The Brynthwaite Boys: Season Two - Part Two

by Farmer, Merry

  Flossie

  Flossie had always dismissed the phrase “to be of two minds about something” as the excuse indecisive people gave for being unable to make up their minds. But as she stormed through the hotel, handling not only the day-to-day business of The Dragon’s Head, but answering telegrams from Jason’s other hotels and making decisions on his behalf, she realized she would have to eat her words.

  On the one hand, she was beyond happy to have Jason back where he belonged and in her arms. She didn’t care how perfunctory and uninspired their love-making had been the night before. It was bliss to feel his skin against hers and to have him inside of her. She also didn’t care that his dominant expression for the last few days was a frown at best and a fussy, lost look at worst. He was there for her to look at.

  On the other hand, they couldn’t go on as they were forever. There was too much at stake for Jason to wallow in shame over his fit for long. He’d built a hotel empire, and try as Flossie did to manage it, that was a job only Jason at his fittest could manage. If his new moodiness was permanent, Flossie was seriously considering speaking to Alex, or even Marshall, for medical advice, though Jason wouldn’t approve.

  “Miss Stowe, there you are.” Dora caught her as Flossie marched through the staff hall toward the kitchen to see how Cook was getting on with the shipment of produce that had arrived from a nearby farm.

  Flossie stopped and backtracked to the staff dining room. Dora and a pair of the other maids had parcels of curtains opened and spread out on the long staff tables. “Is there a problem?” she asked.

  “There might be,” Dora said, holding up one of the curtains to you. “What does that look like to you?”

  Flossie stepped closer and squinted a bit to inspect the curtain Dora presented to her. Sure enough, the lush fabric was pocked with tiny burns, possibly from soap that had been too harsh for washing such fine material.

  Flossie sighed. “Are they all like that?”

  Dora nodded. “I’m afraid so, miss.”

  “I’ll need to send a complaint to the laundry,” she said, adding that to her growing list of things that needed to be done that day.

  It had taken her long enough to find a laundry to send the hotel’s curtains and linens to that could handle the volume of washing that needed to be done. Now she had to decide whether to search for another company or to find some way to set the laundry straight.

  “Carry on as best you can with these,” she sighed, giving Dora as much of a smile as she could manage. “I suppose it’s time we ordered new curtains for the guest rooms anyhow.”

  And there was another thing to add to her list.

  She checked a few more of the curtains, then headed out of the dining room and on to the kitchen, adjusting her daily schedule to make up for it.

  “Mrs. Willoughby, how are the vegetables—” Before Flossie could finish her question as she strode through the kitchen door, a wave of dizziness hit her. She was forced to reach for the nearest counter and sag against it to stop herself from spilling to the floor.

  Instantly, Cook and half of her staff rushed to Flossie’s aid.

  “Easy there, Miss Stowe,” Cook said, easing Flossie into her meaty arms. “Let’s just get you sitting down.”

  “I’ve come to inquire about the shipment you just received from Carey Farm,” Flossie said, far more breathless than she wanted to be.

  “The shipment is just fine, Miss Stowe,” Cook replied, fussing over Flossie once she was seated. “You, on the other hand, are working yourself far too hard for a woman in your position. Dilly, bring Miss Stowe a cup of tea.”

  The young kitchen maid hopped into action, rushing to pour tea and bring it to the table.

  “I’m fine, really,” Flossie insisted, hating how her head was still a little swimmy in spite of the confidence of her statement. “Although I wouldn’t say no to tea.”

  “Women in your condition should rest more,” Cook scolded her like a mother. “You’ll do yourself and your babe a harm if you keep working so hard, and Mr. Throckmorton wouldn’t like that.”

  Flossie wasn’t so blind that she couldn’t see the censure in Cook’s eyes when she mentioned Jason. In fact, she suspected the entire staff viewed Jason’s trip to London and his moodiness upon return with disapproval. It was touching that they were so loyal to her, but they didn’t understand Jason’s predicament, and the truth was something Flossie would never make public. The Dragon’s Head was all about discretion in more ways than one.

