Just as Abigail hoped, things went much smoother with Darby on the staff. The boy—young man, really—was eager to please and did everything he was instructed to with a gratifying eagerness.
By Wednesday morning Mr. Reynolds appeared to have recovered completely—or at least he wasn’t admitting to it if he hadn’t. He was definitely back to his stiff, standoffish self, though Abigail did think she sensed an ever-so-slight unbending during odd moments when he thought no one was looking.
Both she and Mr. Reynolds took turns teaching Darby various aspects of the desk-clerk job. Although Mr. Reynolds seemed to reserve judgment, Abigail was very happy with the young man’s work. He was cautioned to send for one of them if he should run in to the slightest issue, but so far had seemed capable of handling most things that came up.
With Mr. Reynolds focused once more on overseeing the construction and remodeling, and Darby handling the desk-clerk job, Abigail finally felt free to begin the research she needed to do for her part of the project.
So after lunch on Wednesday, she grabbed some of the catalogs she’d collected and happily dived in.
“What in the world are you doing poring over catalogs in the back corner of the dining room? Doesn’t the hotel have an office?”
Abigail looked up, smiling as she saw Constance approach.
“It does, but Mr. Reynolds and I have to share it.” She stretched her neck to try to ease some of the kinks she hadn’t felt until now. How long had she been at this?
Constance took a seat. “And you don’t want to share with him?”
Abigail grinned. “It’s not a matter of wanting to. With his blueprints and schedules spread out everywhere, not to mention an ever-growing pile of paperwork, it’s just easier for me to work in here.”
“That doesn’t sound like sharing to me.”
Abigail felt a strange urge to defend him. “I don’t mind. And most of the day it’s pretty quiet in here.”
“And how is Mr. Reynolds doing? Since you’re out here I assume he’s back to work.”
“He appears to have completely recovered with no lingering effects.”
“How’s your part of the project coming?”
“I’m really enjoying the challenge. And I think I’m going to actually be good at this.”
“Of course you will. I always said you had a good eye for such things.”
“I just want to make certain I do the judge proud.”
“He wouldn’t have put you in charge of this if he hadn’t trusted you could do it.” Constance tapped the catalog. “So show me what you’re thinking of ordering.”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Abigail spent the next twenty minutes happily discussing her plans with her best friend.
“I’ve also been talking to Hazel down at the dress shop about what kinds of fabric will be best to use for the drapes, upholstery, cushions and such.”
“Good idea.”
“And I don’t plan to stop there. It seems to me I should take advantage of all the folks in town who know anything about art or wood or anything else decorative in nature. I want to make certain I educate myself as much as possible on the nuances of what to look for in the products I need to acquire.”
Constance gave her a speculative look. “Have you discussed any of this with Mr. Reynolds yet?”
Abigail shook her head. “I want to make certain I have a solid plan first.” She impatiently tucked a stray hair behind her ear. “I need to convince him I have the skills and good sense it takes to make a proper hotel manager.”
“He strikes me as a sensible man. I can’t imagine him not agreeing to this.”
Unfortunately, Abigail could. The man seemed predisposed to challenge her at every turn. But that just made her all the more determined to prove herself to him.
But there was another component of the renovation she had on her mind as well. And tomorrow morning she planned to confront him about it.
* * *
On Thursday morning Abigail sought out Mr. Reynolds as soon as she arrived at the hotel. She found him in the office, studying the newspaper.
He looked up when she entered and waved her to the guest chair. “I see you made use of the interview you conducted.”
Abigail smiled. Everett had printed her interview of Mr. Reynolds on the front page of this morning’s Turnabout Gazette. “Do you like it?”
He raised a brow. “I don’t recall giving you quite so much detail when we spoke, but there are no inaccuracies that I could spot.”
At least he didn’t seem upset.
“Is there something I can do for you?”
His question reminded her of her reason for being there. “If you have a moment, I’d like to discuss where we might set up my library.”
He set aside the newspaper. “I’m listening.”
“The guest parlor is rarely used now that the number of guests we’re taking in has been curtailed, and it’s ideally located for the library.”
He crossed his arms and leaned back. “That space is set aside for our guests who wish to entertain. It would be another step back in service if we no longer made it available to them.”
She was prepared for that particular objection. “Yes, but a new, larger parlor has been allocated in the new wing. Once that room is ready, this one will no longer be needed. I think Mr. Crandall had the current parlor earmarked for a first-floor guest room to be held in reserve for emergencies.”
Mr. Reynolds nodded. “A sound policy in case of overbookings or unexpected issues with one of the regular rooms.”
She refused to give in without a fight. “But not something altogether necessary, especially right now while we have other rooms that are sitting empty. And I know the current parlor is larger than what I need for my library at the moment, but there’s not another space as well suited. The parlor is on the first floor. It’s near the front entrance but out of the way of the reception desk. And I can see into it quite well when I’m working the front desk.” There, she’d presented a well-reasoned, dispassionate case. Surely he couldn’t find anything to argue with on that point.
