Anthony’s steps felt lighter and his gait longer as he made his way across the dockyards, walking in the shadow of his ship as it sat docked. It had arrived upriver that very afternoon, and he had immediately come to inspect it and talk with Captain Jennings. Then he and some of his new business associates had met at a tavern nearby to discuss the first shipment and sail. He could fund the first few ventures himself from his personal account, but he would need some added income to cover future shipments and to add a buffer if anything happened to one of them.
Smiling, he was even more grateful for the dinner party Mr. Compton had planned for that evening. Hopefully, Anthony would make new partnerships with potential to help him support a whole fleet someday.
The ship was beautiful and clean. The captain was a capable man, a former officer in His Majesty’s navy. Pleased, Anthony felt great excitement at the potential success of his new life. He had thought little of home, but with this first good news, he desired to put pen to paper and write his family. Perhaps his father would be proud that he at last had his own ship and was prepared to create a Barton shipping and trade business the likes of which no Barton had yet accomplished.
That thought surprised him. When had he done anything with the hope his father would be proud? Surely not since his days at Eton. When he was a young student in school, Anthony had tried to prove his value to the family with good marks. But he’d soon learned that nothing could ever make up for the fact that he was born a second son. He would not be as valuable to his parents as his elder brother was, no matter what he did. And that was probably when he had stopped trying to earn their goodwill.
But this sudden desire to attempt once again to please his father excited him, so he quickened his pace.
And there was one other person he hoped to tell: Heidi. He had stopped trying to correct her name in his mind. He admitted to himself that he wanted to seek her out and see the light in her brown eyes sparkle with admiration. He was now the owner of an import export shipping business with one ship all his own.
He playfully jumped toward a pigeon in his path. The bird squawked in protest.
Heidi was a tough one to impress, he had learned—he smiled in amusement as he thought on their first meeting, when she’d criticized his rescue efforts—but he enjoyed seeing her approval whenever he could earn it.
More and more he found himself finding excuses to cross her path. He knew he needed to limit these encounters. The staff would talk. And, he recognized in embarrassment, it was entirely inappropriate for him to seek out any sort of friendship with her. But he found it hard to resist because the more they talked, the more he recognized a true coming together of minds. She understood him. She often reacted in a way that reflected just what he was thinking. And she understood nothing could ever come of their friendship, so he often talked himself into thinking it harmless to seek her out.
He shook his head and chased down another pigeon.
“Oh, leave the poor thing be, Lord Barton.”
Miss Burchill stood outside a shop on the street, laughing at him.
“Please, call me Mr. Barton.” He walked over to her so they could converse more comfortably.
“Oh dear, yes, I forget so often, and it is rather confusing if we are to continue using titles in private. Can we not just do away with the whole of it, like the Americans would like us to?”
He leaned toward her as if sharing a great secret. “I would like to do away with titles myself. Shall we have a vote on it?” His was only a courtesy title anyway.
She giggled. “We shall. But I don’t believe anyone else will listen.”
“How right you are.” He tipped his head sideways. “And what are you doing here by yourself this fine morning?”
“Oh, I am not alone. I am waiting for Miss Vincent to finish inside. A modiste from Paris is visiting and—”
“Say no more. I quite understand.” He tipped his hat. His hope to be in their good graces had its limits. “Then, I must say goodbye with the hope I shall see you this evening at the Comptons’.”
He walked the remaining blocks to the location where he’d asked Leo to meet him. His carriage and team of horses had just arrived that week. When a footman opened the door for him to climb inside, he didn’t even attempt to limit the grin that spread across his face. And why should he? At last his long-held dreams were coming together.
“Happy with your home?” Leo Simmons pulled to a stop in front of his redbrick home. Anthony already liked the man and was grateful he’d hired him on.
“That I am, Leo.” He climbed out and sent Leo on to store the carriage and leave the horses in care of their stableman.
Heidi stood at the side of the house, visible from the front drive, organizing the pounding of the household rugs. He chuckled. She seemed to be settling in well. He was still unsure whether he should hire a housekeeper with more experience, someone to guide him more carefully. He didn’t want to sadden Heidi, but perhaps Miss Vincent’s help in the hosting of events among the gentry would make up for whatever grace or talent Heidi lacked and she could stay on as his housekeeper.
