One

1879

Pinnacles of Grace

HONORINE CAMDEN WASN’T inclined to public outbursts of exuberance. Her younger sister Isabelle decided she needed to make a change as her mother passed through the door leading out from the platforms of Wallflower Subway Station. “Race you to Father’s office?”

“What did you say, my dear?” Mother asked.

When Isabelle slipped through the entrance, Honorine hiked her skirts up, and sprinted after her.

Restlessness had stirred in Honorine all morning. Her day had gone from fine to worse since breakfast. Her visit to Lady Bascomb’s home to ask assistance with her application to Bedford College—the premier women’s college in nearby London—had only met with failure.

Glad she had left the bustle out of her ensemble, Honorine ran, ignoring her mother’s scolding cry, “Isabelle, Honorine, come back this instant!”

The exasperation in her mother’s voice said Isabelle’s sixteen years was too old for such play. Honorine knew she should agree, yet her edginess welcomed the outlet. Her skirts slowing her down and turning her run into more of a fast stroll, she weaved through the crowded subway terminal, ignoring annoyed responses from everyone she passed. Isabelle had the advantage of thinner underskirts and shorter heels. Honorine was determined to catch up.

“Everett?”

Did she hear someone speak her father’s name?

“Look out!”

Watching her feet, and a small radius ahead, a blur of black and a flash of red hair registered at the last second before Honorine slammed into a man’s hard body. Strong hands steadied her and she blinked at her living obstacle.

“Miss Camden, are you hurt?”

The tall man, somewhat portly, but with a handsome face, and a perfectly combed mop of red hair she’d collided with was her father’s second in command. “Oh. Shane. Uh, Mr. MacIntyre.” She glanced to the other men with him, her father and … the third fellow’s name was Johnson—maybe? Flustered, she recognized him only as a railway man or other. Oh, her father was going to kill her, she was sure! How should she cover her gaffe? “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

***

Mr. Jefferson had arrived at Wallflower Station at three-thirty and set to inspecting the facility. Shane stood by watching the overseer, trying desperately to hold back his annoyance at Jefferson’s reaction to the station’s atmosphere, one he’d long since grown used to. Dressed in a fine pearl gray jacket with a matching hat atop his gray hair, Mr. Jefferson cursed as he brushed soot from his sleeve. His thick nose scrunched as he snorted to clear it. “Damnable nuisance!”

Shane sighed to himself. Now you know why we wear black all the time. Mr. Jefferson’s work took place around London’s train and subway yards, he should know better. Even if he spent most of his time in the upper offices, Shane knew it was hard to escape the black soot the trains belched out.

Where the London, Brighton, & South Coast Railways sent this buffoon in from, he hadn’t a clue. If anyone asked his opinion, Shane thought Jefferson looked a bit like a turkey, round at his stomach, with a flap of skin hanging from his chin. He had trouble not breathing open-mouthed, too. He’d probably never done manual labor a day in his life. Shane did, now and again. Everett too, though Everett was called on less these days to hook up train cars, and switch tracks, than in the early days when Wallflower was an even smaller station in their little burg on the quiet outskirts of southern London.

“I apologize, Mr. Jefferson,” Everett said. “There’s little to be done about the soot, at the present time.”

“There’s something you might want to work on.”

Everett dipped his head. “Yes sir. I hear some gents in America are working on equipping the trains to run on electricity.”

The mention of America’s subway system was just the prompt Shane hoped for. “It would be a shame for Her Majesty’s subway system to fall behind. I do believe we can outfit—”

“And how do you propose we do it, Mr. MacIntyre? With what?” Jefferson frowned. “Electricity is too damned expensive to succeed. Coal is the better power source. Top of the line, wouldn’t you say, Camden?”

Everett conceded his point with a shrug. “You’re right, of course, sir. My assistant has read too much penny fiction.”

Shane bristled at the overseer’s treatment of his boss. He hated to see Everett so browbeaten. Rather than taking vocal issue, he steered the conversation in another direction. “When you first arrived, sir, you said you’d had another reason for your visit.”

“Ah, yes. Thank you for reminding me. Gentlemen, I’ve an idea in mind. Your personnel have done a fine job getting Wallflower Station up to scratch—and on a speedy schedule into the bargain. With their help, we’ve built the finest station in London. I believe they deserve something to reward their efforts. I think a celebration, of some sort, might be in order.”

