Not only lunch, but a birthday lunch? He’d known David was a good man the second he’d met him, but had David forgotten Calvin was his secretary? “Uh, I’m afraid I’m behind on work.”
Besides, he wasn’t sure he wanted to sit through lunch watching a man he could never compete with flirt with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.
“Are you certain, Mr. Hochstetler?” Miss Lister’s deep blue eyes looked as if she sincerely hoped he’d reconsider.
“I’m certain.”
David stared at him as if he could see into his thoughts.
If David figured out he’d been instantly attracted to a woman who was obviously going to be David’s bride one day, he’d likely lose his job immediately.
David looked as if he really were disappointed he wasn’t coming, but nodded his head to acknowledge his decision before turning to leave with Miss Lister. She glanced over her shoulder as they walked away and smiled at him again.
He had to be imagining things. There was no way she was looking at him as if she found him intriguing. He was—
“Calvin?”
He jumped in his seat.
Marianne stood in front of his desk, looking at him with one fine eyebrow raised.
How long had she been calling his name? “Uh, I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.”
“Good thoughts, I hope?” Though her smile was nothing more than a wisp of what it had been that first day they’d met, his heart fluttered the same way it always did when she smiled at him—in a way it never should have fluttered at all.
She was meant for David, even if they weren’t courting as he’d first assumed, and he would not hurt David for all the world. And he certainly didn’t want to hurt her—though it seemed he had to. But she’d recover.
He stood, knocking down a pile of folders he’d forgotten were behind his chair. When had he become so clumsy?
Likely when she’d nearly knocked him over by admitting she had feelings for him.
Which wasn’t supposed to happen. Those were supposed to be all on him.
For he’d not been able to tamp down those initial butterflies of attraction she’d created when she’d walked into the office two years ago, and discovering she was just as lovely on the inside hadn’t helped him toss out a single one of those butterflies.
Though he hadn’t helped himself one bit by allowing himself to enjoy gazing at her whenever she wasn’t looking, breathing in the smell of her soap as she walked past, admiring the way she fancied herself up on Sundays, picking out her voice in the choir, pretending it was possible for a man like him to marry a beautiful songbird like her.
But it wasn’t possible. “Miss Lister, what brings you here?”
Please, God, don’t let her have come to talk to me. My heart cannot take it.
Calvin gave a side glance toward his boss’s door. “David hasn’t . . .” He didn’t want to talk about David too loudly since he and his father were not on the best of terms at the moment. “David hasn’t returned from Teaville.”
“I actually came to see Mr. Kingsman.”
He grimaced. “You may want to postpone such a meeting. He’s not in a good mood.”
“That’s all right, he should be happy enough with why I’ve come.” At her side, a flash of white caught his attention. Was she on some business errand for her father?
But she was rarely ever involved in his business matters.
Calvin ran a hand through his hair. “I’d advise calling out before knocking. Your voice might halt the bark he’ll likely answer with.”
She nodded and yet continued to stare at him, her fingers running along the sides of an envelope, around and around as if sealing the edges.
He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get to your business, then.” He broke his gaze from hers, but not before glimpsing the hurt expression that crossed her face. He knew she’d feel slighted by his not engaging in small talk, but he had to stop every last bit of the attraction, from his side as well as hers. If his boss sensed any romantic interest between them, he’d be out on his backside faster than one could snuff a candle. Mr. Kingsman was determined David and Marianne would marry someday.
Without a word, she swept past his desk toward Mr. Kingsman’s office. Her tentative request to enter was followed by the rumble of his boss’s exasperated voice.
Calvin picked up his pen and tried to find where he’d left off on the last requisition, but for some reason his ability to comprehend words had jumped off a cliff. He might as well forget about working until she left. He kept his pen poised, however, so as not to appear open for conversation once she exited his boss’s office.
If only she wasn’t so kind and eager to help. Women who occupied her level of society normally acted as if he weren’t good enough to be the dirt on their shoes. And if they had dared to offer their love to a man of his station and were rebuffed, they would have made him pay.
Yet Marianne had just come in and offered him a fragile smile.
Hopefully her feelings would fade long before his did, if they ever would.
A minute later, she came out of Mr. Kingsman’s office, and Calvin kept his head down, hoping to avoid another awkward conversation—one where his heart clogged his throat and her voice got breathy and raw. Hopefully this heavy cloud of stifled feelings would one day lift and they could be comfortable with one another again—just not too comfortable.
Her soft footsteps hesitantly padded across the wooden floor, but instead of passing by, they came closer. Her hand slid into view on the corner of his desk.
“Yes, Miss Lister?” He didn’t look up while marking the page with a random stroke he’d have to correct later.
“Won’t you reconsider?”
His heart thumped hard, and his hand stilled—probably a good thing since he wasn’t even sure what he’d been writing. Why did she insist on torturing him with dreams he could not have? “Reconsider what, Miss Lister?”
“Us.”