The progress of his business ventures determined his ability to stay in Philadelphia, his feelings of success, and ultimately, he felt, his happiness. And his ability to entertain well and fit in socially required an excellent housekeeper. But perhaps Heidi would be successful yet.
Anthony walked toward the rug-beating and cleaning activity, ready to congratulate them on a task well done.
But then Oliver exited the side door, laughing, and Heidi doused him with a bit of soapy water.
Anthony frowned.
Then the two of them commenced a chase around the maids, who stopped beating and began to cheer on Heidi or Oliver. The noise grew louder, and Anthony’s gaze traveled to the windows of the home next door. A shadow moved across one, and a hand pulled the curtains closed. His frown deepened.
Walking briskly, he approached and said, “You will stop the frivolity this instant!”
At that same moment the water from Oliver’s bucket traveled through the air and landed on Heidi’s head. She in turn swung out the remaining contents of her own, but her foot caught in her spinning motion, and the water stopped short of its target, flew through the air in one brownish-gray mass, and landed on Anthony instead.
Muddy, sudsy water doused his cravat and trickled in a line onto his chest. He clenched and unclenched his fists twice but could not calm the frustration, provoked by the embarrassment of his neighbor witnessing such a spectacle. Dirt and sandy filth traveled down his face.
“You will return to the house, Oliver, Mrs. Worthing. Change into appropriate attire, and meet me in my study.” He eyed them. “After I have had time for a bath, a clean one.”
Heidi giggled and immediately placed a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.” But she snorted and began to shake. “I can’t help it. I’m terribly sorry, my lord.”
Heidi looked at Oliver, who snorted as well, and the two of them struggled mightily to stem their laughter.
A hot anger began to rise within Anthony. Reason tried to assuage him, but no amount of understanding that Heidi and Oliver were of the same station, that it made the working conditions more pleasant if everyone enjoyed one another, could prevent the red emotion from swelling inside him.
“You forget yourself, Mrs. Worthing. As housekeeper, I would expect you to know better.”
He turned on his heels and marched toward the front of the house.
Before he could reach the door, a new carriage pulled into the drive, a deep navy blue conveyance with silver trim. He stopped short and ground his teeth as he waited for the visitor to come to a stop in front of him.
Heidi and Oliver had come to stand behind him in welcome.
Through his teeth, he spat, “Get in the house, now. No need for everyone to appear ridiculous.”
Heidi placed a hand on his arm. “That is why we should stand here. You come down when you are ready.”
“Unhand me, woman.”
She withdrew her hand as if in shock and turned to hurry into the house as Miss Vincent called out from her window, “Isn’t that the pair of servants we saw down by the river?”
Of course she would remember. Lord Barton bowed. “Good afternoon, Miss Vincent, Miss Burchill. To what do I owe this great pleasure?”
“I am come to help with the invitations for your own dinner. Wasn’t that today?” Her gaze traveled from his boots to his hair, stopping on some larger clumps of mud he knew to be sliding slowly down his cheek.
“Of course. Thank you for your kind attention. If you will please come in, we will see to your tea, and I will clean up.”
She smiled, but her eyes showed distaste. “Yes. You look as if someone dumped a bucket of water on your head.”
He grunted. “I apologize for my appearance.”
Oliver allowed the footman to hand the women down and then led them into the house. Anthony followed behind, as Oliver said, “Would you please take a seat here in the drawing room?” and hurried away to the sound of Miss Burchill’s giggle.
Anthony bowed from the doorway and said, “If you will excuse me, I will be down shortly,” more giggles sounding behind him.
He rushed upstairs to his room, colliding with Heidi in the corridor. He had to reach out to steady her. Her clothes were wet under his hands, her hair was hanging in strings along the side of her face, drawing attention to her wide brown eyes that were open in fear. She trembled beneath his touch.
“My guests are here to help with invitations and see about a dinner party. You are needed in the drawing room.” He frowned, released her, and stepped back. “As soon as you can make yourself presentable.”
She nodded. “Yes, my lord.”
