Thomas Wells was the next person to enter Wendell’s office, and Wendell was glad to see him. He shoved the scribbled letter he’d been trying to write into his desk drawer and stood up, shaking hands with his new client.
“I visited the bank this morning and learned that all the properties you’re interested in are still available,” he said once all the pleasantries had been exchanged. “Mr. Cromwell just needs to know what name to put on the deed so he can begin the paperwork.”
Mr. Wells reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick envelope. “I think you’ll find this adequate.”
Wendell took the envelope and opened it. It was full of money—the tallest stack he’d ever seen. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“That will cover the purchase of all the properties on that list, and the remainder is your share,” Mr. Wells explained. “We’d like you to buy it in your name, hold it for six months, and then sell it to us. That will give my employer time to establish his residency in the States.”
“So, he’s not here now?” Wendell asked.
“He’s in transit, and won’t be able to conduct business of his own for a short time.”
“Coming from England?”
“By way of England, yes.”
Mr. Wells seemed rather short with his answers, and Wendell didn’t know what to think. He was holding genuine money in his hands, so this couldn’t be some kind of counterfeiting scheme, but something still felt off about it. “You’d like me to buy the property and then sell it to you in six months? That’s on paper, of course, as this is your money—you’re essentially buying it right now.”
“It’s all a technicality, isn’t it?” Mr. Wells said, waving his hand. “It will all sort out, and you’ll have profit in your pocket at the end of it.”
Wendell thought back to what Miss Chapel had said about profit not being everything. He couldn’t see anything blatantly wrong with this deal, however. “Is that an agreement you’d be willing to put in writing?”
“Of course,” Mr. Wells said with a chuckle. “In fact, I assumed you’d ask, so I had this drawn up.” He slid a piece of paper across the table. It was a standard contract written in simple language stating that in six months, Mr. Wells would return to the office of Wendell Thurgood and purchase the listed properties, and that Wendell Thurgood would hold them until that time. It was exactly the sort of contract Wendell would have requested.
“This looks good,” he said, and Mr. Wells nodded.
“I have two copies. Let’s sign them both, and we each keep one. I’m pleased that we’re able to help each other out, Mr. Thurgood.”
“As am I.”
Once the contracts were signed and Wendell made sure that both copies were identical, he put the money he’d received into his safe and told Mr. Wells he’d return to the bank that very afternoon to begin the transaction. Mr. Wells gave a nod, touched his hat, and was on his way.
Wendell was tempted to pull out the money and count it to see just how much of a commission he was getting, but he knew it was best to keep the money in the safe until it was time to head off to the bank. His office had large glass windows that faced the street, and he didn’t want some desperate gambler passing by to see him handling so much cash and decide he had nothing to lose.
Instead, he pulled out the letter he’d been working on and read it over. It was nonsense. Utter, sheer nonsense.
“I thought we were going to work on that together.” Miss Chapel peered over his shoulder. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was supposed to do this.” She held up the bell and rang it. “Better?”
“Definitely,” he said dryly. “I don’t know what to write. You’ll be proud of me, though—I thought of something she and I have in common. We enjoy music.”
“That’s certainly good news.” Miss Chapel took off her hat, set it on top of the bookcase in the corner, and sat. “Let’s talk this out. A good form of address is crucial. How have you begun?”
“I wrote, ‘Dear Miss Stoker.’ Is that all right?”
She looked thoughtful. “It’s all right, but it lacks a little something. What if you changed it to, ‘My dear Miss Stoker’? That makes it a bit more personal.”
“But she’s not mine,” Wendell protested. “I can’t say she’s mine if she’s not.”
Miss Chapel sighed. “Very well. Leave that part as is for now. We can discuss it later if it’s still bothering me. What’s the next part?”
“It’s not very interesting, I’m afraid.”
“Not surprisingly, but let’s hear it anyway.”
Wendell cleared his throat. “‘I wondered if you would like to go for a walk with me this evening.’”
Miss Chapel raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“And that’s all I have.”
She gave him a look of such incredulity, he was surprised that her eyebrows didn’t leave her face and go flapping around the room on their own. “Have you ever read a poem or a novel or even listened to the way someone in love speaks about the object of their affections? You’re not asking the girl to help you construct a shopping list—you’re asking her to consider marrying you. That takes . . . skills, Wendell.”
“And that’s why I need your help.” Wendell set down his pen. “I have no idea what to say.”
“Tell her the way she makes you feel. Tell her why she’s caught your fancy so very much. Tell her . . . oh, gracious. Anything with emotion. Anything, Wendell. I don’t believe I’ve ever wanted smelling salts so much in my life as I do right now. You’re proving to be quite a challenge.”
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“And don’t mumble! It’s very unromantic!”
“And smelling salts can damage your nostrils and your windpipe if you use them too often!” he shot back, picking up his pen. He scribbled for a few minutes, then said, “Are you ready?”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
He swallowed, then began. “‘Dear Miss Stoker, as I passed by the tea shop this morning, I happened to glance in and noticed the way the morning sun lit up your hair. It was the loveliest thing I’ve seen in a very long time. I hope you don’t think me forward, but I have treasured the moments we’ve spent conversing, and I would like to repeat the experience soon, perhaps on a moonlit walk some evening this week.’”
