Claire cleared the thickness from her throat. “We have several trunks that I assume will have to come later. But the carpetbags on the platform should travel with us now.”
“No worries, miss.”
Her name wasn’t miss. It was Claire. And she wanted to hear him say it with the richness of Miss Buchanan.
Jimmy packed the two small carpetbags in the car’s rear trunk, opened the back-seat door for Victoria, and took her gloved hand, steadying her as she climbed in. Victoria held on to his hand a moment longer than necessary while situating herself.
Claire walked around to the front passenger seat and waited for Jimmy. He was smiling at Victoria, forcing Claire to clear her throat until he came around and opened her door.
“Sorry about that, miss.”
He offered a gloved hand to Claire, but as much as she would’ve liked to show him she was quite capable, she wanted to touch him. She laid a gloved hand in his, and he wrapped his fingers around hers. His hand was stronger than she remembered, and the energy still radiated through him. Her annoyance flitted away as she climbed up into the seat and tucked her skirts around her feet. If she were the kind to giggle like Miss Victoria, she might have been tempted to do so now. But Claire did not giggle, flirt, or smile. She was far too practical and proud.
He closed the door with a loud thump; moved around the car with quick, purposeful strides; and unbuttoned his jacket as if he couldn’t stand the constraint any longer. The wind teased the flaps of the jacket, showing off a hard, lean waist.
“There are goggles on the seats for both of you,” he said.
“Jimmy,” Victoria said as she scooped up a pair of goggles and inspected them, “I can tell you’re going to be my one bright spot during this long, cold winter. Tell me there are things for the young people to do here.”
“There are, miss, but I’m not sure you’d be interested.”
She slid on her goggles, managing not to ruin her hair. “I might be, for the right reasons. Where I’m going is for old ladies who gossip and their husbands, who only smoke cigars and discuss politics.”
Claire’s vanity loathed the idea of goggles, but she knew in this case he was right. She fitted them carefully over her face.
“You must work on Jimmy for me, Claire. A strapping fellow like that must know of any gatherings for the younger folk.”
“I don’t know.”
“But you can find out. Servants talk amongst themselves. You hear things I never would.”
“I suppose,” Claire said.
Jimmy got a boy to stand at the crank mounted to the engine before he slid behind the wheel. He gave the thumbs-up, and as the boy cranked, he pushed in the clutch and pressed the starter button. The engine turned and rumbled and then shut off.
Claire, simply to be annoying and pay him back for not remembering her, said, “The boy won’t forget that we have twelve trunks? They’re all very important.”
Jimmy’s jaw tightened and released as he motioned for the boy to crank again. “He won’t forget, miss.”
Miss. It’s Claire. Remember me.
Jimmy pressed the starter button again, and this time the engine rumbled to life.
“Twelve cases.”
“Got it.”
“Don’t worry, Claire,” Victoria said. “I can tell after just a few seconds that Jimmy won’t disappoint.”
Victoria had never worried. Later, life’s worries would find her, but for now she was the pampered daughter of a wealthy man who had protected her from worry. Claire had learned to worry as soon as she’d left the cradle. Each time her mother’s belly had grown with her next sibling, it had brought a full dosage of fear. She dreaded the sound of her mother’s screams during her long labors, the cries of a new squalling baby, and the increasing demands of the growing household.
The car lurched forward, forcing the boy standing in front to jump to the side. The engine abruptly cut off.
Victoria giggled. Jimmy mumbled an apology as he motioned for the boy to return. This time the engine sparked to life, and the boy handed him the crank. Jimmy put the car in gear and drove slowly away from the train station.
Victoria clapped. “Well done, Jimmy!”
He sat a little straighter. Men loved their compliments. As he drove, Claire’s annoyance faded as her attention was pulled to the town of Cape Hudson, which had changed little since she’d left.
The town had been built by the railroad some thirty years ago, and its center was populated with several stores that seemed smaller than she remembered. Beyond the tiny retail center were compact, efficient houses that lined the few other streets in town.
