A Mistaken Match. Whitney Bailey
James strode to Ann’s side. “Put everything on my account, Mr. Davis.” He could hear the tremor of nerves in his voice. Why was he so nervous? He’d done business with William Davis for years.
Mr. Davis cocked a brow, but reached for the ledger book and entered the total without question.
Ann looked up at James, her blue eyes telling him something. Introductions! Apparently, he forgot even the most basic of social graces while in her presence.
“Mr. Davis, this is Miss Ann Cromwell. She’ll be staying with me and Uncle Mac for a little while,” he announced with far too much force.
“Delighted to meet you, miss,” the shopkeeper replied. “It’s always nice to have new people come to New Haven.”
James silently thanked the man for not asking any questions. William Davis didn’t get to be New Haven’s most successful businessman by being nosy.
“Will there be anything else, Mr. McCann?”
“Did those new hand tools come in yet?”
Mr. Davis gestured to the farthest corner of the store. “Leroy just finished stocking them. Take a look. I think you’ll find the new auger design superior to the old one.”
James made his way to the back of the store while Mr. Davis wrapped Ann’s selections and tied the bundle with string. He tried to concentrate on a shiny awl in front of him, but Ann’s voice carried to him from the counter.
“This is a lovely town. On the drive in, I admired the many fine homes along the boulevard.”
Mr. Davis chuckled. “I don’t think any street here is fancy enough to be called a boulevard, but we do have some beautiful residences.”
“In London, large homes employ several full-time servants.”
“I imagine they would.”
“Is that the case here in New Haven, as well?”
“Oh yes, miss. Half a dozen families here have servants.”
“They do?”
Was James mistaken, or did her measured tone change? She sounded...anxious? Eager?
“Doc Henderson is the only one with live-in help. He has a cook and maid. Heard he’s looking for a new one, though.”
“A new cook or a new maid?” she asked.
He’d heard right the first time. Her melodic voice held a frantic edge.
“He employs one girl to do both.”
“A maid of all work.”
“If that’s what you call it.”
James stole a glance at the counter. Ann’s lips were pursed and her large eyes cast down.
“In England, a servant who both cooks and cleans is called a maid of all work,” she replied.
Mr. Davis’s eyebrows arched. “Is that so?”
Was Ann looking for work? But why? They would be hearing from Mrs. Turner within a few weeks, and after that she’d be off to her true intended. Was living with him so miserable she’d rather work for someone than live with him? Heat flamed his cheeks. He had to treat her more as a guest, and pray it didn’t lead him down a path to his own destruction.
Ann hoisted the packages off the counter but James arrived at her side in seconds and eased them out of her arms. “You shouldn’t have to carry such a heavy bundle,” he explained. Ann bit her bottom lip and murmured her thanks. Was she trying to stifle a laugh? He didn’t doubt it. Everything Ann Cromwell did or said took him by surprise.
Ann waited on the sidewalk while James placed her purchases in the wagon. She’d almost burst out laughing when he suggested the parcels were too heavy for her to carry. She was used to carrying basket upon basket of firewood up three flights of stairs for most of the year. The package of soap, polish and scrub brushes weighed nothing in comparison.
“Where to now?” she asked when he rejoined her on the sidewalk.
“Remember that friend I promised you? She should be in there.” James pointed to the blue awning directly next to Mr. Davis’s store. New Haven Dressmakers.
The shop appeared empty, but a bell clanging above the door brought a young woman bustling in from the back. Dark abundant hair piled high atop her head added even greater height to her tall and slender frame.
“Good afternoon, Delia. I wanted you to meet Ann Cromwell.”
The woman’s eyes widened and a broad grin broke across her face. In an instant she had Ann clasped in a hug. Ann stiffened and managed a feeble squeeze in return.
“So you’re Ann! But didn’t you mean to say Ann McCann?” The girl winked at James. Flames licked Ann’s cheeks and she turned to find James’s face suffused with pink. He took a half step back and bumped into a dress form, which teetered precariously before he righted it. James ran a hand through his thick hair and Ann’s stomach tumbled. Did all men look so handsome when they were embarrassed?
She must change the subject, for both their sakes. “Were you the one who made that beautiful quilt?” she guessed. She recalled James saying this shop employed its maker.
The woman beamed. “Did you really think it beautiful? Frederick saw me working on it weeks ago and asked to buy it.”
“And you are Frederick’s cousin?”
The young woman placed a palm to her forehead. “Where are my manners, Mrs. McCann? I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Ardelia. Ardelia Ludlow.”
Ann shook her hand, and knew they couldn’t let this woman’s assumptions go uncorrected any longer. “It’s still Miss Cromwell.” She glanced again at James. His face flushed scarlet.
“Forgive my mistake.” Her smile didn’t dim and she laughed. “I’d say I’m still Miss Ludlow, but no one calls me that. My friends call me Delia, and you should, too.”
Ann felt a twinge of the familiar and fumbled back to the jumble of memories from the day before. “I met a woman from New Haven on the train yesterday. She told me she had a daughter near my age. You both have the same last name.”
Delia clapped her hands together and brought them under her chin. “You met Mother? What a coincidence!”
“This woman said she’d been visiting her sister.”
Delia nodded her head vigorously. “That was her, alright. She visited my aunt in Pataskala. Just had her tenth child—can you believe it?”
“Your mother was so kind to help her.”
Delia pointed to a cluster of chairs in the corner and a love seat. “Please, let’s all of us sit and have a chat.”
James rocked back and forth on his heels. The color in his cheeks diffused.
“Maybe I should leave you two alone,” he offered.
“Nonsense!” Delia exclaimed. “Miss Cromwell, implore him to stay.”
Ann bit her cheeks to keep from smirking. As if she could convince James to do anything.
“If I’m to call you Delia, you must call me Ann.”
It didn’t seem possible, but Delia’s smile grew broader.
“Ahem.” James cleared his throat. “Ann, did you bring that...uh...thing I asked you to?”
Ann bit back another smirk. So like a man to refer to a lady’s handkerchief as a “thing.” “Yes, I did,” she replied, and fished the piece from her pocket. “It isn’t quite