss York anything, although I’d be happy to. Pretty girl, that.”
“She gave me her cat.” Daniel folded his arms.
Harvey peeked in the basket and whistled. “I didn’t speak to Miss York. Nor did I place the advertisement, so don’t accuse me of that, either.”
Daniel’s temples throbbed. He wasn’t the smartest man in the world, but this paralyzing sensation of confusion was not familiar. Perhaps the project had driven him mad, after all. “Ad?”
Harvey tugged the newspaper from under the basket, a lopsided grin pulling at his freckled cheek. “You poor sot.”
The newspaper had been folded around an advertisement. The bold font resembled a Wanted poster, the sort tacked on walls by law enforcement.
“You need to sit down?” Harvey shoved a chair toward him. “You’re pale as a parsnip.”
Sit? Daniel would rather throw something. “If you didn’t do this—”
Josie’s high voice came from the reception area. His heart usually pattered like a rainstorm when he heard it, but now, his pulse slowed to a death march.
It wasn’t churchwomen calling on him, after all. His visitors had something more mercenary in mind.
Even Josie.
You can catch more flies with honey than vinegar. Josie smiled at the secretary, a pinch-mouthed woman of middle years who glared at Josie’s trousers as if she’d never seen human legs before. “But I have an appointment.”
“Mr. Blair is a busy man.”
“It’s all right, Mrs. Crabtree.” Daniel to the rescue. One hand held a basket, and the other beckoned her forward. “Come into my office, Miss Price.”
Smiling farewell at Mrs. Crabtree, Josie followed Daniel down a dark-paneled corridor and took a seat in a well-appointed office. How wonderful, that he’d done so well for himself. He deserved it. He’d always been so kind, never treating her like his friend’s irksome sister.
“Forgive Crabtree,” he said. “It’s been busy this morning.”
The city was growing. Good for his line of work.
“I’ve never been here before.” She glanced around the room. “I’d imagined your office would be just like Wilson’s, but it isn’t.” Wilson, her brother, hid his architecture tools from clients, but Daniel’s drafting utensils hung from a tidy board near his drawing table, an unpretentious touch. But Daniel was a humble sort. It looked as if he’d even brought his lunch, the way he gently lowered the basket to his desk.
“Wilson’s has more awards on its shelves.”
She laughed, but Daniel didn’t. Oh dear. He’d never taken his rivalry with Wilson to heart before. They’d competed ever since meeting at the Wheelmen Club in their college years, racing their cycles and such, but they’d never allowed a prize to hurt their friendship. “You’re a fine architect, Daniel. That’s why I’m here.”
Daniel snorted a laugh, but the accompanying smile was charming. So much so it made her stomach flutter.
“Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Josie.
I’ve known you too long.”
“Then I shall state my need up front. I have need of your services. Of you.”
His eyes narrowed. “Does it have anything to do with this?” He handed her a page of newspaper.
An article on the Ladies’ Aid Society? Giddy at the thought, she gave the paper a crisp shake and began to read.
WANTED:
The heart of San Francisco’s Most Eligible Bachelor
Reward of $1000
to the unmarried female who captures the heart of Daniel Blair, Architect
Guaranteed Payment by a Gentleman of Integrity
Josie’s mouth gaped, but she couldn’t get past the shock to shut it. “Did Harvey do this? Gentleman of integrity, my boot.” She’d box his ears.
“Not Harvey. I don’t know who. But isn’t the lure of a thousand dollars why you’re here?” His loaded question was lightened by his teasing tone, but his eyes seemed sad.
“It is a lot of money,” she joked. Then sobered. “More than most laborers make in a year.”
“If any lady knows what workhands earn, it’s you.” From his smile, he seemed to admire the fact. “But any woman might be tempted by that reward. Enough to put up with me, even.”
“You’re worth every penny.” And then some. “But I doubt any intelligent woman will believe such an obvious joke. Who would be so ruthless as to pursue a man for a prize?”
His brows rose. My, he was worried someone would do just that.
“Rest easy. I have no designs on your heart.” He must be so pleased hearing this. So relieved she was not one of those hypothetical women he seemed to fear would pursue him for a reward. No, she had no ulterior motives at all. “What I want from you is money.”
Chapter 2
At the astonished look on Daniel’s face, Josie burst into laughter. “I suppose it is ironic. The idea of easy cash is why I’m here, after all.”
He laughed, but it sounded weary. “I should have known you weren’t here to woo me.”
“I’ve pestered you plenty over the last ten years.” Had it been ten? He and Wilson met when she was fifteen and they were twenty, so yes. Ten years. Daniel helped her learn to waltz that first night he’d come to the house, and she’d stepped on his toes and tried to lead. “But I would never dream of making such a nuisance of myself as to woo you.”
Not that she knew how. She didn’t have any gentleman callers, but she was too busy with church and the Ladies’ Aid Society to mind. Still, Daniel had always been dear, with a warm heart and long-lashed brown eyes. If someone were ever to woo her, it might be nice if it were Daniel.
In all this time, however, he’d never shown interest. Even now, he didn’t meet her gaze, as if the notion of them courting were embarrassing.
She cleared her throat, which pained her a little. “That ad is appalling. I’ve a mind to write a letter to the editor for allowing such demeaning rubbish in the newspaper.”
There, he met her gaze again. “I’ll write in, explaining it’s a prank. But enough of this ‘eligible bachelor’ stuff. You want my money?”
When he smiled, she felt things shift back into place between them. As if they had a falling out but were now friends again. So she followed his lead, offering a saucy grin.
