Beauty So Rare, A (A Belmont Mansion Novel Book #2) (30 page)

“Oh yes,” Eleanor answered swiftly, intentionally lowering her voice and wishing he would do the same. She wasn’t actually certain she
did
agree with him. At least, not as certain as she might have been at one time, but . . .

Seated one table away, a young woman sneaked furtive glances in their direction, and Eleanor got the distinct impression she was eavesdropping. Or trying to. And this was one conversation Eleanor preferred to keep private.

“At the risk of sounding too forward or indelicate,” Mr. Hockley continued, still speaking at normal volume, “I am forty-one years old, considerably wealthy, and I wish to leave a legacy. But in order to do that, I need—”

“Children,” Eleanor part whispered, part mouthed, doing her best to signal him with her eyes. But reading signals was apparently not in the banker’s repertoire, nor was catching subtleties of any kind.

“An
heir
is what I was going to say. And lest you think I did not spend considerable time contemplating my actions before responding to your aunt, let me assure you I have. I believe we are well suited, Eleanor. I am in need of a wife to give me children, and you are in need of a provider.”

Uncomfortable enough, imagining their conversation being overheard, Eleanor felt as though she were looking into a mirror, one that magnified her own sensibilities a thousand times over. And she wasn’t certain she liked what she saw.

“Furthermore, I see no benefit to be gained by delaying this decision. Neither of us could be accused of being youthful anymore. Although . . .” The closest thing to a smile she’d seen from him yet touched his mouth. “Admittedly, you certainly fall closer to that category than I.”

Eleanor managed a smile at the comment, still aware of the young woman’s close attention. On a whim, Eleanor chanced a look in her direction, and the woman immediately averted her eyes, confirming Eleanor’s suspicion.

She hadn’t seen the woman before, she was certain. She would have remembered her. Pale blond curls artfully arranged beneath a stylish little hat that screamed high society.

“To risk the utmost transparency with you,” he continued, “I confide that—”

Eleanor held up a hand. “Lawrence . . .”

Mouth hanging slightly ajar, he stared.

“If we are finished with dinner here . . . might I suggest that we continue this conversation elsewhere.” When his blank stare persisted, she smiled. “Perhaps some place . . . less public.”

He blinked. “Ah . . . of course, of course. You wish to see my home, to determine what you might well be mistress of.”

Eleanor’s face heated. “No!” she whispered. “I assure you, sir, I was not implying that I—”

“No, no.” He tucked his napkin beside his plate. “I admire you for it. It’s most logical and is a necessary requirement for you to make your decision. Home is the woman’s domain, after all. Queen of her castle, and all that. Besides, I have reviewed your family history at length, as well as your father’s long and illustrious career. Quite impressive, I might add. So it’s only fitting that you have opportunity to do the same.”

Thoroughly mortified—though also moved by his compliment to her father—Eleanor rose from her seat and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. She’d been seated for so long, it took a few seconds to get the feeling back in her legs again. Ever the gentleman, Mr. Hockley offered his arm.

As they passed the table beside them, Eleanor briefly glanced down, but the woman had bowed her head, leaving only her perfect blond curls to shimmer in the candlelight.

“To continue our discussion from the restaurant, Eleanor . . .”

Eleanor accepted the china cup and saucer from the servant and smiled her thanks. She sipped the coffee. Fixed to perfection. Rich flavor, yet not too strong.

“I have not the time nor the inclination to be husband to some young doe-eyed bride with expectations I will never be able to meet. My job is demanding and consumes most of my time. My trips abroad—both for business and pleasure—account for the remainder. And it would be my wish that my wife would accompany me on those journeys.”

“Of course,” Eleanor responded, knowing some women might have been shocked or even affronted by Lawrence Hockley’s directness. But she wasn’t.

What he was telling her was nothing she hadn’t already considered. This
relationship
, for lack of a better term, would be, at its heart, a business arrangement that had absolutely nothing to do with emotions. At least for him. Her emotions, on the other hand, were currently tied in knots at the mere prospect of making such a commitment.

