Chapter 10
Ember tilted her head back, staring up at the beautiful, old, brick building which housed Oliphant Engraving.
Even when she was a wee lassie, when it was just her and her father, she used to think this was the most beautiful building in the Highlands.
Of course, it was likely beautiful because Papa was in charge of it, but he’d been gone all these years, and she still thought it was lovely.
And it held so much possibility, all of which she’d lost when she’d pushed Mr. DeVille—Max—away.
With a sigh, Ember slung her bag over her shoulder.
It was almost dark, and she likely shouldn’t have come.
But after two days of moping around the inn, feeling sorry for herself—and occasionally sneaking into the linen closet for a good cry, which was embarrassing—she’d given herself a firm talking-to.
Her sisters had dragged her aside and demanded to know why she looked as if her favorite sheep had died.
Well, Bonnie had, because Tiffany was too busy fretting over her complexion.
Apparently, after all the excitement of Viscount Whatever-his-title-was’s visit, the man had acted cold and aloof.
Tiffany was certain it was because she wasn’t beautiful enough and was now spending her evenings wearing cucumbers on her eyes and smearing curdled milk across her cheeks.
Secretly, Ember thought it made her look a bit like a salad, but she was pleased Tiffany was distracted.
It was Bonnie who had hugged Ember and asked if everything was alright. Everything wasn’t alright, but Ember had been too embarrassed by her stupidity—how had she not realized Max was Mr. DeVille—to confess. Instead, she’d just accepted the hug and tried not to cry.
Bonnie had seemed to understand. She’d rubbed Ember’s back and whispered, “Whatever happened, I hope you are able to find a way past it. I do not like seeing you in so much pain.”
And that’s what made Ember sit herself down and give herself a firm talking-to. She’d obviously lost her chance to find happiness with Max; the man had not only left her father’s workshop when she’d told him to, he’d apparently checked out of the inn completely.
But had she lost her chance with Mr. DeVille? Had she lost her chance to sell him on the idea of producing her shoes?
Well, if she had, there were other factory owners out there who would be willing to take a chance on a revolutionary new style of fashion; she was certain of it.
She just needed to produce a few new pairs first, and that meant sneaking back into Oliphant Engraving after everyone had gone home for the night.
Although, was it really sneaking, if the foreman had given her permission?
You are just hoping there will be a repeat of the last time you came after hours to use the lathe, eh?
Frowning, Ember tamped down that stupid thought and stepped toward the big front doors.
She was not hoping Max would surprise her, kiss her to within an inch of an orgasm, then sneak away, thankyouverymuch.
In fact, she’d even walked around the perimeter of the building first to ensure there were no lights on in his office before she decided to use the heavy machinery.
With a grunt, she managed to get the main door open on her own, glad to see Lawrence hadn’t locked it, having known she’d be by that evening. She’d promised to lock up when she was finished, but for now, she had the entire machine shop to herself.
After lighting the gas lamps, she stepped onto the main floor and inhaled deeply.
This wasn’t her special place, but she couldn’t deny that the tang of the oil and the big machines reminded her of happier times, back when Papa would bring her here daily to watch the men work.
She was happier upstairs in the engraving studio, where the real art—magic—happened, but that couldn’t happen without what went on down here.
Here on the machine floor is where the plaques were pounded and the receivers were poured and the metal was turned. This was where the burly men built the canvases upon which the devoted artists upstairs could work their magic.
And it never failed to lift her spirits.
Alright, lassie. You can do this.
She had the metal in her bag which needed to be turned into heels; she had the scraps of silk from the dressmaker’s shop; and she was prepared to make another set of shoes.
She was ready to create a new future, since she’d botched her first choice at a future with Max.
It took her a little while to get going, but soon she was standing over the lathe, wearing the heavy apron father had always insisted on.
She didn’t wear gloves, because they were dangerous when it came to turning metal.
But her hands were callused enough it didn’t matter, and she liked being able to really feel the imperfections in what would become a new heel.
This machine was older than some of the ones used in the big factories near Edinburgh, but she liked it didn’t have to run on steam power alone.
Standing here, in front of it, felt as if she were transported to a simpler time.
