“Thank you, sir.”
What was she to make of that odd comment? It seemed ... well,sinisterwasn’t the right word. Scheming? Calculating?
Whatever it was, she suspected it involved more than orchids, and it worried her.
Eight
Gray stared at the paperwork lying on the desk before him. The contract for the sale of thePelicanwas only three pages long, but signing it would change the direction of his life forever. Owning a steamship had been his father’s dream, never Gray’s. As soon as the sale was concluded, it would mark the end of his travels and the beginning of a new life in Virginia.
He glanced at the clock. The bank wanted the paperwork completed today, but he needed to review it again before signing, and Annabelle Larkin was due to visit within the hour.
It had been two weeks since their courtship began, and she was never far from his mind. Five days a week, he escorted her to lunch at the small café in the basement of the Smithsonian. Even with the crowds of tourists, the noise, and the mundane food, that hour had become the highlight of his day.
Each day his fascination with Annabelle grew. He learned of her blind sister and how Annabelle had left a respectable job at a college in Kansas to accompany Elaine here. Family meant everything to her, as it did to Gray. The true test of loyalty lay in hard times and sacrifices, and in coming to Washington, Annabelle had proven herself a woman of steadfast honor.
Today was a Saturday, so Annabelle was visiting him at thetownhouse, where he’d treat her to a spicy fruit punch he’d become enamored of while living in Ceylon. He looked forward to the chance to court her in blessed quiet, something that was in short supply at the Smithsonian.
Except he’d forgotten to put the punch on ice. Muttering a curse, he shot out of his study and headed toward the icehouse tucked into the alley behind his house.
“Otis, come help me chip some ice!” he hollered through the still-open door. It would be a race to cool the punch before Annabelle’s arrival, but he wanted everything to be perfect. Someone like Luke could charm the birds out of a tree, but it had never been easy for Gray. Frankly, he didn’t knowhowto flirt with a woman. He knew business, negotiation, and accomplishments. For the first time in his life, he envied Luke’s breezy charm.
“Someone just knocked on the door,” Otis said as he ambled toward the icehouse.
Annabelle was earlier than expected, but Gray could trust Otis to get everything prepared.
“I’ll get it,” he said as he tossed the ice pick to the younger man.
He dragged his hands through his hair and straightened his collar as he bounded down the center hallway to the door. He nearly yanked it off its hinges in his excitement.
“Who are you?” he asked in confusion. A middle-aged man and woman stood on the front stoop with a trunk at their feet.
“I’m Monsieur Chastain,” the man said in a thick French accent. “My wife and I are delivering Miss Delacroix’s new wardrobe. It ismagnifique,” he purred. “Your sister is a true artisan. Her taste is exquisite. She shall illuminate all of Washington society.”
The Frenchman kept rambling, but Gray’s eyes grew wide as he eyed the trunks and boxes mounded on his front stoop. There were more in the wagon on the street. “Don’t tell me the boxes in the wagon are also for my sister.”
“But of course!” Monsieur Chastain said. “Miss Caroline insisted she needed an entirely new wardrobe for her position in the White House. Such an honor! My wife and I have been sewing around the clock for two weeks.”
“And how much is Miss Caroline’s new wardrobe going to cost me?”
The Frenchman reached into his breast pocket and presented him with an envelope. “She has already paid a portion of the fee but assured us you would gladly pay the balance upon delivery.”
Gray wasn’t going togladlydo anything, but if Caroline had signed a contract, it needed to be honored. She wasn’t home to consult, and the invoice was five pages long. Five pages! Morning gowns, evening gowns, walking suits, riding habits, and what on earth was a polonaise overskirt? The tally at the bottom nearly drove the breath from his lungs.
He strode to the kitchen, where Otis was dumping shards of ice into a bucket. “Did you know about Caroline’s attempt to drive us into bankruptcy with a wardrobe fit for Marie Antoinette?”
“She mentioned that since you’d be flush with cash after selling thePelican, she might buy a new dress or two.”
“Or fifty,” Gray muttered as he headed back to the front room. Typical Caroline, spending money before it even hit their bank account. The sale of the steamship would take months to complete and could still fall through.
He intended to verify every piece of this delivery before he paid the invoice. The parlor was a spacious room, but it felt cramped once it was filled with trunks and hatboxes. Monsieur Chastain opened the first trunk and peeled tissue paper away from a lemony yellow gown with lace trim.
“Which one is that?” Gray asked.
“The silk bombazine walking dress,” the Frenchman said, pointing to a line on the last page of the invoice.
Gray made a tiny check beside the item. “Continue,” he ordered. He sat on the sofa and inspected each piece as it was liftedfrom the wrappings. The items were carefully draped over the sofa, the chairs, and the coat-tree until the parlor was festooned with gowns of every shade.
The worst was a box containing mounds of silken undergarments. Why did Caroline need newunderwearfor this job? He could appreciate that she needed to be finely turned out for life inside the White House, but she surely already had perfectly serviceable underwear.
