Her heart thudded in her chest.
The others in the car stepped forward as the smiling porter—proud in his uniform and white gloves—opened the door and wished each passenger well.
Tilda noticed folks were slipping him a coin as they departed. She’d learned that a quarter was the proper tip to give the porter for any and every service he performed. She reached into her drawstring bag and pulled out a coin.
“Pleasure to have you on board, Miss Green.”
“Pleasure was mine.” She handed him the coin as she shook his hand. A smile inched across her face realizing how practiced he was in accepting the gratuity.
“Your fiancé is a blessed man.”
“Thank you.” Tilda hoped he would be a good husband. He had to be better than the man she’d left behind in New York. Reginald Murphy had pledged to her father he would oversee her assets. Instead, he attempted to trick her into marrying him in order to gain possession of her inheritance. Mr. Oliver didn’t know about her inheritance. If he proved to be an honorable man, she would tell him. Until then, she would keep that part of her life a secret.
Marrying a man she didn’t know seemed a whole lot better than marrying the man who only wanted her money. Reginald was twenty years her senior… Mr. Oliver’s advertisement didn’t state his age. Dear Lord—she closed her eyes and prayed—I hope I followed your lead.
Jeffery watched as an unescorted woman descended the stairs. His bride. She had a regal set to her shoulders. Her brown hair was tied in a loose braid slipped up under her hat. It was a conservative hat, not given to a lot of adornment. She may think she’s plain, he thought, noting her delicate nose and soft chin, but she is beautiful. He stepped forward. “Miss Green?”
She turned in his direction, smiled, and assessed him as carefully as he had been scrutinizing her. “Mr. Oliver?”
He nodded with the removal of his hat. “At your service. I trust your accommodations were sufficient.”
“Superb, thank you. I’ve never ridden in a Pullman Palace before. It was quite comfortable.”
Jeffery smiled. “I had heard, although I have not had the pleasure. My carriage is over there,” he said, indicating the location with an outstretched arm. “Are your trunks labeled with my address?” He took her carpetbag in his left hand and offered the elbow of his right. As she placed her hand in its crook, he moved to place his hand on top of hers… but held back, chastising himself for such a foolishly intimate impulse, especially while carrying her carpetbag.
“Yes, as you instructed.”
“Wonderful.” He lifted his grandfather’s watch from his waistcoat pocket and flicked it open. “If we hurry, we’ll get to the courthouse in time to get married.”
She halted. “We’re not going to have a church wedding?”
“I’m sorry. I assumed—since you didn’t know anyone—a courthouse wedding seemed appropriate.”
Her chest heaved, and she nodded. “I understand. A courthouse wedding is fine.”
“Excellent.” He led her to a stately, highly polished landau carriage. “I know the judge; he’s a deacon in the church. I’m certain he wouldn’t mind saying a prayer of blessing over the vows.”
“I would feel better knowing the Lord is a part of our marriage.”
“I’ll make the arrangements. This is my carriage,” he said, handing her bag to his driver. He then opened the door for her to step inside its plush black-and-red interior. Being the gentleman his parents raised, he held out his hand to assist her. Its soft warmth sent a wave of calm over him. Jeffery shook off the surprising reaction to their contact and walked around the carriage as James secured the carpetbag in the carriage boot. He climbed in, latching the door behind him, and settled beside his bride.
The carriage roof provided modest shade for Miss Green. Normally, he would travel with the top down. But Savannah heat could be quite challenging for the uninitiated. So he gambled on the side of caution, figuring the northern climes of New York City were bound to be much cooler. In fact, in anticipation of his marriage, he’d purchased the home where they would begin their married lives precisely because of its location under a grove of oaks. In addition to the ample shade they provided, the house was positioned so as to capture the cool breezes off the Savannah River. Prior to that, he’d made his home with his parents in the same house he’d been born in nearly thirty years prior. That family home sat proudly on one of the famous city squares designed by Oglethorpe back in the sixteen hundreds.
