by Galen, Shana
The little bell above the door tinkled, and Raeni glanced at a group of four women who had entered.
“What kind of coffee?” Mrs. Price asked.
Raeni furrowed her brow. “I don’t understand.”
“Do they want milk in it or chocolate? What about sugar?”
“Oh.” She hadn’t thought to ask. Raeni didn’t drink coffee, and though she knew it was not always taken black, she hadn’t thought to ask.
Mrs. Price waved a hand. “Go seat those ladies and then ask. Hurry now!”
Raeni rushed to the entrance, weaving past Caroline, now returning with a tray, which was stacked with dirty plates and cups. “Miss Sawyer, can you clear that table when you have a moment?” She gestured to an empty table stacked with used dishes. “Mr. Miller was supposed to send one of the men from the back to clear, but he must have forgotten or he still needs them all.”
“Of course.” Raeni was beginning to see why Caroline had looked so panicked. She greeted the women at the door and led them to a table but just as she was ready to return to the men whose coffee order she’d taken, two more men entered. She seated them and started back to the first table of men.
“Where’s our coffee?” the man who’d given her a smile earlier asked, his tone slightly irritated.
“It will be out in just a moment. Did you want milk, chocolate, or sugar?”
The men detailed the way they wanted their coffee, and Raeni nodded and hurried toward Mrs. Price. She passed Caroline, carrying yet another heavy tray. “Miss Sawyer, I thought I asked you to clear that table.”
“I will. I’ll do it right after this.”
The bell at the door tinkled again. Raeni blew out a breath. Mrs. Price gave the door a pointed look, and Raeni glanced over her shoulder to see six men crowding into the room. Where would she put them? The coffee room, with its polished brass and dark paneled walls, had plenty of light from the large front windows, but though the light gave it a spacious feel, it was all but full now. The tables had four chairs. How could she find a place to seat six?
She gave Mrs. Price the gentlemen’s order then rushed to seat the newcomers, managing to push two tables together. She was sweating now, and the coffee room was out of tables. Caroline gave her an exasperated look and Raeni rushed to clear the dirty table so the next set of customers could sit there.
Unfortunately, she didn’t have a tray, which meant she carried the dishes in several trips to the kitchen. Then she had to ask for a clean rag to wipe the table. Rag in hand, Mrs. Price stopped her. “The coffee is ready. Bring it to those gentlemen before they leave. They’ve been waiting almost a quarter of an hour.”
“But I was to clean the table.”
“In a moment,” Mrs. Price said. She gestured to a tray on the counter. Raeni eyed it with no little trepidation. A coffee pot sat in the middle surrounded by empty cups and saucers of milk and chocolate. Raeni approached the tray and wondered how she was to carry it across the room without tipping it. She tried to remember how Caroline had done it, the tray balanced on one shoulder. Carefully, Raeni hoisted the heavy tray and balanced it on her shoulder.
It wasn’t so difficult. She couldn’t see past the tray, but it would only be for a moment. Most of the room was still visible to her. She started toward the table of men, walking quickly but carefully, and just then the bell above the door tinkled. Raeni glanced in that direction. A man entered, and for a moment he looked so much like her father’s overseer that she stumbled. She managed to keep the tray steady long enough to realize it wasn’t him after all, but by then her legs had gone to jelly out of fear. She lurched forward, the tray making it impossible for her to see the man in the expensive coat who had stepped into her path until it was too late. She plowed into the man, her tray crashing down, the coffee on it splashing over him. He yelped and jumped back as the hot beverage scalded his skin. Raeni tried desperately to right the tray, but she could do little but watch it slide as her own momentum carried it and her into the man.
He tried to catch her, and she tried to step back, but the wet floor was slippery and she lost her footing. She went down and the man went down beside her. From the floor, Raeni looked up at the dark beams running along the ceiling. She’d be fired now. She’d probably be let go without even the day’s wages. The coffee, milk, and chocolate on her gown were as close to a meal as she was likely to have today or in the foreseeable future. But she wouldn’t give up that easily. Perhaps if she sought out Mr. Gaines, stood straight and begged—without showing too many teeth—for him to give her another chance, he might take pity on her.