His house—or estate was more like it—was splendidly appointed. Nothing near the grandeur of Belmont, thank goodness, but lovely. And far beyond anything Eleanor had ever imagined being within her grasp.

And now it was—she realized with a sliver of wonder—within her grasp. If she hadn’t personally experienced this evening, she wouldn’t have believed it.

Occupying the settee opposite hers, Mr. Hockley leaned forward, his countenance softening with a surprising glimmer of emotion. “My future wife and . . . prayerfully, our children will want for nothing. And . . . as for your father, Eleanor,” he said softly, “his every need would be quietly seen to. You would never have cause to worry on that account.”

The mention of her father and the promise of his care tugged fiercely at frayed emotions, and—gripping the handkerchief in her pocket—Eleanor struggled to keep the tattered ends from unraveling.

Mr. Hockley eased back, his speech apparently delivered. She needed to respond, but how?

She lifted her coffee cup to her lips and drank, and as the warmth slid down her throat, she looked across at the man who could be the answer to all her prayers. Especially those for her father. And a part of her couldn’t help but be amazed.

Lawrence Hockley was the perfect resolution for her circumstances. He was precisely the kind of man she had always pictured for herself . . . before she’d given up hope of ever marrying. And also before . . .

Her heart tightened at the slow-in-coming, but undeniable realization moving over her. He was the kind of man she would have chosen . . . before she’d met and fallen in love with Marcus Geoffrey.

 25 

L
awrence
Hockley
.

No matter how Marcus tried—and he
had
tried—he couldn’t get that name out of his mind. Grateful it was Friday, he tucked the project sketches under his arm and left the warehouse.

President of the Bank of Nashville.
Old
money, and plenty of it. From one of the finest families in the city. A widower. No children. And that was only what he’d learned from having dinner two nights ago with Eli and Cordina.

A casual mention of Hockley’s name to Robert Callahan, his foreman, yesterday had earned him a little more information. According to Callahan, Lawrence Hockley was a pillar of the community and a “more serious sort of fellow.” Apparently, the Bank of Nashville was the only institution willing to loan money to Callahan’s brother and sister-in-law for their new business. And that, only after Lawrence Hockley himself had requested a personal meeting with the couple in order to ascertain their character. Marcus sighed.

A gentleman who prized character, who stood up for the little man, and who possessed the means to take care of Eleanor in the manner she deserved. He didn’t bother toying with the question of why that discovery didn’t give him pleasure. He knew why.

He also knew he had no right to stand in the way of anything that Eleanor Braddock wanted to do and that would bring her happiness. On the contrary, he had an obligation to her—and to his obligations awaiting him back home—to do just the opposite.

So why was he headed in the direction of Belmont? He exhaled again. Because he cared about her, and
for
her. And he enjoyed her company more than a man with a
fiancée
back in Austria should.

The only thing that sated his conscience—even while rankling his
pride—was knowing she didn’t care for him in a romantic sense. At least she’d never given him reason to think otherwise.

Something else occurred to him. . . .

Eleanor’s dinner with Lawrence Hockley had been sanctioned by Adelicia. He knew that from their exchange in the conservatory the morning Adelicia left town. For all he knew, the woman had arranged it all, which didn’t help his outlook either. Because what Adelicia Cheatham wanted, she usually got.

Hearing the pattern of his thoughts, he stopped stock-still in the street.
Was
machst du?
What was he doing? He and Eleanor were friends. That’s all there was. At least that’s all he was ever going to act on. So it was fine for them to see each other—on occasion.

But he needed to give her room, and was trying to do just that. He’d wanted to visit the mansion last night when he was at Belmont but hadn’t. Just like he wanted to go right now . . . but wouldn’t.

