Page 2

Boston, Massachusetts

M iss Gwendolyn Bernard tapped her boot on the oak boards of the dry goods store.

Mama! Let’s go! But her mother continued speaking to the shopkeeper’s sister.

Gwen turned from the bolts of cloth, wishing they could afford a few lengths of muslin for a new summer dress.

Her present dress, once a lovely azure blue with a dark-blue ribbon accentuating the high waist, was now faded and accessorized with fraying cuffs and hem.

She couldn’t take in the sleeves anymore without the length appearing too short.

With a sigh, she turned to face the barrels of flour and gazed longingly at the shelf of sugar loaves wrapped in blue paper.

Gwen preferred her tea and coffee strong and sweet, but they had gone through the monthly quota of sugar.

Drinking the weak (they diluted it to make it last) bitter liquid did not start the day well.

Gwen’s foot began tapping again. Her mother was taking an inordinately long time to finish her conversation with Mrs. Tarron.

Patience. She looked across the counter at the owner, Mr. Barnaby, who was watching her mother with a strange look on his face.

His craggy face wore a ridiculous smile as he smoothed a big, calloused hand through his thinning, dark hair.

He had a nice face, Gwen thought, for an old man.

“Are you enjoying the mild spring weather, Miss Downing?” The shop owner turned to face her, tugging his waistcoat over his slight paunch. “It’s certainly a fine day.”

“Yes, Mr. Barnaby. It is, indeed.” She pretended to browse the selection of ribbons, consciously attempting to keep her foot still and avoid another dagger glare from Mama.

“That violet ribbon would look real good on you. That color goes nice with your blonde hair and those big blue eyes,” said the shopkeeper. “I’ll cut you a length if you like.”

Gwen’s head jerked up, and she narrowed her eyes at Mr. Barnaby over her shoulder.

Her long locks were tied back with an old leftover strip of linen, and the weather was windy.

She knew she looked a bit of a mess. “I’m sorry to say I can’t buy anything today.

” Her stomach grumbled, and she frowned at her middle.

She’d rather he offered her something to eat.

“It would be my treat.” Mr. Barnaby walked from behind the counter, grabbing a large pair of scissors as he came around. He measured several hand lengths and cut the satin material. “There you go.”

“Why, thank you, sir,” she said, wondering what he was up to. Why the compliments and a gift? “I can pay you when my br?—”

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it, now,” he replied, his kind brown eyes twinkling. He folded the length of ribbon and went back behind the counter, finding a piece of paper to wrap it in. “I was wondering…”

And then it hit her—like an ax smacking a tree trunk.

He was courting her. Was the funny look he’d given Mama because he wondered if she would agree to his courtship?

A knot twisted in her stomach. Did he know how desperate they were?

Perhaps he was being kind. He and her mother had been friends for years.

“Miss Bernard,” he began again, “do you think Mrs. Bernard would mind if I came to visit this evening?” When she gave him a blank stare, he mustered, “Or another night if it’s more convenient.”

He did want to court her. For the love of Hercules, there had to be at least thirty years separating them. Her stomach growled again. Perhaps the good Lord was sending them a horn of plenty in disguise. She looked up to find Mr. Barnaby giving her an odd look.

“I’m afraid Tuesday is mending night after dinner,” she said evasively. His interest was unexpected, and she needed time to think about it. While she did need a husband, Gwen had hoped for someone closer to her age, a man who would win her heart.

“I have an idea.” The shopkeeper grinned as if the cleverest notion had just come to him. “Why don’t I take the two prettiest ladies in Boston to dinner? Then you can still return home in time to finish your mending.”

He must have heard her stomach growl. Regardless, she decided a good meal was a fast step toward capturing her heart at this point.

With her brother gone for over a year now, their funds were dangerously low.

They were rationing, and top priority had gone to necessities such as firewood and oil for the lamps, paper and ink for the countless letters they sent to Graham while receiving none in return.

Food was minimal, and their cupboards were practically bare.

“I would have to ask?—”

“ Merci , we would be honored to accept your gracious invitation, Mr. Barnaby,” her mother said behind her, the faint French accent still heard in certain words. “Shall we meet you somewhere, or would you prefer to collect us?”

