CHAPTER
Thirty-One

Douglas walked into the post office and went immediately to the counter where the telegram request forms were located. He picked up a pencil and began to fill out a form. It took almost no time to complete it. After two hours of walking around the park, he had decided exactly how it should be worded.

Only after he’d begun advancing toward the customer service counter did he notice the clerk was a woman. In this situation, he would have definitely preferred a man. It would be embarrassing to show the contents of this message to another woman. His first inclination was to leave and find a different post office, but the clerk had already seen him coming and was looking at him expectantly.

“May I help you, sir?” she said.

He had no choice but to approach her. “I would like to send a telegram, please.”

She must have thought his hesitation was due to a lack of experience at sending telegrams. “It’s a simple matter. I’ll be glad to assist you. The rates are by the word, based on the destination. I see you’ve already located a form.”

“Yes. I’ve filled it out. It’s going to a London address.” Reluctantly, he extended the paper toward her.

As she reached out to receive it, Douglas noticed there was a mourning ring on her hand. It was a very fine one, its tiny pearls and diamond contrasting with a black and gold band. He was surprised and saddened to see it, as she could not have been much older than he was.

She ran a finger over the top of the form, checking that the information for the sender and receiver had been properly filled out. Her eyes widened. Then she blinked and looked up at him.

“Is something wrong?” Douglas asked. “I believe I entered everything correctly.” He knew these forms inside and out, although he supposed it was possible that in his distraction he had missed a detail.

She was still staring at him, her mouth slightly agape. He began to wonder whether he’d sprouted a third ear or something. He looked down at the form and then back up at her, hoping the gesture would spur a response.

She closed her mouth. “It’s just that, erm . . .”

“Yes?” he prompted.

“The, er, address is in Islington. That’s . . . less than two miles off.”

He was curious why this would be an issue. Lots of telegrams in London traveled distances shorter than that, although he supposed those were primarily for business. “This isn’t the closest telegraph office to that address, though.” Douglas had already researched that when devising this plan for contacting Alice. “I presume you’ll send the message there?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

She was still looking at him strangely, and he was fairly certain she hadn’t even read the body of the message yet. The thought of how she might react at that point only increased his discomfort. “So, can you send it?”

“Yes, of course.”

It seemed to take great effort for her to take her eyes off him and look back at the form. He waited, his embarrassment growing, while she read it. This was why he’d wanted a male clerk. A man might smirk over the contents but then send it and think no more about it. For a woman, it might set off a whole chain of questions—even though she would be forbidden as a matter of protocol to ask them.

The standard practice was that the operator read the message aloud to ensure they had not misread the handwriting. This clerk followed the same procedure, but her voice sounded odd, and she stopped twice for an intake of breath. When she got to the end, she blinked, but there was a gleam in her eyes.

“Yes,” said Douglas, “that is correct.”

“Very good.” She counted the words. “That will be one shilling, please.”

Her voice was brisk and businesslike, but she was brimming with unasked questions. He could see it in the way she was looking at him.

He handed her the coin, which he’d had at the ready. “Will you be sending it right away?”

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

“Thank you.” He smiled, and once more a stunned, almost wondering expression came to her face. Douglas knew he could sometimes have a certain effect on women, but never to his knowledge had it happened with a young widow. He decided it could only be her reaction to the contents of his telegram. Perhaps she had a sentimental streak.

Douglas hurried from the post office, eager for the next phase of his plan. Even though his encounter with the clerk had been incredibly awkward, it had also filled him with hope. If his telegram had affected a stranger so deeply, he could only pray it would do the same for Alice.

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Alice sat at her table, reviewing advertisements in the paper and circling a few of them. Tomorrow morning she would go out and pursue the more promising ones. It was a start. She was free to move ahead, and she was feeling optimistic.

Miss T jumped up on the smaller table across the room. Alice realized the spinster book was still on it. She’d forgotten all about it. The cat sniffed at the book for a moment and then promptly sat on it.

Alice couldn’t help laughing. “At least that book is good for something, isn’t it, Miss T?”

