Valentines Heat II Read online

  Jackson sat back in his chair and spread his arms wide in an invitation to continue.

  Ann put her satchel on the table and pulled out a booklet with neatly written notes, a comprehensive plan to make the mercantile successful.

  “The business is valued at four hundred and seventy-five dollars. Even with your generous settlement, I still need two hundred and seventy-five dollars. I need a loan for it. I propose a full repayment in two years at three percent interest. I am led to believe it is a fair return.”

  She waited for his response. It came after he swiftly glanced at the paper on the desk and returned those eyes to meet hers.

  “It goes without saying that I’m very impressed, Mrs. Sellars. You are a formidable woman who I believe will achieve anything she desires, but—”

  At the word Ann’s heart sank. She was a widow, untried in business with no family to back her. No bank would loan her the sum. Her visit here today was her last, best hope.

  Her expression of anticipated disappointment conveyed itself to Jackson. “Mrs. Sellars…” He paused. “May I call you Ann?”

  She nodded, fighting the tears of dashed hopes.

  “You have me convinced of your ability, but two hundred and seventy-five dollars is not money James and I have lying around.”

  He glanced around his office, and Ann followed his direction. The cot, the trunk…her statement made in jest was true. This room was his home.

  “I think you’ve guessed our circumstances,” he said quietly. “We’ve used every resource we have to get the mine back up and running. Right now we’d be lucky to scrape ten dollars together.”

  Ann swallowed against a lump in her throat and nodded once. She opened her satchel and reached to sweep her papers into it when Toby’s hand covered hers.

  “Please. Wait. Would Mr. Ramsay be willing to wait six months for the balance of the money? Would he be willing to accept it in installments?”

  Ann worried her bottom lip with her teeth. The thought had not occurred to her. “I don’t know. He might be.”

  “Penventen Mine is going to be as profitable as ever, but it needs time. What’s your margin on picks and shovels? Is there five percent you can spare?”

  Ann blinked back tears as she worked the figures in her head. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

  Toby grinned and squeezed her hand. “I think I have a plan.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  July, 1790

  Dear Toby,

  Thank you for Andrew’s gift. The tin soldiers have made him very popular with his friends, although by the time those ruffians are through with them, they will be in less than pristine condition.

  Thank you also for arranging the shipment of porcelain. You underestimate the desire for luxury goods in our small part of the world. The Royal Warrant adds not half, but two-thirds to the price, a tidy profit for the importer (me) and the other retailers I supply down river.

  Was the mention of Mr. Rosewall’s admirable sister designed to make me jealous? If so, I will be forced to tell you that Mr. Neville was back in town last month, and he tells me he has a very interesting line in ladies’ silk unmentionables.

  No matter, I only jest with you as I know I can. I do hope the confidential matter you wrote of is not so serious as to cause an undue delay in your return (and if you take that as confirmation that my tender regard toward you is undiminished, then I shall not disabuse you of it).

  Yours affectionately,

  Ann

  P.S. I was tempted to show the hat design to the Brewer sisters, but I fear Augustine’s tastes are such that she would take it seriously and actually make the concoction.

  Twenty-six Months Earlier

  May, 1788

  As the early days of spring brought warmth and color to the landscape, her frozen world of mourning thawed, and feelings of life emerged from a dormant state. Ann chose her clothes carefully as she prepared to open the doors of the store.

  The grey half-mourning dresses were exchanged for blue, but only minimally decorated. Practical dresses in which to run her business.

  Toby.

  She was still trying out the sound of his name. And yet in public they greeted each other with studious formality.

  Earlier in the month, she and Andrew moved into the house behind the store with their housekeeper Ruth. Ann hired Patience, a twelve-year-old orphan who enjoyed looking after Andrew as much as she did working in the shop. Although unschooled, she learned quickly and followed avidly whenever Ann read storybooks to Andrew before bed.

  The town clock struck six as the last customer left. Patience bolted the door.

  “We did it, Patience! Our first week!” In the privacy of the deserted shop, the pair clasped hands and jumped up and down with excitement. Ann laughed as Patience giggled.

  “Will you help Ruth bathe Andrew?” said Ann as the laughter subsided. “I’m going to finish up the books for tonight.”

  The girl gladly disappeared through the connecting door to the house.

  Ann was methodical in her daily reconciliation of the books, and by the time the shop clock struck the half hour, she was finished.

  There came a loud tap on the door.

  “The shop is closed,” she called, but the knocking was insistent. Ann rose wearily.

  Two men lingered in the twilight. She recognized their features. Toby Jackson and James Mitchell.

  “We’re here to celebrate your first week in business,” Toby announced.

  They grinned like schoolboys. Toby had something behind his back. James held a box covered by a tablecloth.

  Ann shook her head but could not stop a smile as she unbolted the door.

  Patience, with Andrew on her hip and Ruth following behind, emerged from the house.

  “Toby would have been here on Monday, but I insisted he wait,” James explained.

  Toby looked at her sheepishly. “I was keen to see how my investment fared.”

  The steady gaze brought a flush to her cheeks; the feeling of attraction to him budded like the new flowers outside.