He laid down his pen, keeping his gaze on the page before him, and let out a stuttered breath. “The reasons are self-explanatory,” he said as quietly as possible.
She moved closer, her skirt unsettling the papers hanging off the edge of his desk. She stopped beside him.
It was rude to keep from looking at her, but if he did, he was afraid of what he’d see in her eyes.
How long had he dreamed she’d look at him the way she had when she put her hand on that silly kitten he’d stuffed in his pocket? Or when she’d declared her feelings for him?
It was quite possibly the worst thing that had ever happened to him. His dreams had become reality, and he’d had to shove them away.
She crouched beside him, laid a hand on his arm, and leaned forward.
He tried to breathe evenly—and failed.
“Your jaw is tight, your chest is stiff, and you’ve just written something completely illegible on that paper.”
He grabbed a stray page to cover whatever else he’d scribbled.
She leaned closer, her breath tickling his ear. He had to do something other than act witless, something like kiss her—
He gripped the edge of his desk and held on as if he were teetering atop a cliff, which he was in a way, one that had sharp rocks at the bottom where his career would die a quick and painful death.
“The problems with us marrying aren’t as self-explanatory as you believe.”
He breathed as evenly as he could. “You might have dreamed up a fine wedding, but have you thought much past that?”
“Yes.” Her hand rubbed against his suit coat’s sleeve, almost making him jump out of his seat.
He couldn’t continue talking to the top of his desk, so he turned and saw exactly how close she was. If Mr. Kingsman came in and saw where her hand rested . . .
Calvin scooted his chair to the side. “You couldn’t have,” he whispered. “Both your parents and Mr. Kingsman would be angry I’d broken up the marriage they’ve all but arranged between you and David
. Not only would your parents likely disinherit you, but they might disown you. You’d not be able to run to them when times got tough.” He knew what it was like to be abandoned by one’s parents, and he refused to be the reason that would happen to her.
“You know David and I don’t love each other like that.”
“Maybe not, but if you don’t marry each other, your parents will expect you to make comparable matches, and I’m not even close.”
The hope in her eyes dimmed, and she put a hand to her heart. “Who says I need a wealthy husband to be happy?”
He wanted to reach out and caress her face, her crestfallen expression hopefully indicating she was at least starting to understand. “You don’t know what it’s like not to have money.” He tilted his head toward the windows, where they could see the mills and factories Mr. Liscombe had built across the street. “You don’t know what it’s like to live like those men, women, and children who work the cotton and linseed mills. Their shifts begin so early the sun has yet to show above the horizon. If the women are not at home raising a brood of children, they’re working long hours in the factories.”
He pushed out of his chair and headed toward the window, for the longer she stayed hunkered down beside him, the more likely Mr. Kingsman would see them and assume the worst . . . or the truth anyway.
He walked over to the picture window and pointed toward the cotton mill, keeping his voice low enough that Mr. Kingsman wouldn’t be alerted. “If you understood what that life was like—what it could end up being with me—you’d have no feelings for me whatsoever, I assure you.”
She stood and crossed over to the window beside him. Why did she have to keep coming so close? If she kept this up, he might be insane enough to admit he wanted her this close for the rest of his life.
“But you aren’t that poor, and you’ve got a good job—”
“That I’d lose the moment Mr. Kingsman realized I’d taken you away from David.”
“And so you could find another job.”
He shook his head. “That’s easier said than done.” Especially since Mr. Kingsman was powerful and vindictive enough to keep him from getting another job in Kansas City if he so chose.
He turned to look out the window again. “My father was a lawyer, earned about what I do, I’d suspect. But he got disbarred when a case went wrong for an important client. His name was besmirched, and he couldn’t find anything to do but general labor. He couldn’t sustain his family. . . . We were torn apart.” Which was why Calvin now saved all he could, but his savings would never be big enough to keep Marianne content if he hit hard times—which was practically guaranteed if he ruined Mr. Kingsman’s plans for his son to marry into the Lister fortune.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know, but that doesn’t mean it’ll happen to us.” She stepped closer, laying her hand on his arm again. “Are there other reasons you don’t want to marry me besides the fact that you think we’ll suffer hardship?”
Her voice had gained a hopeful lift to it again, but how? What had he said to encourage her? “The fact is, hundreds of working women wish they were you.” His mother certainly would have. “But no one dreams of being them.”
“That’s not true.” Her hands planted on her hips. “No woman dreams of being nothing more than a set of numbers to be transferred from one rich man’s portfolio to another’s.”
He shook his head at her. Why was she always thinking so little of herself? “You’re far more than that.”
Her stern expression melted.
Oh, if he didn’t say something to chase that longing look away, he was in trouble. “Have you forgotten Mr. Kingsman would fire me the instant he sensed anything between us?”
“No. Anything else?”
He sighed and turned to look at her, letting his face soften as he took in her high cheekbones and her beautiful eyes, the color of the shadowy blue that followed the sunset. “What else needs to be said when those reasons are insurmountable?”