  “This tea will be a nice break,” she said with a happy sigh—mostly for Cook’s benefit. She sat back when Cook handed her the cup that Dilly had handed to her and took a sip. “Perhaps I should visit the kitchen more often for a rest if I’m to be offered tea as wonderful as this,” she said.

  Cook eyed her with a lop-sided smile, as if she knew Flossie was trying to butter her up so she could go back to work. “If anything happens to that babe of yours, the whole staff will be affected,” she said before returning to the counter where she was preparing luncheon.

  “Nothing will happen to it,” Flossie said, placing a hand on her growing stomach. At least, she prayed nothing would happen. She had such high hopes for her and Jason’s child. She didn’t think she could bear it if anything went wrong. Perhaps she did need to speak to Jason about pulling back a bit.

  “Miss Flossie, Miss Flossie!” Willy hurled into the kitchen, an excited look in his eyes. “Miss Flossie, there you are.”

  “Willy, dear, is something the matter?” She took a last sip of tea, set the cup on the table, and stood. Cook scowled at her.

  “There’s a man,” Willy said, unable to hold still with excitement.

  “There is?” Flossie asked, grinning.

  “He’s here. In the lobby,” Willy went on.

  “What kind of man is he?” Flossie asked, feeling renewed by Willy’s eagerness.

  “He wants to speak to the manager,” Willy said.

  Flossie’s heart sank. “Is there a problem?”

  “No, he’s happy.” Willy gestured for her to follow him out of the kitchen. “Very happy.”

  Flossie went with him, sending Cook a grateful smile. The tea had made her feel much better.

  “He says he loves the hotel and wants to speak to the manager about it,” Willy went on, grabbing her hand and leading her down the staff hall and across the hotel dining room toward the lobby. “He looks a jolly sort.”

  “Indeed?”

  Willy was right. The man who stood waiting in the lobby was smiling as though in the presence of a miracle as he gazed up at the lobby’s painted ceiling. He looked to be in his middle years with a pleasing, angular face and warm blond hair that had thinned a bit on the crown of his head. His eyes danced with merriment and surprise when he glanced to Flossie.

  “This is her,” Willy told him. “This is Miss Flossie Stowe, the manager.”

  Flossie grinned wryly at Willy’s grand introduction and held out her hand to the man. “How do you do, sir?”

  “Colin Armstrong,” the man introduced himself, taking Flossie’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “I’m so very pleased to meet you. I was astounded when I heard Mr. Throckmorton had a woman running his Brynthwaite hotel, simply astounded. But your staff thinks very highly of you.”

  Flossie’s brow went up. “You’ve been speaking to my staff?”

  “Briefly, madam, briefly,” Mr. Armstrong said. “To get a feel for how things work, you understand.”

  Flossie didn’t understand, but she was certain Mr. Armstrong was on the verge of telling her. The man had a buoyant, open manner, and she couldn’t help but smile along with him. “Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Armstrong?”

  “I hope so,” he said. “I hope you can help me with everything.” His smile was wide and infectious.

  “How so?” Flossie prompted him.

  “I am a great admirer of Mr. Jason Throckmorton, you see,” he said. “I’ve been following his career and his r
ise for several years now, and I wish to emulate him.”

  Flossie blinked in surprise. “You do?”

  “Absolutely.” Mr. Armstrong nodded. “I have plans to open a hotel just like this in Ambleside, and I was hoping to pick your brains about the way this hotel operates.”

  “Oh.” Flossie’s brow went up, but she couldn’t think of anything more to say besides, “Indeed.”

  “I want to get everything right,” Mr. Armstrong went on. “From the staff to the decorations to the food. And who better to consult with about the whole thing than the manager of this fabulous hotel. Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Flossie looked around, too stunned by the request and the fact that Mr. Armstrong appeared to be taking her seriously to think fast. “We could speak in the office,” she suggested, starting toward the desk.

  Mr. Armstrong followed her into the office. Flossie deliberately left the door wide open and headed to Jason’s huge, leather chair behind the desk. She gestured for Mr. Armstrong to take one of the seats in front of the desk. It was rather satisfying to sit in the seat of authority while offering a man the seat of petition.