The drive took them up a dirt road that cut along the shore north of Cape Hudson. Jimmy drove fast, nearly twenty miles an hour, and despite the rumble of the car engine and its oily smoke, she forgot about her fatigue, her hair, which surely must be a mess by now, and Victoria’s spell on Jimmy.
Claire was enchanted by the land, the bright-blue sky, the whitecaps that rolled over the bay’s surface, and the flock of geese flying southward with the wind.
“Father must be in his glory,” Victoria said, wrapping a silk scarf once again around her neck as she leaned forward. “Nothing gives him greater pleasure than to hunt fowl that love this cold, miserable weather as much as he. That’s why he tolerates Mrs. Lawrence, you know, because she’s happy to trot through the cold wind and rain like a bird dog. I swear, you’ll never find me up before the sunrise in a hunting blind.” She tugged at the edges of her white kid glove. “I’d have told my father so, but I know him. He’d have deliberately held the wedding in a blind before dawn just to teach me a lesson. Father and his lessons. I have learned not to argue, and let’s hope for the sake of peace that my brother, Robert, has too.”
The fortysomething Mrs. Lawrence was a widow with no children of her own. She’d met Mr. Buchanan at a society party in Philadelphia when his wife was ailing fifteen years ago. The attraction had been immediate between the two, and when Mr. Buchanan learned of her love of hunting, they became inseparable. The pair began to travel down to the Eastern Shore, where Mr. Buchanan maintained memberships in several hunt clubs. Of course, Mrs. Lawrence, as any woman, was not welcome at these clubs. So he built his own north of Cape Hudson. The next summer, construction had begun on what Mrs. Lawrence would call Winter Cottage. Only three months after the first Mrs. Buchanan passed in her Paris apartment, Mrs. Lawrence and Mr. Buchanan had announced their engagement.
As the car took them farther away from town, the land grew more and more desolate. It was very flat and covered in harvested cornfields. To the east were the waters of the Chesapeake Bay, and to the west, miles beyond the dense trees, the Atlantic Ocean. Her view now of the bay offered a reckless beauty she could never resist.
A sigh escaped Victoria’s lips as she relaxed back against her seat and closed her eyes. “I could sleep for a week.”
Jimmy’s head cocked slightly, a sign he was paying attention.
“When will the trunks be delivered to the house?” Claire asked.
“As soon as possible.”
“I have to dress the ladies for dinner. Will they arrive several hours before the dinner hour?”
“I suppose.”
“That’s not really an answer, is it?” She’d perfected the haughty tone of the women far above her station.
His hands tightened on the wheel. “It takes an hour. It depends on the road and the rain.”
“And what would you guess based on today’s conditions?”
A sigh slid across his lips. “An hour.”
“See, Jimmy, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she teased.
Again his jaw pulsed. “You’re mighty full of yourself, miss.”
He would never have spoken to Victoria in such a way, but she fell into the world of the servants, so he was free to speak his mind.
“I could say the same of you.”
“I’ve earned the right to some arrogance. What have you done bu
t dress pampered ladies?”
Claire’s retort vanished when she saw the flash of light from the lighthouse’s Fresnel lens atop the tall redbrick spire nestled in a stand of trees near the bay. Despite herself, excitement swelled in her chest. Everyone who lived on these shores owed a debt to the men in the coast guard charged with sea rescue.
The lighthouse signaled that Winter Cottage was close. The cottage had been built in its shadow and rested just beyond the trees.
He slowed the car and turned onto a dirt road, and Claire found herself sitting a little straighter, curious about the cottage she hadn’t seen in over a decade.
When the house came into view, Jimmy slowed, giving her a good look at the cottage.
If there ever were an inadequate word for this property, it was the word cottage. There was nothing small or quaint about the bright-yellow French provincial home that rivaled the fine estates outside Philadelphia or Paris. The high-pitched roof was made of slate and glinted in the bright sunshine. Twenty windows stretched along the front of the cottage, overlooking a meticulously manicured lawn.
She reached back and jostled Miss Victoria. It would not make a good impression if daddy’s girl were sleeping when they arrived.