Miss Chapel didn’t answer immediately, and he looked up, afraid to see the expression on her face. Instead of being disappointed, like he feared, she was beaming.
“That was perfect! Absolutely perfect! Wendell, I should have trusted you more. You had it inside you all the time—you just needed some help to bring it out!”
“So . . . this is good?”
“Just what do you think the word ‘perfect’ means?” She stood up. “The stationery came with envelopes, didn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I do love a nice, crisp envelope. Package it up and let it be on its way. I’d slip it under her door, if I were you, or have Willie deliver it. Yes! Have Willie deliver it. He’s a reliable boy.”
“If he’s not too busy,” Wendell replied. “It seems he has several jobs as it is.”
“It won’t take him but a minute. I’m sure he can fit it in.”
Wendell slid the letter into an envelope, wrote “Miss Ariadne Stoker” on the front so there wouldn’t be any chance of Regina opening it instead, even though her name was now Honeycutt, and sealed the flap. It did look nice and crisp.
“And here comes Willie now,” Miss Chapel said, as though she’d planned the whole thing. Perhaps she had. Maybe she had the ability to conjure up delivery boys out of thin air, just like she did scissors.
Wendell stepped outside, flagged the boy down, swore him to secrecy, and gave him a coin. Then he came back inside and collapsed in his chair.
“Done,” he said. “And I’m sure I’ve aged twenty years.”
“Oh, no. Don’t do that. You’re already quite old enough as it is.” Miss Chapel picked up her hat and put it on. “Once again, I’m off, but I’ll see you shortly. I’m going to call ’round the tea shop in a bit and see how things were received. Chin up, Wendell. This is exciting, not an execution.”
He sat up a little straighter. “I do appreciate your help, Miss Chapel. I’m just not sure what to do with it.”
“Leave it all up to me. Before long, that young lady will see the real you, and then she’ll decide what she thinks of you. Just remember, if she chooses someone else, it’s not the end of the world. Every person born upon the earth must have the right to their own choices.”
“I understand.”
She wiggled her fingers at him and then vanished. This time, he didn’t even bother trying to decide if she was real. Things like that just wasted his energy.
He was somewhat tempted to take a little walk down past the tea shop himself to see if he could gauge Miss Stoker’s reaction to the letter, but that was likely pushing things too far. He did have work to do, after all.
The first thing he did when he opened the safe was to take out and put on the holster he kept in there, then the pistol. He kept a smaller firearm in the drawer of his desk, but this one meant business. He wore it whenever he had to take a large sum of money from the office to the bank, and in his line of work, that happened quite often.
Once the holster was resting comfortably against his hip, he then took out the large envelope of money, tucked it inside his vest, and then put his coat on over the top. Making sure the office door was locked, he headed down the street, eager to get this transaction over and done with. He never liked keeping money in his office for long.
***
When Regina had returned from the mercantile, she took one look at Ariadne and shook her head. “I suppose you’ve been moping ever since I left,” she said. “I should have sent you to the store instead—you need an outing.”
“I’m all right, and I’m not moping,” Ariadne retorted, although she likely was. “I wouldn’t mind going out for a little while, though.”
“I’ll mind the store while you take a walk. I noticed that Millie’s outside sweeping the walk—maybe she could use a visitor.”
Ariadne perked up at that. Millie was one of her good friends, and she hadn’t seen her for a few days. “I won’t be long.”
Regina smiled. “Be gone as long as you need to in order to wipe that melancholy look off your face.”
A moment later, Ariadne was headed down the street, looking around eagerly while trying not to look like she was eager at all. If she happened to run into Mr. Wells, that would certainly be nice, but she wasn’t going to jinx it by hoping too hard.
“Hello there!” Millie called out as Ariadne approached. Her lovely red hair was piled high into a bun, but tendrils were escaping as she swept. Ariadne wished she looked half as beautiful while doing her chores.
“Regina told me to take a walk,” Ariadne said as she greeted her friend. “I must have been annoying her in some way.”
“I can’t imagine you being annoying. Have you had any lunch? Edwin made a few extra, and I’m ready to sit down myself.”
Ariadne followed Millie inside, and they sat down across from each other with their meals. Edwin was a good cook, as was Millie, and when they worked together, the results were always mouth-watering.
“Tell me all your news,” Millie said, which was just the opening Ariadne had been looking for.
“Have you met a man by the name of Thomas Wells? He’s new in town.”
“No, I don’t think so. Is he a miner?”
“He’s here to buy some property. He came into the shop yesterday, and we struck up a conversation. He’s from London, if you can believe the luck.”
“And I take it he’s handsome?” Millie’s eyes sparkled. “Your cheeks are pink—it’s a giveaway.”
“Yes, he’s handsome,” Ariadne replied, wishing she didn’t blush so easily. It would be nice to keep her true feelings to herself once in a while, but then, with Millie, there wasn’t a need. She knew she was safe with her friend. “I’ve been watching for him all day, hoping to run into him again.”