That book had caused her a lot of problems, but she hadn’t needed it to extricate herself from at least one of them. Good old-fashioned honesty had done that. Bolstered from her visit with Miss Templeton, she’d decided to tackle her problems head-on. That included not putting off her refusal to Fred. He’d been surprisingly sanguine about it. Lucy had taken it less well, until Fred himself had told her not to worry, that it was all for the best. Alice was still shaking her head over that one, but she was happy to concur with Fred’s opinion.

She stood up, intending to make herself some tea, deciding she might as well enjoy the luxury of having her own kitchen. Although she was hopeful, she knew there was a possibility she’d have to give up this lovely place and move back to a boardinghouse.

Through the window, she could see a messenger boy approaching. With no idea whether this spelled good news or bad news, Alice went down to collect the telegram.

As soon as the boy had been tipped and dispatched, Alice tore open the telegram.

For a moment, Alice didn’t know what to do with herself. She laughed and choked back a sob at the same time.

He had done it. He believed in her, and he’d proven it.

Your name is cleared.

Ever yours.

A ten-page letter couldn’t have said more.

Alice didn’t need two seconds to consider. She had fetched her hat and was out the door before the dust had even settled behind the messenger boy.

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Douglas was beginning to worry that this was a terrible plan.

It had seemed like a good one at the time. He’d felt that by sending a telegram, he could get the most important information to her before she could walk away. Then they would be able to begin the real conversation—the one he’d been wanting to have ever since he’d left Glasgow with an entirely new set of goals for his life.

He’d been waiting in the bookshop for some time now, though, frequently glancing toward the window, hoping to get a glimpse of Alice approaching the shop.

Douglas had done so much to get to this point. First, he’d routed out Clapper’s treachery. Henley had been forced to act on that revelation, and the outcome had been supremely satisfying. Not only was Alice exonerated, but the door was open for her to be a part of the company’s future, if she wished it. Whether she chose to do so, and in what capacity, remained to be seen.

Then had come the night of Lady Gordon’s party, when he’d endured the Charade of the Cut Direct. Miss Rolland had walked up to him, looked him in the eye, and walked away without uttering a word. She had ensured the moment took place when plenty of important people were standing around to witness it. It wasn’t as though Douglas had never been humiliated before, although it had been a while. Not since he was a young man, still in poverty. Nor did he care so much what the other guests thought of him. His priorities were different than they had once been. He didn’t have to marry into society to feel he was a success. That idea seemed shallow now.

The only bad part—and it had been excruciating—had been putting up with Busfield’s superior attitude. Nothing had been required on his part to persuade Busfield that Miss Rolland had thrown Douglas over for him. Busfield believed it instantly. He’d cornered Douglas shortly afterward in the smoking room to share his particular brand of sociability.

“You know she was never going to choose you, Shaw. You were only a passing fling. I indulged her because I am a generous man.” Throwing his shoulders back and looking supremely self-satisfied, Busfield had added, “Yes, she’s going to be glad she married me.” It was only then, for the briefest of moments, that Douglas had felt sorry for Miss Rolland.

But Douglas had kept his mouth firmly shut and allowed the bank officer his moment of glory. He’d kept his eyes on the goal: winning Alice.

For these reasons and so many more, Douglas had spent the afternoon at this bookshop, waiting on tenterhooks to see the results of sending that telegram. He’d put his whole heart into those few lines. Would she accept it?

He was beginning to see the pitfalls to his plan. He didn’t know how long it would take for the telegram to reach her. What if she wasn’t home? If she didn’t show up, how should he interpret her absence? Should he assume she hadn’t yet received it, or that she was rejecting his request to meet? Maybe the messenger had gotten lost, or some other delay had occurred. The possibilities were endless.

Whatever the case, Douglas was committed to this plan now. He’d stay here until closing time, if need be. If Alice still didn’t come, he’d find another way to reach her. He didn’t fancy loitering outside her house again, as that hadn’t worked out so well the last time, but he’d do it if he had to. He would talk to her, and when he did, he was going to lay out his case with the utmost care, because this was the most important negotiation he would ever undertake.