  The exploding pop of a champagne cork broke the spell.

  “Oh, champagne!” exclaimed Ruth. “It really is a celebration.”

  “I haven’t had wine before,” offered Patience hopefully.

  “And you’re not going to have any now, my girl. Not until you’re much older,” Ruth admonished. “There’s some lemonade you can have. It’s in the kitchen.”

  Patience seemed satisfied with the compromise and scampered out to fetch her treat.

  James spread the tablecloth upon the counter and brought forth food from the box. Toby pressed a glass of champagne into every adult hand.

  “Here’s to the success of Sellars’s Mercantile!”

  * * *

  July 4, 1788

  Ann stood in front of the looking glass. Her dress was a lovely rose pink; it was the nicest she owned. It was lovely on. She felt pretty in it. It seemed so long since she’d worn anything other than mourning or the utilitarian. On catching her reflection, a frisson of guilt worked its way along her nerves. She had dressed in a way attractive to another man.

  Attractive to Toby Jackson.

  She glanced guiltily at the miniature of her late husband on the dressing table. The tiny portrait had been painted as a wedding day token.

  Robert looked so young and serious, newly graduated from engineering school. Was she ready to let go? Was she misreading Toby’s intent? He had been polite, courteous, and charming. Encouraging of her business, actually listening to her. And he was so sweet to Andrew, answering his incessant questions, offering to take them both for a ride on Sunday after church.

  The thing that had endeared her to him the most was when he’d read Andrew to sleep one afternoon when he had been restless after lunch. Ann wondered what type of father Toby would make—and how Andrew might feel about one day having a brother or a sister.

  But she stopped herself before the thought could take further root. I
t was too soon.

  The Fourth of July picnic was her first social outing fully out of mourning. Ann descended to the bottom of the stairs just as the confident rap at the door announced Toby’s arrival.

  Ruth and Patience looked a picture in their summer floral dresses, and Andrew, dressed in short pants and a little shirt, was no longer a toddler but a confident, if sometimes impatient, little boy.

  Toby was dressed as cool as the summer sun allowed in navy blue breeches, a cream linen shirt, and a blue waistcoat.

  As they rode toward the park in the buggy, Ann cast a sidelong glance at him, surprised at his proprietary look as they greeted friends and acquaintances on the way.

  James spotted them and waved them toward a bur oak tree. A large blanket spread across the lush grass and folding stools in the shade added extra comfort.

  “You took your sweet time getting here,” he groused to Toby, although his eyes twinkled and there was an upturn of a smile to his mouth. “I had to fend off the Brewer sisters for this spot.”

  “And you’re still here in one piece?” Jackson immediately rejoined, to the laughter of the party.

  Cider flowed as freely as the conversation and the food, and they, among hundreds of families, listened to the band from Fort Pitt play hymns and popular tunes at the riverside park, where the Monongahela River flowed down into the Ohio.

  Andrew had been such a good boy all day that Ann allowed him to play with some other boys with the admonishment to keep his clothes clean. That elicited a friendly ribbing from Toby and James, who both agreed that there was no small boy on Earth who could obey such a command.

  The smiles and the laughter were coming easier for her now, after once believing they never would again. Every time she turned her head, she found herself the subject of Toby’s regard, his light grey eyes seeming even more vivid, and the sharp edges to his cheeks, with the beginning of late afternoon stubble, adding to his masculine appeal.

  Ann allowed her eyes to flicker to his lips, firm and slightly colored from cranberry punch. She missed being kissed; her husband’s touches and caresses seemed a lifetime ago. As she raised her eyes to his, she was sure there was a slight change to his expression, a warmth.

  Or that might be her own cheeks heating with a blush. Maybe she was more ready to move on than she thought.

  She broke away her gaze under the guise of sweeping crumbs from her skirt, lest she really blush. By the time she looked back, the rest of the party was engaged in conversation, so she searched out her son and saw him romping happily with his new playmates in the dappled shade of the trees.

  A shadow fell across Ann’s lap.

  “Mrs. Sellars! How fortuitous that I should see you here today!”

  She recognized the voice before she raised her head to look up at the man who blocked her view of her son.

  “Mr. Neville,” said Ann, her greeting without warmth or invitation.

  David Neville was a travelling salesman, though his physical appearance did not inspire confidence. He was a weasely looking man with thinning black hair swept over a balding pate. As if to compensate, he dressed expensively and flamboyantly, today in a bright cerise and gold embroidered frock coat and matching breeches.

  In his right hand, he held a slender ebony cane. Its pommel-style silver mount glittered in the sun, and it exuded an impression of wealth Ann didn’t feel was entirely genuine, although she would be hard pressed to explain why.

  He remained standing before her, either ignoring her or completely oblivious to the fact that his presence was not welcome.

  It seemed the man wouldn’t take a hint. Ann had listened to his sales pitch for a good hour last Thursday, and she was no more interested now than she had been then. If he had hoped to impress her with his ostentation, then he was sadly mistaken.

  Toby sat up straight beside her, but she ignored him to address the unwelcome visitor.

