Page 5 of However Long the Wait (Sweet Treat Novellas #4)

G rant had once been quite adept at navigating social gatherings.

His family home had often hosted dinners and soirees, even the occasional ball.

Though his parents could only claim a place at the fringes of old and respected families, the extended family’s growing wealth and influence improved their standing significantly.

Their invitations were eagerly accepted, and Grant had enjoyed the events.

He didn’t anymore, and he wasn’t sure why.

Perhaps he was too busy, his mind too full of the concerns of his mill and other business interests. Perhaps he simply didn’t have the heart for it any longer. Social gatherings hadn’t done him much good in the past.

“Imogene tells me you appeared displeased at the station this afternoon,” Mr. Beaumont said, interrupting Grant’s moment of reflection. “Did you have trouble with the shipment of cotton?”

Grant nodded slowly and with emphasis. “I’ve nearly reached my limit with this supplier. Shipments are forever arriving short or behind their time. His rates might be better than others, but that price comes far too dear.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Beaumont’s knowledge of business was second only to Grant’s uncle’s.

If he was in agreement with Grant’s analysis, that was a strong vote in favor of seeking a new supplier.

“The money and time you lose tracking down your missing merchandise may be better spent on a new, more trustworthy supplier. Those increased rates will pay for themselves over time with your increased productivity and reliability.”

“That is my evaluation as well.” Finding a new supplier and forging a relationship took time, however. Productivity would be down while that was all arranged, unless Grant could time it such that there was no gap in deliveries. That was easier said than done.

“Let me send a wire to a few men I know in the City,” Mr. Beaumont said. “They may have a few recommended suppliers for you—more reliable options.”

“I would be deeply grateful.”

Miss Beaumont arrived on the scene in that moment, eying them both with a playful look of scolding. “Are the two of you discussing business matters again? What will it take to convince you to set that aside long enough to enjoy a dinner?”

“My apologies, Imogene.” Mr. Beaumont even bowed, though his mustache danced with mirth. “We are quite the worst of guests.”

“You, Father, are not a guest,” she said. “You are the host. It is for you to set a good example.” She turned to Grant. “You must think us the veriest heathens.”

She made comments of that nature now and then, alluding to his more exalted origins. Wouldn’t she be shocked to discover that the rung he occupied on the social ladder of Rafton and the surrounding area had been a relatively low one?

“On the contrary,” he told her. “I am always pleased to be in your company.”

She blushed, and he realized his mistake. She spoke of her family’s impression on him, and he intended his reply to reference her family. It clearly had not been received that way. Still, correcting the misunderstanding would only embarrass her.

“If you and Father are willing to set aside your talk of cotton and investments and shipping schedules, we do have two other guests who are expected this evening,” Miss Beaumont said. “One of whom is old Miss Chadwick.”

“Miss Chadwick?” That was unexpected. Grant looked to Mr. Beaumont, who nodded subtly.

Grant had interacted with Miss Chadwick on a few occasions, though nothing of a significant nature had passed between them. She was a lady of advancing years with a sizable income, known to invest in any number of ventures. Thus far, she showed only a passing interest in any of his.

Miss Beaumont was smiling when Grant looked at her once more. “I thought learning of her attendance might seize your attention.”

“Who is the other guest? The Queen herself?”

She shook her head. “Miss Chadwick’s niece, who is only lately arrived in Wilkington. A poor relation, I believe, who has been thrust upon her aunt for the foreseeable future.”

That was an unenviable position for anyone.

The niece of a lady who was old enough for her age to be described as “significantly advancing” must be rather old herself.

Grant remembered well the dinners with his own grandmother.

They had been short affairs, owing to her low energy, and conversation had been difficult, owing her to nearly nonexistent hearing.

Perhaps the dinner would be ended quickly. That certainly met with his approval. A great deal of business awaited his attention.

“I look forward to making their acquaintance,” he said.

“Look forward no more,” Miss Beaumont said. “I believe I hear them in the corridor.”

The Beaumonts moved closer to the door, ready to greet their guests. Grant stayed back a few paces. He had already given the impression of stronger feelings than he felt for Miss Beaumont. Inserting himself into the family’s welcome would only confirm what he’d never meant to imply.

Mrs. Beaumont’s voice broke the silence first. “Miss Chadwick, what a pleasure.”

“Isn’t it, though?” came the reply, spoken firmly despite the telltale shake of age.

Miss Chadwick was not the docile, soft-spoken octogenarian most would expect.

Grant had realized that during their very first interaction.

He knew not what to expect of her niece.

Poor relations were often mistreated and trampled on, rendering them far more timid than they might have been otherwise.

He stepped closer to the window, granting the new arrivals space and time in which to greet their hosts.

Their voices were swirling about, mixing too much for any one word to be truly discernible.

The group moved in one mass farther inside the drawing room.

Grant kept to his side of it. Introductions would be undertaken once doing so was convenient; he would not press for speed when it was not necessary.

His difficult mood was beginning to ebb. The past years had taught him the trick of forcing unpleasantness from his mind and summoning lighter thoughts and brighter moods to take its place.

The Beaumonts always served a fine meal and their conversation was without fault.

Though they did not keep exclusively to the topic of business, when they did discuss such matters, Mrs. and Miss Beaumont proved themselves nearly as knowledgeable as Mr. Beaumont.

On other matters, their opinions and thoughts were pleasant and interesting.

No doubt Miss Chadwick and her niece would prove equally enjoyable dinner companions.

