Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (55 page)

 46 

W
hat about the staff for the home, Miss Braddock? Have you commenced with hiring?”

“Not just yet, Mrs. Holcomb. But I will very soon.” Eleanor appreciated the league board’s invitation to attend their meeting and to provide an update on the renovation. But the afternoon was wearing on, and she needed to get back to work.

Moments before the meeting began, Marcus had sent word through Caleb that he needed her at the home as soon as possible to discuss a problem that had arisen. Eleanor couldn’t imagine what it might be. But the last four weeks had taken its toll on them all.

They’d alternated between cooking the meals over the large fireplace in the gathering room of the home, and cooking them at Belmont and transporting them into town. Either way, the food was always cold by the time it was served. With the record chill and snowfall, there had been days when she hadn’t been able to make it into town, and she’d worried about the women and children having food. The inclement weather had also delayed the arrival of building materials. Which, in turn, meant they were behind schedule. Marcus had assured her he could make up the time.

The numbers of women and children attending the dinners continued to increase, and there were days when Eleanor wished for the simplicity and quaintness of Mr. Stover’s little kitchen again.

Even more, she missed the easy back-and-forth she and Marcus had once shared. She’d been avoiding him for the most part, uneasy around him, while also knowing she needed to move past that. And would, in time.

“Regarding the hiring of staff, Miss Braddock—” Mrs. Agnetta Hightower’s voice rang out with authority. “I believe that you should
begin interviewing immediately. Take my counsel to heart on this matter. . . . Acquiring credentialed staff takes time. You will need a head cook, as well as experienced cooking staff. Maids for cleaning. A head housekeeper is essential to keep such a facility in proper order. And, of course, the head housekeeper will require her own staff who—”

“Please forgive me, Mrs. Hightower.” Eleanor raised her hand to soften the interruption. “But this is a widows’ and children’s home, not a personal estate.” She smiled to ease the correction, not surprised when a frown darkened Mrs. Hightower’s countenance. “There will be a director of the home. A position that includes room and board, and a very modest compensation. Each wing of the three floors will also have a woman assigned who will serve as a manageress for the rooms in her area. Someone to help with the day-to-day needs. But the bulk of the work will be done by the women and children living in the home
.
In that respect, it will function much like a family. A very
large
family.”

All the women laughed. All except Mrs. and Miss Hightower.

“Everyone will have a job and will be expected to do their part. Working will be a requirement for living in the home. The women must either work in one of the services the home will provide to the community—such as cleaning, sewing, or knitting. Or they must seek employment elsewhere.”

Mrs. Hightower huffed. “But what about the children?”

“We will have classes for the children, which will be taught by the women in the home who are capable of teaching.”

“And if there are no such women, Miss Braddock?” Miss Hightower asked, her strident tone identical to her mother’s.

“Then, Miss Hightower, I will see to it that they are taught . . . so that they may, in turn,
teach
.”

Eleanor happened to look in her aunt’s direction and saw the tiniest smile tip Aunt Adelicia’s mouth. But when her aunt’s gaze met hers, the smile was gone.

Likewise, neither of the Hightowers were smiling. But thinking about whatever problem awaited her at the home, Eleanor found the mother and daughter the lesser of her two concerns.

Mrs. Holcomb stood where she was seated. “Once you have the staff selected, Miss Braddock, please present the list of names to the board for final approval.”

“Of course, Mrs. Holcomb.”

After the meeting adjourned, Eleanor slipped on her coat and scarf.

“Miss Braddock . . .” Mrs. Bennett approached. “I won’t keep you long. I simply want to tell you how pleased my husband and I are with the changes that are being made in the old courthouse.”

“You mean in the
new home
,” Eleanor said with a teasing smile.

Mrs. Bennett beamed. “Yes, of course, the new home. I love the sound of that.” She glanced about them, then gently urged Eleanor into the hallway. “A quick word, if I may,” she whispered. “Before a public announcement is made, I wanted to tell you about”—her eyes positively sparkled—“the café I’ll be opening soon.”

Eleanor felt her expression go slack. “
You
bought the building?” she whispered.

Mrs. Bennett squeezed her arm. “Can you believe it! I’m so excited. And, Miss Braddock, I have you to thank. I would never have considered doing something like this if not for watching you, and seeing what you’ve accomplished. To that end”—her smile turned conspiratorial—“I believe I have an offer that will interest you greatly.”

Before that moment, Eleanor could not have described what it felt like to have new life breathed into a discarded dream. But reading the question in Mrs. Bennett’s eyes, knowing what the woman was about to propose, she could now. Because she felt the flutter in her chest and fresh hope in her heart.

“Mr. Bennett and I would very much like to secure your services, Miss Braddock, to train my niece, who will be managing and operating the café. It’ll only be for a short time. I know you’re terribly busy, but . . .”

