“Before I forget,” Pike said. “Havermeyer wants to meet with you. I told him you’d be here this morning to drop off your column. So go on up to the top floor and his secretary will show you in.”
Rose’s stomach sank, like that time she had attempted Mrs. Walker’s lemon loaf recipe for herself and forgot to add sugar. Why on earth would Havermeyer want to see her? Was she being fired as well?
Oh, God. She needed this job. She had no savings to speak of and the last thing she wanted to do was go into service, like her mother. Rose had seen firsthand the damage a lifetime of scrubbing, bending, and washing could do to a woman. She wanted a different life for herself, one that would not work her fingers to the bone. And one that would allow her mother to quit before she dropped from exhaustion.
Moreover, Rose liked her job. People from all over the country wrote to ask her advice.
No, he is not firing you. You are Mrs. Walker. Why would he fire his most popular advice columnist?
She remembered the first time she saw Duke Havermeyer III. A tall, striking man in a smart suit had breezed by her at the elevators. The elevator operator had addressed him as Mr. Havermeyer and Rose had unabashedly stared, eager for a better look at the renowned publishing magnate.
Somehow she had not been surprised by his handsomeness. He had broad shoulders and long legs, along with dark hair that curled just so over his collar. High, sharp cheekbones, the kind only found in those with excellent breeding. She had sized him up quickly, an arrogant and pretty package, one who lived up to his reputation as a cold and calculating scion of industry.
Then she had seen the scar directly above his right eyebrow. The mark intrigued her. It made him imperfect, which she found much more interesting. He looked like a pirate in a morning suit, ready to run a cutlass through anyone who stood in his way.
This led to hours of research, with her devouring every newspaper she could get her hands on. She learned that, though Havermeyer was unmarried, he always appeared in the business pages, never the social columns. Was there no fiancée? No mistress? For all she could discover, he did nothing but work at the newspaper. For some reason, she had found that fascinating as well.
Had she hoped for another look at him every time she was in the building? Most definitely. Worse, she made a habit of loitering on the walk a few days a week, just to see him climb into his brougham and drive away. She fantasized that he would see her, stop, then approach her with a half smile on his face and ask to escort her to Delmonico’s or Sherry’s, one of the fancy restaurants where the elite New Yorkers dined.
Now he wanted to see her—and not to ask her to dinner. Probably.
A girl could always dream.
She folded her hands. “What does he want with me?”
“No idea, but you had better hurry. Havermeyer does not like to be kept waiting.”
“Does he know…?”
Pike gave a dry chuckle that lacked mirth. “No, I’ve stuck with our story. Everyone believes Mrs. Walker to be fiercely private, uncomfortable with public attention of any kind. Whether you choose to tell him or not is up to you, but after this scandal… Well, if you like your job you might want to stay quiet.”
So she would need to pose as Mrs. Walker, married society maven. She glanced down at her simple outfit of a cream shirtwaist and brown skirt. Not very fancy, considering Mrs. Walker’s position as an elegant woman about town. And she hadn’t painted her face today, which might have aged her a few years.
Well, nothing to be done for it now. She’d see him exactly like this and hope for the best. Besides, hadn’t one of her great-aunts worked as an actress back in Dublin? If Rose kept her poise, she could fool Havermeyer. She could handle one meeting with him.
Pike continued sorting through papers and she stood there, unsure what to do. This would be the last time she’d see his weathered face and gray hair. He had been a mentor to her, the only person she’d known at the newspaper for two years. Moreover, she and Pike had invented the Mrs. Walker persona together. What was an appropriate send-off for an editor in chief? “Mr. Pike…” Her arms fell uselessly to her sides.
He stopped and offered a small smile full of kindness. “Now, none of that. You have a bright future ahead of you. Mrs. Walker is HPC’s most valuable asset and I like to think I had a small part in that. Nothing but fond memories, Rose.”
Nodding, she said, “I hope you will keep in touch. I’ll miss you.”