Though dreading the loneliness of the boardinghouse, he changed course—the effort feeling almost Herculean—and made his way toward the boardinghouse. He’d eat a quiet dinner, then try to lose himself in the latest set of notes from Luther Burbank.

He turned the corner, and a cool breeze met him head on. He welcomed it, along with the touches of fall in the burnt orange and reddish leaves on the trees.

One of his greatest joys was helping things grow, so how could fall—when plants and trees went dormant, and annuals died—be a favorite time of year for him?

“Hello, Mr. Geoffrey!”

Hearing his name, Marcus followed the voice and spotted Caleb headed straight for him, a brood of children in tow.

Caleb’s grin widened. “Are you on your way home from work?”

Noting the boy was speaking German, Marcus did likewise. “I am. And where are you and your fine young friends headed this evening?”

One of the children with Caleb, a tiny blue-eyed blonde, tugged on the boy’s sleeve. Caleb leaned down, and she whispered something in his ear.

Caleb grinned. “She says you ought to come and eat with us, sir. That’s a compliment. She rarely says anything about anyone.”

Marcus smiled at her, which sent her ducking behind the lad. “I appreciate the invitation, Caleb, but I’ve got work I need to do.”

Caleb nodded, then his eyes narrowed. “Are those the design sketches for the building you’re working on now?”

“They are indeed.” Marcus knew what was coming next. The boy
was fascinated with the intricacies of design, and he had a knack for the details of the process too.

Caleb eyed him. “Are you sure you can’t do your work later? You have to eat sometime, sir. And you’re tired of eating alone. You said so yourself.”

A darling little face with a pair of striking blue eyes peered around Caleb, and Marcus felt his resolve puddle at his feet.

With a feigned sigh, he fell into step behind the children and listened as they
jabbered
—as his old friend at the asylum had said—to each other in German, which explained Caleb’s choice of language.

A young boy pointed to his pack. “
Was willst du da haben?
”

Marcus explained what he had inside his pack as they walked. He wondered where they were going and was surprised when the little entourage turned onto Magnolia Street, where Eleanor’s building was located. He hadn’t been by there in days.

Her decision to clean the building had been a good one. It showed solid business sense, and he hoped it rented soon so she could move on. He knew only too well how wearing an illusive dream could be. But he wasn’t ready to give up his. Not yet.

The boy continued to pepper him with questions, and already weary, Marcus found the lad’s enthusiasm a tad daunting. So he was grateful when the children slowed their steps.

But when he looked up, he could hardly believe where they were. Eleanor’s building. And there were people inside. A lot of people. Then he noticed—

The
For Rent
sign that had been in the window was gone.

A sense of pride filled him. She’d done it. The building was rented. And due to her industrious efforts, no doubt. He couldn’t wait to congratulate her and celebrate the good news the next time he went out to Belmont.

He followed Caleb and the children inside, scarcely able to find room to stand once they’d crossed the threshold. The chatter in the room dropped to a low hum and everywhere he looked, he saw women and children. Not another man in sight. Some were standing, some sitting, but without exception all were staring at him.

Then everyone turned back to what they were doing, and the conversation increased in volume again.

Marcus turned to Caleb and whispered, “This is where you’re eating?” But the boy apparently didn’t hear. Marcus felt a tug on his trousers and peered down.

The little blue-eyed blonde looked up at him. Her lips moved but he couldn’t hear over the noise.

He knelt. “
Was ist es,
das Kleine?
”

She touched her tummy. “
Ich bin hungrig.
”

She was hungry. “
Ja . . .
”

He nodded. “
Ich weiß.
”

From where he knelt, he reached for Caleb, about to ask him what everyone was doing here, when the conversation in the room fell away for a second time, and he heard a familiar voice.

“
Ich bin so froh, dass Sie
heute Abend
alle hier sind. Vielen Dank, dass Sie wiedergekommen
sind.
” Eleanor smiled at the women and children, hoping she’d delivered her practiced greeting without any mistakes. Judging from their smiles and nods, she guessed she had. Next, she repeated the welcome in English. “I’m so glad everyone is here tonight. Thank you for coming.”

