Page 10 of Indebted (Hidden Gems #2)

“ Y ou are a quick study.” Amy gave Marcus a genuine smile. He asked good questions and seemed to understand things after only one explanation. They toured the exterior of her family’s mill and then she slid her arm through his once they dismounted. “We will see the inside now—only, it must be your request, not mine.”

“I see.”

And he did. He played the charade perfectly, even though he needed Amy to explain the role of every bit of machinery and every frantic worker on the floor.

“You are at home here as most ladies are in their parlors or sitting rooms,” Marcus muttered.

“I should be. I grew up here. Look, now those bobbins are full of cotton thread, and they need to be removed from the mule. This is called doffing the mule, and it has to be done frightfully fast. The mule stops—no money is made. Get them off, empty spindles at the ready, and the cycle begins again. Workers are paid on completion of a cycle. You can’t live on just one cycle per day—and Father would fire you if that was your pace.” Amy bit her lip and leaned against her escort’s arm. Strictly speaking, her close contact with him was tantamount to announcing their engagement. She supposed some leeway might be given since the factory was filled with a solid wall of noise, the air was filled with clacking and banging, and the floors were covered with boys of ten to twelve scampering to work under the dangerous machines.

“If they work as fast as Father wants, someone will be killed,” she whispered. “But he’s making the workers go faster, as if that will make the waterwheel turn faster or the steam-driven machines move more quickly. As other mills start out producing us with newer, larger engines, he’ll push all the harder. He’ll never catch up.” Amy shook her head and realized as she spoke to an objective ear, “He doesn’t want to change things in his own little kingdom. Because—”

“Because if he doesn’t, it will be the way it was before he lost his wife. When things were right with the world. Yes, I know the feeling of trying to escape an unpleasant reality,” Marcus answered, his voice at a bellow but coming out as a murmur thanks to the covering noise.

“Capturing his happiness needn’t make others miserable. My mother wouldn’t want that.”

“Have you tried telling him?”

“Ha! Oh, Mr. Holcomb. You jest. I can tell him nothing—and the mere mention of my mother sends us all into dangerous waters. But with you as my messenger, I have some hope.”

“Hm. Yes, that good turn that I’m doing you.”

Amy’s skin prickled, and she moved away from her companion, back to a befitting distance. Last night, he had used those words just before kissing her so hard that her spine seemed to catch fire. Her body heated at the memory of it, and she nodded, not speaking.

“Although... There are other ways we could help one another.” Marcus closed the distance between them as they moved through a doorway, squeezing past a boy rushing through with a heaping basket of filled bobbins.

“Oh?” She steeled herself. Be strong. Reject any proposition that would further compromise your reputation. Word will travel soon enough.

“You could assist Uncle Horace and me with the preparations for the ball. I’ve already asked Gray to send invitations to all the local worthies and the usual attendees for Uncle’s parties. The housekeeper and butler will help, I know, but I feel it ought to have a personal, elegant touch.”

“Elegant? Me?”

“Oh, indeed. If it were me, we’d all play whist and empty the wine cellar,” Marcus laughed.

“That doesn’t sound like a poor excuse for an evening, but no. I see that it wouldn’t do. I could come over some evening this week.”

“Tomorrow?”

“So eager, Mr. Holcomb.” Amy turned, and they were suddenly in a quieter hall where the machinery was muffled by a dividing wall. Men raced back and forth, packing, loading, and shipping finished thread and cloth. “Come. Across this area is the new wing where the dyeing vats were added in the 1860s. Coal tar dyes in mauves, purples, yellows, blues, and pinks. We don’t have silk here—yet. It still looks pretty on cotton, but I keep telling Father that we should expand our gabardine lines. It sells so well domestically.”

Marcus caught her waist as they exited one building, pulling her into a small alcove in the deep red brick wall. “Mr. Holcomb!” she gasped, that newly familiar sensation of her body lighting up from the inside out assailing her.

“That is why I want to see more of you. So eager.” He twirled her once, pecking her cheek and letting her free.

For a moment she didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed that their short physical exchange hadn’t developed into another heated, crushing kiss.

Both. How odd.

“What? Because of the gabardine?” Amy asked as she strode ahead, waist afire where his hands had gripped.