“Courthouse, James.” He’d hired the young man who had worked for his father in the stables to drive the carriage this day.
“Yes, sir.” James flicked the reins, and the horse plodded forward. The harness jangled with each step.
Jeffery turned to his bride. She really was quite handsome to look at. “Are you familiar with driving a buggy?”
She nodded. “Yes. I didn’t have many opportunities, nor was there much need in the city, but on Sundays our family would rent a carriage and ride through and around Central Park. Mother would make a basket of food, and we would stop for a picnic.”
Her eyes glistened. He recalled she had mentioned in her second letter that she no longer had any living relatives. “If you don’t mind me asking, what happened to your parents?”
She glanced down at her lap and fiddled with the drawstrings of her purse. “They died about a year ago.” She swallowed. “They were traveling to the Cape, and the train derailed.”
“My condolences.” He turned and faced the front. “If it is of any comfort, my parents are still alive.”
Out of the corner of his eye he saw her give a brief nod, then turn her attention to the various houses as they rode down West Broad Street toward Broughton and the Courthouse. “If you look down there”—he pointed to the right—“you’ll see Liberty Square. General James Oglethorpe designed the city with numerous squares. Each community has a place to gather, sit in the shade of the trees, and enjoy their neighbors. It’s a marvelous plan.” He was rambling, he knew.
He pointed up ahead. “That’s the back of the white marble courthouse. A bit farther up ahead is Bay Street and the Savannah River.”
Her eyes widened—with excitement, he hoped. “It is clearly a city,” she commented, “but much smaller than New York.”
Jeffery’s back stiffened. Did she regret her decision to come to Savannah?
Chapter Two
Tilda’s mind couldn’t stay on one subject. The new sights, sounds, and smells all piqued her curiosity. Then the reality of her situation slammed back to the forefront. The courthouse. She was about to marry a man she didn’t know. They hadn’t said more than a couple of words to each other. Didn’t he want to get to know her better? Or was this going to be a marriage one of her friends had warned her about, a marriage where the wife was a second-class citizen. Where the man made all the decisions, and the wife cooked, cleaned, and raised children. Her heart pulsed in her chest. She sucked in a deep pull of air. It was hot, humid, and stuck to her teeth. “It’s a beautiful city.”
His shoulders relaxed. “I love it.” He smiled.
“You should see New York sometime. The height of the buildings, the—”
He stiffened.
She narrowed her gaze. “Are you one of those southerners who hate the North?”
“What?” He turned to her.
“You stiffen up every time I mention New York. Why would you seek a wife from the North if—”
“Forgive me. I was merely concerned that Savannah might not be to your taste, coming from such an affluent city.”
“Oh.” Tilda relaxed. “I love history and architecture. I can see that I will be fascinated by the delightful buildings of your city.”
His smile returned. A very pleasant smile, she decided, that sent a wave of peace down her spine. Perhaps she hadn’t made the wrong decision, after all.
“There is a lot of history here in Savannah,” he offered. “In fact, there is a historical society you might wis
h to explore.”
The carriage slowed as James pulled it toward the stone curb. Jeffery Oliver jumped out of the carriage and rounded it to open her door. He was a gentleman. He hadn’t waited for his servant to open the door for both of them. “Here we are, my dear,” Mr. Oliver said with a slight bow.
She placed her hand in his and stepped down off the carriage. It was a nice carriage, not overly ornate but representative of modest income. Her father often rented a landau. She scanned the area and could see a bit of the Savannah River between the buildings that crowded the shoreline. The mastheads of tall ships poked up over their roofs.
Jeffery led her up the stairs, through the great doors into the hall, and down the hallway to Judge Burrow’s office. A young man seated behind a polished wooden desk stood as they entered the office. “’Evening, Mr. Oliver. The judge will be right with you. Excuse me while I notify him.”
“He knows you?” she asked. Her knees were beginning to shake.
“Only because I came in earlier and made arrangements for our wedding ceremony,” he whispered.
