Page 3 of The Heart of Bennet Hollow

Late afternoon light streamed through the train car window as William Drake tipped his chin up, knotting the necktie at his throat.

This he could do—dress like a gentleman and be a gentleman.

He’d attended dozens of high society events in Boston, New York, and Philadelphia, because it was easy to stand stiff-laced in a corner and talk finance or listen to business tycoons scheme to be as wealthy as he.

But to enter a dance hall filled with miners and their families who understood a hard day’s labor?

Toiling with their hands as opposed to with other people’s lives?

That terrified him.

He glanced in the narrow mirror of his private stateroom. His skin, freshly lathered and shaved, was an unusually pale contrast to his dark brown hair. “I think I might be coming down with something.” Hopefully his voice sounded rough enough for a thermometer.

Callum Brydolf, his best friend and lawyer, appeared in the doorway with one untied shoe in hand. “Nonsense. You look the picture of health.”

“No, really. It may be serious.”

Struggling to balance in the train car’s narrow hallway, Callum pulled the shoe on.

“I’ve heard you talk like that before and you’re not getting out of this.

These people live in the middle of nowhere and have nearly nothing to their name, yet they’re merging all their resources to host a bunch of bigwigs tonight including the sullen-faced William Drake.

” He straightened and sniffed his wrist, the source of the spiced cologne trailing him.

“Besides, you’re not the only knight on the board.

You have to play the game. Otherwise what was the point in coming?

Give the poor souls an hour of your time.

Maybe two. Then you can cut out and read a boring book as usual.

” Callum strode to William’s mirror and examined his own necktie.

“You’d spend half your life cooped up if you could.

But there’s more to experience than lifeless pages on an empty Pullman car, my friend.

Think of this as a night for unexpected opportunities. ”

“Right. But this is a dance. Not a board meeting.”

“All the more reason to find a smile. I guarantee the other coal barons will. And guess who will be watching? Mr. Jorgensen and the men in his employment. This is not just a dance. It’s an interview.

Make no mistake about that. It’s your job to be the man Mr. Jorgensen can entrust this town to.

No one wants a revolt on their hands the moment the deed is signed.

So twirl a nice girl or two around the floor, shake a few hands, and show them who their new leader could be. ”

William searched for a response but Callum snapped his fingers as though he’d forgotten something. He retreated down the hallway and William heard him digging through a cabinet against the shared wall.

Alone, William rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. Then unrolled them. If only he could be as engaging as his friend. The man sparked a room to life simply by entering. Callum proved jovial, hardworking, and endlessly popular.

Meanwhile William felt as approachable as a marble statue, which he probably looked like half the time. His mind was a system of levers and pulleys. Files and calculations. There was a depth within him—a true and honest beating heart that he didn’t know how to show.

He’d handled enough unknowns with the death of his parents and the care for his younger sister, not to mention the responsibility for the family name and fortune. Matters of the heart were much too complicated... and best left under lock and key.

No wonder he was twenty-eight and unmarried.

The charming women in his circle admired him and indicated as much, but such beauty came at a cost. They were women who sought a future with his wealth, and their fathers often had ulterior motives for dangling their daughters under his nose.

For William, that wasn’t the best soil to form a relationship in, let alone a marriage.

But society frowned on him engaging with women of any other status.

And he felt bound by the same creed from his Aunt Catherine, who always stared down at him from the portrait hanging in the dining room with her silvery stare and decades of wealth.

Regardless, he had different dreams in mind.

William wished for a woman who could match him step for step.

Not in wealth or prestige, but in mind. In interests.

In curiosity. A woman who brought beauty and intentionality to his world, as he meant to do for her.

So far... no such woman had crossed his path.

So here he was. A bachelor. Perhaps until the end of his days.

“Stop staring at the wall and fix your tie,” Callum muttered as he returned. The man slid on a black satin waistcoat.

As for William, he’d opted for gray tweed, hoping to blend in better. Though he doubted any of these miners owned a waistcoat. “I did fix it.” William turned his head to study his reflection.

“You look like a door-to-door salesman who got dressed in the dark.”

Impossible. The suit he wore was of the finest wool, cut by a tailor in Chicago. But William’s hands were unsteady, and his heart not exactly inspired, so perhaps those causes were to blame.

“You really should have a valet,” Callum continued as the man knew how to fill any space with twice as many words. “You could afford ten.”

“I don’t need a valet. I can dress myself.”

“Clearly.” Callum tugged on William’s necktie and adjusted the folds.

Here on the rails, William employed both a porter and a cook who boarded at the other end of the car in the servants’ berths.

The cook kept William and his company well-fed, while the porter attended to luggage, assisted with the Pemberley’s travel itinerary, and kept each room in tip-top shape from William’s private study to the fashionable dining parlor.

While William often travelled alone, Callum occupied the guest stateroom on this excursion.