Shane listened politely, as he explained, but a celebration? He didn’t agree, “I think they would appreciate a raise more, sir.”

“A raise? You’ve no sense of fun at all, MacIntyre. They need to forget their troubles for a while. Relax.” Jefferson hooked his thumbs into his lapels. “Camden, what do you think of my plan?”

“For a celebration? I must say it’s kind of you, sir, to think of our men…”

As they made their way toward the main doors, Shane had no suggestions to give, sure their employees wouldn’t appreciate Jefferson’s idea. Unless he proposed picking up the tab for a round at the pub. He doubted Jefferson had that in mind. Knowing he’d only cause trouble if he protested, Shane held his silence.

The platform entrance door opened. Three women entered. Everett’s daughters Isabelle, and most importantly, Honorine, ran toward them. Mrs. Camden called them back, clearly perturbed. He wondered why they ran, but Honorine’s laugh told him all he needed to know.

As soon as Shane saw her, he lost all sense of the thread of what her father was saying.

Shane cleared his throat. “Everett?” He nodded toward the women, even as Honorine slammed into him. “Whoa!”

“Oh!” Honorine Camden paused.

“I say!”

The three men parted like a breaking wave. Mr. Jefferson peered at her, and grumbled under his breath.

The young woman who caused all the trouble stared at him, her violet eyes rounded in surprise. “M… Mr. MacIntyre, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”

“Honorine, be careful!” Mrs. Camden snapped. “Really, girls. Forgive them, Mr. MacIntyre. My daughters sometimes forget they’re not children anymore.” She glared at her daughters. “And that young ladies don’t run wild!”

No, she certainly wasn’t a child anymore. When they’d found themselves together in the past—for instance, when her father invited him to join them for lunch—Shane had never been so impolite as to ask her exact age. He thought Honorine was around eighteen years old.

Everett’s face lit up with joy and he instantly went to his wife’s side, as if she pulled him by a golden thread. “They’re just having a bit of fun, Adella. Mr. Jefferson, Mr. MacIntyre, you remember my wife and daughters.”

“Of course Shane does,” Isabelle said. “We saw him just yesterday, Father.”

Shane released Honorine’s arms and stepped back, affecting a bow. “Miss Camden, how nice it is to see you again.”

She held his gaze for a moment. “And you, Mr. MacIntyre.” She greeted Mr. Jefferson and mumbled an apology.

“No harm done.” He tipped his hat to them.

“No harm done, except to his shoes.” Isabelle giggled.

“As I was saying, I think your men would appreciate the idea.”

“What idea, Father?”

“We’re thinking of holding a party for them.”

Honorine perked up. “Party? I know just the thing.” She looked at Mr. Jefferson. “If you wouldn’t mind a woman’s input.”

Jefferson glanced from her to Everett, then again to her. “Should you wish to contribute, Miss Camden, I don’t see the harm.” He tipped his hat to her, spoke a farewell to her father and strolled off.

“Well now. How auspicious you should arrive now.” Everett threaded his arm around his wife’s waist. “But I’ll be home in a few hours.”

“True, but we had visits to make,” Mrs. Camden said. “And I thought, why not come back this way? Perhaps we can share a short break with you.”

“Visits, or were you off spending your pin money on trinkets?”

“Visits, dear. We met Viola for lunch.” Mrs. Camden released him and flicked a hair out of her eyes. “Shall I have her corroborate for you?”

He started to say something, then took Isabelle’s hand and slipped it under his arm. “That won’t be necessary. Shane?”

It took a moment for Shane to realize Everett had called his name, and tear his attention away from Honorine, who fussed with a loose, dark hair brushing across her pert nose.

“Yes, sir?”

“Have you plans for dinner tonight?”

“The usual, sir.” Which meant another visit to Half Moon Inn before he returned home. Though, judging by his reflection in the mirror this morning, he could skip a dinner or two in favor of a brisk run like the Camden girls had just executed.

Though he’d hardly be as charming in the endeavor as Honorine was, he was sure.

Everett winked at Honorine. “Change them. Come dine with us tonight.”

“And about the rest of the working day, sir?”

