“I still haven’t been discovered—nor will I if we figure this out.”
“We?”
“Yes, you must help me. I cannot go to my mother with this problem. Who else will I turn to if not you? Please, Henry.”
The moment stretched and he stared at her, his expression blank. She clasped her hands under her chin and held perfectly still.
Finally, after what seemed ages, he exhaled loudly. “Fine, I will help you. But let it be said I believe this to be a terrible idea.”
“So noted,” she said quickly, bouncing on her toes.
He rolled his eyes heavenward. “So, what’s your first problem, Mrs. Walker?”
“An empty mansion with an owner no one’s met.”
He stroked his chin. “Wait, what if we do not need an empty mansion?”
“We do. We must have a place to host the dinner.”
He waved the comment away. “What if the Walker home is undergoing extensive repairs and you are using the Lowes’ house instead?”
“Henry! I cannot use this house.” She lowered her voice, though no one was about. “I could not do that to your employers. What if you and my mother lose your positions?”
“You are right. It is too risky. I certainly don’t wish to be fired. And you know how particular Mrs. Lowe is about her things. She’d find out somehow, especially if gossip circulates. Why not let Havermeyer host it?”
“Because he wants Mrs. Walker to show off her home for the holidays. It lends a more personal touch, he said.”
“So his house is out. There’s a place on Seventy-First Street that has a ‘for sale’ sign in the window. Right off Central Park. I walk by it every night. Still furnished and it’s been on the market for the last six months.”
“We couldn’t use an empty house, could we? It belongs to someone.”
“I cannot see that you have much of a choice,” Henry pointed out. “And what does it matter, for a few hours? They’ve obviously moved elsewhere. If we slip the real estate agent a few bucks he might look the other way for the night. No one will ever be the wiser.”
Havermeyer’s generous allowance could help with this. And yet, it did not feel right. “What if one of the board members knows the owner? Or one of the neighbors?”
“Then you claim to have purchased the home recently and hope the truth is never discovered. Really, Rose. Unless you know of a mansion we may rent for the evening, I cannot see any other option.”
“You are right, of course. It all just seems so…”
“Wrong?” Henry glared down his nose in that disapproving manner of his she knew so well.
“I was going to say risky. The lies are piling up on top of themselves.”
“There is a sure-fire way to stop that. Tell Havermeyer the truth.”
“You know I cannot. He’ll fire me, considering all that is happening at the newspaper.”
“So shall I investigate this empty house for you?”
She sighed. What other choice had she? “Yes, but I’ll go with you. Think we might we be able to convince any of the staff here to help? A footman and a maid or two would do. I’m able to pay them—or rather Havermeyer is able to pay them. He has given me a generous allowance for the event.”
Henry stretched to put a crystal water goblet high on a shelf. “They’d appreciate that, though it’s likely unnecessary. Most of the staff would throw themselves in front of a streetcar for you.”
Rose had been a regular fixture in the Lowe home for more than a decade. Her mother worked as an upstairs maid for years, then transferred to the kitchens when her knees had started to ache. That meant the staff treated Rose as one of their own, celebrating when she had landed the job at the Gazette. They had also generously offered to answer questions for her advice column while keeping her identity a secret. She adored them all for it.
“That is everything but the cooking,” Henry said. “You might ask Mrs. Riley to help. Her daughter’s about to have a baby but she might spare the time. Then all you would need to do is let the footmen serve.”
“Not quite everything.” Inhaling a deep breath, she plowed onward. “There is just one more tiny, small, teeny thing I need.”
Henry froze in the midst of picking up a fork. “No, no, no. Not me. Anyone but me.”
“Henry, you must. Who else is there for me to ask?”
His eyes were wild when he turned around. “What about that Elmer fellow you went skating with last month?”
“You mean the man renting ice skates at the pond? Be serious. I haven’t anyone else to ask.” She placed her hands together, pleading. “Please, Henry. Please, I am begging you.”