“If he’s here to buy property, you know he’s going to be around for quite some time,” Millie replied. “I’m sure you’ll have every chance to see him again.”
“I know. I just want it to happen soon.”
They both laughed.
“It’s hard to be patient sometimes,” Millie said. “I know how that goes—it seemed like Edwin would never tell me how he felt. But then he finally did, and here we are.”
“And you like being married?”
“I love it. Every minute of it. I don’t enjoy washing socks, but at least now I’m washing socks for my husband instead of my brother, and that seems a little more palatable in some ways.”
Ariadne laughed again. “How are Callum and Celeste?”
“Doing well. It’s been an adjustment for both of them, as I’m sure you can imagine, but the miracles just keep happening. It’s so hard to believe that we’re now both married when we thought we’d both end up single forever.”
“I was thinking just yesterday that it’s almost like the entire town is falling in love.” Ariadne tried to keep her voice light, but a sad note did enter it, and Millie picked up on it instantly.
“You’ll find someone, I know you will,” she said, reaching out and covering Ariadne’s hand with her own. “I often hear your name come up, and I know there are several men in town who think the world of you.”
“That’s very sweet of them, but it’s like I was telling Jake—none of them are for me. Nothing has clicked. Nothing has felt right.” She paused. “I’d like a chance to see if something could happen with Mr. Wells. He might not be interested in me at all, but you never know.” She paused again, truth building up and pressing on her insides. “But there’s also a part of me that wonders if I only want to get married so I can be like Regina. I don’t want to be left behind, the old maid running a tea shop forever because she couldn’t find a husband.”
“We all need to think about our motives from time to time and make sure that we’re doing things for the right reasons, but I don’t think there’s any need to worry about yours,” Millie told her. “Maybe you’re overthinking this just a bit. Shouldn’t romance be fun? Shouldn’t you relax and enjoy it when it comes? You’re young, Ariadne—far younger than I was when Edwin finally proposed. You have time to go to parties and be seen and get courted. There’s not a rush or a race.”
“You’re right. You always are, you know.”
Millie laughed. “That’s one of the reasons Callum was so eager to marry me off, I’m sure.”
“I don’t think he was eager at all—I think he knew how very much he was going to miss you. You did take very good care of him all those years.”
“I did, and he was always a good brother to me in return. It’s so odd now, not seeing him every day, but this is how it’s supposed to be for both of us. And you shall have all the things that are supposed to be for you, too.” Millie stood and gathered up their dishes. “Is Regina hungry, do you think? Would you like to take something to her?”
“I don’t know if she’s eaten—yes, please. I appreciate it.”
Ariadne waited while Millie put together another meal, then thanked her friend again and headed back to the shop. Regina had told her not to come back until she was feeling better, and she could honestly say that now she was. Millie always helped her see things from a new perspective, and the pressure she’d been feeling had been eased somewhat. Truly, it wasn’t a race. Things would happen when they were supposed to.
She came up the street just as Willie slid off his horse in front of the tea shop. “Miss Stoker,” he panted, pulling off his hat. “I was just looking for you.”
“You were? Is something wrong?”
“No, ma’am. I just have a letter for you.” He pulled it from his pocket, handed it over, and mounted his horse again. “Have a good day.” He spurred the animal onward before she even had the chance to offer him a coin or a tea cake.
Curious. She turned the envelope over. It was addressed to Miss Ariadne Stoker, but it had no address, and it hadn’t been sent through the post office. She went inside, gave Regina the meal she’d brought, then sat down under the window and slid her finger under the flap.
The handwriting wasn’t familiar, but that was no surprise because she didn’t know many people in town well enough to recognize their handwriting. She forgot to think about that, though, when she read what the note said.
It had to be from Mr. Wells—it just had to be—and he wanted to take her for a moonlit walk. She pressed a hand to her chest, trying to keep her heart from thumping clean through onto the table.
“What’s the matter?” Regina asked, setting down her fork on the table where she was eating. “You look upset.”
“I’m not upset,” Ariadne replied. Her voice caught a little in her throat, and she cleared it to try again. “I’m not upset. I’m . . . I’m over the moon. Look what Mr. Wells sent me.” She stood and crossed the room to where Regina sat.
Regina took the letter and read it over. “Oh, my,” she said, skimming it again. “Now I really will have to ask Jake about this man. Do you know anything about him? What part of London is he from? I wonder if we should send a telegram to Father’s old solicitor and see what we can find out about him.”
Ariadne held up a hand, laughing. “Yes, by all means, ask Jake, but we’re not going to investigate Mr. Wells as though he’s some sort of criminal. He’s simply sent me a letter—a very nice letter—and asked to take a walk with me. He didn’t even give a day—just a suggestion. No telegrams, please.”
“All right, no telegrams. But you can’t blame me for being curious. And cautious. No man is going to be good enough for my little sister, no matter who he is.”
Ariadne impulsively bent down and wrapped her arms around Regina’s shoulders. “Thank you, but let’s keep our heads. It’s just a letter, just a walk—that’s all.”
Oh, but she hoped it would become much, much more.