The lathe was loud, but it seemed to block out the rest of the world, and that was soothing in a way.
She concentrated on her breathing and on the shape of the metal in front of her, and tried to forget how heartsick she was.
It almost worked.
It seemed like, much too soon, the heel was done. She was in such a peaceful state of mind, Ember almost pushed it further, peeling off another few layers of metal just to prolong this escape from reality, but she made herself stop. One day, she’d experiment with thinner heels, but not today.
Besides, women would look ridiculous toddling around on outrageously tiny heels. They’d catch in the cobblestones, and the ladies would be falling over left and right. Not a good look for business, that.
With a sigh, Ember took her foot off the pump and allowed the lathe to spin slower. The tool bit had done all of the work, but as the spindle slowed, she used a lightly held gouge to check for imperfections.
There were none. She sighed. It was perfect.
She wiped the gouge she’d been using against her apron, then flicked off a few remaining metal splinters and patted it against her opposite palm, watching the heel spin to a stop.
There.
Done.
She tried to feel proud, feel fulfilled. She’d taken the first step toward her new future…so why did she feel so hollow inside?
Because it is not the future you want. Not anymore.
Behind her, in the empty silence of the machine shop, someone cleared his throat.
It wasn’t a good moment.
Ember jerked, releasing a little scream, then whirled around, the metal gouge held high as a weapon.
Was she planning on stabbing whoever had interrupted her?
Maybe.
Luckily, Max—because it was Max—realized her intent and stepped backward, away from her, even as her brain was processing who he was and the fact that—aye, overactive self-preservation instinct—he had a right to be there.
“Whoa!” he called out, as if she were a horse. “Easy there, girl. Lass.”
The gouge still held above her head, Ember froze, breathing heavily. “Did you just call me a lass?”
His hands were up, palms out, as if to protect himself, but he didn’t move. “Um…yes? Is that alright?”
“Do you talk to your horses like that?”
“What?” He shook his head. “Ember, you’re not a horse.”
“I know that. Do you know that?” She was making no sense, and knew it, which was even more embarrassing. “Do not talk to me as if I’m a horse.”
“Look, Ember, you almost attacked me with a metal stick-tool thing. I just…reacted.”
Slowly, she lowered her arm. “This is a gouge. I use it to check the metal after it has been turned on the lathe.”
“Well, from here, it looks like a thick blunt instrument you were planning on braining me with.”
“Do not be ridiculous.” She rolled her shoulders and pretended nonchalance as she patted the gouge against her opposite palm again. “This is a stabbing tool. For stabbing.”
“Thank you for clarifying,” he intoned somberly. “I feel much safer now.”
Despite the ache in her chest, her smile flashed at his dry wit.
What are you doing? He broke your heart, remember?
But…did he? Or did she break her own heart with that stupid misunderstanding?
Her smile faded. “Are you here working, Mr. DeVille? I hope I did not disturb you again.”
When she’d called him by his last name—on purpose—he’d winced, but she thought she saw a flicker of something warm and telling in those deep brown eyes when she’d reminded him of their last encounter here in the machine shop.
“Actually…” He cleared his throat. “I’m here looking for you. I have something to give you, so I went to the inn after work today. Supper was excellent, but you weren’t there. I cornered your sister, Bonnie, who told me you might be here, so here I am.”
“Here you are,” she repeated suspiciously, eyeing him. “To give me something?”
“Oh, yeah.” He fumbled for his pocket, pulling his coat aside. “Hold on.”
“Is it my other shoe?” He still hadn’t returned that.
But he looked up and shot a crooked grin her way. “No, I’m keeping that to remind me of the lass I fell in love with, the one who makes the most unique designs. But it was helpful, you see, in procuring this.”
With a flourish, he presented her with a folded piece of paper.
And Ember could do nothing more than stare at it, struck numb at his casual declaration.
The lass I fell in love with.
Surely… Had he meant those words? Hungrily, she switched her gaze to his expression, looking for proof of his sincerity.
And he stared back, looking hopeful. Then he waggled the paper, and she forced herself to move, to reach out and take it. She tried to unfold it but remembered the gouge still in her hand at the last moment and shoved it in the pocket at the front of the apron before she could open the paper fully.