A champion best friend who had a knack for lending sound advice whenever needed.

Insights William already appreciated and they’d only been in New River for two days.

Since this business trip could very well cost him a fortune, his friend’s opinion was crucial.

William moved to the window and nudged the curtain aside.

A humble dirt lane meandered past the depot, to the row houses where miners lived with their families.

Chimneys spouted smoke, strings of gray laundry graced front porches, and doors angled open to the early-autumn air.

Children ran around, playing with sticks while a cart meandered by, laden with lumber.

William closed the curtains, blocking the depot from view. “So, tell me something. What types of songs do you think will be played tonight? Will we know any?”

“If you’re anticipating the foxtrot, you may want to refrain from filling in any dance cards.”

William drew in a slow breath. Good thing he asked.

“I suspect this will be more the down-home type of event.”

“What exactly would that mean?”

“Meaning that was a joke about the dance cards. Don’t expect any.

As for music...” Callum gave a half shrug.

“I don’t anticipate a twelve-piece orchestra.

There may be a fiddle. Perhaps a harmonica—saw one in a fella’s pocket earlier.

Other than that, it’s hard to say. I haven’t exactly spent a lot of time in a town like this.

My cousin once lived on an estate in Charleston and she used to sing ‘In the Sweet By and By’ to my sister and me whenever she visited.

I expect that type of music tonight. Of some variation, maybe.

And no”—Callum fastened one of his silver cufflinks—“I’m not going to sing it for you. ”

“Well, that was the next thing I planned to ask,” William said dryly.

Callum’s laugh was too big for the master stateroom but welcome all the same.

William needed his friend’s carefree outlook just now.

He could use more lightheartedness himself.

Easier said than done when one of his reasons for being here was to investigate a land dispute that the New River Coal Company had created with several of the local occupants.

Four names were listed in the claim file in his desk drawer.

Webb. McMahon. Hatcher. And the last— Bennet.

Returning to the window, William nudged the curtains aside again. A group of young folks strolled down the road, all dressed up. Not in the fashions he often saw, but they’d made an effort. And here he stood, a guest of honor.

A bad idea perhaps. Especially with so much at stake.

While William was no lawyer, he knew the coal company owned several parcels of valuable land that local residents occupied for one reason or another.

Each deal done on a handshake with little legal documentation.

An issue that needed to be settled here.

How the information regarding these arrangements had sat in a desk in Richmond the last two years gathering dust, he didn’t know.

Now it was up to him to ensure the issues were finally resolved.

The result? Much of the surrounding farmland would eventually belong to the coal company.

And the company, Lord willing, would belong to him.

While renting land to local tenants was a nice idea, it also created awkward loose ends that needed tying up. For the company owner to accept William’s purchase price, the finer details must be settled. Especially when they were attached to tens of thousands of dollars.

It had the owner, Mr. Jorgensen, all but rolling out a velvet carpet for him and the other coal barons. All in hopes of finally retiring. Should William make the most attractive offer, he could rightfully own the land surrounding the New River mine. A responsibility that weighed like a stone.

With his trunk open, William pulled two gold cufflinks from a polished box.

He fastened the cufflinks into place and inspected his reflection again in the mirror.

His thoughts were easier to focus on than his stiff appearance.

Was this a town he could put down roots in—at least as a business owner, even if he never intended to reside here?

Pierce his vision—and even his life—deeper into the soil?

Were any of the other coal barons wrestling with such ideals?

Or did they simply see this town as a blank check to cash?

Difficult to know since it remained unclear what lay untapped here.

The fertile farmlands could be ripe with coal.

While there was no guarantee of profit beneath the soil, the existing mine had a few decades in it still.

Even if the investment failed to produce an ounce of coal, all that acreage would rise in value and he could, at the very least, profit from a real estate deal when he chose to retire.

Still, he could not in good conscience take ownership of a company that he truly couldn’t see through to a viable future.

Awkward, then, to think of tonight’s festivities involving some of the very families who would have to relocate. Maybe that’s why he was pallid.

“I suppose we’re to walk over,” Callum said.

At the sound of his friend’s distant voice, William returned to the present. “I’m sorry?”

“I believe we’re to walk over.” Callum brushed aside a corner of the nearest window curtain. “It doesn’t seem likely we’ll have a way to call a carriage.”

Another one of his jokes, clearly. There probably wasn’t a carriage within a hundred miles. “No. We’ll walk.” The evening air would cool his head.

Callum eased open the door to the rear observation deck. The night air was cool and spiced as though even the distant cedars and balsams of the surrounding woodland were putting on a show for him.

As William followed his friend down the shallow stairs, a group of young women passed by, done up in ribbons and laden with giggles. Four—no, five of them, walking the road into town in touches of gingham and bows.

William took a steadying breath of the evening air and said a sincere prayer that this transaction would go smoothly and that he and the Pemberley could pull out of this town before the last autumn leaves fell.