“I…cannot. I will muck it up for you, Rosie. I do not know the first thing about society and manners. I am the worst choice to act as Mr. Rose Walker.”
“Stop right there. No one knows the silverware and table manners as well as you, and you see these society gents nearly every night. So you drink port with the men for a few moments after dinner… How bad could it be?”
He jerked a thumb toward to the windows. “What about Bert? He’d be a fine choice.”
“He is a groom, Henry, and he smells like old fish. No, it must be you. Besides, we’ve been friends for ages. Playing at an old married couple won’t prove too difficult. Unless you think Bridget will mind—”
“Bridget is the least of our problems. I am terrible at pretending. You know this. I have never been able to tell a lie, not even little ones—and this is hardly little, Rose.”
“Havermeyer won’t find out. No one will find out except for the few staff members we ask to help. You said it yourself: a few hours for one night, Henry. Please.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I am going to regret this, I just know it.”
She hoped none of them had cause for regret. This had to go without a hitch—or her job at the Gazette and dreams of reporting were over. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You are the absolute best, Henry.”
He smiled at her fondly. “Are you going to tell your mother?”
“Goodness, no. We must swear everyone to secrecy, at least until it is over. I would not care to worry her.”
“Not to mention she would never let you follow through with it.”
True. Mama still did not understand why Rose had to write as Mrs. Walker and not under her own name. But Rose had handled the family finances for years, and she hadn’t the heart to tell her mother of the direness of their situation. They both needed to keep their jobs. “I’d prefer to wait and tell her when it is finished.”
“That’s probably an excellent idea.”
“See, I told you this would be easy.”
He grimaced and resumed his polishing. “Rosie, I have known you almost all your life. You are stubborn and much too inquisitive for your own good. Nothing is easy when you are involved.”
A light snow dusted the city’s streets three nights later as Duke’s brougham came to a stop. Turned out Mrs. Walker lived in a modest townhouse on Seventy-First Street overlooking Central Park. Modest, but welcoming. There was a tiny evergreen tree in a large pot on the stoop and fresh garlands wrapped the iron railing. Her Christmas tree, colorful and bright, shone through the front window. How festive. The woman really did think of everything.
He’d been right to let her host tonight. His home was not nearly this welcoming. In fact, he hadn’t decorated for Christmas in years. There wasn’t a point to it, really. The tree and holly remained for just a few short weeks then were thrown out like trash. Only written words were permanent, archived for future generations. Everything else was a waste of time.
Besides, he had no family. No wife. Not even a distant cousin or great-aunt to welcome at the holidays. His father had run off all the relatives, mostly in fear they would try to claim an inheritance when the old man died. Now there was no one left. No one but Duke.
He didn’t mind the solitude. It allowed him to focus on the newspapers, and the
results had borne fruit.
If only someone would remind the HPC board of that.
The board and HPC investors had grown quite wealthy off Duke’s daring and foresight over the last ten years. Yet, at the first patch of trouble, they intimated that new leadership might be required—including the president of the company.
Cursing under his breath, he threw open the door and stepped out. It was imperative that tonight went well, that he wooed his way back into the board’s favor and helped them forget the scandal.
The front door cracked as he approached. An older butler appeared and pulled the heavy wood open slowly. Duke took the last step and crossed over the threshold.
The inside was bright and cheery. Lemon polish scented the air and every surface was gleaming. Tasteful decorations were carefully placed to draw the eye but not overwhelm. Most impressive was the large chandelier hanging from the ceiling, its crystal pieces shining like diamonds.
He had barely entered and already it was everything he’d expected of Mrs. Walker’s home.
“Welcome, me lord,” the butler said through a heavy brogue. “A wee bit early, ain’t ya?”
Duke blinked at the man’s greeting, not sure if he was more surprised by the incorrect address or the rudeness. So, not everything was as expected. “Just sir will do. And I hope my early arrival does not pose a problem.”
“Well, come on then. Lemme take your things and such forth.”