  “This is a private party, Mr. Neville, and a holiday besides. Any further business you may have can wait until next week.”

  The man’s face expressed momentary displeasure before settling into a false mask of polite solicitude. “A smart business woman like yourself knows opportunity is floating away, just as the current of this mighty river flows into the Ohio. Surely five minutes of your time invested in discovering what’s going to be the wonder of the age, Elwood’s Efficacious Elixir—”

  Ann stood.

  “Patience,” she called, her voice as cold and crisp as a December morning. The young girl started. “Keep an eye on Andrew, if you please.”

  The girl rose and hurried off to where Andrew and the boys had started climbing a tree. Ann turned her attention back to Neville. A flicker of victory crossed his face.

  “See here, Mr. Neville, if you do not leave immediately I’ll be forced to…”

  Ann paused. What would she be forced to do? She could hardly manhandle him out of her way.

  Toby stood beside her. The warmth of a hand, just a light touch at the small of her back, gave her additional courage.

  “The lady said she was not interested, Mr. Neville.” The statement was no less powerful for the quiet delivery.

  Neville stepped back onto his cane, his hand dropping from its silver mount to the stick itself, as if he was preparing to brandish it as a sword. Ann heard more rustling behind her. She guessed James and Ruth had also risen from their places.

  In the face of overwhelming force, Neville decided discretion was the better part of valor. He touched the cane to his hat and left with a curt bow.

  Toby’s mouth was a taut line. “How long as this man been bothering you?”

  CHAPTER SIX

  October, 1790

  Dearest Ann,

  What a difference a few short months has made. I hardly know where to begin but shall do so with the date of my return.

  This letter departs two weeks before I do. I hope this brings a smile to your face. It does to mine. I cannot wait to see if the memory I have of your smile and your face does justice to the reality. I have missed you more than I can express in mere words. I hope you will allow me to show you.

  In case you have forgotten what I look like, I include a miniature that Selina, or should I say Lady Penventen, insisted she paint of me. James and she married in September, although how all that came about is a tale best told face to face. I told you she was sweet on him.

  You’ll meet her when the happy couple return from their honeymoon sometime in the New Year. So now that I have allayed your fears about my having a new lady friend, might I also hope your Mr. Neville has done something equally worthy, like drowned himself in the Ohio?

  Lastly, on my return I will also be bringing new friends—William Rosewall, his wife Sarah, and their five children. You can let Andrew know he will have two more boys his own age to play with. The Rosewalls will be settling in Pittsburgh with a new coal ship. We’ll be able to supply and transport instead of paying others to do it.

  This will be the last letter from abroad. I’ll write you once I’m in the United States again. I can only hope these next few months go by swiftly.

  Yours always,

  Toby

  Cornwall, October 1790

  * * *

  Twenty Months Earlier

  February 14, 1789

  The fireplace crackled merrily in the hearth, its crisp sound competing with the relentlessly howling wind outside.

  “The storm hasn’t eased any,” Ann observed, closing the curtains. She turned back to the room. Toby sat on the settee, his legs outstretched toward the orange glow of the fire—the main source of light in this cozy parlor.

  She was nervous, but knowing why didn’t seem to help matters any. She was alone in a room with a man she was becoming increasingly attracted to. And then there were the dreams about him, where once only Robert filled her thoughts.

  The rest of the household had gone to bed long ago. Ann insisted Toby wait until the storm abated before he left.

  “May I offer yo
u a drink? Another brandy?” she asked, not because she thought he would like one but because she wasn’t sure what else to say.

  Toby shook his head. “Come sit by the fire a bit,” he offered.

  He watched as she approached. She must have appeared to approach him like a stranger.

  Toby Jackson her friend, she knew. Toby Jackson her business partner was someone she trusted. But this man? Toby Jackson a beau, a potential lover—he was unknown.

  She sat, allowing enough space between them for propriety, and waited for him to approach.

  He didn’t. Instead those mesmerizing eyes regarded her tenderly. She watched his gaze drop to her lips.

  “I’d very much like to kiss you,” he said, his voice husky. “May I?”

  Ann’s voice abandoned her, so she simply nodded. Nervous anticipation coursed through her. She desperately missed being kissed and touched and held. As Toby crossed the few inches that separated them, a tingling ran along her arms and legs, across her breasts and stomach.

  She breathed in the light scent of brandy mingled with cedar and sandalwood as he approached. Her hands shook; she pressed them to her lap just as the first tender press of Toby’s lips reached hers.

  Her eyes closed as the kiss continued, her mouth opening to his, tentatively at first but with greater confidence as new and unfamiliar sensations combined with familiar experience.

  Ann’s hands left her lap and reached out to trace the line of his arm where it reached along the back of the sofa. The contours of muscles, hard and masculine under linen, felt wonderful.

  His free hand caressed her shoulder, and Ann sighed at the pleasure of it as strong but tender fingers brushed against her skin and rounded to the back of her head, where tendrils of hair from her loose chignon tickled her neck.

  They broke apart from the kiss, both breathing heavily. Toby recovered first, planting soft, featherlight kisses on her cheeks, brow, and forehead before touching them to her ear. “Ann.”