Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Caleb had faced stampedes that carried more danger than a single unruly sheepdog named George. But none of the previous dangers he’d experienced had left him quite so unsettled.
It was now late afternoon, and the office had been restored to order. Papers were once again stacked neatly on desks, chairs had been righted, and everyone was settled somewhere, working.
Caleb stood near the front windows, his hands loosely clasped behind his back. He held an intake form and brought it forward, pretending to read while his mind replayed the earlier scene with annoying clarity.
King Alfred had been faster than he would have guessed. But it wasn’t the rabbit that stayed with him. It was his owner.
Ivy Goodhart had jumped into the fray without hesitation. She hadn’t shrieked like Miss Hogspeth or flailed her arms in panic. She’d gone straight to the floor and into the mess to save her rabbit, treating the chaos as something to be managed rather than feared.
He liked that. That kind of instinct didn’t come from comfort. It came from necessity.
Caleb shifted his weight and forced his attention back to the form in his hands: age, origin, desired traits in a husband.
His thoughts immediately slid back to Miss Hogspeth, and he rolled his eyes.
She was never going to find what she was looking for, and certainly not through a mail-order bride company.
Augusta’s voice cut through the quiet. “Everyone, I want to be very clear.”
Caleb turned to face her. She stood near her desk, arms folded. Margaret hovered beside her, while Josie leaned against the edge of the desk like a coiled spring. Was she nervous?
“Now that things are back to normal and we’ve enjoyed a few hours of quiet,” Augusta continued, “I want to tell you that you handled the earlier chaos very well. All of you.”
Caleb wasn’t sure why she was repeating herself. She’d thanked them earlier. He inclined his head anyway. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Augusta’s gaze shifted to Ivy, where she stood near King Alfred’s cage, one finger slipped inside as she murmured something soft to him.
“And,” Augusta continued, “I must add that this does not change the rules.”
Caleb stiffened. He’d hardly looked at Miss Goodhart for the last few hours. He nodded. “I understand.”
“Do you?” Josie drawled.
“Yes, ma’am.” Half the time Josie looked like she was looking for a fight. She had spunk, and he admired her for it.
Margaret clasped her hands together. “We do appreciate your help with Miss Hogspeth, Mr. Hartwell. That could have become quite unpleasant.”
“You certainly didn’t sugarcoat things,” Josie added.
He popped one shoulder in a half shrug. “No, ma’am. I didn’t see a reason to.”
Josie fingered a paper on her desk. “I don’t know whether to thank you or scold you, now that I’ve had time to think about it.”
“We’ve all had time to think about it,” Augusta said, arching an eyebrow at him. “I know which one I’m doing.” She offered Caleb her hand.
He took it and gave it a firm shake.
“We’re grateful,” Augusta said. “And relieved.”
Margaret nodded vigorously. “Very relieved.”
Josie blew out a breath. “Oh, all right. I’m relieved too.”
Caleb released Augusta’s hand. “I meant what I said. She wasn’t a good fit.”
Augusta smiled. “Are you in the habit of stating truths people don’t enjoy?”
He smiled back. “You have to admit, it saves time.”
Josie laughed. “You know, I’m beginning to like you, Mr. Hartwell.”
Augusta’s expression softened. “Now, on to business. You will continue to work here under the conditions we discussed.”
He tried not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”
Augusta tapped a finger against her palm. “No courting.” She raised a second finger. “No fraternization.” A third. “And no lingering after hours.”
Caleb’s mouth twitched at that last one, but he kept his tone steady. He also noticed they were addressing only him and not Miss Goodhart.
Margaret shook a finger at him. “And no interfering with Ivy’s work.”
Caleb gave a curt nod. “Of course not.”
“All right then,” Augusta said briskly. “Back to work, everyone.” She clapped her hands twice and returned to her desk.
Margaret headed for the shelves while Josie made a direct path for the back, disappearing through the door.
Caleb watched them disperse before returning his attention to the intake form. He told himself he was focusing, but it was a lie.
Across the room, Ivy lifted King Alfred’s cage and settled it onto a high shelf in the corner, then fiddled with the latch. When she was satisfied, she brushed a bit of straw from her skirt and rested her hand briefly on top of the cage.
Caleb recognized the motion as a grounding gesture.
He did the same thing with horses after a hard ride. Hands to the neck, palms steady, offering silent reassurance.