He was turning over these things in his mind for the hundredth time when he finally saw Alice walking up the street. She paused at the window to the shop. The warmth in her eyes as their gazes met told him he was starting this negotiation from a very favorable position.

Here, at last, was the opportunity of a lifetime.

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It was fitting that he should be waiting for her at this bookshop. Through the window Alice could see him standing in the same place she’d first spotted him: next to the row of shelves where the spinster book had been housed. She hurried to the door, her heart bubbling in anticipation.

He met her there, opening the door for her. They stood in the doorway, looking at one another.

“You came,” he said. Simple words, but the joy on his face said much more.

Ever yours.

She wanted to melt into his arms, to stop resisting the powerful draw he’d always had on her. But there were so many things she had to know before she could unloose the hold on her heart.

She held up the telegram. “Would you care to tell me what this is about?”

“Alice, I’ve so much to tell you—”

“Pardon me,” a man’s voice interrupted. It was a customer wanting to leave the shop.

Murmuring their apologies, they moved away from the doorway. Douglas led her down one of the aisles of books.

“Why are we meeting in the bookshop?” As much as she enjoyed being with him in one of her favorite places, she had to ask.

He paused, turning to look at her much as he had done at the doorway, although this time with a sly smile. “I came to see if there were any books about Argentina.”

“Argentina!” she blurted in surprise.

“Yes. I’ll be going there in a few months, so I’d like to read up on the place. I’ve been trying to convince Mr. Henley to diversify for some time now, and there is an opportunity to forge new contracts there with beef exporters.”

This was good news for Henley and Company, but why did he look so happy about going away? She couldn’t possibly have read too much into that telegram, could she? What was he driving at?

She waved the telegram under his nose. “Douglas Shaw, are you going to explain this to me or not?”

He took her hand. His touch was warm, bringing back so many memories. “Alice, I want to tell you everything. It’s too much to discuss here, though. Perhaps we might go somewhere else?”

They left the shop, having decided on the garden behind Alice’s lodgings as their destination. It was a pleasant, private spot. As they walked, Douglas told her what he’d uncovered at work. She was furious at Archie’s subterfuge and yet filled with awe at the way Douglas had unraveled it.

“You really did clear my name,” she said, marveling.

“Henley truly regrets what happened, how he was tricked by Archie and coerced by his wife to do what he did. Over the objections of Mrs. Henley, he sacked Archie immediately. We had to scramble to find a replacement. I’ve also been helping out, but we still need someone to fill the other position.”

Alice pulled up short. “Are you implying that I ought to reapply?”

“Let’s hold that thought for a bit, shall we?” he said.

By now they had reached Alice’s lodgings. As they made their way to the garden, Alice thought over what Douglas had said. The idea of returning to work at Henley and Company was gratifying, but she wasn’t sure it was the right thing to do. Not after all that had happened there. And certainly not if Douglas planned to— No, surely he didn’t. Not after the way he’d signed that telegram.

“Are you still courting Miss Rolland?” she demanded, pausing just as they passed through the garden gate.

“No. She gave me the cut direct.”

“She did?”

Douglas smiled. “I see you are rightfully horrified. However, you shouldn’t feel bad for me. Miss Rolland and I agreed on it ahead of time. It was all staged, in order to preserve her vaunted reputation and give her the upper hand.”

“You wanted to be insulted? But why?”

“That’s a long story, too. Will you indulge me?” He motioned toward the nearby bench.

Alice nodded. At this point, she wasn’t about to refuse.

Douglas began by describing his conversation with Mr. Carnegie. Alice listened, riveted, as he went on to tell her about his family. With every word, she understood him better: where he had come from and how it had molded him. By the time he shared the good news from his recent visit to Glasgow, she was rejoicing right along with him. Everything confirmed what she’d always felt must be true about his character, despite how it had looked at times. He was a good man. As Miss Templeton had said, such men weren’t easy to find. But Alice was pretty sure she had done it.

“And that is how I ended up getting the cut direct from Miss Rolland,” Douglas concluded. “But of all the things that have happened to me, that matters the least. I hope to win the hand of someone much more admirable.”