“I’d be honored to call upon you. Say, half past six?” The store owner’s face had slowly turned red as he faced Mrs. Bernard. “We could dine at the Boston Exchange if that would suit you.”

Gwen’s eyes went wide. The Boston Exchange Coffee House and Hotel was the finest building in Boston, boasting seven stories with more than two hundred rooms. They would have a feast tonight.

* * *

“Mr. Barnaby is such a sweet man to ask us to dine with him. He knows a bit about our circumstances,” Mama said as they dressed for dinner. “No fancy talk about women and independence tonight.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “I think he’s interested.”

“Oh?” Gwen could see Mama’s half smile in the mirror as she finished brushing her mother’s black hair and deftly twisted it into a smooth bun. At forty, she had only a few strands of gray, and her figure remained trim. “Did he say something?”

“Yes, in so many words, he called me pretty, gave me ribbon without charging me, then asked about visiting tonight. I told him it was our darning night since we don’t have any refreshments to offer if he came.” She chuckled. “Then my stomach gurgled, and he asked us to dine with him instead.”

“Oh,” her mother murmured, jabbing another pin into her chignon.

The laughter died in Gwen’s throat as the smile faded from her mother’s lips. “Are you well?” she asked, concern flooding her chest. Mama had caught a fever in January and was still not back to full health yet. In fact, they still owed Dr. Robertson.

“I’m fine, my dear.” She turned from the mirror and put an arm around Gwen.

“Mama, have you heard from Mrs. Tetter? She mentioned needing a French tutor for her daughters. That would bring in some money.”

“ Non , but it’s only been a few days. That would be a godsend, wouldn’t it?” She absently straightened her daughter’s collar, her green eyes distant. “I had hoped…”

The sound of horse hooves and carriage wheels crunched in the snow outside. “He’s here. And we haven’t had a chance to talk about what I should do if he wants to court me.”

Her mother’s lips pressed into a thin line, then she took a deep breath. “At almost twenty years, I believe that is your choice to make. If he is interested, you will give it thought and decide what path to take. I will not influence you on matters of the heart.”

Gwen snorted. “My heart has nothing to do with it. My stomach may fall madly in love with him though.” She smoothed her best linen dress, a bright green with white (a bit yellowed but almost white) lace along the square neckline, along the high waistline, and the hem.

They met Mr. Barnaby in the entrance hall. “Miss Gwendolyn, Mrs. Bernard,” he said, removing his beaver hat and giving them a sweeping bow, sending his great coat swirling about his knees. “You both look divine.”

He helped them both with their pelisses, talking about his day at the store.

As they approached the carriage, Mr. Barnaby held his arm to her mother and helped her into the carriage first. Then he assisted Gwen, who sat opposite her mother.

To her surprise, when the gentleman climbed in, he sat next to Mama.

Gwen had thought he would sit next to her, but perhaps he was keeping with propriety.

She pulled the curtain back and sat quietly looking out the window while Mama made pleasant conversation with the shopkeeper.

The streets were muddy with chunks of snow that had not quite melted yet.

Gwendolyn wasn’t sure which was worse. The mud and muck that never quite came out of her hems, or the dry summers when dust filled the air and seeped through the windows and into their clothes.

That’s city life , her mother would always say to either situation.

Carriages, wagons, and carts still filled State Street as they passed Cornhill Square.

Mr. Barnaby deftly moved their conveyance between the others and soon turned off State onto Congress.

On their right, the Exchange towered over the other buildings.

Six marble pilasters guarded the front entrance, and Venetian windows lined the facade facing Congress.

It was reported to be the tallest building in the country.

They made their way inside, and Gwen marveled at the extravagance. Graham had taken her and Mama to the top floor once. The glass atrium had a spectacular view of the surrounding city. The thought of her brother pinched her heart a bit, wondering for the hundredth time if he would return soon.

The meal and the conversation were superb.

Gwen was certain she’d never had roasted chicken seasoned so well or cooked so perfectly.

The bread and butter pudding afterwards almost made her moan with happiness.