Mrs. Price’s face came into view, but she wasn’t looking down at Raeni. She was looking at the man Raeni had taken down. “Sir! Are you injured?” Mrs. Price asked.
Obviously, no one cared if Raeni was injured. Still, Raeni thought a better question for the man might be where did you come from and why weren’t you watching where you were going?
“I’m fine,” he said, his voice a low bass.
“Oh, I do apologize,” Mrs. Price was saying. Raeni wanted to roll her eyes. Why was she apologizing when it had been his fault? She’d better apologize too, especially if she hoped to beg Mr. Gaines for her position.
She pushed up to her elbows just in time for Mrs. Price to toss her an angry look. “This girl is new. But I’ll let her go right away. This won’t happen again, Mr. Gaines.”
The words were like a cold bucket of water tossed over her. Raeni wanted to sink right back down, curl up on the floor, and close her eyes. The handsome man before her, with his soft brown eyes and walnut-colored skin, was Mr. Gaines. The Mr. Gaines. She was doomed.
Two
Thomas hadn’t flinched when the scalding coffee splashed all over him, though he might have wished a significant quantity of it hadn’t landed on his trousers and quite so close to his nether regions. He’d barely restrained a pathetic yelp when the hot beverage soaked through the fabric and singed his inner thigh.
But his immediate concern was with his customers, most of whom were craning their necks to peer at the commotion. His coffee room had been open only a few days and this was not the impression he wanted to make on the London populace. He rose to his feet, his mind racing. “Sorry for the interruption, ladies and gentleman. Please, everyone, indulge in a cinnamon cake. My treat. My cook makes the finest cinnamon cakes in the country.”
Mrs. Price, his coffee room manager, gasped, her eyes widening. Clearly, she was envisioning all the extra work serving free cinnamon cakes would entail.
“Go ahead and start serving, Mrs. Price,” he told her. “The other ladies and I can clean up.”
“Yes, sir. I am sorry, sir.”
He reached down to assist the poor woman he had crashed into to her feet. By now Miss Caroline Ridley had reached them and was loading the fallen tray with assorted plates.
“And you,” Mrs. Price hissed at the woman whose hand he held. “I don’t want to see your face again.”
Thomas glanced at the victim of these barbs as he pulled her up, and his heart jumped into his throat. It was the woman in the blue turban. He stared at her, into her almond shaped eyes that wouldn’t quite meet his gaze. She was tall, only a few inches shorter than he, and her skin reminded him of burnished mahogany. Though he could tell she was humiliated at being covered in milk and chocolate, she held her head high like a queen.
“I don’t think we’ve met, Miss...?”
“Sawyer,” she answered, her eyes flicking down again. Her voice was a rich alto and carried with it the faint cadence of the West Indies. “I should gather my things and go.” She pulled her hand from his.
Go? But he’d just found her. And then he remembered Mrs. Price’s orders. Thomas always placed people he trusted in positions of power, and he was not in the habit of gainsaying them. But he would be damned if he would allow Miss Sawyer out of his sight. “That’s not necessary. You can clean up and go back to work.”
She frowned, a small crease appearing b
etween her eyebrows. “But Mrs. Price—”
Thomas glanced at his manager, who was already handing out small cinnamon cakes. “Perhaps you should avoid Mrs. Price. I’ll send one of the shop employees over to this side. Come with me.” He gestured for Miss Sawyer to follow him, but she looked down at Miss Ridley, who was still cleaning up the mess on the floor. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll send a man with a mop to clean up. I can spare a man in the back.”
With Miss Sawyer trailing behind him, he moved staff here and there until he spotted Alfred in the back room, where he’d found men with mops and brooms to assist with the tidying of the coffee room. Alfred gaped at him, and Thomas, having forgotten the spilled coffee, glanced down at himself.
“Sir, what happened to you?”