“Same goes to you, Mrs. Walker. Now, get up to see Havermeyer—or else we may both lose our jobs.”
Duke Havermeyer tossed yet another competitor’s newspaper on his desk. Goddammit. How much bad news could one man take?
It had started at breakfast yesterday when he learned of the bribery allegations involving a member of the Gazette staff. He had immediately hurried to the office, where an emergency meeting of the Havermeyer Publishing Company’s board of directors had been called. The board was furious over the scandal and the tarnish it would leave on the newspaper’s reputation. Predictably, stocks had plummeted. This would affect the company’s bottom line, and if Duke did not fix it quickly, the board could replace him as president of the company.
A Havermeyer ousted as president of Havermeyer Publishing. It was unthinkable…but not impossible.
Not that he was apathetic about this scandal. Indeed, he had been livid over the allegations. To lie, accept bribes, and cheapen the word of his family’s newspaper? Unforgivable. Nine staff members had been fired in total, including his editor in chief, Mr. Pike. Duke liked Pike, a holdover from his father’s days at the Gazette. He’d been sorry to see the man go, but the newspaper came first.
The newspapers always came first.
The Havermeyer men were raised to know this from birth. Duke had accepted it and learned all he could about publishing in his twenty-eight years. This resulted in an expansion neither his father nor his grandfather had been able to pull off. Thanks to Duke, HPC owned ten newspapers across the country—soon to be eleven.
And those eleven newspapers would thrive only if the news could be trusted. Otherwise they were printing sheets of garbage that would go unsold.
A man’s only as good as his word.
How often had his father said as much? A hundred times? A thousand? Duke meant to restore that reputation by any means necessary.
A knock sounded and his secretary appeared, her eyes glowing with excitement. Mrs. Jenkins was dependably even-tempered, so what had happened to cause such a reaction? “Sir, Mrs. Walker is here. The Mrs. Walker,” she breathed, as if clarification were necessary.
It was not. Duke had been expecting Mrs. Walker, one of his publishing company’s biggest stars…and a key element in his plan of attack to restore faith in the Havermeyer Publishing Company. “Send her in, please.”
“Yes, sir. And you might try to smile. Put her at ease.”
He stood and straightened his vest. Though he resented the reminder, he supposed Mrs. Jenkins was right. He needed Mrs. Walker’s help and scaring her wouldn’t do—unless she refused him, of course.
Plastering an uncomfortable grin on his face, he crossed his arms and waited. He was actually looking forward to this meeting. Mrs. Walker was quite the celebrity in New York City, though Pike had been the only one at HPC to deal with her during her tenure. Duke had started reading her column shortly after it began, uncertain this sort of “news” was what the company needed. Serious stories, not fluff, had always appealed best to their readers.
How wrong he’d been. Mrs. Walker became an instant draw. Letters to her nearly overflowed the HPC mailroom after the first week. He’d soon understood why. She had a clever way with her words, putting the reader at ease and never talking down to them. Her columns were humorous, informative, and mature. In addition, she included personal details about herself as examples. It left the reader with the impression that he or she knew Mrs. Walker, as if the columnist were a close friend.
Duke was no exception. Utterly charmed, he
read her column each week and devoured these tidbits. He learned she lived uptown with Mr. Walker, the couple having no children. She adored baking and gardening, was apprehensive of dogs after a childhood incident, and struggled with needlepoint. And she had a wit and intelligence not found in most women.
In fact, he was counting on that wit and intelligence to help rescue HPC.
A young woman entered—and he glanced over her shoulder, searching for Mrs. Walker. No one else entered, however, and his secretary closed the door.
This was Mrs. Walker?
The smile died on his lips. She was a far cry from the sophisticated matronly-type he’d expected. Not that she was unpleasant. Merely unexpected. She watched him carefully, unabashedly, with piercing blue eyes that conjured images of calm azure oceans and cloudless skies. Many women found his stare disconcerting, but Mrs. Walker didn’t glance away or bat her lashes. There was a challenge there, one he recognized but did not fully understand. It was as if she saw straight through him.