“Mr. Havermeyer.” Mrs. Walker appeared as he was shrugging out of his coat, her face flushed and a polite smile firmly in place. Then those startling eyes met his and he almost forgot to breathe. Her red and gold gown was clearly a nod to the season, and even Saint Nicholas himself would have glanced twice at that plunging neckline. A healthy expanse of bosom was displayed above the lace edge of her dress, her skin absolutely flawless.
Mr. Walker was one lucky man.
Duke forced his gaze firmly on her face. Married women were off limits. Even fetching ones.
He bowed. “Mrs. Walker.”
She smoothed a few stray hairs back into place. “Good evening. Won’t you follow me to the salon?”
Duke offered his arm and the two of them headed toward the right. On the way, Mrs. Walker leaned around his back, and he caught her mouthing something to the butler, but could not make out the words. “Everything all right?” he asked. “I apologize for my early arrival, but I wanted to ensure you had what you needed.”
“Never fear, all is ready. Your budget was more than generous. I could not possibly have spent all that money.”
He nodded, recalling her impressive column on the benefits of frugal living. “I did not wish to stifle your creativity in any way, especially when the tight timetable was at my insistence.”
“True enough, which was why I did not feel badly spending what I did.” She nodded at the footman as they entered the salon. “We will start the champagne now, Peter.”
“Yes, madam.”
Duke followed her into the elegant drawing room. Delicate French furniture, thick Persian rugs, and brass lamps abounded. The wallpaper, though clean, appeared a little faded—not that he judged her. He would never presume to know more about wall coverings than the Mrs. Walker.
“Your butler seems a colorful character,” he said.
“He is, indeed. Been with the family for years and a bit set in his ways, I’m afraid.”
A young brown-haired man dressed in a black evening suit walked stiffly into the room, his attention entirely on Mrs. Walker. Was this her husband? Duke hadn’t spent any time pondering the type of man she had married, but Mr. Walker’s bookish appearance and reserved manner was somewhat unexpected. This was no gregarious charmer or boisterous industrialist. This was a scholar more tempted by lectures and experiments than dinner parties.
He wondered if theirs was a happy marriage.
Shaking off that inappropriate thought, he stuck out his hand. “Mr. Walker, I presume? I am Duke Havermeyer.”
Mr. Walker pumped Duke’s hand once. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Havermeyer. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, and I must express my gratitude for hosting us on such short notice.”
“Not a problem. Our staff is adept at these sorts of things.”
Exactly what Duke had assumed, considering Mrs. Walker’s columns.
“Your home is lovely,” he said to them both, realizing he hadn’t properly complimented their efforts when he arrived. “Exactly what I expected.”
The couple exchanged a quick look. “Thank you,” Mr. Walker said. “We moved in recently, so we are still settling.”
“Mr. Walker,” she said, “perhaps you would check with Cook to see how dinner’s progressing.” She then took Duke’s elbow and turned him toward the well-lit tree near the window. “Mr. Havermeyer, have you seen our tree?”
The ten-foot tree was spectacular. He’d never seen one quite like it. Strategically placed amongst the boughs, ribbons, and ornaments were electric lights, a relatively new trend amongst wealthy New Yorkers. Stood to reason Mrs. Walker would insist on the latest innovation for her tree. “It is breathtaking. I cannot recall ever seeing one quite like it.”
“Thank you. I am proud of it. I imagine your tree is similar.”
“Oh, I don’t bother with a tree.”
Her head tilted as she studied him. “A tree is hardly a bother. Besides, I assumed you would have a team of decorators outfit your home for the holidays.”
“I’m afraid not. Perhaps when I have a family one day.” An event he could not begin to picture in his mind. He knew nothing of small children and even less about being a decent husband and father. His own father had certainly set a poor example.
Besides, short liaisons were best, with women who wanted nothing more than a quick tumble. Who would never complain when he put his business needs above his personal ones.
“Incidentally, what does Mr. Walker do?”