“Slight accident, Alfred. Miss Sawyer, meet Mr. Miller. He oversees the entirety of Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco.”
Alfred nodded. “Miss Sawyer, we met yesterday.”
“Mr. Miller is the one who gave me the position,” she said, her voice low and mournful. “I’m so sorry to have let you down, sir.”
Alfred glanced at Thomas. “I’m assuming there was some sort of mishap with a coffee tray?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Perhaps Miss Sawyer’s talents don’t lie in serving coffee, Alfred,” Thomas said. “Mrs. Price would rather...well, can you find Miss Sawyer another position?”
If Alfred was surprised at the request, he did not show it. “Certainly. And, sir, might I suggest you change clothing before meeting with the investors this afternoon?”
“Good idea.” He would have liked to speak to Miss Sawyer longer, but it wouldn’t do to single her out. He was her employer, and he was well aware of the power of his position. “Miss Sawyer.” He nodded his head in dismissal. He started up the stairs to his office, only glancing back briefly to see Alfred conversing with Miss Sawyer. His manager scratched his head several times, clearly trying to decide what new position to give her. She couldn’t work in the front with her clothing stained as it was, and it was all men in the back room as the work of carrying and stacking tobacco and coffee was strenuous. Thomas had the urge to go back down and find a place for her himself, but he forced himself into his office, closing the door only halfway. He liked to hear what was happening downstairs.
His stack of extremely important documents had not magically diminished, and he sighed when he looked at them then went to the window. Bond Street was busy this time of day. He hadn’t expected his coffee room to be so popular. In Wapping it had taken a few months for word of mouth to spread and patrons to fill his shop. London was continually surprising him. He’d ask Alfred to hire more servers and make certain to take the investors into the shop and the coffee room so they could see he was already busy and prosperous.
And if he was already this busy, he had better look at the orders for next week. He went to his desk and rifled through his papers until he found them, then spent the next 30 minutes revising the budget and the orders. Finally, after the third time he’d pulled his wet sticky shirt from his skin, he remembered that he’d come in here to change clothing.
He had a trunk with several changes of clothing inside. He often slept at the store, which was one reason he had comfortable chairs placed in his office. There was no reason to go home at one in the morning if he’d only be returning at seven. Thomas had begun enough businesses to know the first weeks and months could be grueling. He crossed to the trunk and pulled out clean clothing, stripping off his coat, shirt, and waistcoat as he did so. Carrying the clean clothing behind the screen in the corner of his room, Thomas stripped down. He splashed water on his face from the basin and ewer and rubbed it down his body to clean off the coffee residue, though he didn’t think he’d ever get rid of the smell.
He pulled on clean trousers and shook out his shirt. From somewhere behind him, he heard a gasp. Turning, he stared into the shocked face of Miss Sawyer. For a moment he was so glad to see her that he didn’t remember he was half-dressed.
“I am so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean—I was coming to—” Tears gathered in her eyes. Too strong a reaction for a woman who’d merely come upon a shirtless man. It had to be something more.
And he knew what it was.
Heat burned his face, and he abruptly yanked on his shirt. “What do you want?” he said more harshly than he’d intended. Now that he had the shirt on, he turned his back to her again and began to fasten it at the neck. “Do you always barge into rooms without knocking?”
“I’m so sorry, sir. The door was open, and I just wanted to—” She broke off, and he looked over his shoulder at her. She stood stiff and erect, her eyes fixed on a wall instead of him. “I’ll leave you. In fact, I should probably find another position, but...”
He was curious now. Well, he’d been curious since the first moment he saw her. He pulled on his waistcoat. “But?”
She glanced at him. “I need the money too desperately. I—” She blinked rapidly then put a hand to her forehead. She’d gone rather ashen, and Thomas rushed over to her.
“Sit in my chair.” He guided her to his desk and held her arm until she was lowered into the chair. Pouring a glass of water from the decanter nearby, he handed it to her. “Drink this.”
She nodded and drank a small sip. “Thank you. I don’t know what happened. I feel much better now.” She tried to rise, but he put his hands on her shoulders.