He fought the urge to fidget. Hell, it was ridiculous to let one slight woman cause him discomfort. The woman’s head barely came up to his shoulder, and there was nothing remarkable whatsoever about her appearance. Light brown hair was piled under a plain bonnet, and a modest shirtwaist had been paired with an unflattering brown skirt. The only visible adornment was the cameo pinned at her throat.
“You are very young,” he blurted, then winced at his rudeness.
Instead of being offended, she held his gaze and cocked her head. “How old should I be, then?”
Good Lord, man. Get a hold of yourself.
Shaking off his surprise, he offered his hand in greeting. “Mrs. Walker, it is nice to finally meet you. I am Duke Havermeyer. Please, sit.”
They shook and then settled into the armchairs near his desk. She folded her hands in her lap. “You wished to see me?”
“Yes. I won’t waste your time with pleasantries but rather get right to it. I have a request. Undoubtedly you have heard of the scandal surrounding the Gazette.” She gave a brief nod and he continued. “The accusations are true, unfortunately, and the paper’s reputation has taken a nasty hit. This has led to a much larger problem.”
“Which is?”
He liked her demeanor in person. Cool, reserved. Direct. No prevaricating. Perhaps he’d merely been around reporters for too long, but he preferred someone who got to the damned point. “My board of directors. They are nervous and unpredictable on the best of days. After yesterday, they are downright skittish. They’ve lost confidence in the newspaper—and me. I need to win them back or there may be…unpleasant consequences. That is where you come in.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. Mrs. Walker is the crown jewel of the Havermeyer Publishing Corporation. You write our most popular column, and you’re the woman everyone wishes to befriend. Who dispenses sage advice with one hand, and whips up extravagant meals with the other.”
She narrowed her gaze as if she were suspicious of the flattery. Granted, he had laid it on a bit thick, but he hadn’t lied. The woman possessed an impressive breadth of knowledge.
“And how does all that help you with the board?”
“I need for you to host a Christmas dinner party for the board of directors.”
Her eyes rounded. “A dinner party? For the board?”
“Now, I know Christmas is only a week away, but I have every faith that you, a woman so comfortable with entertaining, will be able to pull it together.”
“I could not possibly. It… It is not enough time.”
He waved his hand. If anyone could pull this off, it was Mrs. Walker. The woman was a household magician. “Nonsense. The woman who managed tropical plants and pineapple for her New Year’s celebration? The woman who boasts of having the best, most organized staff in the city? I have full confidence in your abilities, madam.”
“But this is your board, not some group of society wives,” she said.
“Do not worry about that. You have an unlimited budget to work with and the board will undoubtedly be dazzled by anything you do. They’ll be thrilled merely to meet you. Mrs. Walker is one of New York City’s biggest mysteries and I am giving you to them for one evening.” She did not appear convinced, so he added, “I realize this is an imposition and that you are intensely private. However, I must insist. It’s for the good of the paper.”
She rubbed her eyes with her fingers. Time stretched, her chest rising and falling rapidly in the silence. A seasoned negotiator, Duke knew to remain quiet to let his quarry think.
“What happens if I refuse?” she finally asked.
A smart question, one he had anticipated. He cocked his head, his voice turning hard. “I am certain you have read your contract, Mrs. Walker, but in case you have forgotten, allow me to recall the fine print. You do not actually own the Mrs. Walker’s Weekly column. We do. Specifically, I do. Therefore, I could hire anyone to answer those letters and write her column. It does not need to be you.”
She swallowed, her delicate throat working. “A dinner party? With seven or eight courses?”
“Shall we say six? I realize I have sprung this on you without much notice. Now, this will take place on December twenty-second, so as to not take away from family celebrations.”
“That is only five days from now!”
“As I said, I have full confidence in you.”
