Page 10 of However Long the Wait (Sweet Treat Novellas #4)

G rant sat in his office two days after the Garolds’ garden party, attempting to focus on his work. Confessing to Carina what a mull he’d made of their courtship left his mind heavier instead of lighter.

His thoughts swirled around a list of unanswerable questions.

What if he had understood the tone of her letters all those years ago?

What if, once he’d begun to worry that her affections waned, he had faced his uncertainties and returned to Rafton to see her again?

What if he had simply written to her and asked?

He wouldn’t have lost her.

Harold Brown, a bookkeeper at the mill, poked his head inside the office. “Sir, you’ve a Miss Herrick here to see you.”

Grant jerked to his feet, ramming his legs into the desk. The inkwell shifted precariously. Pen nibs spun about. His stack of papers slid across the desktop.

“Should I show her in, sir?”

Grant snatched at the items chaotically spread on the desk. “Yes. Of course.” He had only just put his desk to rights when she stepped through the doorway. “Carina.” He really ought not to use her Christian name. He had relinquished that right long ago. “Miss Herrick. What brings you here today?”

“I am on an errand for my aunt.” She twisted the drawstring bag hanging from her wrist, looking at him fleetingly. “My aunt wishes to know, on behalf of the Ladies’ Aid Society, how the Evans and Post families are faring.”

“Of course. Won’t you be seated?” Grant motioned to a chair near the desk.

“Thank you.” Her discomfort was palpable, yet somehow reassuring. There was no anger in her posture or tone, but neither was there the stark indifference he’d felt in the earliest days of her sojourn in Wilkington.

Something had changed between them. He did have a word for it—not yet—but his heart began to hope. Perhaps there was now a foundation upon which he might build a new connection.

His first inclination was to return to his usual seat behind the desk, but he thought better of it. He sat, instead, in the chair beside hers. She didn’t object.

“The Evans family is in a new house, one without a leaking roof.” The Ladies’ Aid Society had been instrumental in that arrangement, so that likely was not what Miss Chadwick had sent her niece to discover.

“Mr. Post has been reassigned to an area of the mill that allows him to keep hours that are the same as his daughters’.

That has eliminated the difficulty of his little ones being alone so much of the day.

” He had reported that to Mrs. Garold. “I confess, I’m not certain what to tell you that the Society doesn’t already know. I don’t wish to waste your time.”

She smiled, hesitantly but sincerely. “Outside of this one errand, my time is my own today. Even if I accomplish nothing, I find myself quite pleased at this newfound freedom to choose how I spend my day. I never had that luxury in Rafton.”

“Ladies are seldom afforded that luxury anywhere, though the factory towns are less strict about such things.”

“My parents would be horrified.” Yet amusement lit Carina’s face. “They are not in favor of me having any degree of independence.”

“Have things been difficult at home? In Rafton, I mean?”

She nodded. “Increasingly so.”

“Perhaps—” He was taking a great risk. “Perhaps your aunt would allow you to remain after the summer is out.”

“I believe she would.” Carina nodded in thought. “I hope she will. I have so enjoyed being here, not merely because I can choose how I spend my days, but also because I like living with her, learning about her life, and becoming a friend of sorts.”

Hope expanded quickly and painfully in his chest. “You would consider staying here? In Wilkington, I mean.”

“Returning to Rafton would mean living with my parents’ unending disapproval or choosing a life with Mr. Baskon—neither of which would be the least pleasant.”

She did see Baskon for the cad he was. That was a relief.

“Wilkington is beautiful in the autumn,” he said. “It would be a shame if you were not here to see it.”

Carina did not look at him. “Miss Beaumont might disagree with you.”

“Oh, no. I am certain she feels the same way about autumn.”

That earned him a well-loved smile. “You are teasing me.” Her dark eyes turned up to him.

“Oh, no, Miss Herrick. I never jest while at the mill.”

The stiffness of her posture had given way to greater ease. Her tone softened as well. “You told me in one of your letters that being a man of business required you to be ceaselessly somber. I struggled to even picture it.”

“That was a miserable time.” He propped his elbow on the arm of his chair, leaning the side of his head against his upturned fist. “My time was not my own. I hadn’t the freedom to be the person I truly was. I sometimes felt like I didn’t even have myself for company.”

She offered him a look of commiseration. “We’ve neither of us had an easy few years, have we?”

“No, we haven’t.” Grant hoped she could hear his sincerity. “I remember in Rafton, when either of us would be upset or struggling with something, the other would listen and offer support and empathy. How I’ve missed that. There is such hope in simply knowing one is not suffering entirely alone.”

“I have missed that as well.” There was yet some hesitancy in her eyes, but less of it. Less wariness. Less uncertainty.

Still, instinct told him to tread lightly. “I wish I had something more for you to report to the Ladies’ Aid Society. My role in the two families’ recovery has been minimal.”

Grant kept his gaze and posture more casual than he felt, afraid if he pressed the matter at all, she’d pull away again.

“Perhaps my aunt sent me as a spy.” Carina smiled at her own suggestion. “She invests in businesses, you know.”