She smiled at the rabbit, then returned to the table where she’d been working and resumed sorting what appeared to be correspondence, her movements precise and controlled.
His gaze lingered longer than he wanted it to. But the woman brought a rabbit to work and had found herself in the middle of chaos only hours earlier. More importantly, she didn’t look at him with calculation in her eyes the way Miss Hogspeth had.
He forced his attention back to the papers in his hands.
Nevada City. Montana Territory. Silverton, Oregon.
How many times could he look at the same locations?
Were there no others? He scanned them again.
All were hard-working men seeking companionship.
Men like him, except they were advertising honestly while he stood here pretending to be something else.
Caleb frowned. He’d told the sisters the truth. Most of it, anyway. He did want a woman who wanted him for himself. What he hadn’t said was how rarely that happened. At least for men like him.
Back home, people knew his aunt’s name. They knew the rumors about her wealth too. They smiled too widely when he passed them in the street. And asked after his aunt’s health a little too often. Especially the single women in town.
Here, things were different. He was just another man on the street, and Caleb had to admit he preferred it that way.
The tap of paper against a desk drew his attention. Miss Goodhart glanced up, caught him looking at her, and immediately turned away, her cheeks flushing pink.
Caleb dropped his gaze to the form, heat creeping up the back of his neck and into his own cheeks. Good grief. Get a hold of yourself!
She was off-limits. He had agreed to that and meant it. Besides, there would be plenty of women who came through the office seeking marriage. Ones that knew what they wanted. Hopefully none of them would be startled by his past or tempted by his future once they learned what it was.
When it came to Miss Goodhart, it was simple proximity. They worked in the same office. Nothing more.
Yet when Miss Goodhart turned and murmured something to her rabbit, Caleb found himself wondering what kind of world shaped a woman who spoke to animals like confidants.
He shook the thought away and turned his gaze to the windows as the wind rattled them. The most dangerous thing he’d encountered all day hadn’t been a sheepdog, a demanding bride, or a rule-bound trio of sisters.
No. It was a quiet young woman with a rabbit who’d begun dismantling his carefully constructed plans without even trying.
The next morning, when Ivy arrived at the office, it was already warm, the stove ticking softly in its corner. Augusta sat at her desk while Margaret hovered nearby with a ledger in her hands. Josie stood at the front windows, arms crossed, a frown on her face.
Ivy noticed George was gone. Had the messenger boy already taken him for a walk?
She set King Alfred’s cage down, then removed her coat and smoothed the sleeves of her dress.
She’d slept better than she expected. Partly because she’d found work.
She should have gone in search of Mr. Grimsby and told him, but she didn’t have the rent money yet and would have to ask the sisters for an advance.
The sooner, the better.
“Good morning, Ivy,” Margaret greeted warmly.
“Good morning.” Ivy carried King Alfred to the table on the other side of the room and set the cage atop it.
Augusta looked up from her work. “Good morning. We’ll begin promptly.”
Ivy straightened. “Yes, Miss Merriweather.” She’d barely finished speaking when Mr. Hartwell stepped inside.
He looked just as he had the day before.
Well dressed, hair neatly combed, clean-shaven.
But something was different, and Ivy couldn’t quite put her finger on it.
Perhaps it was the way he paused to take stock of the room before removing his gloves.
His gaze flicked to Augusta, and he gave her a nod. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” Augusta replied briskly. “Now, are we all ready to begin?”
Caleb hung up his coat and hat. “Yes, ma’am.” He went to her desk and stood before her.
She picked up a list. “We’ll be dividing duties going forward. I realized yesterday was more than a little chaotic.” She glanced toward the front windows and then the back. Ivy concluded that young George must indeed be walking the dog.
Augusta turned to Ivy. “You’ll remain primarily at the intake table today. Margaret will oversee correspondence with you, and I’d like you to assist with preliminary interviews when appropriate.”
Ivy blinked. “Interviews?”
“Why, yes, dear,” Margaret said with a smile. “But don’t worry, I’ll be right beside you.”
Ivy nodded. “Okay.”
Augusta turned to Mr. Hartwell. “You’ll assist Josie with cataloging and organizing the client files. You’ll also review incoming letters from prospective grooms.”
“Of course,” Mr. Hartwell said. “I can do that.”