She didn’t shrug or look defeated but let her gaze roam over his face, as if she could discover something in his expression that could convince her they had a future together.
But she wouldn’t find anything. For the past few days, he’d tried to convince himself that he could defy convention and marry her. But she’d only grow to hate him once she realized she’d be forever doomed to live as he did. Just as his mother had grown to hate his father when he’d been unable to provide for her as she’d wished.
And if his father hadn’t been able to survive being abandoned by his wife, how could Calvin possibly survive being abandoned by Marianne? How could he live through losing the most important woman in his life a second time?
“Are you an honest man?”
He jerked his shoulders back at that one. “You need to ask?” Didn’t she know him well enough to know that already?
“I just want you to confirm.”
He gave her a decisive nod. “Everything I’ve said is true.”
“Then tell me, are you pushing me away because you find me repulsive?”
What kind of unfair question was that? His lips stayed in a tight line as she moved closer, invading his space, the smell of her lavender soap making him itch to comb his fingers through her hair.
“Well?”
He swallowed. She was the epitome of everything he found attractive. Her hair had just the right amount of waves so his fingers wouldn’t be able to brush through without getting entangled. Her full lips made the most attractive pucker whenever she was lost in thought.
“Any—” His voice squeaked and he tried again. “I don’t believe any red-blooded male could be repulsed by you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What if I could prove you wrong?”
“You can’t, for you certainly can’t ask every man in the world. And even if a man finds you attractive, that doesn’t mean he’ll marry you. No good man would, if it’d destroy your life.”
“That’s not what I meant—”
Mr. Kingsman’s door burst open. “Hochstetler.”
Calvin jumped back and raced toward his desk, his heart pumping overtime. “I’m almost done with the requisitions. Are you in need of something else?”
Mr. Kingsman stopped short at his desk, catching sight of Marianne. “Miss Lister, why are you still here?”
He’d hoped Mr. Kingsman wouldn’t notice her, but her pretty rose-colored dress contrasted sharply with the wood walls and gray sky outside the office window.
“I had an inquiry of Mr. Hochstetler, but I got my answer.” She glanced at him for a second, nibbling her lower lip. She walked toward them, and his heart nearly burst at the thought of what she might say. She could easily get him fired on the spot.
She stopped in front of him, not even bothering to look at his boss. “However, I plan to come back later in hopes of a different answer.” She turned to give Mr. Kingsman a farewell nod, and then with her back as straight as if she were going off to battle, she disappeared out the door.
“What was it she asked of you?”
“Oh, um . . .” He shook his head as he busied himself with the papers on his desk, hopefully looking like he wasn’t completely flustered. “She asked when David was returning.” Hadn’t she done so when she’d first come in? “Do you have a better idea of his return than I?”
“No,” Mr. Kingsman huffed, yet a small smile graced his lips—but only for a second. “Well, get me those requisitions post haste and then find me the folder on the Quaid account.”
“Yes, sir. And what about the figures I’m compiling with Jenkins?”
“I’d forgotten you’d initiated that. Yes, bring those, too.” Mr. Kingsman marched back to his office and slammed the door, jolting Calvin from his tense posture. Had Marianne truly just told him she wasn’t giving up on pursuing him right in front of his boss? He tugged at his too-tight tie.
He was in trouble.
The kind of trouble he wished he could leap into, hang the consequences.
; More trouble than he’d ever been in in his entire life.
Chapter
4
The early-morning traffic was busier than the last time Marianne had walked across this part of town, or maybe it only felt that way since her maid insisted on coming this time, and staying together was difficult.
Did Miss Blasdale really think she was in danger? Women of lower stations walked longer distances than this, and today she looked like one. She’d put her hair up in a simple knot, and the dress she’d sewn over the past few days was plain and poorly tailored.
Perhaps she was a little spoiled by her lady’s maid, dressmakers, and drivers, but she wasn’t as hard to please as Calvin thought. If he refused to think about a future with her because she couldn’t grasp how life was for the working class, then she’d fix that.
Besides, she wanted to help people. What better way to become something more than a hostess than to actually work? Marianne looked behind her toward the building where Calvin worked. Though he’d made it sound as if his wife would have to live the life of a lowly factory worker, he wasn’t that financially bad off. He even had the respect of quite a few in her social set, though they might never entertain him.
But if she could survive the life of a factory worker, surely he’d see she could be content as his wife.
The rising sun backlit the Liscombe Mill across the very crowded street. She tapped her toes, waiting for an opportunity to cross, and looked at Miss Blasdale, who’d been coaching her on how to act more like the class of women she was trying to emulate. If she wanted this job, apparently she must act a little less genteel.
How did Miss Blasdale get her hair to look so good without any help?
A wagon filled high with crates and pulled by a beautiful team of draft horses passed, and Marianne stepped onto the street, careful of the puddle in front of her.
Miss Blasdale’s small hand caught her elbow. “You can’t go now, miss.”
“Why not?” She looked to the left again and saw no traffic.
Tied and True Page 3