* * *
Seth didn’t know whether to be more amused or affronted by her determination. “It appears you’ve given this quite a bit of thought.”
She smiled confidently. “I have. Surely you agree, it’s the only space that makes sense.”
He’d been giving it some thought as well. “Actually, there’s another option.”
“There is?”
He spread his hands. “We could simply convert this office to your library.”
She looked around thoughtfully. “There’s no doubt this would work. It’s not as big as the parlor but it’s still more than double the size of the space I currently have.” She met his gaze again. “But if we turned this into the library, what would we use as an office?”
“The guest parlor.” He noted with satisfaction the way her eyes widened.
“So you agree we don’t need that space as a spare guest room, you just don’t see it as a library.”
He gave a short nod. “Correct.”
“I do see your point. It would be nice to have a larger office, one we could both use without getting in each other’s way.” She gave a decisive nod. “I accept.”
Her quick capitulation surprised him. He hadn’t expected it to be quite so simple. “You’re okay with having the smaller space for your library?”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Of course. As I said, this space will do quite well. And the south-facing window lets in lots of light. In fact, this will make a perfectly marvelous library.”
He could find no hint of reluctance in her demeanor.
She tapped her chin with her index finger. “The only real difficulty I see is where the door is located. One has to practically step behind the front desk to get to it. That wasn’t a problem while this remained an office. But it could be intrusive once we turn this into a library.”
Miss Fulton’s ability to see bigger issues when studying problems continued to surprise him. Before he could form a response, she brightened.
“Oh, I know. What if we close the opening to the registration counter on this end and have the access on the other end made more prominent? I think that would be an easy change, we’d just need to find a way to make it look intentional and not an afterthought.”
She turned to him again. “I imagine Mr. Hendricks would have some ideas.” She gave him a bright smile. “Would you like me to speak to him about it or would you prefer to do it?”
Seth was somewhat bemused by the speed at which her thoughts moved. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Very well. I’ll work with Darby to start rearranging furniture. He can work on it as he has time.”
Seth tried to take control of the conversation again. “Hold on. We should wait until the new parlor is complete before we find a new use for the current one. Our guests’ needs come first. Mr. Hendricks assures me that’s only three to four weeks away.”
She waved aside his concern as if it was inconsequential. “We’ve already curtailed our services during construction, and informed our guests that certain amenities are temporarily suspended. This just becomes another.”
Then her eyes widened as if she’d suddenly received inspiration. “In the meantime, since we no longer have a full complement of guests to feed, we can shut off a portion of the dining room to serve as a temporary parlor for any guests who would have need of one. In fact, we can use the privacy screens from our unused guest rooms to do it so there won’t be any delay on that account. And carving that space out of the dining room will have the added benefit of keeping it from looking so empty at mealtime.”
Again she’d come up with an unorthodox solution to a logistical problem. “That could work,” he said thoughtfully.
“Of course it will.” She flashed a brilliant smile. “Transforming the parlor into an office was a marvelous idea.”
It sounded almost as if she was trying to give him a pat on the head.
But she was still chatting away. “The new office will be large enough to hold two desks so we can both work at the same time if we need to, rather than taking turns.”
That was the second time she’d made reference to both of them working in the office. Had she felt excluded before? He supposed he had considered it his personal domain, allowing him first claim on it. Miss Fulton had seemed content to restrict her use to the times he was occupied elsewhere.
Apparently she hadn’t been as content as he’d thought.
How would it be sharing the space with the talkative Miss Fulton? Would he be able to get any work done?
And was he actually looking forward to finding out?
* * *
Abigail sought out Darby as soon as she left the office, and explained what needed to be done.
“First, we’ll need to clear the west end of the dining room,” she instructed after she’d explained the new purpose for each of the rooms. “We can store the extra tables and chairs in some of the unused guest rooms. And while you’re at it, gather the privacy screens from those same rooms. We’ll use them to partition off the section of the dining room we’re converting into our temporary guest parlor.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She tapped her chin. “You can do some of this on your own, but you’re definitely going to need some help with the bulky and heavier pieces. When school lets out, why don’t you get your brother, Odie, to help? I’ll pay him four bits for the afternoon and he can take his meal in the dining room for free.”
“Yes, ma’am!”
Darby went right to work and under her occasional direction, he spent the rest of the day moving furnishings around from one room to another.
While Darby worked on the changes needed in the dining room, Abigail returned to the office and began to organize and box up the files, correspondence, blueprints and other papers in preparation for the move across the lobby. Mr. Reynolds had disappeared—he was probably working with the Hendrickses again—and she felt a little uncertain about going through his things. But it wasn’t as if she’d be reading his mail or prying into his personal business.
Taking a deep breath, she grabbed a box and began carefully packing up the items from the top of the desk. As she worked, an item on the corner of his desk caught her eye. It was an envelope addressed to a Jamie Shaw in care of the Bridgerton Academy for Boys.
Was Jamie Shaw the youth who’d written to Mr. Reynolds? And who was he to the man?