He hurried into his room to find servants pouring buckets of steaming water into a smaller bath. How could Heidi have managed this so quickly?
Oliver stepped out of his closet. His cravat was askew, his uniform rumpled, and his face overly cheery.
Anthony’s irritation rekindled. “You are still wet. Go see to a dry set of clothing so you don’t muddy mine.”
Oliver bowed his head. “No worry of that, my lord. I will lay out my suggested attire for you. As soon as the water is ready, we will take care of your bath.”
“I’ll handle the bath alone today, if you could come back to aid in the cravat.”
“Very good, my lord.”
Oliver returned to the dressing room.
With a moment to himself before a footman entered with the next bucket of hot water, he stared in the mirror. And winced. Water dripped from his hair, which was covered in clumps of dirt. His cravat was a limp, dirty brown, and the front of his shirt had been equally doused. This was the man Miss Vincent had seen downstairs. He looked like an overdressed ruffian. What kind of confidence could she place in him in such a state? If he could not even control his servants? He had never had trouble controlling servants before. Those in his employ in England were some of the best; he knew that. He had personally selected them so that when he left, the properties would be in good hands and not fall into disarray.
But here, he had lost all control.
It was Heidi. Under the strict care of a proper housekeeper, no frivolity with footmen would be tolerated, and no giggling battles with dirty bucket water would ensue.
Perplexed, he could not understand how the daughter of a baron would have this as her weakness. Surely decorum would not normally be her weakness.
He sat in the bath as long as he dared, knowing Miss Vincent and Miss Burchill waited downstairs. But he wished to be relaxed, to look and smell like a gentleman should.
When he finished, Anthony waited at the entrance to the drawing room where they sat and heard Miss Vincent. “I won’t be needing your help at all, really. I hardly think you would be able to offer much, as new as you are, and so young.” Miss Vincent’s normally mellow tones grated on Anthony. Her honeyed sweetness sounded acrid to him. But hadn’t he said the very same things to Heidi himself? Did he not, even, agree with Miss Vincent?
His irritation with Heidi was still present enough that he didn’t have much sympathy for her. But he found his patience wearing thin with Miss Vincent and her proprietary ways as well. He took several deep breaths before he nodded to the footman to open the door.
The ladies looked up to smile at him when he entered. Heidi stood, her face white, her smile tremulous. She was now in dry attire, her hair pulled back into a neat knot at the base of her neck. She curtsied.
Miss Vincent’s smile was narrower, more calculating, and showed too few teeth. But she reached out her hand to him, gesturing for him to join them. “Lord Barton, darling, we were just discussing the invitations to the party.”
As soon as he sat, Miss Vincent said, “Allow me to simply take this over, if you will. I even know your lovely Marjorie. She worked with my mother on a dinner party just this year. Her chocolate tarts are the envy of Philadelphia.”
She turned her thin-lipped smile to Heidi. “I can do it much easier from my own home and will not need to train your housekeeper as I go. She is dreadfully new.” She reached a hand toward Heidi. “Not to worry, though, my dear. You will catch on.”
“You really will.” Miss Burchill smiled.
Anthony cast a nervous eye in Heidi’s direction, but she seemed to be taking this well. No drastic color changes. “What do you think, Mrs. Worthing? Would you like the assistance? We still have the servants’ ball to plan as well.”
Heidi hesitated. Then a portion of the pink returned to her cheeks, and she said, “I would love for Miss Vincent to do the invitations. That takes a large part of the burden off, as I don’t as yet know the names and addresses of all the families you would want to attend.” Miss Vincent turned a smug smile to him, batting her eyelashes. Mrs. Worthing continued. “But I would prefer it if I could set the table and plan the menu.”
Anthony raised his eyebrows, and Miss Vincent laughed. “I hardly think you are prepared to take on so much. I don’t mind. It is no trouble, really.” She spoke to Anthony only. She hadn’t really given Heidi so much as a second glance.
Anthony looked from one woman to the other, both challenging him with earnest eyes. And his frustration burned hotter.
Heidi looked away, staring at her hands in her lap, twirling a small piece of ribbon, wrapping it around her smallest finger until the whole of it turned purple.