Douglas took her hand again, and Alice’s heart began to flutter in that way that had been totally unfamiliar to her until she’d met him.

He looked into her eyes. “My dear Miss McNeil, dare I hope that you turned down that offer of marriage from the cargo master?”

The question was so unexpected that she had to swallow a laugh. “Yes. I did.”

“Does that mean you are determined to remain a spinster?”

She gave him the same wobbly smile that had once worked so well on Fred, only this time she meant it. “I don’t think that plan is going to work out so well, either.”

His hand tightened on hers. “Isn’t it funny how plans can change? As our great Scottish poet once said, the best-laid plans of mice and men often go awry.”

“So what do we do?”

“Make new plans, of course! If, as the poem says, our little nest has been turned out, we shall seek other pastures. What would you say about accompanying me to Argentina, for starters? You’d be going in an unofficial capacity, as my wife, but—”

“Your wife!”

“Well, naturally. I thought that was understood—”

She stopped his words with a kiss. It was an unusual proposal, but she didn’t mind. She’d never had any interest in courtship by the book.

Much later, when they’d had time to catch their breath and she was enjoying the solid comfort of leaning against his chest, Alice murmured, “What were you saying about Argentina?”

She felt his chest move as he chuckled. “I didn’t finish that statement, did I?”

She snuggled in closer, savoring the warmth of his touch. She’d had no idea how satisfying it could be. “So I’ll be going along as your wife,” she prompted.

“That’s right. But I’ll need your help with our telegraphed communications back to the company. There is a new codebook, with a whole new set of coding to learn. Shipping beef involves quite a few details that aren’t relevant to cotton or grain.”

“How long do you suppose we’ll be gone?”

“About four months, I expect. Long enough for us to become versed in a bit of Spanish, perhaps. But you’re likely to feel at home much of the time. I’m told that Buenos Aires is quite the cosmopolitan city, with whole sections made up of people from England, Germany, France, and Spain.”

“It sounds wonderful.”

“Am I to interpret that as a yes?”

She pulled away from him just enough to gaze into his eyes—those warm brown eyes that had captivated her from the beginning, even if she’d been unwilling to admit it.

His smile broadened as he understood exactly what she was telegraphing with her gaze. Then he kissed her again.

After a time, Alice said, “I don’t believe I’ll want to go back to Henley and Company after our return. What would you say to the idea of my starting a commercial telegraphy school? There is a high demand for those skills.”

“You would encourage women to join such a profession after the experiences you’ve had?”

“It led me to you, didn’t it?”

He grinned. “I can’t argue with that.”

“I might even expand it into a more general business school. I could teach typewriting, as well, and shorthand for taking dictation. We could even find sponsors to offer scholarships for those in need.”

“Yes!” said Douglas eagerly. “I like that part especially. I can help you draw up the financial plans—”

She placed a hand to his lips. “Perhaps we should start by planning our wedding?”

He kissed her fingers. “That’s an excellent idea.”

“I envision a large wedding with lots of people and an elaborate wedding breakfast,” Alice said. “We ought also to have dancing, of course.”

At her mention of dancing, Douglas grimaced. “It’s too bad we can no longer run off to Gretna Green and be married by the blacksmith.”

“True. But I’ve no objection to going to Scotland for our honeymoon trip.”

“Och, you will love the Highlands, lassie. They are beautiful this time of year. Or so I’ve heard.”

She saw a hint of pain behind the laughter in his eyes. He was Scottish, yes, but he knew nothing of Scotland beyond the industrial city where he’d been raised. Alice had never been to Scotland at all, even though her grandparents had been born in Inverness. “Yes, I believe it is high time we both saw it.”

“It’s a good plan, wouldn’t you agree?”

Something on the brick wall opposite them caught Alice’s eye. It was Miss T, who had come out to sun herself. She was looking down on them with a placid gaze, as if she approved.

“Yes,” Alice said. “It is the very best plan.”

He kissed her again, and that was the end of their conversation for quite a long while indeed.