“I appreciate your faith, Mr. Havermeyer, but I simply cannot. Why not hire a chef and tell everyone that I—”
“No.” The one-word answer cracked through the office. “No subterfuge. This must all be aboveboard. You will prepare the menu, oversee the meal, and dine with us. Your staff will be on hand, of course.”
“My staff?”
“The dinner absolutely must take place at your home, Mrs. Walker.” Hadn’t he been clear? When he had imagined this conversation, she had been much more amenable. How hard could this be for a woman who had once hosted the viceroy of India? “The board will love the peek inside your home at the holidays. It lends a more personal touch to the evening. Mr. Walker is welcome to join as well, of course.”
She paled, her hand shooting out to grip the armrest. “Of course.”
He steeled himself and pushed aside any guilt over his unusual request and the disruption it would cause her. She was an employee and HPC was the top priority.
Still, perhaps he was being a bit harsh. He cleared his throat. “I would consider it a great personal favor—and I do not often ask others for help.”
“I…” She drew in a deep breath. “Then how could I possibly refuse?”
CHAPTER TWO
“You have agreed to what?”
Rose traced the edge of a black floor tile with her boot. She and her friend, Henry, were in the butler’s pantry of the Lowes’ large home on Fifth Avenue, where her mother had worked for eight years. Henry was the second footman here and currently locking the breakfast dishes away while Rose filled him in on Havermeyer’s request. The household was being shut down for the holiday, the owners on their way to Newport. “I told you. I had no choice.”
“There is always a choice. You say no.”
“And lose my position as Mrs. Walker? No, I cannot. You know why I cannot.” As her oldest friend, Henry was well-versed in Rose’s plans of a better life, a freer life—for her and her mother.
He glanced up from the dishes, his expression full of sympathy. “Yes, I do, but she would not want this. For you to lie and swindle people.”
Perhaps, but she would not budge. They needed the money from her job at the Gazette. “It is one dinner party. How hard could it be?”
He huffed a laugh and counted off on his fingers. “Let’s see. You must find a cook, a husband, a staff, and a furnished home uptown to use as your own, one that no one recognizes.” Shaking his head, he turned back to his dishes. “I wish you luck.”
Only one year older than she was, Henry had been her friend for ages. Their families had been neighbors while
growing up downtown and he was like a brother to Rose. Her mother had harbored hopes in regards to a match between her and Henry, but there hadn’t ever been a spark, not even before he had proposed to Bridget, another housemaid in the Lowe home.
That made her think of Duke Havermeyer. Her stomach fluttered merely recalling his large frame and intense brown eyes. Mercy, he was even better looking up close than in the far-off glimpses she’d had of him over the last few months, not to mention younger. The man could not be much past thirty years of age.
And he would fire her if she did not find a way to make this dinner party happen.
She swallowed her panic and returned to the problem at hand. “I have been thinking on this—”
“Ah, hell.”
She ignored that. “I have an easy solution. I shall come down with some horrible condition the day before and tell Havermeyer I must regrettably cancel.”
Henry spun around, one dark brow cocked. “Are you serious? What if he merely reschedules?”
“Why bother after Christmas?”
“There is always New Year’s. You cannot think to put him off forever, Rose.”
Goodness, Henry was right. Havermeyer had seemed quite determined. Undoubtedly, he’d find some other way to back Rose into a corner. How on earth was she supposed to make this happen? “You must help me think of a way to pull it off.”
“Absolutely not. You need to level with him and hope he’s not too angry. Perhaps if you inform him of the situation—”
“No, it’s too risky. He will fire me on the spot.” After all, hadn’t he said anyone could write her column? If she wished to continue as Mrs. Walker, she must find a way for this work.
Henry folded his arms and leaned against the counter, his disapproval clear in the flat lines of his mouth. “I told you not to make Mrs. Walker’s life so grand. Inventing all those dignitaries and European aristocrats as your dinner guests merely built her legend up to unreasonable proportions. That you have eluded being discovered before now is a dashed miracle.”
How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 29