Valerie Hansen - Rescuing the Heiress

“That I get from my father,” Tess said with a quiet chuckle, “and glad of it. Otherwise, how could I possibly hope to stand up to him, express my wishes and actually prevail?”

“When have you done that?”

“Well…” Tess’s cheeks warmed even more. “I shall. Someday. When I have a cause, a reason that I feel warrants such boldness.”

“Like woman suffrage, you mean?”

Tess sobered. “Yes. That’s exactly what I mean. Now, go find Michael and tell him what we need. Look in the kitchen. It’s Friday so he should be visiting his mother.”

“You keep track of his schedule?”

“Of course not. I just happened to remember that he has every other Friday afternoon free, that’s all, and I don’t believe I noticed him being here last week.” She looked away, taking a moment to compose herself and hoping Annie wouldn’t press her for a better explanation.

“Come with me?”

Tess arched a slim eyebrow. “You’re not afraid of him, are you?”

“No, I just get this funny, fluttery feeling in my stomach when I see him and I can hardly speak, let alone be convincing. It’s as if my tongue is tied.”

Unfortunately, Tess knew exactly what Annie meant. Between the mischievous twinkle in the man’s dark eyes and his hint of an Irish brogue, he was truly captivating. “All right. We’ll both go. He might be more likely to agree to accompany us if I asked him.”

“Of course. He won’t want to jeopardize his mother’s job by refusing.”

It bothered Tess to hear that rationale. She had hoped to persuade the attractive, twenty-four-year-old fireman to do her bidding by simply appealing to his gallantry. The suggestion that her family’s importance, both at home on the Clark estate and in the city proper, might be a stronger influence was disheartening.

It was also true.

Michael Mahoney had come straight from work, shedding his brass-buttoned, dark wool uniform jacket and leather-beaked cap as soon as he entered the overly warm kitchen of the Clark estate.

He gave his mother a peck on the cheek, took a deep breath and sighed loudly for her benefit. “Mmm, something smells heavenly.”

Clearly pleased, Mary grinned and chuckled. “Of course it does.”

“Will you be wanting more apples peeled?” he asked, starting to turn back his shirt cuffs while eyeing a sugar-and-cinnamon-topped bowl of already prepared fruit. “I’ll be glad to help, especially if I get to taste one of those pies you’re making.” He pulled a stool up to the table and sat down.

Hands dusted with flour, Mary was rolling circles of crust at the opposite end of the work-worn oak surface. “That’s no job for an important man like you, Michael.” She used the back of her wrist to brush a wispy curl away from her damp forehead. “You have a career now. You don’t need to be helpin’ me.”

“Clark should have hired you a kitchen maid long ago,” Michael said flatly. “With all his money you’d think he’d be glad to lighten your burdens.”

“I’ve had a few girls here. None lasted. They were too lazy. ’Twas easier for me to just jump in and do their chores than to wait.”

“Still, I think I should have a talk with him.”

“Don’t you dare. I’d be mortified.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Clark is a good man and a fine boss. I wouldn’t want him thinkin’ I wasn’t grateful. He gave me a raise in salary you know.”

“Over a year ago or longer. If Mrs. Clark was still in the household you’d have gotten more than just the one.”

“I know. She was such a darling girl, poor thing. The mister’s not been the same since she passed.” Mary sighed deeply, noisily. “I know how he feels. Sometimes it seems like your da will walk in the door one day and greet me the way he did for so many wonderful years.”

Michael chose not to respond. His father had been lost at sea while working as a seaman almost ten years ago, and before that had only come home on rare occasions. If they hadn’t had a fading photograph of the man, Michael wondered if he’d have been able to picture him at all.

“It’s been a long time,” he said. “You’re still a comely woman. Why not set your cap for a man who can take care of you?”

“Now, why would I be wantin’ to do that when my lovin’ son is goin’ to look after me in me old age?”

Chuckling, Michael nodded. “All right. You’ve made your point. And I will, you know. I just have to work my way up in the department until I’m making enough money to feed us both and qualify for family housing.” He laughed more. “I don’t suppose you’d be wantin’ to live in the station house with all those rowdy boys and me.”

“Might remind me of my brothers back in Eire, but, no, I have a nice room here. I’ll wait till you’re better set before I make my home with you.”

He reached to steal a slice of cinnamon-flecked apple from the bowl and was rewarded by her “Tsk-tsk” and a playful swat in his direction.

“I always knew you were a wise woman,” he said, popping the tangy bit into his mouth.

“And don’t you be forgettin’ it,” Mary warned.

From the doorway came a softly spoken, “Forget what?”

Michael’s head snapped around and he jumped to his feet. He knew that voice well, yet hearing it never ceased to give him a jolt. Whether it was a sense of joy or of tension, he had not been able to decide.

Licking his lips and dusting sugar granules off his hands, he nodded politely. “Miss Tess. Miss Annie. Good afternoon.”

Annie giggled and followed Tess into the warm kitchen.

“Umm. That bread baking smells wonderful. I can hardly wait to butter a slab,” Tess said.

Mary gave a slight curtsy and wiped her floury hands on her apron as she eyed the imposing gas stove. “Thank you, miss. It should be ready soon.”

“Then perhaps we’ll wait.” Tess looked to Michael and gave him a slight smile. “How have you been?”

“Fine, thank you. I just dropped in to pay a call on my mother.”

“As you should. Your employment is progressing satisfactorily, I presume?”

“Yes. I’m next in line to be promoted to captain of my fire company.”

“How impressive. I wish you well.”

He’d been studying Tess as she spoke and sensed that there was more on her mind than mere polite formalities. She and Annie had both been acting unduly uneasy, paying him close attention and fidgeting more than was normal for either of them.

“Thank you,” Michael said with a lopsided, knowing smile. “Why am I getting the impression that you ladies have something else to say?”

“Perhaps because we do,” Tess said. He saw her tighten the clasp of her hands at her waist and noticed that she was worrying a lace-edged handkerchief in her slim fingers.

“And what would that be?”

“I—we—are in sore need of an escort this evening and we were wondering if you would be so kind.”

“An escort?” Michael’s brow knit. “Don’t you have a beau who can provide that service?”

Tess’s cheeks flamed but she held her ground. “At the moment, sadly, no. However, Annie and I would be honored if you could find the time to accompany us. We can use one of father’s carriages if you like.”

His dark eyebrows arched. “Oh? And where would we be going?”

“Mechanics’ Pavilion. There’s going to be—”

“Whoa. I know what’s going on there tonight. I won’t be a party to your participation in such a folly.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Well, now I’ve ruffled her feathers, Michael concluded, seeing her eyes widen and hearing the rancor in her tone. Nevertheless, he knew he was right. “The pardon you should be beggin’ is your father’s,” he said flatly. “Mr. Clark has a reputation to maintain, for himself and for his bank. You can’t be keepin’ company with the likes of those crazy women.”