“Oh.” Jeffery Oliver was a planner.
“His Honor says to come right in,” the young man said as he exited the judge’s chambers.
“Thank you.” Jeffery led her in.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Oliver.” Judge Burrow extended his hand as he stood up from behind his desk. “And who might this beautiful lady be?”
Jeffery placed a hand upon hers. “This is Tilda Green from New York City. She’s done me the honor of consenting to be my wife.”
The judge, a broad man with a round belly and equally round face, smiled. “Ah, a man who findeth a wife…”
Jeffery Oliver’s eyebrows shot up. “Yes, my grandfather often quoted that verse.”
“Joseph was a good man, God rest his soul. I still miss him.” The judge turned to her. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Green.”
“The pleasure is mine, Your Honor.” He smiled, though Tilda didn’t know if it was because she said the right thing or that she’d used the wrong title. She hadn’t had any encounters with judges or magistrates until the death of her parents. Then she’d seen more than she’d hoped to see in her lifetime.
He clapped his hands. “Shall we get down to business? Did you file the papers with the clerk, Mr. Oliver?”
“Yes, Your Honor.” He pulled the folded document from inside his dress coat pocket. Tilda examined the cut of Jeffery’s clothes. He wore a well-tailored suitcoat without tails, but the cut was below his backside. The lapels were double-breasted and broad, though not as broad as some. The bow tie was made of a rich blue silk, bringing out the blue in his eyes. The vest was of a shade of ivory, a bit darker than his shirt, which seemed to be a lighter ivory color. The jacket sported a pattern of dark gray stripes offset by a seemingly single strand of lighter gray thread. Tilda knew fabric well enough to recognize the delicate line was composed of more than a single strand. The cuffs of the jacket were also light gray and had the same accent of blue silk covering the buttons on the cuffs as his tie.
Tilda examined the buttons more closely. They were cufflinks… button-shaped cufflinks that could be changed to fit the attire. Interesting, she reflected. Jeffery Oliver is clearly a man who takes great care with his appearance. She wondered what that might mean for his personal life overall.
“Wonderful.” The judge’s words brought her back from her musings. “Let us begin.”
“One moment, please,” Jeffery spoke up. “My wife-to-be would like it if you could add a prayer for the Lord to bless our marriage.”
The judge smiled. “I’d be honored.” He opened a small black book and began. “Let us pray.”
Tilda’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
Three minutes later they were signing a piece of paper and the judge was pumping her husband’s hand. Husband. It was hard to believe. It didn’t seem possible.
“Thank you, Your Honor,” Jeffery Oliver said as he picked up the marriage license.
“Pleasure was all mine, Mr. Oliver. Congratulations. Best wishes, Mrs. Oliver. I trust you’ll find Savannah pleasing to your sensibilities. It is a fine city.”
“I’m certain I will, Your Honor, thank you.” Tilda nodded. Judging from how quickly they were married, no doubt they’d soon be consummating their marital arrangement. Tilda looked upon the face of her new husband as they turned to leave. Fear washed over her. She didn’t even know this man.
Jeffery took her elbow and led her out of the judge’s chambers, past the attendant’s desk, through the hall, and back to the awaiting carriage where James stood at attention.
Jeffery opened the door, helped Tilda in, then stepped back. “James will take you home. I have work I need to finish. I should be home at six.” Jeffery tapped the top of the carriage. “I’ll see you later, Mrs. Oliver.”
The carriage jolted forward, and Tilda leaned back. What just happened?
Jeffery watched as the carriage drove off and headed down Bay Street. He’d seen the fear in her eyes after they signed the marriage certificate. He’d give her a bit of time to adjust to their married status. He turned and walked to his office.
As he entered the building he was greeted by his assistant, Max, who had pulled-up sleeves, messed-up hair, and drooped shoulders. “I thought you weren’t coming back,” Max said in startled surprise, then narrowed his gaze. “Isn’t your bride arriving?” His eyebrows rose. “Oh no, she didn’t arrive?”
