Page 6 of The Heart’s Choice (Cotton Cops Mysteries #1)
Chapter 5
Stay With Us
G uilt plagued Roger. Rumor had it the Grange was in a derelict state, yet he’d been too preoccupied with the famine and the murder to consider the welfare of the new baron and his family. He had no time for the nobility who looked down their noses at people like him who’d made their fortunes in industry.
He’d never considered he might take a liking to the Parkers, nor that their beautiful and intelligent daughter would rouse potent male urges.
“I won’t hear of it,” he replied, suspecting the expense of a good hotel was something the Parkers couldn’t afford. “My home is more comfortable than any hotel in this vicinity. I insist you stay with us. I’ll also hire a crew to put the house to rights.”
“Thank you, sir,” Mrs. Parker sighed with relief.
“Er …” Arthur said.
“The Businessmen’s Association will gladly foot the bill,” Roger lied, willing to absorb an expense that had resulted from his lack of interest in the arrival of a new occupant. He could only hope the newcomers wouldn’t get wind of the murder while staying under his roof.
He assisted the Parkers to board the carriage, taking ludicrous pleasure in inhaling a whiff of Miss Parker’s perfume. Lavender, if he wasn’t mistaken. He chided himself. Since when had he cared about a woman’s perfume? Still, the subtle aroma filled his nostrils as they made their way back to the town, adding to the discomfort of the stubborn swelling at his groin.
* * *
Beatrice had never spent so much time at close quarters with a man. She assumed that was the reason she felt—well, truth be told, she didn’t know how to describe her feelings.
Strange, wanton cravings assailed her, which was scandalous. She wanted to trace a finger down Sandiford’s long sideburns, then touch his proud chin. He was an attractive man, but he was a tradesman who hadn’t taken the time to make sure their derelict house was made ready. As the daughter of a baron, she now had a position to uphold in the local community.
And what did he mean? Stay with us . Did he have a wife? The possibility left her strangely bereft.
An errant thought occurred. “Poor Glenda,” she exclaimed.
Sandiford patted her hand. “Don’t worry, Beatrice. I’ll send word.”
She should have been affronted. He’d touched her, and she hadn’t given him leave to use her given name. Instead, she stifled the urge to let her hand creep into the safekeeping of his long fingers with their clean fingernails.
“I apologize,” he said, clamping both hands on powerful thighs. “That was forward of me, Miss Parker. I had hoped we might become friends.”
Friends? With a man? The notion was absurd. “I’d like that,” she cooed, fluttering eyelashes she’d evidently lost control of.
* * *
Roger rarely felt flummoxed, but he found it hard to believe Miss Parker was flirting with him. Or had something in her eye caused the odd fluttering of eyelashes? She’d meshed her fingers together and seemed annoyed with herself, so obviously, she wasn’t a practiced flirt.
He wondered what his widowed mother would think of her? Lucinda Sandiford had a well-deserved reputation in the local community as a tyrant. She’d supported him every step of the way from slum tenants to mill owners, often sacrificing her own needs to further his ambitions. Indeed, he doubted he would have fulfilled his dreams had it not been for his mother’s iron will.
Now, the cotton famine threatened the mill’s very existence, and the murder would further complicate matters.
Perhaps he’d been hasty offering his home as a temporary residence. Lucinda despised weakness, and she considered the American Civil War as a weakness that was wreaking havoc on the world at large. Roger suspected she resented her own inability to do anything about the situation. She wouldn’t have much patience with the frail Mrs. Parker. He’d inherited his mother’s disdain for the nobility, so the Parkers couldn’t expect her respect unless they earned it. It was doubtful she’d remain silent on the topic of the police investigation.
As for his younger sister, he’d never understood the reason Philippa had always escaped the sting of their mother’s rigid discipline. Compared to Miss Beatrice Parker, Philippa was …
He shook his head. What kind of man compared his own flesh and blood to a woman he’d just met? “Here we are,” he said, as the brougham entered the courtyard of his home.
Miss Parker frowned. “Your home is next door to the mill?” she asked, her imperious tone making it obvious she wrongly assumed Sandiford Manor would be lacking amenities.
He sighed. Lucinda would take an instant dislike to Miss Parker. Philippa would feel it necessary to belittle a woman who was clearly more refined than she.
Roger nodded. “Unlike many who abandoned their large houses and moved away from the industrial areas, we decided to stay. We didn’t want our home turned into a squalid tenement, which is what has happened to most of them. I’ve heard tales of large families living in one room.”
“Admirable,” Parker exclaimed. “This way you can keep a close eye on your investment. I hope there’ll be an opportunity to tour the mill while we are lodging here.”
“Certainly,” Roger replied, wondering how he’d explain the idle spinning room. But he chuckled inwardly. Lucinda might actually take a liking to Arthur Parker, baron or no.
* * *
Beatrice feared her father had taken leave of his senses. Tour the mill? She’d read about working conditions in mills. Noisy machinery, cotton floating in the air like snow. Men, women, and children who worked from dawn till dusk. She would not be accompanying her father if he insisted on touring the mill.
Her mother apparently also thought the notion too much to bear. She chose the moment to mutter, “Oh, dear,” and swoon into Mr. Sandiford’s arms as he helped her alight. He scooped her up as if she weighed nothing at all.
Bea was suddenly consumed by a ridiculously jealous urge to be carried in Roger Sandiford’s strong arms. However, she wasn’t prone to fainting, and he was no country bumpkin. He’d easily discern her malady as a ploy. And what would she hope to achieve with such a trick? He was not a gentleman. They might become friends, though never firm friends. Certainly not lovers. She suddenly felt overheated. Where on earth had that unladylike thought come from?
As they approached the house’s portico, Sandiford shouted to a man loitering beside the nearby loading dock. “Has Wiggins sent the wagon yet to pick up the luggage?”
The worker seemed taken by surprise. Coughing, he quickly hid something behind his back. “Aye, Mr. Sandiford,” he replied hoarsely.
Bea gasped as she witnessed an unbelievable transformation in Sandiford’s handsome features. He promptly handed her mother over to her husband and stalked off toward the worker.
Arthur staggered under the unexpected weight.
Bea feared she truly might faint. She’d never want to be the object of the anger that reddened Sandiford’s face and contorted his beguiling smile into a grimace.