“Because I am never bored with you, Miss Winthrop. An idle man reforming craves distraction. A grieving, angry man craves distraction, and you are the finest sort. Edifying and attractive at once.”

Amy swallowed, unused to being given such compliments. “You are too kind.” Yes, she was supposed to say something demure and ladylike like that.

“Will you come to Uncle’s mill in Bolton soon? I’ll have to have the foreman give us the tour, but we could do it in just one day. The Lancashire and Yorkshire railway has a train that leaves Bolton and reaches Barrow-on-Wood in under an hour. They’ve got an early train and one again in the evening. I know, as I am trying to get Uncle Horace to let his townhouse in Bolton and stop at Holcomb House. The train fare with a season ticket is far less than could be made with letting the house, to say nothing of keeping it stocked and staffed.”

Amy turned to give him an admiring glance. Discretion was the better half of valor, and she knew it would be nobler to keep her praise in her head, but out it flew. “My goodness. You do have some practicality in you, Mr. Holcomb, and of your own accord.”

“Only as I’ve been forced into it,” he laughed, no trace of irritation on his face despite her somewhat backhanded compliment.

They walked on a ways, and Marcus coughed into his fist. “Miss Winthrop? Another thought has been buzzing through my mind just now. Would you care to hear it?”

“Of course.” Amy lifted her eyes from the sun-dappled cobblestone courtyard that they finished crossing. The dyeing wing was filled with strong smells from the coal tar dyes, even with the large, screened windows open. “Perhaps tell me before we go in. I find it best to keep one’s mouth closed in this room.”

“The house in Bolton is not large or grand, from what I understand. It’s in a busy city, but a city much smaller than Liverpool or Manchester. If a young married couple wished to live alone, instead of in the huge manor of an aged relative... I suppose the husband could ask to oversee the Bolton mill and live there as part of his wage.”

Her stomach hopped at his words. A young married couple? Us?

“This particular young husband would need his wife’s guidance in regard to the running of it, sadly.”

“Sadly! Why sadly?” Amy exclaimed loudly.

“Well... He ought to know all of this and take care of things in the world of work so she can manage the home in peace and comfort.”

“But the home can be so very lonely and so dull—at least until there are children.”

Don’t think about children. Or the intimate nature of how they come to be.

Curse Marcus for kissing her like that and suddenly making her very aware of physical urges that had never existed before, not once!

“So, this young wife would not object to helping her husband?”

“Not in the slightest! But... If I—I mean, this young wife, who is not so very young, Mr. Holcomb, would move to Bolton and devote herself exclusively to the mills in her husband’s care, I fear she would fret over her family’s mill and how it was faring. Perhaps some compromise could be made?”

“Yes... Yes, I think so.” Marcus pushed open the door to the dyeing wing and gasped at the huge vats and the racks of brightly colored cloth being dipped, stretched, and dried. He began to cough at once, and Amy marched him through quickly.

“Are you all right?”

“I’m very happy, and I have some knowledge tucked up so I won’t look like such a footling child in front of Uncle Horace when we make an inspection of the Bolton mill next week. Oh, Miss Winthrop... Amy.” Marcus took her hand and pulled her along, away from the walls and into the green grass, bright under the spring sunshine and nourished by the Barrow River that ran past and turned the massive waterwheel. “Amy, you are truly a helpmeet. I know that’s what wives are supposed to be, and you are already one.” He frowned fiercely, startling her.

“What is it? Why the sudden frown?”

“I simply am at a loss as to why other men in the district should be disparaging toward you. It makes no sense to me.”

“Ah. Well, I only seem so helpful to you because we share a common business.”

“A match meant to be,” Marcus concurred with a charming smile, batting his eyelashes at her.

She ignored his obvious flirtation and led him back towards the mill gates, where a steady stream of wagons departed and where Daisy and Jericho were tethered. “I expect most men want a helpmeet who will ensure clean linen, washing done, meals cooked, house cleaned, and children reared.”

“But you would do all that. Wouldn’t you?”

“Indeed. After my mother passed, I took over so many tasks, even though by that time, we had a cook, a maid, a gardener, and a valet. We hadn’t always. I know how to sew and cook. I know how to clean and mend. As for children... Thomas was only twelve when my mother died. I don’t know how much rearing can be credited to me, but I know that I helped.”