“She has arrived, and we are married.”
Max leaned back on his heels, shook his head in wonder, and said, “Well, I’m glad you’re here.”
“What seems to be the problem?” Jeffery took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“Everything that could go wrong has,” Max began.
Jeffery leaned over the small table and looked through the scattered papers, plans and hand notes covering a surface normally reserved for reviewing proposals with clients. His practiced eye quickly discovered the contract associated with the plans Max was all up in arms about. He fixed his gaze on them, took in a deep breath, and waited for Max to begin.
“Here, look at these numbers. The delivery charges are high, but that doesn’t bother me as much as…”
Jeffery’s concern for Tilda shifted to the mountains of work in front of him. One thing he didn’t care for from a business standpoint was construction. There always seemed to be too many hidden costs and delays. And Max was right: these new expenditures and delays were quite disconcerting. Investing in diverse industries—that’s where lucrative profits were made. Dealing with these attempts by contractors to fudge the numbers, however… “I’ll take care of it, Max. Turn your attention to the Forester and Whitaker accounts today.”
Max gathered the appropriate paperwork and took it back to his office. Jeffery worked on his papers for two hours, then gathered his notebooks to confront the contractor. Price gouging was going to stop, and it was going to stop today—tonight, he realized, looking at the clock—or he’d cancel the contract and work with another. Jeffery stood, rolled his shoulders to calm himself, and headed out the door. The walk would be beneficial. Thesun was setting in the west. He preferred not to speak to a man in his home, but he was upset enough that this couldn’t wait.
He walked up the many steps to the first-floor entrance to the palatial home, which for more modest homes would lead to the second floor. The staircase was broad, capable of supporting many ladies in ball gowns, escorted by gentlemen in evening dress, as they made their way up to the veranda. Raymond Price was a man of notable worth. Jeffery had trouble believing he would knowingly produce such poor records. Not only had Max found that the charges were high, but he had also found two invoices for the same work. Jeffery had found four more.
He knocked on the door. The doorman answered.
“I would like to speak with Mr. Price. Let him know that Jeffery Oliver is here.”
“Yes, sir.” The doorman bowed. His hands were gloved in white. His eb
ony skin and dark, tightly knit hair spoke of his heritage. He was dressed in a heavy woolen jacket and slacks, neatly pressed for proper appearance. Jeffery closed his mind to the thoughts of the past and slavery. “Please step inside. I’ll get Mr. Price.”
Jeffery stepped into the grand southern mansion. The entryway opened into a large foyer. He’d been here more than once for various balls and gatherings.
The doorman walked off. Jeffery scanned the surroundings. A few minutes later, Mr. Price came into the foyer. “Mr. Oliver, what a pleasure to see you. How may I be of service?”
“Forgive me for coming to your home, but I needed to speak with you on matters of business and, well, I felt it might be best to converse in private.”
Concern etched Raymond Price’s face. “Certainly.” He stepped back and waved his arm to the right. “Come into my den.”
Jeffery walked toward the man’s office, Mr. Price’s footfalls echoing behind him. Once inside the walnut-paneled room, he heard the oversized door click shut. Mr. Price went to the chair behind his desk and sat. He offered a seat opposite the desk to Jeffery with a polite gesture of his hand. “What seems to be the problem?”
Jeffery showed him the double billing, the excessive shipping fees, and everything else he’d found.
“I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry. I will look into the matter first thing in the morning. You have my apologies, sir. This is not how I run my business. But I do have a new foreman. Perhaps he’d forgotten and resubmitted. I honestly don’t know, but the matter will be straightened out as soon as possible. This was repair work done on your personal house, correct?”
“Yes, sir. I purchased it for my bride.”
Mr. Price smiled. “Wonderful! Let me make a cedar-lined cabinet in the master suite for your bride as a gift, and as an apology for your troubles.”
The Rails to Love Romance Collection Page 27