“Not so quickly, Miss Sawyer. When was the last time you ate?”
“This morning.”
Thomas knew a lie when he heard one. Even if she hadn’t hesitated a fraction too long before she’d spoken, he would have known from the way her eyes shifted and her voice hitched. “Miss Sawyer, the truth, please.”
She took a deep breath and raised her chin, her manner regal. “I’ve been a bit short of funds lately.”
He raised a brow. Her manner had gone from weak to imperial in a matter of seconds. “How short?”
“I will be fine.” Now she did rise, brushing his hands from her shoulders. “If I can manage not to spill coffee on you or burst in on you when you are changing again, I will prove to you that I am a valuable employee.”
Thomas put his hands on his hips. “What position did Mr. Miller assign you?”
She kept her chin high. “I am sorting tobacco leaves.”
Thomas hadn’t been aware that was a position. She must have realized it was an invented position as well—something to keep her busy but not really contributing. “I see. What is your previous work experience?”
“I...”
Thomas held up a hand before she could go on. Her hesitation was answer enough. “You have none.”
“Not formal experience, no, but I’m not incapable.”
“So you’ve never had a paid position before?” He held up a hand at her look of panic. “I understand. Everyone must start somewhere.” He was desperately curious as to what her life had been before Alfred had hired her. How had she been living? How was it that she had never worked before? It was difficult to know her age, but he put her at twenty, at least. Might she have been the petted daughter of an upper-class household? Or perhaps that West Indian lilt in her voice had something to do with it.
“As I said, I’m not incapable.” She moved a step or two away from him. Her color was still dull, and he would have liked her to drink more of the water. “I used to help my—I used to help keep things tidy.” She gave his stacks of paper a pointed look.
Thomas clutched the lifeline. “Do you think you could organize my papers? I need someone to file them and put them in some order—well, I have an order, but perhaps a better order.”
“I could.” She nodded then looked away. “But wouldn’t you prefer to hire a clerk?”
“No, I would not.” Thomas couldn’t think of anything worse than some thin bespectacled youth in his room huffing whenever Thomas put a paper back in the wrong drawer. Now if Miss Sawyer wanted to chastise him for such a crime, Thomas didn’t think he wo
uld mind. Thomas gestured to the cabinet where he had stacked some of his papers. It had twelve drawers, all labeled with letter ranges. He’d tried to put documents away in some semblance of order, but did he file tobacco orders in “Orders” or “Tobacco”? He didn’t have time to consider which choice was best.
“Why don’t you start right now,” he suggested. He went back to the corner of the room and stepped behind the screen again. From her position at the desk, she would not be able to see him. He tucked in his shirt, buttoned his waistcoat, and slid a neckcloth about his neck.
“Mr. Miller wants me to finish sorting the tobacco.”
Thomas rolled his eyes as he tied his neckcloth. “I’ll deal with Mr. Miller. Ordering these documents is much more pressing.”
“But won’t I be in your way?”
Thomas slid on his coat and stepped out from behind the screen. “Not at all. I have a meeting with investors and will be out of this office the rest of the afternoon. When I return you can show me your progress.”
Her gaze flicked to the stacks of papers.
“Any progress is appreciated.”
“Very well. Thank you, Mr. Gaines. I’m so very grateful—"
He waved a hand. The last thing he wanted to hear was this regal creature groveling. “No need.” He donned his hat and with a wave, left her to her task. But as soon as he was down the stairs, he arrowed straight for the kitchen. Finding the cook, Thomas instructed her to send an assortment of food and drink to his office. And if Miss Sawyer hadn’t eaten it when he returned, he’d have something to say about it.
RAENI COLLAPSED BACK into the chair at the desk as soon as she was certain Mr. Gaines was gone. Her earlier faintness had not been an act. She hadn’t eaten more than a piece of bread and an old apple in the last few days. Her head pounded and her stomach cramped in protest. She gave a look of longing at the chaise across the room. She was so tired, and it seemed like a lifetime ago since she had slept in anything resembling a bed.