“You are that clever woman from the Proverbs. Truly.” Marcus cleared his throat, and a deeper, plummier tone poured forth, “‘She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands. She is like the merchants' ships; she bringeth her food from afar. She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens. She considereth a field, and buyeth it: with the fruit of her hands she planteth a vineyard. She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.’” He smiled at her gaping mouth. “I told you I knew my Classics.”

“So I see!”

“Do you? Do you see yourself in that verse? Spindle and distaff? That’s you! Wool and flax? That’s you. You consider a business, and you make it profit, Amy. If a man claims to be a good, virtuous man who wants a good, Biblical wife, he need look no further.”

“I’m sure there is something about her being meek, quiet, and obedient, too. I’m not much on that part.” Amy blushed.

“Ah, but I didn’t come looking for a virtuous wife who was meek and quiet.” Marcus advanced toward her, making her back away. He continued his pursuit, a slow, stalking animal, pressing her back until her shoulders hit an ancient willow whose boughs swept the river’s surface. “I came looking for a rich wife, and that was my only plan at first. Then I met you—and you kiss like a harlot.”

“Marcus Holcomb!” she hissed, coloring as pink as the dyes they’d just observed. “I have never kissed anyone but you. I am no harlot.”

“Oh, I know, and that’s what makes you more entrancing. You are naturally talented.”

“Stop.”

“Stop talking?”

“Yes.”

“I’d be happy to—if you’d kiss me to silence, my dear.” His head dipped perilously close to hers.

“You are incorrigible. You cannot behave like this in public!” Amy smacked his shoulder, even though her lips were tingling and a curious coil of excitement was filling her, starting low in her middle and rising up to her throat.

“Then meet me somewhere in private, and I will recite you all the Greek and Latin you can stand, if only you kiss me again.”

“I—I think we should wait until after the ball.” Amy played for time, even over her body’s protests.

“Do you think that, or do you think that’s what’s expected? Because you and I, Miss Winthrop, do the unexpected.”

Amy swallowed. “I think that I understand, for the first time in my life, how people are tempted to sins of the flesh.”

Marcus’ eyes lit up. “You do?”

“Yes! And I don’t want to fall into such a danger.”

“There’s no danger in kissing, I assure you of that.”

“Ah, Mr. Holcomb. You were getting a reputation as an honest man. Don’t spoil it now. A kiss is how it starts. Not where it ends.”

“I should have studied law instead, I see. A kiss is where it starts, not where it ends. Accepted. But there can be a long, glorious time in the middle, after the beginning, before whatever ominous end you envision. I invite you to meet me in the middle sometimes, sweet Amy, as you have done in so many other ways.”

“YOU! HOLCOMB! COME up to the office, lad! I didn’t even know you were on the premises.”

Marcus stopped and turned as he walked toward the gates, Amy’s arm in his.

Nelson Winthrop was bellowing out of the window, beckoning him over.

“I’ll be right up!”

“You go ahead. I’ll sneak over and talk to the foreman,” Amy whispered.

Marcus nodded and swallowed, trying to sort out all the information he’d just learned. Would Winthrop interrogate him about textiles or courting? Or both?

“What do you think of our little place? Larger than your Bolton one, eh?”

“Indeed, I believe so.”

“ Father, I did tell you Mr. Holcomb was here,” Philip protested, jotting something in a ledger. “And I need you to sign off on the final accounts for the month.”

“Aye, in a minute, in a minute. Leave me to talk to this young fellow for a bit.”

“Should we say a prayer for him first?” Steven rose from his desk.

“You should be up on the third floor, you lazy thing. Go.”

As the two brothers left, Marcus found himself suddenly staring at an inscrutable face. “Good afternoon, Mr. Winthrop. How are you?”

“I’d be a great deal better if you’ve come to tell me that my Amy has said yes to your proposal.”

“I’ve not officially proposed yet, sir—”

“Why not? It’s all arranged. I’ve given my blessing and a fat cheque into the bargain once it’s done.”

Marcus swallowed. Mr. Winthrop was a new sort of animal to him. His uncle was firm and stern when needed, and good-natured overall. His father was always puffed up with his own importance and charm. Mr. Winthrop always seemed to be teetering on the verge of anger.

Don’t you understand why?

Imagine losing Amy.

He hadn’t known her long, but the thought of never speaking to her again caused something inside to shut off, for darkness to cover him.