Of course he could also be an adult—a headmaster or instructor at the school. But, remembering the youthful handwriting on the letter he’d received, she didn’t think so.
Abigail placed the letter in the box and went back to clearing the top of the desk. But she couldn’t stop thinking of Jamie Shaw. Whoever he was, she felt an immediate sympathy for and kinship with him. She knew how lonely living at a boarding school could be. She hoped this Jamie was having a better time of it than she’d had.
Would it be too forward of her to ask Mr. Reynolds about him? He would likely tell her it was none of her business. But fear of being rebuffed had never stopped her before.
Unfortunately, Abigail didn’t have an opportunity to broach the subject with him right away. The two of them kept missing each other as she worked with Darby to get all three rooms set up just right. Even when they paused for lunch, Constance came by to chat.
By late afternoon everything was done. The new guest parlor had been partitioned off and furnished with a number of pieces from the original parlor. Abigail stood at the entrance and looked around, pleased to see that it had turned out just as she’d imagined. The only problem the guests who used this temporary parlor might encounter would be noise carrying over from the dining room.
She turned to Darby and his brother. “Great job, boys.” She reached into her pocket. “Odie, here’s the money I promised you for your help. Darby, you’ll have a little extra in your pay this week as well.”
With a smile and another thank-you, she sent the boys on their way.
Next she made a quick stop in what had been the office and, as expected, found it empty. A good sweeping and cleaning was all it lacked to be ready for her to begin setting up her library. With it empty like this, she could really appreciate how much space she would have. Already she was mentally picturing how she would arrange her bookshelves and the other touches she would add to make it a more inviting space.
Closing the door, she headed for the one-time parlor that had been transformed into the office. Stepping inside, she gave a little sigh of satisfaction. The room now contained two desks—though the one Abigail had allocated to herself was a smallish writing desk that had been part of the original furnishings of the parlor. No matter, it was more than she’d had before and it meant she would no longer have to share Mr. Reynolds’s desk.
There was also the bonus of a nice-sized worktable that she’d had moved in here from one of the storerooms. Now they would have a proper place to lay out work plans, blueprints and furniture catalogs when the need arose.
She’d also told Darby to leave a couple of the more worn but comfortable chairs and a settee when he was moving the furniture. Those pieces gave the room the cozy, welcoming feel she’d hoped for. And the bookcases and cabinets that had been transferred from the office were now, thanks to her, polished and the contents better organized.
She couldn’t wait for Mr. Reynolds to see it. Would he appreciate all the little extra touches she’d added? Abigail envisioned many a productive hour, working side by side with him. This would make them more effective business partners.
Perhaps it would lead to stronger mutual appreciation and respect?
“I must say, it looks good.”
Abigail started guiltily at the sound of his voice. Thank goodness she’d had her back to the door. Getting herself under control, she turned to see Mr. Reynolds looking around, his expression reflecting approval.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“We will certainly have more room to work in here.” He nodded toward her desk. “And I see you found a work place of your own.”
“No more need to share,” she agreed. Then she waved a hand. “All the papers and such from the top of your desk are in those boxes, waiting for you to arrange as you see fit.”
He moved toward the desk. “Sorry to have left you to deal with this on your own. But I can see I left it in good hands.”
She smiled, warmed by his praise. “Darby did most of the actual work, I just pointed to what needed to be moved where.”
That earned her a smile. “The skill of a good supervisor.”
“And a good hotel manager.”
He made a noncommittal sound and continued toward his desk without meeting her gaze.
Should she let it go? No indeed. “Don’t you agree that a good hotel manager should have strong supervisory skills?”
He finally turned, meeting her gaze. “Of course. Along with a number of other skills.”
“Such as?”
“Good people skills. The ability to anticipate needs of both the business and the customers. The ability to face unexpected problems without panicking. The ability to deal with staffing issues.”
“And how do you think I fare in those areas?”
“To be honest, Miss Fulton, I haven’t observed you in action enough to be able to evaluate. But I do know that there is one area that you are lacking.”
She tried to brace herself. “And that is?”
“Experience.”
“Everyone has to start somewhere.”
“True. But one rarely starts at the top.”
“Well, I still have two months to gain that experience, don’t I?”
He merely rolled his eyes at that. “Thank you again for getting things set up today. But if you’ll excuse me, I want to get my papers organized and filed properly.”
Apparently she was dismissed. With a flounce, Abigail turned and left the room.
It was already past five o’clock so she headed home. As she marched down the sidewalk she tried to get her temper under control. The man could be so infuriating!
But she supposed he had a point. He hadn’t had enough time to observe her in action, and without any experience to back her up, how was he to know if she could handle such an important job on her own? She would just have to do her best over the coming weeks to prove to him that she was capable.
But what would it take?
That night, when she said her prayers, she turned it over to God.
Heavenly Father, help me prove myself. I’m not asking for any major disasters to come our way, just some opportunities to show what I can do. But in this and all things, Your will be done.
Now if she could just have enough faith to leave it in God’s hands.