Dorothy Clark - Mail-Order Bride Switch

“No. But I can wait until—”

“Follow me.”

He headed for the kitchen. She looked down at the poker she’d been gripping, put it back in its place and trailed after him. Guilt tugged at her. He was right; Millie would have been the perfect wife for him. She on the other hand—

“Have a seat.”

He motioned to the table and chairs along the back wall she’d noticed last night, pulled out an end chair and held it for her. He’d turned up the oil lamps hanging above the massive table in the center of the kitchen. The light gleamed in the polished wood of the bare table in front of her. She glanced up at the window—also bare.

“Here we are.” He set two small plates, napkins and flatware on the table, left and returned quickly with two glasses of water and a towel-covered basket. A small crock dangled by its bail from his little finger. “I’m sorry there’s not time to have a real breakfast, but this is delicious bread. Ivy Karl bakes it, and she’s kind enough to sell me some.” He handed her the basket, then sat in the chair at the other end of the table.

She unfolded the towel, and a mouthwatering aroma of freshly sliced bread rose. She placed one of the slices on her plate, handed him the basket and picked up her knife to dip into the butter in the crock he’d opened. The first bite of bread was better than the smell. She took another bite.

“Be careful of the water. It’s from the waterfall and icy cold.”

“There’s a waterfall?” She took a tentative sip from her glass and shivered.

“On the mountain out back.” He took another bite of his bread and nodded toward the window. “That’s why John Ferndale located the town here in this valley. If you like, I’ll take you to see it one day when the weather warms.” He took another bite of his bread and glanced at her plate.

He was in a hurry. She applied herself to finishing her slice, wished she had time for another. “I’m ready for the tour of the hotel.”

“Time is getting short. We’ll leave these dishes here.” He rose and came to pull out her chair. “I’ll show you what you need to see for today. The rest can wait until later tonight or tomorrow. We’ll go through the kitchen. This dining table is for the help—when I have some.” His lips curved in a wry grin that tugged her own lips into a responsive smile, even while her stomach sank. She had ruined Garret Stevenson’s plans.

“This room is huge.”

“It will need to be when the hotel is full. There are twenty-six rooms. Add in mates and children, and that’s a lot of people to be fed.”

It was indeed.

“And then, of course, there will be those who come only to dine. Passengers first, but residents, too, as Whisper Creek grows.”

He would need to hire a cook. And meantime...her stomach tensed. He ushered her to the door she’d peeked through last night, and they entered a large dining room. She caught her breath at the beauty of the Hepplewhite servers, tables and chairs. A corner cupboard, painted a darker gray than the dove-gray plastered walls, stood on the outside wall on her left. A long banquet table and evenly spaced small tables filled the room. Extra chairs sat in the corners. Red-and-white patterned china and a pewter chandelier and sconces added bright touches that caught the eye. But it was the paneled fireplace wall that held her gaze. The workmanship quality was equal to that in her father’s library. “It’s a beautiful room, Garret.”

Pleasure flashed across his face. “I studied some of the best hotels and restaurants before I left New York. I want people to be so comfortable in my hotel they don’t want to leave.” He pushed open one of the doors flanking the fireplace and stepped back.

She entered the hotel lobby and looked around to orient herself. In a cozy corner on her right was a game table and bookshelves. On her left was the fireplace with two padded chairs facing it. Beyond that was the hotel entrance. An aura of welcome and comfort impressed itself upon her.

She moved ahead to stand by the long paneled desk, her hems whispering across the polished wood floor.

“Are you familiar with the procedure for staying at a hotel?”

“I know one must register and pay. I’ve never done so.”

He gave her a measuring look. “Your maid registered for you, while you were escorted to your room by the concierge.”

She treated his statement as a question. “Yes.”

His face went taut. “This is where the guests sign their name and address. Like this...” He opened a leather register resting beside a bell and a pewter pen and ink holder, and turned it so she could see.

She glanced at the few names entered and nodded.

“The fee is one dollar and a half per night. When they pay they are assigned a room, their money is placed in the till on the shelf under the counter, and they are given the key to their room. The keys are there.” He pointed behind the desk to numbered cubbyholes holding keys. “Duplicate keys are in my office—through that door under the stairs.”

“Your office also has a door from the hall in your private quarters.”

“Yes. It’s convenient to be able to enter or exit from either side. Now...any additional charges for the guest are noted beside their name in the ledger, and a note specifying the charge is placed in their box. Also, any messages they may receive during their stay are placed in their boxes. This—” he turned a small leather folder her way “—contains all of the other services offered by the hotel along with their costs.” His lips lifted into that wry smile that was so contagious it pulled the corners of her own mouth upward. “You’ll note there are few at the moment.”

She glanced at the list of services, her mind playing with an idea. Perhaps she could act as a hostess. She was skilled at that. She had performed that service for her father often.

Hotel

Meals served in your room: 5 cents

Checking daily for telegrams or posts: 1 cent

Maid service—bed made, rooms swept or dusted: 2 cents per service

Fresh towel: 3 cents

Dining Room

Breakfast served at six-thirty

Dinner served from twelve o’clock until three o’clock

Supper served from six o’clock until eight o’clock

Meals: 50 cents

Extra dessert: 5 cents

“I’ll show you the upstairs rooms later. That way...” He motioned her toward the stairs, which turned and ran a short distance to an arch in the opposite wall.

Her breath caught. Her fingers twitched. She stopped and stared. Close to the front corner of the room stood an upright Steinway piano. A padded settee and several chairs were clustered around the instrument.

“Is something wrong?”

“What? Oh, no. It’s only...do you play the piano?”

“Not so anyone would want to hear.” His eyebrow lifted, his gaze fastened on hers. “Do you play?”

She tipped her head and answered him in kind. “Well enough that people like to listen.”

He chuckled, a low masculine rumble that made her smile. “Good. You’ll be able to entertain our guests.”

At last, something she could do to repay him for her escape from Emory Gladen. The cost of the ticket and the money she had used weighed heavily on her. The tension across her shoulders lessened.

“This hallway leads to the guests’ dressing room—” he gestured toward the door at the end of the hall on their right “—and two guest bedrooms. These are the rooms I want ready in case any passengers decide it’s too dangerous to travel farther and choose to stay overnight.” He opened the doors. “I tended the fires earlier. You’ve only to make up the beds and set out the towels in the dressing room. You’ll find the linens in the cupboard in the hall. I’ve got to finish shoveling. Oh, and when you finish the rooms, you’ll find beef stew in the refrigerator to be heated for dinner.”