  “What would you like to know, Mr. Armstrong?” she began.

  “Everything,” he repeated. “Where Mr. Throckmorton found his suppliers, who the craftsmen that constructed the hotel are, where he found his staff, including you, Miss Stowe.”

  “I was referred by a friend who heard Mr. Throckmorton was hiring,” Flossie said with a burst of nostalgia for those days. “I’d been in service, you see. The majority of our staff began their careers in service.”

  “Really?” Mr. Armstrong leaned forward. “Fascinating, fascinating. And do you find hiring people from service to be effective?”

  “Very much so.”

  Flossie went on to talk about the hiring she personally had done during the reshuffle in the autumn and to answer as many questions about the hotel’s construction as she could. She was surprised to find that she knew much more than she thought she did about Jason’s early plans and the way he’d executed him. It gave her a happy sense that she’d done her job well and that she’d be able to help Jason in the future if he needed it.

  She was in the middle of explaining The Dragon’s Head’s event schedule when Jason returned from Huntingdon Hall and marched into the office. His purposeful stride and optimistic look caused her to utterly forget what she’d been in the middle of saying to Mr. Armstrong and to smile.

  “That went better than expected,” Jason said with energy in his voice Flossie hadn’t heard in weeks. He opened his mouth to say more, but stopped with a startled look when he spotted Mr. Armstrong. “Who are you?” he asked.

  His bluntness was a massive relief to Flossie. That was the Jason she was used to. “This is Mr. Armstrong,” she said, standing and coming around to stand by Jason’s side. “He’s—”

  “I’m a huge admirer of yours, Mr. Throckmorton,” Mr. Armstrong interrupted her, looking as though he were being introduced to the Prince of Wales. He thrust out his hand and shook Jason’s vigorously as soon as Jason took it.

  “An admirer?” Jason arched a brow at Flossie. The spark was back in his eyes.

  Something positive had happened at Huntingdon Hall. Flossie was aching to know what it was, but she doubted Jason would say a word with Mr. Armstrong there.

  “I was astounded when I first heard about you,” Mr. Armstrong went on. “The poor orphan from the north who came to London to make a fortune in the hotel business. I’m an orphan myself, you see, and I’ve studied everything you’ve done in an attempt to follow in your footsteps.”

  Jason turned to Flossie, his brow shooting up. Flossie grinned proudly at him.

  He turned back to Mr. Armstrong. “Luck and hard work played as much a part in my advancement as anything else.” And a few darker things that Flossie knew Jason would never admit to.

  “Just as I suspected,” Mr. Armstrong went on. “Your charming manageress, Miss Stowe, has been enlightening me to some of the details of your meteoric rise.”

  “You have?” Jason turned to her, one eyebrow raised.

  “We’ve been discussing the hotel business,” Flossie said.

  “I plan to open a hotel just like this one in Ambleside, you see,” Mr. Armstrong went on.

  “Ambleside?” Jason’s smile faltered. Flossie could see the wheels working in his head, measuring the distance to the competing hotel.

  “Yes,” Mr. Armstrong went on, still smiling. “I want to get every detail right.”

  “I see,” Jason’s smile turned politer.

  “I’ve even engaged the services of the blacksmith you used to make your ironwork.”

  “Lawrence?” Jason turned to Flossie once more, a hint of ire in his look.

  “How fortunate for Mr. Smith,” Flossie said. “I’m certain he could use the money this will bring in to complete his house and support his growing family.” And that Jason should nip his jealousy in the bud and simply be happy for his friend.

  “Now it would seem I should hire a female hotel manager as well,” Mr. Armstrong went on, his enthusiasm undampened.

  “Flossie is mine,” Jason all but growled, reaching for Flossie’s hand. “In more ways than one. We are expecting our first child this spring.”

  Flossie’s brow shot up so fast she thought she might have another spell of dizziness. It was the first time he’d ever not only acknowledged she was with child to a stranger, but had claimed responsibility so fiercely. He must have been far more threatened by Mr. Armstrong than she’d initially thought.

  “Oh, I see.” Mr. Armstrong’s smile turned delighted as he glanced between Jason and Flossie. “I had no idea. How very wonderful for the both of you. I’m simply charmed.”