She found Mr. Barnaby to be quite entertaining when not behind the counter of the dry goods store.

He teased Mama, making her blush and giggle, and continued to compliment Gwen.

Though she wasn’t attracted to him at all, she did truly like the man.

He was kind, had a fine sense of humor, and wasn’t stingy with his coin.

“I am thankful for the company tonight, ladies,” said Mr. Barnaby as he walked them to the door of their home.

He bowed over Gwen’s hand, then turned to her mother.

He cleared his throat, bowing over Mama’s hand.

Did his lips touch her glove? Goodness. Had he drank too much wine at dinner? “I hope we may do this again?”

“ Oui .”

“Of course,” Gwen said at the same time her mother spoke.

“A new tea arrived today that I haven’t tried yet. Might I bring some tomorrow and share it?” He glanced at Gwen and back at her mother. “Unless I’m being too forward, Mrs. Bernard?”

The next two weeks included at least a half dozen visits from Mr. Barnaby, who always seemed to have some new edible import to share with his “favorite ladies.” At first, Gwen had wondered if the store owner was vying for both of them when he gave them equal attention.

But men wanted sons, and Mr. Barnaby was a bachelor with no children.

So of course, he wanted a family to carry on his business.

However, it boded well for the future that he got along so well with Mama.

For Gwen had decided when the gentleman asked her, she would agree to marry him.

He had a profitable business, was well-respected in Boston, and would provide stability and financial security.

She had to think of her and Mama’s future.

Today was Sunday, and after the service, Mr. Barnaby had returned with them.

Mama cooked dinner for them, a celebration for Gwen tutoring the three Miss Tetters.

It was a dreary job, teaching three young girls with no interest or aptitude in the language, but the kitchen was stocked again with basic staples.

She had just finished the lessons for the following week and joined Mama and Mr. Barnaby in the parlor for an evening of cards.

The two were sitting beside one other on the settee.

The shopkeeper was grinning broadly, and her mother appeared flushed.

As she entered the room, Mr. Barnaby stood while her mother smoothed back her thick midnight waves.

“I was just speaking to your mother about…” He glanced at Mrs. Bernard, then back at Gwen. “I wanted to ask you if you would be opposed to?—”

A knock on the door interrupted the conversation. Thankful for the reprieve, Gwen rushed to the entry hall. He was about to propose. For the love of Hercules, couldn’t the man be a tiny bit more romantic?

She answered on the second knock to find two strange men filling the doorway. Both had dark-brown hair and eyes, but one was of medium height while the other towered over his companion. Without thought, she took two steps back, hoping they were not bearers of bad news. Her stomach clenched.

“Is this about Graham? Is he hurt? Is he alive?” Panic clawed at her throat, and she squeezed her hands into tight fists, ready for the worst.

“We are presently searching for Graham Beaumaris, so I’m afraid we wouldn’t know his present condition,” said the shorter man. He sounded English. “May we speak with… your mother?”

“Who are you?” demanded Mama in a stern voice. “What do you want?”

“We have come on behalf of our client, Lord Wickton. He is searching for a possible heir to his great-uncle’s estate. The Duke of Shackerley passed recently.”

Gwen turned to her mother, noting her white face. She looked back at the men. Why were they here talking about some lord and duke, and why did their presence upset Mama so?

“Ezek—Mr. Barnaby, would you mind terribly if we ended the night early? I need to speak with these gentlemen.” Mama smiled up at him. “I believe this has to do with my departed husband.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to stay?” he asked, hovering over both ladies in a protective stance. “If you don’t know these men, I would be happy to remain.”

Mama placed a hand on Mr. Barnaby’s arm. “ Non , we will be fine. Please call on us again this Tuesday. We thank you for such a lovely day.”

This seemed to mollify him, and Mr. Barnaby collected his coat and hat, gave the men a stern look, and left.

“Please, come in,” she said to the gentlemen. They followed the ladies into the parlor. Once they were seated, she turned to the man who seemed to be in charge. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us unawares. I-I have not told my daughter of her father’s previous life.”

Gwen’s stomach plunged with dread. Previous life? “What does that mean?”