Naomi had told her that most of those gathered were trying to learn the English language. “And repetition helps,” she’d said.

The last several meals, Caleb had invited a few of the mothers to join the growing number of children they served, but this was the first evening to offer a meal to any widow or child in need, and the front room was full to overflowing. Judging from the sound of those gathered, most hailed from the German community. Understandable, since Naomi and Caleb had been the ones to spread the word.

Other than knowing how to prepare the food, Eleanor had no earthly idea what she was doing. All she knew was what was happening wasn’t by her design. And, strangely, that gave her greater confidence as to where it might lead.

“And now,” she continued, glancing at Naomi, “because my German is not very good . . .
yet
”—she smiled—“Mrs. Lebenstein will translate.”

Naomi repeated the sentence in German, then paused.

“We’ve been cooking for the better part of the day,” Eleanor continued, “and we have plenty of food. So everyone who is here tonight will get a meal.
No one
will leave hungry.”

Eleanor waited for Naomi to translate, watching the children’s faces light up as though she’d announced Christmas would come early. But what she found even more touching were the tears that rose to the mothers’ eyes when their young ones looked up at them and grinned.

“For those of you who are here for the first time, I’ll explain how we’ll serve the meal in just a moment. But first . . .”

Eleanor paused as the kindness in Naomi’s voice filled the corners of the room.

“As Mrs. Lebenstein and her son, Caleb, told you when you were invited, I want to remind you that we don’t ask for or accept any money for these meals. All we ask is that you do something kind for someone else tomorrow, and that you expect nothing in return for that kindness.”

When Naomi finished translating, Eleanor leaned forward, affecting a conspiratorial look. “But if some of you children who were here earlier this week would like to tell me a kind act you’ve done, I’d love to hear it—
after
you’ve eaten your dinner.”

Naomi imitated Eleanor’s expression and tone, and the children and mothers alike giggled. Eleanor smiled, grateful beyond words—literally—as several of the children looked at her and nodded.

She’d determined to learn the German language well enough to be able to converse with these people, and she knew just who she would enlist to teach her.

No matter that she tried to stop, she couldn’t help comparing Marcus to Lawrence Hockley. And the comparison always came out grossly one-sided.

She hadn’t seen Marcus since Tuesday, and she’d decided she wasn’t going to say anything to him about tonight’s dinner, or her future plans, for now. He’d clearly lacked enthusiasm over her idea of starting a restaurant, so she’d made up her mind not to share this
venture
with him either.

Which felt odd, since she’d grown accustomed to telling him about almost everything.

She explained to newcomers how the meal, along with cups of water, would be served from the kitchen. Families were encouraged to come through the line together, then could sit wherever they wanted to on the floor. Unfortunately, they only had the original table and four chairs, but Eleanor was working on that too.

As Naomi translated, Eleanor silently counted heads. First, the women . . . twenty-one. And the children . . . thirty-four. Fifty-five, she totaled. Plus herself, Naomi, and Mr. Stover, who was expected anytime. So many. And a crowd of people congregated by the door—Caleb among them—so she might have missed a head or two.

A streak of panic skittered through her. She had assured everyone there would be plenty of food. Now she only hoped there would be.

Footsteps behind her told her Mr. Stover had arrived, and she could tell he was doing something funny again, because the children started snickering.

Smiling, she bowed her head, and the others did likewise. “Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name—”

“
Unser Vater, der
du bist im Himmel,
” Naomi followed after, a quiet chorus of soft voices joining her. “
Geheiligt werde dein Name
.
”

“Thy kingdom come, thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”

“
Dein Reich komme, dein Wille
geschehe wie im Himmel, so auf Erden.
”

“Give us this day our daily bread . . .”

“
Unser tägliches Brot gib uns heute
 . . .
”