  The odd thing was, Flossie was certain the man was charmed. He was genuinely the most cheerful man she’d ever encountered, and she was certain his geniality wasn’t an act. But she could feel how much Jason instantly disliked the man. Indeed, it was clear that Mr. Armstrong was the kind of fellow that could get under the skin of some people.

  “If you are truly serious about opening a hotel,” Jason said in a tone that implied Mr. Armstrong might not be serious, “you need to search for staff who are competent and hard-working, no matter their gender or background.”

  “A revolutionary concept,” Mr. Armstrong agreed. “And one that I’m certain has led to your success.”

  “I’ve worked hard,” Jason said in a tense voice.

  Flossie could sense she might need to intervene, but before she could, Daniel popped his head in the door.

  “Excuse me, Miss Stowe, there’s a woman here to see you,” he said.

  Of all the days for Flossie to be in high demand.

  “Can she wait a moment?” Flossie asked.

  Daniel started to reply, but he was cut off by an all-too-familiar voice snapping, “No, she cannot wait a moment.”

  A second later, Betsy marched through the door, a look of fury on her face.

  Flossie’s heart dropped to her feet at the sight of her sister. It’d been over a year since the last time Flossie had been home, and aside from Betsy’s constant, pestering letters, the two of them had had no contact. Betsy was a bit more worn than the last time Flossie had seen her. Her dark hair—a match to Flossie’s own—was tinted with premature white and her skin had lost a bit of its luster. Betsy was dressed in simple clothes that had seen better days, and her scuffed boots were just visible under the hem of her too-short skirt. And yet, there was something false about the image she presented, something calculated to inspire pity.

  “Betsy,” Flossie said, sending Jason a wide-eyed look, then crossing to greet her sister. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  “I’ve come to see what has made you forget your only sister in her hour of need,” Betsy said dramatically. She raked Flossie with a glance and a sneer. “And here I come to see you looking like a grand lady, living high on the hog while I wallow in the mire, not a frien
d to my name.” She leaned forward, squinting at the heart pendant Jason had given Flossie for Christmas. “Crikey! Is that a ruby?”

  Flossie pursed her lips, ignoring the outburst. “I have other friends and relations back home, you know,” she said, trying to keep her voice down. “The stories they’ve told don’t entirely match up with the ones you’ve been sending me.” She sent an apologetic look to Mr. Armstrong, who seemed fascinated by the exchange.

  “Liars the lot of them,” Betsy snapped. “My life is a misery and you don’t even care. And look at you. It’s not as though you don’t have the blunt to send me. Rubies indeed.”

  Deep weariness set into Flossie’s bones. The confrontation was only going to get worse. Betsy was wrong and had no compunctions about lying through her teeth, but she would dig into her position and fight to her dying breath.

  Fortunately, Jason seemed to see she needed help. “Jason Throckmorton,” he said, holding his hand out to Betsy while simultaneously pulling himself to his full, intimidating height and staring down his nose at her.

  “Elizabeth Stowe.” Betsy took his hand, signaling clearly that she wasn’t going to back down. “You the blighter that knocked up my sister?”

  Flossie rolled her eyes and squeezed them shut, pressing a hand to her forehead.

  “Hello. I’m Colin Armstrong.” Mr. Armstrong jumped into the scene, offering his hand to Betsy, much to Flossie’s surprise.

  “Oh, are you?” Betsy said, dripping with attitude. She took Mr. Armstrong’s hand all the same.

  “Your sister is wonderful,” Mr. Armstrong went on. “She’s managed this hotel with efficiency and grace. You must be very proud.”

  “I’d be a hell of a lot prouder if she hadn’t cast aside her poor, suffering sister in her hour of need,” Betsy said, tilting her chin up.

  Flossie exchanged a look with Jason. If he’d ever been curious about why she rarely spoke of her sister or visited or invited any of her family to Brynthwaite, he needed to look no further than Betsy. “Why don’t we take this discussion somewhere else,” she said. “Would I be correct to assume you’ve just arrived and that you need a place to stay?”