“You’re right, of course.” Everett released his wife and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sorry, my dear. We’re too busy to stop, just now. Take the girls home, Adella. Shane and I will join you at the usual time.”

Honorine attended to her father’s answer but held her silence even as her sister added her own plea. Shane continued to study her. Was the blush on her cheeks from her run, the chill outside, or something else?

She must have felt herself under scrutiny because she looked up. Shane put a hand to his heart and tipped his head.

Honorine fondled her small flower pin, and turned her attention back to her mother. So, Shane did likewise, wondering if he’d missed anything important.

Regret slid across Mrs. Camden’s face. “Are you sure you can’t leave? The girls and I had hoped you would accompany us home.”

“Please, Papa?” Isabelle said.

Shane noticed real regret on Everett’s face, fleeting, but there nonetheless. “You go on, Everett,” he said. “I can deal with things here.”

“I can’t make you carry my load alone. We’ve still several hours of work ahead.” Everett again touched Isabelle’s hand. “Come dear, you and your sister be good girls for me, and take your mother home. We’ll see you soon.”

Everett followed his family to the front doors and hailed a cab for them. Shane noticed Honorine didn’t leave the station without a backward glance and a smile sent in his direction.

***

A party. For the men of her father’s station. As Honorine found herself still too restive she mentally cataloged ideas, ignoring Wallflower’s flood of traffic—carts, horses, men and women filled the streets—as they moved along.

Food, music, place. Date.

Will November 29th be too soon?

“What is wrong, Honorine?” her mother asked.

She looked from the window, to her mother. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You’ve too much energy.” Mother harrumphed. “No wonder, when you run wild like a hoyden. You know you shouldn’t do such a thing.”

“I’m sorry, Mother. But it was Isabelle who—”

Mother went right on with her rant. “And? Do you not recall you are her example? Where else is she to learn proper behavior of a young lady but from you. You’ve already set a bad example with—” She paused, but Honorine knew what she’d been about to add to her list. “Suffice it to say, I’m utterly disappointed in you.” Mother turned her glare on Isabelle. “Both of you.”

“That’s not why, Mother.” Though Isabelle looked worried. “The smoke from the subway is no doubt to blame.”

“The smoke made you run into the station?” The air in the station was far cleaner than that on the platforms. Honorine started to remind her mother of this but her mother grumbled under her breath. “I’d rather think it would send you seeking fresh air. Pity your father didn’t plan to become a barrister.”

Spending all day in a stuffy courtroom hardly would help one find fresh air. Pointing this out would only spark an argument, so Honorine held her tongue.

“I thought you didn’t like him working,” Isabelle said. “The truth comes out: you wanted him to be a groundskeeper.”

“Isabelle!”

“Well?” Honorine said and knew her mother couldn’t deny she’d rather he was a gentleman.

“He needn’t work, after all. Anywhere.”

“No, he needn’t. But he enjoys it.”

“Enjoys it?” Mother scoffed.

Honorine remembered the story of his announcement he planned to take on a profession. Though it shocked his family and his then-young wife, he insisted he was doing so for his own reasons: he adored trains. And when the queen’s men suggested an underground version of the railways, he was first to volunteer to oversee the work. He didn’t care what people thought of him. This was his labor of love.

Honorine admired him even more for his conviction.

Her father worked hard for their comfort and he loved managing a subway station. It helped them afford their two-story, if small, home Honorine loved and the cook, who doubled as a maid, who helped her mother run it, and their governess, Miss Pett, a French-born English immigrant who had joined the family when Honorine finished her dame school education. She’d been tutoring the girls in various subjects ever since.

As soon as they reached their home, Isabelle helped Honorine out of the carriage and, once inside, both girls removed their coats. As Honorine entered the kitchen, she wondered what lesson Miss Pett was planning to bore Isabelle with tomorrow.

Isabelle paused before the stove, holding her hands out to the heat.

The scent of spices, flours, and gravy filled Honorine’s nose, yet she ignored the tasty temptation, to fit in beside her sister, relishing the stove’s warmth.

Mother looked over the various bowls and utensils then addressed their cook. “Agatha, we’re having a guest for dinner tonight.”

Agatha, who doubled as both cook and housekeeper, studied the joint of mutton she seasoned, and the other ingredients piled near the cutting board.

“I know. It’s going to be a stretch. But we must make do.”