“I want to marry her—not only for the money, sir. She’s clever and beautiful. I enjoy her company enormously. She is a handsome woman in both looks and mentality. I fear pushing her to accept a proposal she doesn’t want will only make her unhappy. I already have come to care about her happiness. I know you must as well. After all, she is your eldest child and only daughter. What a boon it must be to have her, for she seems very like your dear wife, sir.”

Nelson Winthrop seemed to swell, skin turning the same shade as the bricks that made up his factory walls. “No man will marry a woman once she turns thirty, lad. And that’s coming for her in just a few months.”

“Why? I will marry her at thirty. Forty. At fifty, I hope to still be her husband, perhaps watching your grandson begin at the mill or Holcomb industries.”

Mr. Winthrop turned and paced the length of his desk, then back. “A fine sentiment.”

“She’s a fine woman. Worth all the sentiment a man possesses.”

With his back turned and his head bowed as if to study some papers on his desk, Winthrop said, “You’ll take good care of her, I know. You’ve got the money and the prospects to do so and an uncle determined to keep you on the right path. And if you don’t, I’ll horsewhip you within an inch of your life—and then I’ll hand the whip to her brothers, and they’ll finish the job.”

Marcus flinched at the soft, unheated way the threat was delivered. Steeling himself, he said, “I don’t think you need to worry, sir. Your daughter would create some little metal assassin, driven by steam and wielding a tiny blade dipped in rare untraceable poison. Amy is clever like that. Unexpected like that. I can see that many people don’t know her worth. Perhaps it is because they look at her expecting to find certain things and overlook all of her other gifts. To be brutally honest, Mr. Winthrop, I came only looking at the size of her wealth. Looking for nothing else, having no other expectations—I’ve been able to see her quick wit, her talent with tools and metal, her head for business, and her most beautiful, sensitive nature.”

Silence followed his words.

“You’re not so daft as I thought you’d be. That’s a fine appraisal, Holcomb. So, you’ve had a tour of the mill with our Amy?”

“I have, and a grand, expansive operation it is, sir.”

“Do you think it ought to have one of those new engines, the Corliss engine that you mentioned at supper the other night?”

“Indeed, sir. I am going to have our mills equipped with them, and I’m in the process of procuring one now.”

“All right then. I’ll give you until after the ball to officially propose to my daughter. If you dilly-dally any further, the price is going down. We pay by speed in the textile game. Time is money.”

Anger flared inside of him, but he swallowed it down. “Of course.”

“Steven’ll meet with you. I’ve decided to get one of the engines as well. Steven will handle it. I’ve got to look at this canal versus train cost sheet that Thomas has cooked up.”

Marcus smiled. Amy had a hand in that, he’d wager. “I’ll wait for Steven outside.”

A few minutes later, Steven came down, sauntering and eating half of a sandwich as he approached. “Holcomb. Well done. You’ve got Father to agree to the Corliss engine?”

“I have.”

In a low whisper, Steven asked, “All Amy’s work trickling from your lips, is it?”

Marcus didn’t relish the tone, but the truth was the truth. “Indeed it was.”

“Well, then... We’d best find her. She’ll know what we’re supposed to do about putting in these beasts.”

“Oh, good. I don’t have to pretend that I know what I’m doing!” Marcus sagged in relief and was surprised to find a brotherly arm around his shoulders. “I shall, of course, learn... Even though I would rather not. Hard and responsible work is far from my favorite pastime, but for her... I shall make a go of it.” Marcus gave a shrug. “Largely because she’s the true workhorse between the two of us.”

“You’re not loathsome at all, Holcomb. I think Amy could do far worse. I shall recommend you for the position of brother-in-law at the earliest opportunity,” Steven said in a mock-serious voice.

“Thank you, sir, most kindly for this honor,” Marcus replied in the same tone. “I shall accept the position.”

When they met Amy at the gate, they were still laughing.

“You two are in a jolly mood! Hello, Steven.”

“We have reason to be jolly, and so have you. Father wants the Corliss engine, as does Holcomb. Shall we go home, raid the larder, and make battle plans?”

Amy clapped her hands and flew into their collective arms, draping herself between them as she squealed in victorious glee. “Oh, this is wonderful news! Yes, yes, come on! Before he changes his mind!”