“I do know that.” He shifted in his chair, closing the gap between them conspiratorially. “Perhaps I should recruit you as a spy for your aunt. You could tell her how impressed you are with the way everything is run here, that the bookkeeper—the man who showed you in—is very efficient.”

Amusement tugged at her features. “I did not see any of his books.”

“He showed you in efficiently. You needn’t elaborate.”

“What else I am to tell my aunt?” Laughter touched her words.

He’d begun this bit of distraction as a means of having a light conversation but took it up in greater earnest. It was not her aunt’s approval he found himself wishing for, but hers.

“You could tell her that we are turning a profit, though not an enormous one. Further, that I recognize most workers do not enjoy their employment in a factory, but I have done what I can to ensure their safety and well-being. I have installed the most recent developments in air circulation to make the heat and fibrousness of the air bearable. I invest in the upkeep of the machines and engines so they are as safe as possible. I have limited the hours children are permitted to work. I provide a meal for the workers during the day; it isn’t elaborate, but it is filling and, in far too many instances, very much needed. ”

“Do not all factory owners do as much?” It was precisely the sort of question he had so fully misunderstood five years earlier.

She was not dismissing his information or brushing it off with only vague interest. Her voice rang with curiosity.

If only he’d been able to hear her ask these things in person.

“No, they do not,” he answered. “My uncle is not entirely convinced that my approach is a good one. It does cut in to the factory’s profits.”

“Why pursue it, then?”

He adjusted his position, facing her more fully.

“From a strictly business viewpoint, there is economic benefit to workers who are healthy and not resentful of the work they do. They work more efficiently, and we retain workers, which saves us the cost and inconvenience of finding and training replacements.”

Carina did not appear fully satisfied with the answer.

“From a more personal viewpoint, however,” he continued, “I think of families like the Evanses and Posts and, though I have never lived in the degree of want and struggle that they do, I cannot escape the fact that they are every bit as human as I am. Were I in their shoes, I would want the man I worked for to make my working conditions bearable. I cannot do everything that they might wish me to, but I can do something.”

“I have heard a rumor that you are not an ogre,” she said. “I find the rumor a little suspect, though, considering you are the one who started it.”

“My being the source of the story does not make it untrue.”

“Indeed.” Her gaze dropped to her hands folded in her lap. “I find myself suspecting the story is true.”

If ever he’d received a welcomer compliment, he could not recall it. “You, then, will be making a favorable report of me?”

“I suspect I will.” She looked at him once more, her gaze uncertain, but hopeful.

“I cannot tell you how pleased I am to hear that,” he said.

Color stained her cheeks. She stood.

He rose as well. “Until we meet again, Miss Herrick.”

“I look forward to it.”

For his part, Grant more than looked forward to seeing her again.

He meant to plan for it and be ready. She would, at the very least, be staying through the summer.

He, then, had mere weeks to show her that all was not lost between them, that Wilkington could offer her more than just the beauty of nature and the pleasure of her aunt’s company.

He had mere weeks to attempt to find a place once more in her heart.

***

Grant arrived at Chadwick House the next evening with a small handful of wildflowers and a growing nervousness.

He had no idea how he would be received.

He did not know at what time the ladies of the house took their evening meal, but, with his responsibilities at the mill, he could not possibly have come sooner.

He only hoped his timing proved appropriate.

The butler eyed Grant’s flowers, then offered a knowing smile. The staff had been surprisingly personable on his last visit as well. It seemed to simply be their way.

“Miss Chadwick is just in here,” the butler said, motioning to the drawing room.

Grant stepped inside. He offered a bow to Miss Chadwick.

He’d not said a single word when Miss Chadwick spoke. “She’s in the east garden.”

“I am so transparent, am I?”

“Yes. Quite.” Miss Chadwick eyed his flowers. “I believe she will appreciate your offering.”

“I do hope so.”

“She told me you confessed to the stupidity that led to your separation, that you misunderstood her letters and had not the fortitude to approach her in person.” The observation was not a flattering one, yet her tone spoke of approval.

“I like that you admitted your mistakes, that you didn’t try to reassign the blame or wriggle out of it.

She deserves to know that she didn’t do anything wrong. ”

“For too many years, I let myself think she had. That was easier than admitting to myself that I’d ruined everything.”

Miss Chadwick’s expression turned almost maternal. “Misunderstandings occur often enough, and fate does not always allow us to see them in time. You, however, have a chance.”

He squared his shoulders. “One I do not mean to waste.”

“Very good.” She pointed a slightly crooked finger in his direction.

“She’s less jumpy when you’re about than she was when she first arrived, and she no longer wears that look of worry whenever you’re mentioned.

Now’s the time to build on that thin foundation.

Show her you’ve grown. Show her you’re to be trusted. ”

“I will try.”

“And, whatever you do, show her you care, that your feelings are tender. A lady needs to know that, or she will never feel safe embracing those same feelings in herself.”

“We are both taking a risk pursuing this possibility,” he acknowledged. “But it’s one I ought to have taken five years ago.”

She smiled, her face tucking into pleasant and happy wrinkles. “And one you ought not put off. The east garden. Off with you.”

He sketched a quick bow and hurried away. If he had even the smallest chance of regaining Carina’s favor, he would not waste a single moment.