She waved her hand, gaze sliding away. “He is in silver.”
“Ah, yes.” Walker had probably struck it rich somewhere out in Dakota and traveled east. “We should swap stories, then. My great-grandfather mined for copper out in Montana.”
“I had heard that. Good, here is the champagne.” She nearly lunged for the footman carrying a tray of champagne. Had he made her uncomfortable somehow?
He vowed to try harder. Put her at ease. Just tonight, he needed her to like him. More importantly, he needed her to impress the HPC board.
That reminded him. Reaching into an inner pocket, he withdrew a faded piece of paper. “Before I forget, I have another favor to ask of you.”
She frowned, her expression suddenly wary. He forged ahead anyway. Undoubtedly she would not like the request, but he was the boss, after all. “I thought it might be fun for the board members to see you at work in the kitchen. You’ve written extensively about your love of baking and the recipes you have mastered. You make it sound easy. Something all women are able to do.”
He was rambling. Get to the point, man.
Holding out the paper, he continued. “I have a Havermeyer family recipe for shortbread cookies that came over with my mother from Scotland. Perhaps after dinner you could whip these up while we watch?”
Her mouth opened, then snapped shut. She remained mute, staring at him with her startling blue gaze. He hadn’t expected her to express joy at the request, but her silence concerned him.
“I realize this is an unorthodox request,” he said. “However, there are but a few ingredients listed and I am certain it’ll be a snap for a woman of your talents.”
“I…do not know what to say.”
“Say yes. No one’s made them since I was a boy, and I cannot even remember the taste. I’m dying of curiosity.”
“What if I make them tomorrow and send everyone a box—?”
“No, that will not do. It will be far more memorable for the board to observe you actually creating them. Furthermore, that it is my family recipe connects the experien
ce to me and to the newspaper.”
“And that is important to you?”
“Very.”
He decided to confide in her. She deserved to know the truth, given his strange requests. “You see, the board could, though some clever maneuvering, remove me as president of HPC, a company my family has built up and overseen for four generations. I need the board to equate me with the company.” A non-Havermeyer running HPC? He could never allow that to happen. Tonight, it was imperative to remind everyone of his legacy, his family’s roots in starting the company. Rose Walker could help him accomplish this. “Please, Mrs. Walker.”
“The kitchens shall be in disarray after the meal—”
“I will give you a thousand-dollar bonus.” A staggering amount of money, but he hardly cared. He wanted her to agree and so he would cajole, bribe, and threaten to get his way.
Then he remembered his surroundings—the stunning tree, this house, and Mr. Walker’s silver fortune—and immediately felt like an idiot. Mrs. Walker didn’t need money; yet, she had cared about keeping her job at the paper. He blurted, “Furthermore, I won’t fire you.”
She swallowed, her cheeks turning a flattering shade of pink. “It will be my pleasure.”
CHAPTER THREE
Rose’s heart was galloping in her chest. The HPC board of directors, all eight of them, were now convened in the drawing room. Only three had brought their wives, but the group was still quite large. Duke held court, his tall frame the center of attention. The man was magnetic, his confidence and presence drawing everyone closer just to be near him—except for Rose. She was in no hurry to join the party. She was still attempting to understand how he kept maneuvering her into doing what he wanted.
No wonder the man had amassed an empire. Who could say no to him?
Not her, obviously. The beautiful man had stared down at her with his mesmerizing dark gaze, the rough scar making him somehow appear vulnerable, and her resistance melted like hot candle wax.
She blew out a long breath. Goodness, she hoped she appeared calmer than she felt, because her heart was threatening to skip out of her chest. She, along with a dozen members of the Lowes’ staff, had pulled off a minor miracle getting them this far. After paying off the real estate agent, they had borrowed enough furnishings to decorate four rooms and the entryway, while the rest of the home remained barren and dirty, a housemaid’s worst nightmare. However, as long as none of the guests wandered, the ruse should work.
How the Dukes Stole Christmas Page 30