They moved to their assigned places, the room settling into a steady rhythm. Papers were sorted, letters opened, and Ivy took copious notes as Margaret rattled off things to ask a bride during an interview.
She tried not to glance in Mr. Hartwell’s direction but caught herself doing so more than once. He stood near the bookshelves with Josie, going over a letter. His brow furrowed before his expression turned thoughtful. He listened when Josie spoke, nodded, and asked a question or two.
The man looked like he belonged here. It shouldn’t have bothered her, but strangely, it did.
Before she could dwell on it, the office door opened and a young woman stepped inside. She paused on the threshold, taking them all in.
She was petite, with dark hair pulled back into a tight chignon. Her coat looked one winter away from surrendering, and her eyes darted about the room with a mix of hope and fear that made Ivy’s chest tighten. She knew exactly what that felt like.
“Good morning,” Augusta said gently. “How may we help you?”
The young woman clasped her hands in front of her. “Good morning. I’m Miss Elizabeth Jepsen.”
Mr. Hartwell’s gaze lifted briefly from the papers in his hands, flicked toward the woman, then returned to the pages.
Something stirred in Ivy’s chest. Was it disappointment? Good heavens, why would it be? He was here working, just like her. Still, the feeling lingered.
Margaret approached the woman. “Please, Miss Jepsen, come in.”
Miss Jepsen went to the chair Margaret indicated and perched on its edge, back straight, hands folded in her lap.
Margaret smiled at Ivy. “Would you like to begin her interview?”
Ivy’s breath caught. “Me?”
“Well, of course, dear,” Margaret said gently. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
Ivy nodded, heart pounding, and took the chair across from Miss Jepsen. “Thank you for coming in. We understand this isn’t easy.”
“No, ma’am,” she said softly. “It isn’t.”
Ivy offered a small, reassuring smile when she saw the fear in the woman’s eyes. “You’re safe here. We want you to know that.”
Miss Jepsen hesitated, then nodded.
They began with simple questions. Age, place of origin, family. Ivy noted how Miss Jepsen’s voice trembled at first. But when asked about her reason for seeking a mail-order arrangement, her words seemed to settle.
“My parents died two years ago,” Miss Jepsen said quietly. “In a fire.”
Ivy’s chest tightened.
“I tried to keep our home,” she continued, fingers twisting together. “But there was nothing left. Not really.” She swallowed. “I have a younger brother, Thomas. He’s ten.”
Ivy leaned forward. “You’re raising him, aren’t you?”
Miss Jepsen nodded. “I had to find work, and I worry about what will happen to him if I can’t.” Her voice broke, and she looked away, gathering herself.
Ivy gave her a sympathetic smile when the young woman turned to her once more. “You’re very brave.”
Miss Jepsen shook her head. “I don’t feel brave. It feels more like being cornered.”
Ivy understood that too. “I lost my parents as well,” she said quietly. “And I care for my grandmother. She’s strong, but as you know, the world isn’t always kind to women on their own.”
Miss Jepsen looked up, eyes shining. “You understand.”
“I do,” Ivy said gently. She explained the process carefully, without false promises. She didn’t pretend it would be easy but made it clear that Miss Jepsen wouldn’t be alone.
Somewhere during the conversation, Ivy realized Caleb was listening. His papers lay forgotten in his hands; his attention fixed on her and Miss Jepsen.
“I don’t care about finding a man with money,” Miss Jepsen said. “I just want safety. A place where Thomas can grow up and live a decent life.”
“Those are good things to want,” Ivy said.
When the interview ended, Margaret thanked Miss Jepsen and promised to review suitable matches. The young woman rose and smiled at Ivy. “Thank you for listening. That meant a lot to me.”
“You’re welcome,” Ivy replied. She watched Miss Jepsen leave the office and disappear into the street beyond.
Josie cleared her throat. “Well done, Ivy.”
Margaret slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You did beautifully, dear.”
“Thank you,” Ivy said, cheeks warming.
Mr. Hartwell took a step toward them. “You were very kind.”
Ivy met his gaze, heat rising in her cheeks again. “She needed it.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “She did.”
Ivy glanced at Josie, Margaret, and Augusta. There were no rules against their exchange, and no line crossed as far as she could tell. They were working, after all.
Yet something had shifted. It wasn’t that she felt openly drawn to him. It was more like a silent understanding had formed between them.
And, Ivy realized, that might be far more dangerous.