Still listening, or trying to, Eleanor didn’t know which was worse—having a dream die a second time, or being asked to help someone else live your dream. The excitement and emotion knotting her throat only seconds earlier landed with a dull thud in the pit of her stomach.

“. . . Hazel is unmarried,” Mrs. Bennett continued, “and a little older. Quite an . . . unconventional woman, you might say. Both of her parents are deceased, bless her. And William—Mr. Bennett—wants to give his niece this opportunity so she can make her own way. ‘Have some meaning and security in her life,’ as she says.”

From the corner of her eye, Eleanor saw Aunt Adelicia leaving with Mrs. Holcomb, chatting and laughing. “That is a very kind and generous gift on the part of both you and your husband, Mrs. Bennett.”

“And again, Miss Braddock,
you
are the inspiration behind it.” She linked arms with Eleanor, and they walked to the front door. “I hope you don’t think it’s beneath you, what I’ve proposed. Mr. Bennett will compensate you, of course. I simply know how much you enjoy helping
others. How dedicated you are to improving the lives of women in this community. I’ve written Hazel about you, and she can scarcely wait to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m honored to help, Mrs. Bennett. And please, tell Hazel I feel the
very
same.”

Eleanor opened the door, and a blast of late January cold nearly took her breath away. She snuggled deeper into her coat and saw Mrs. Bennett do the same.

Mrs. Bennett pulled her scarf up about her face. “When the time comes, I’ll be in touch about the café, Miss Braddock,” she said, her voice muffled. “And though I know it’s quite impossible, considering your station
and
your relations”—she looked in the direction of Aunt Adelicia’s carriage—“I believe you would have made a wonderful director for the home.”

Watching Mrs. Bennett walk away, Eleanor nodded, the thought lingering.
I think I would have
too.

Caleb gave a whistle, and Marcus—hammer in hand—looked around the corner.

“You see her coming?”

Caleb nodded. “And she is walking fast, sir.”

Marcus removed the last nail holding the final piece of plank wood in place, then set the board aside before joining Caleb by the window. “Remember, let me do the talking. If she happens to get angry, I don’t want her angry with you.”

The boy nodded again.

Marcus spotted her, and Caleb was right. Eleanor was either cold or angry—or both. She was a ways down the street yet but was covering ground.

Their time together in recent weeks had narrowed considerably. Despite her being at the construction site nearly every day, she somehow managed to avoid him. Which was probably for the best. Fairly soon, though, one of nature’s greatest events would be occurring, and he wanted to share it with her. So he needed to smooth things out between them, and today was the day.

Feeling Caleb’s close attention, Marcus looked over at him.

The boy’s expression had grown somber. “Should I be bowing to you now?”

Marcus laughed out loud, then gave the boy’s hair a good tousle. “I’ll buy you an extra fritter next time if you
don’t
.”

Caleb grinned.

“How long have you been wanting to ask me that?”

“Since the day the baroness came.”

At the mention of Maria, Marcus sobered. Not one word from her in the month since she’d left Nashville and sailed for Europe a week later. No letter. No telegram. No word from his father either. But he reminded himself to be patient.

He only hoped Baroness Maria Elizabeth Albrecht von Haas proved to be the woman he thought her to be—and that his father’s absolute allegiance to the crown was as unwavering as it had always been.

Sensing Caleb’s desire for a more thorough answer, Marcus shook his head. “No, Caleb. You don’t need to bow to me.”

“But you’re an archduke,” he whispered.

Marcus glanced out the window, checking Eleanor’s progress. She’d gotten caught on an adjacent street corner, waiting for a line of carriages to pass. “The first day we met, Caleb, you told me something. Something that’s stayed with me, that I’ve thought of many times. You said that a name is just a name. That it’s the man behind the name that makes the man who he really is.”

“My papa used to say that.”

“And he was right.” Marcus sighed. “I just wish I’d learned that earlier in life. But . . . I know it now, and I’m determined to be the man that
some
people think I already am. The man I want to be. Which isn’t . . . an archduke.”

A look of understanding, one beyond the boy’s years, shone in his expression. Caleb’s gaze shifted toward the window. “Sir! Here she comes!”

As the boy headed for the back, Marcus went to intercept Eleanor in the lobby—and swiftly discovered he’d guessed correctly when he’d speculated about her being both cold
and
angry.

Her cheeks rosy and breath coming hard, Eleanor looked at him through a scowl. “Please tell me it’s nothing serious, Marcus. That we’re not
another
week and a half behind schedule and that you haven’t found another leak somewhere.”

Why was it his first inclination was to kiss this woman? “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Eleanor . . .” He briefly bowed his head. “But it’s worse than that, I’m afraid.”

She pressed a gloved hand against her temple. “And here I just presented a
glowing
report to the league board.”

“Before you panic, let me give you the worst news first. Or better yet, I might as well show you.”