Miss Beaumont separated herself from the small group and moved toward him. “You have not suddenly become bashful, have you?”

He’d never been truly bashful, but he did prefer quiet and solitude to gatherings of people, unless those people were particularly well-known to him. Still, he knew how to be polite. “I only wished to allow your family time and space to greet your neighbors.”

“You are our neighbor as well.” She had perfected her tone of playful scolding. He had heard it often enough to know that for a fact. “Come greet the arrivals.”

He stepped closer. The crowd parted enough for an older lady dressed in the finest fashion, leaning on a cane and moving at a slow clip, but with eyes keen and sharp, to move to the front of the group.

“Miss Chadwick.” Grant offered a bow.

She answered with a dip of her head. “Mr. Ambrose. I’d like to introduce you to my great-niece, Miss Herrick.”

His heart stopped at the sound of that name.

The entire world slowed to a painful crawl as his eyes tracked in the direction of the second yet-unseen guest. He told himself again and again in that elongated instant that the surname was a mere coincidence, that he would feel an utter fool when he saw the truth of it before him. But his heart knew. Heavens, it knew.

There she stood. Carina. No trick of the eyes, no cruel jest of the brain. Carina. In the same town as he was. The same house. The same room. Carina.

He knew he was meant to do something. Bow or dip his head or say something. His mind, however, emptied of everything except his all-encompassing shock.

She did not seem similarly bewildered. Her expression remained as serene as could be. She dipped a perfect curtsy. By sheer habit, he managed the required bow of acknowledgment.

“Miss Herrick.” He hoped his voice emerged as steady as it sounded to his ears.

Carina answered with a fleeting smile, one that spoke of obligation more than any real pleasure.

She lowered her eyes, her posture stiff and unyielding.

That was to be the nature of their interaction?

After all these years, after the loneliness and disappointment, they were to go on as if they’d never known each other, as if there was nothing between them beyond the vague interest one might feel when meeting a stranger?

He had sunk to the depths of agony as her letters had grown shorter, filled with fewer personal sentiments.

He sensed no enthusiasm for the parts of his life about which he wrote.

They exchanged fewer notes, fewer expression of hope for their future or tender regard.

In time, they simply drifted apart, the short distance between them proving too great a barrier.

And now, here she was, entirely disinterested.

Grant steeled himself. He accepted long ago that her affections had cooled. He would not be felled now by the evidence of it.

Mrs. Beaumont announced that dinner was ready, and they proceeded to the dining room.

Grant offered his arm to Miss Beaumont, as had become customary during his increasingly frequent evenings amongst the family.

This time, however, the ritual was more than the result of habit; he needed a reason to look away from the unexpected materialization of half a decade of disappointed hopes.

He moved mindlessly to the dining room and sat in the chair he always occupied. If he did not allow any conscious thought, he was far less likely to dwell on the situation. Then he looked up and saw Carina directly across the table from him.

A growl of frustration nearly escaped before he muscled it back.

He had not been at all prepared for this.

How could he have been? He hadn’t the first idea how he would manage an entire evening spent in her company without either storming out in frustration or disrupting the Beaumonts’ evening by demanding to know why she’d pushed him away all those years ago and why, by the stars, she had come here to torture him further.

“Mr. Ambrose, you have been in Wilkington nearly a year now,” Miss Chadwick said. “Why is it you so seldom participate in local society?”

He set his attention firmly on her and not upon her niece seated beside her. “I cannot say, other than the possibility that the demands of my business have prevented it. The Beaumonts have been good enough to include me, but I daresay most of the other local hostesses have given up all hope of me.”

He glanced at Carina out of the corner of his eye. She showed not the slightest interest in his conversation or presence, though he felt certain she was listening.

“Have they?” Something far more pointed than casual conversation lay beneath the older lady’s words.

Indeed, when he looked more fully at her, he could see that he was being evaluated.

Perhaps, as the Beaumonts had hinted, she was considering investing in his mill.

“Where did you live before coming to our fine city?”

“In Preston.” It was the truth, though not all of it. If Carina did not mean to reveal their connection, he certainly wasn’t going to volunteer it.

“Ah.” Miss Chadwick’s gaze narrowed on him. “You’ve family there?”

“Yes. My uncle. I am a business partner of his, currently assigned to oversee Ambrose Mill here in Wilkington.”

“And are you turning a profit?” Miss Chadwick's questions were direct, which did not surprise him in the least. His few interactions with her before now had revealed that bit of her character.

“I am turning a profit, yes.” He matched her matter-of-fact tone. “I expect it to grow each year, in fact.”

“Mr. Ambrose has an excellent head for business,” Miss Beaumont said. “My father has declared him the second best business man in all of Wilkington—second to himself, of course.”

That earned the expected amusement from all at the table, except Carina. Her expression did not change in the least. Indeed, her gaze did not rise above her plate.

Mr. Beaumont launched into a discussion of margins and risk assessment, joined by his wife and daughter, as well as Miss Chadwick. For his part, Grant could only half listen. Carina continually pulled his notice. She had never been one for endless prattle, but this silence was unnatural.

Was she overset at being in his company again?

Had the years since they’d last seen each other rendered a fundamental change in her?

Was she being mistreated by her aunt?

He reminded himself more than once that they were no longer sweethearts, that she had made plain her waning connection to him. His head had, logically and correctly, closed that chapter in his life with a firm and resounding snap. He simply could not allow his heart to open it once more.

***

Carina returned to her bedchamber at Chadwick House that night and wept.