“You make it sound so vulgar. Now give me a moment. I have a script.” She took a breath, holding in the ink and wood-polish smell of his office. “As you know, I am a proud member of the Ladies’ Aid Society.”
“I do indeed.” He leaned back in his creaky chair.
“The group was founded to assist the city’s neediest women and children. Mothers without husbands have the worst of it. No income, no support. Some of the Society’s wealthier members shelter women in their homes and provide employment training, to great success. But our personal domiciles cannot house enough of them.”
“Unwed mothers.” A smile pulled at his lips.
Not that he found the subject amusing. No, she recognized admiration, and a bit of surprise. It was bold to bring up the existence of an unplanned infant, perhaps, but there was no use pretending such a thing never occurred. She was no schoolroom miss. If she wasn’t practical about such things, who would be?
“Think of it,” she said, breaking from the script she and the Society’s president, Viola Predmore, had crafted. “We want to build a Mothers’ Home. Wouldn’t it be marvelous to help so many people?”
“Of course I’ll offer a financial donation.”
She clapped. “I knew you would, with your kind heart. But I have more to ask of you. I promised the Society I could find an architect.”
He lifted his hands. “I can give you money, but I can’t develop plans. I’m sorry.”
Disappointment speared her stomach. “But we need you.”
“I’m involved in two competitions. The cycle race against Wilson might be foolish, I know, but cycling clears my head, and I need that right now, because the other competition is the most significant thing I’ve done in my career. May ever do.”
“You’re a finalist, too? Mrs. Humphries’s contest? Congratulations.” Although calling the International Architecture Prize a mere contest was like referring to a White House luncheon as a box social. The reward for designing California University’s new campus was global acclaim, cash, and the expectation of numerous contracts.
Theodora Humphries, the competition’s sponsor, was the state’s wealthiest woman, rich off silver like Daniel’s father. Her collection of European art was incomparable, according to Mother. And Mother knew art better than anyone.
Josie’s lips twitched. Had no one thought to invite Theodora Humphries to a Ladies’ Aid Society meeting?
Meanwhile, other, poorer women needed attention. “It’s an honor to be a finalist, but the plans for the university are due, when, June fifth? You have plenty of time.”
“Josie.” He rolled back his head.
“A paupers’ home won’t gild your name the way a university will, true, but the rewards are far sweeter.”
“That’s not fair. I’m trying to put Whitstone & Blair on the map, something I’ve poured years into with far less fruit than I’d like. Far less than my father would like—not that it would gain his favor.”
She sighed. Congressman Roger Scoville Blair had given Daniel a terrible time since Mrs. Blair died a few years ago, pressuring him to run for public office. “God didn’t create you to be a politician like your father. He made you to design things. Like homes.” She stressed the last word.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t.” His gaze probed hers.
She couldn’t meet it, after a moment. It was too discomfiting, looking into those long-lashed eyes. “I shouldn’t pressure you. I apologize.”
“You’re doing something admirable. I appreciate your tenacity.” At his soft tone, she lifted her gaze. “Why not ask Wilson?”
“He’s ‘too busy,’ too, at the drafting board and training for your race. Except he claims his new bride takes time away from those things. He shouldn’t say that. Nora’s a dear.”
“Of course she is. But perhaps he’s found matrimony a bit of a distraction—” His eyes widened. “Wilson placed the ad.”
“Mercy, no.” But now that Daniel said it, she knew it was true. Her brother made a competition out of everything he and Daniel did. And he liked to win.
“Scurrilous, outrageous.” Words bubbled up her throat on a boiling sea of fury.
“He’s wanted my head on a silver platter.” Daniel’s tone was neutral, but there was a firm set to his jaw. “I just didn’t expect him to be so literal about it. This deserves a call.” He stood.
“You can’t. He and Nora are in Sacramento until Saturday while their house is being finished.” Her parents wouldn’t be any help, of course, so she’d have to handle this. “I’ll be waiting for him when he gets back.”
“No need. I’ll set things right.” A tiny smile pulled at his lips. “Nice of you to protect me, though.”
“Wilson will be the on
e requiring protection.” A high-pitched cry reached her ear. “What’s that?”
He sighed. Then he gestured to his lunch. “Careful. It’s got teeth.”
Josie unlatched the basket. A white fur ball with bright blue eyes strained to leap over the side. She caught it in her hands and cooed. “If you aren’t the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen. Why did mean old Daniel lock you up?”
“Mean old Daniel can’t have cats at Mrs. Beake’s.”
“Then where did it come from?” She nuzzled its bitty neck.
“Estelle York.” He ruffled his hair, mussing it so a lock fell over his brow. “I think—this sounds arrogant, but I think she’s competing for the thousand dollars.”
He didn’t look arrogant. He looked stricken. Still, Josie’s stomach soured. Estelle York pursuing Daniel, for prize money or himself, wasn’t a happy thought.
“A cat seems an odd token of affection.”
“Chocolate would have been fine,” he joked. “Can’t say as I mind the muffins I got, or the notes waiting here when I got into work. But pets are personal. I have to give it back.”
He’d received goodies and notes? From women? Then some of the town’s maidens took Wilson’s ridiculous ad at its word. Her hands trembling, Josie tucked the protesting cat back into the basket. “If you want, I’ll keep the kitten until you return her to Estelle.”
Leaving with a cat but no architect for the Mothers’ Home wasn’t her plan, but sometimes it was best to accept God’s surprises.
“Tilly would hate competing for your affection.” He smiled at the name of her terrier.
She stood. “I have plenty of love for all.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” He rose then looked past her. His expression tightened.
A slender woman paused at the threshold. A plain bonnet framed a pale face and a determined jaw. “Mr. Blair, architect?”