“We’re here.”
Victoria didn’t open her eyes at first, but she released a sigh and rubbed the crook of her neck. “I was dreaming of Paris. Don’t you long to be back in Paris, Claire?”
“Not often.”
“Why not? It’s such a stunning city.”
For the rich, it was a city of lights and beauty. For others, not so much. She had dressed Victoria and Mrs. Lawrence in some of the most beautiful gowns draped in silks, ribbons, and pearls. But her contact with that glittering city rarely reached beyond the end of her sewing needle. Her Paris memories were of the small attic room where she lived and the cramped dressing room where she fussed over last-minute changes to gowns.
When she allowed herself to dream, it was of Jimmy sometimes, but always of this house. Her response was lost as Jimmy pressed the accelerator and the engine rumbled louder, and they drove down the long, graveled road that arched in front of the massive front door.
Victoria yawned. “It’s not Paris.”
Jimmy glanced toward Claire, searching her face. “What do you like about the house?”
All the letters from friends in Cape Hudson had mentioned the cottage, which to them had become a lifeline of employment and pride. “It’s beautiful,” Claire breathed.
“According to Daddy, the house is more of a marvel than the last time we were here,” Victoria said, leaning forward again. “He says it’s quite tolerable.”
“Tolerable?” Claire shook her head, now annoyed at the spoiled young girl.
Victoria shrugged. “He’s added luxuries to offset for all the talk I’ll hear of waterfowl and politics.”
Jimmy put the car in neutral, set the brake, and dismounted. He immediately shrugged off his driving goggles, which were darkened with soot, and opened Victoria’s door.
She took his hand and smiled brightly. “Again, you’re a delight, Jimmy. I hope you’re one of our guides when we go hunting.”
His grin flashed. “Yes, ma’am. I hope so.”
Claire knew the girl would never rise so early in the cold to go hunting, not even for Jimmy. For Victoria, the rewards were expected with no hardships.
Mrs. Lawrence, dressed in hunting breeches, which were her preference here, greeted Victoria with a hearty hug. “Welcome, my dear. Your father is still in the marshes fussing over a duck blind but will see you at dinner.”
Victoria yawned. “I need a nap.”
“Of course you do,” Mrs. Lawrence said. “Did you keep Claire up terribly late?”
“Claire is made of tougher stock than I.”
Mrs. Lawrence looked past the girl to Claire. “Thank you for delivering the child.”
Claire nodded. “Of course.”
“We could not survive without you, my dear,” Mrs. Lawrence said.
When the two vanished into the house, Claire removed her goggles and fluffed the soft curls around her face as she waited for Jimmy to stop gawking after Miss Victoria. He still needed to drive her around to the servants’ entrance, but for a few minutes she’d have him all to herself.
He slid back behind the wheel and drove around the building to the side. He nosed the car toward the bay and shut off the rattling engine. As he strode around to her side of the car, he rolled his shoulders, releasing the stiff formality he’d maintained while Victoria was close. The swagger returned in the final steps before he opened her door.
“Welcome home, Miss Hedrick,” he said. The deep tan of his face added richness to angled features that turned female heads in both small towns and big cities.
“So have you now managed to remember me?” she asked.
“A soaking-wet girl with red hair and too much daring for her own good? That girl? Certainly. But the woman before me in all her fine clothes and city ways is a stranger.”
Gaiety and flirtations came so naturally to Victoria, and she’d spoken to Jimmy as if they’d been lifelong friends. Claire had managed only to sound like a harpy. “That girl learned caution.”
His gaze slid up and down her. “She learned more than that.”
“She also learned that impressions matter.”
He leaned toward her until his face was inches from hers. “That foolhardy girl in the boat who dared the storm made a better impression than any dress.”
His breath brushed her lips, and she wanted the man she had dreamed about for so long to kiss her.
“I’d have thought you’d like my dress.”
“It’s fine enough. But any monkey can dress up.”
Her muscles stiffened with disappointment, frustration, and annoyance.