“Miss Vincent, I am honored you would want to help me plan my first event here. I would love for you to handle the invitations and the menu and food and everything, except since it is so much easier to do this task from my home, I would like it if Mrs. Worthing could prepare the tables, set them, and provide decorations if needed as she suggested.”
Miss Vincent pinched her lips together, but she nodded, all grace. “I would love to assist. You know I would. I’ll get with Cook in the next day or two. I think we should plan it a week from today to give everyone we see tonight a chance to anticipate another visit. Yours will be all the talk. So many already wish to meet you. I feel like the lucky one, to have met you so quickly . . . kissed by fate, perhaps.”
He raised his eyebrows, and Mrs. Worthing’s eyes shot up, but Miss Vincent smiled sweetly, her angular face much softer from the expression. She was such a kind woman to reach out to him in this way. He would learn much more about her when he met her family, her father in particular. He looked forward to this evening at Mr. Compton’s dinner.
Mrs. Worthing stood. “If that is all, I shall go ring for some of Cook’s tarts.” She smiled. “She made some fresh chocolate ones. As you mentioned they are a favorite, Miss Vincent, I will have some sent in.”
“Oh, don’t trouble yourself.”
“It is no trouble. They will just be a moment.”
Miss Burchill cleared her throat. “I would love one, if it is all the same to you.”
Heidi curtsied and then walked from the room with all the decorum Anthony would expect, leaving the door wide open, and he was left wondering how she felt about his division of the workload.
Miss Burchill placed a hand on her heart. “I look forward to this evening. I’ve talked Mr. Compton into a small musicale.”
“Have you? Delightful. I do enjoy good musical talent.” It was the only aspect of London’s society Anthony thought he would miss.
“As do I.” Miss Vincent’s smile turned superior. “You will notice immediately where you can find the truly pleasing musicians, but all is in good fun, is it not?”
“And will you be performing?”
Her eyes sparkled, and Anthony watched the golden flecks in her hazel eyes light up.
“I will sing and play, most likely. I don’t want to set your expectations too high; I would not want to disappoint, but I am much called upon.”
He stifled a snort and imagined she had the highest opinion of her own ability. “I look forward to hearing you and any other of the ladies who will grace us with their accomplishments. Who will be attending? Are you privy to the list?”
The maid arrived, offering chocolate tarts to everyone in the room.
“Yes, the top core families will be there. A surprising number of them have single men or women, so our group is quite diverting no matter where we go. You are sure to enjoy society here in your new home.” Miss Vincent took a bite and smiled. “I do love Marjorie’s tarts.”
He smiled in appreciation. “I feel blessed to have her here and look forward to meeting everyone this evening.” He stood. “And thank you again for helping me with my first dinner party.”
“My pleasure. Things will go easier for you when you have a lady of the house.”
“Assuredly.” Miss Burchill raised her eyebrows in an innocent expression and looked meaningfully at Miss Vincent.
He tipped his head, searching her face for any sign of artifice, but she smiled innocently enough, so he said, “I am sure you are right.” Then he offered his arm, and the women stood. Miss Vincent placed a hand on his arm, and he walked her to the door. “I will see you tonight, then.”
They exited the room. “Yes, thank you.” Miss Vincent’s maid then stepped forward, and Anthony startled at her sudden appearance.
“Have you been waiting here?” he asked.
Considerably more startled at being addressed, the maid stammered.
Miss Vincent stepped in front of her. “She accompanied me, of course.” Turning to her maid, she said, “Why are you still standing here, as if Lord Barton doesn’t have better things to do than address a servant?”
A part of him darkened at her tone.
Miss Burchill giggled. “Oh, Miss Vincent.” She turned to Anthony. “She is so particular about things. Rules are important to her.” She leaned in. “But not so much to me.” And she winked.
Anthony’s mouth fell open. What was she trying to say to him? He did not know, but he walked them to their carriage and bid them goodbye. He didn’t know whether the ball growing in his stomach was full of dread or anticipation, but he had best be about preparing for his upcoming dinner party.
After disciplining his servants. That thought brought a new stream of frustration. Was he raising children? Surely they knew better.
And then he would ask for his finest suit and most pleasing cravat in preparation for this evening.