He winked and held out his hand. She lifted her skirts and, straightening her shoulders, laid her hand in his. Heat ran through her body and warmed her face. Climbing down quickly, she released his hand and entered the house. Immediately, the scent of bread drew her down the grand hallway.
“Ma!” he shouted. “You’ll never guess what fine songbird has flown in from the mainland.”
“I’m not a bird,” she muttered.
“You flitter about like one, Songbird,” he said so only she could hear.
She found Martha Latimer at the kitchen’s butcher-block island, kneading bread. She was as short and stout as she remembered, but her hair was grayer, the lines around her mouth and eyes deeper.
Mrs. Latimer came around the corner, dusting the flour from her hands on her apron. A stern face that might once have been attractive split into a wide grin, deepening those well-used creases. “Jimmy, you devilish boy, where have you been? I was about to send out a scouting party. Is this our little Claire you’ve brought me?”
He kissed his mother on the cheek. “It is, and as you can see, she’s all grown up into a fine, fancy lady. No hint of the wild child who dared storms.”
Mrs. Latimer turned from her son and laid her hands on Claire’s shoulders. “My word, that day still gives me nightmares. No more boating adventures for you, miss.”
Claire hugged Mrs. Latimer, who smelled of cinnamon and nutmeg. “One per lifetime is enough.”
Jimmy set Claire’s bag down, and she could feel him lingering and watching. “I hope you saved something sweet for me, Ma.”
Arched brows and a frown didn’t soften the twinkle in Mrs. Latimer’s eyes. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you love me.” Jimmy plucked a freshly baked muffin from a basket by a cast-iron stove.
Mrs. Latimer swatted him away, but he only grinned and winked as he bit into the muffin. That wink chased away any of Mrs. Latimer’s false bluster and made Claire feel giddy and foolish all at once.
“Fresh out of the oven,” he said, sniffing the treat.
“The mistress told me Miss Victoria likes her sweets, and I thought I’d offer her a perfect welcome. Tell me Miss
Victoria is safely here, Claire. Mr. Buchanan has asked me at least a dozen times since breakfast.”
“Delivered safe and sound.” Claire tugged off her gloves.
“She’s a pretty one,” Jimmy said. “She could be your sister, Ma.”
“Now I know, boy, you’re feeding me a line,” Mrs. Latimer said.
“She’s gone upstairs to rest,” Claire said. “She didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Ah, I hope the girl wasn’t too wild while she was left on her own in New York.”
Claire didn’t respond. The less said, the better.
Martha Latimer’s blue eyes moved over Claire, taking in the cut of her dress as she rubbed her hands up over the soft sleeve fabric. “You look so much like your mother I could almost cry. She’d be proud to see you return home all fine and fancy. I still miss her dearly.”
“I do too,” Claire said quietly.
The old woman blinked and sniffed, shooing away the sadness. “You’ll be pleased to know Jimmy got your brother a job on his next voyage.”
“I didn’t realize Stanley was old enough to sail.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Seventeen is a very good age to get started, but for now they’ll have him cleaning the equipment mostly. He’s a good worker when he’s not getting into mischief.”
Mention of Stanley banished any lingering annoyance, and she asked Jimmy, “But he’s doing well?”
Jimmy met her gaze square, no hint of teasing now. “He’s going to be a fine seaman. He’s a serious young man, and I’ll wager he’s a captain one day.”
“You’ll look after him?” Claire asked.
Jimmy’s nod was so slight she almost missed it. “Aye, I will.”
Her smile was genuine now. “Thank you. That means more than I can say.”
He studied her as if he were really seeing her for the first time. Clearing his throat, he slid his free hand into his pocket. “Well, I’ll leave you two be. As long as you don’t get in Ma’s way in the kitchen, you’ll have a fighting chance in this house.”
“Listen to you,” Mrs. Latimer said. “I run a tight ship, and I make no bones about it. Which reminds me, I’ll be serving the staff their meal promptly at 5:00 p.m. So if you’re hungry, Jimmy, that’s the time to come by.”
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