The cook dipped her head in obeisance. “Very good, ma’am.”

Honorine exchanged a glance with her sister and shrugged. The mutton would be enough to feed them all, plus the neighbors, Honorine suspected.

“What was your father thinking?” Mother took up the subject again. “What will happen between now and when he arrives? He’s likely to invite the entire London, Brighton, and South Coast Railway board home with him.”

Honorine wrung her hands before her. “I can take a smaller portion, if it will ensure Mr. MacIntyre has plenty.”

“No.” Mother touched her shoulder. “Lunch at the inn’s expense is fine and good, but I won’t have that strange man taking food from my daughters’ mouths.”

“He’s not a strange man, Mother.” Honorine nodded to Isabelle. “He’s our friend and Father’s employee.”

Mother paused, studying Isabelle. “Yet, you were not the one to invite him; your father did.”

This meant she couldn’t send Mr. MacIntyre home without supper as she might if Honorine or Isabelle had suggested inviting him.

Agatha slid another bowl forward. Isabelle gasped, for the bowl contained a supply of peeled potatoes. “Oh, Mother! We can’t serve those tonight.”

Confusion flitted across their mother’s features. “Whatever do you mean?”

Isabelle crossed to the woman and plucked a potato free. “These, Mother. They’re cursed, as far as Sha—I mean, Mr. MacIntyre might be concerned. Have you forgotten?”

“Forgotten what? I thought he was Scottish.”

“His mother is but when she married his father they moved to Ireland.”

Mother’s gaze grew distant, even as she stared at the potato-filled bowl. “I see.”

“He’s half and half, actually.”

“I gathered that.” Mother cut her off, not bothering to question, as Honorine once had, exactly from where on the island Shane hailed. “I’m sure Mr. MacIntyre will realize we didn’t have time to rearrange the menu for specific needs.” Mother waved a hand at the cook. “Agatha, do as you were about to.”

Worry etching itself into her pretty face, Isabelle crossed to Honorine and lowered her voice. “There’s nothing for it. You’ll have to keep him distracted, so he won’t notice what she’s giving him. Maybe you can tell him to come later tonight.” A smile played around her sister’s lips. “I’ll tell Miss Pett to leave your window unlocked for him.”

Honorine was so surprised, she laughed aloud. She paced to the table in the parlor, and rifled through the mail. No response had arrived from Lady Bascomb with this afternoon’s post. Honorine supposed she expected too much. Lady Bascomb hadn’t been her friend lately, not since her cousin jilted Honorine last year.

All she needed was the name of which college department head would be most inclined to her application to their Botany program. Even a last name would do. Initials? So far, the woman declined to answer her.

While Isabelle read selections of Alice in Wonderland aloud, Honorine spent the rest of the day pondering ideas, checking in magazines and books, for ideas on what she might do for her father’s men. Doubt crept over her. How to handle planning this party on her own? The sun set, and though she’d usually settle in with sewing in hand or a book—she hoped to finish a re-read of Jane Austen’s Sense & Sensibility soon—they had a guest. So, Honorine sat on the stool before her vanity, braiding her hair, unbraiding it. Finally, she tied the front away from her face with a turquoise satin ribbon. Then she tore the ribbon out and tossed it to her vanity. The satin fluttered down to settle over her powder pot. “Stupid hair!”

What was wrong with her tonight? She’d never had so much trouble readying herself for dinner before. She’d just have to pin it back and be satisfied.

“I need serious help.”

“No you don’t.” Isabelle studied her, a hand to her chin as she thought. She was already dressed and perfectly put together. “What’s wrong with the dress you’re wearing?”

She looked down at the off-white cotton skirt. “It’s old?”

Isabelle proceeded to make Honorine stand and fluffed the skirt. “Shane won’t mind.”

“Why do you think Father invited him to dinner?”

“I don’t know. Surely anything business related he can just say it at the station.”

“I’ve no doubt.” Honorine stared at her sister’s reflection: A few inches shorter than her, they shared the same dark hair, though Isabelle’s face favored a softer oval than the contours of Honorine’s, affected by the baby fat she hadn’t completely shed. She was having trouble fighting all the blemishes that Honorine had grown out of—mostly. “You don’t think he’s going to give Mr. MacIntyre his position at the station, do you?”

Isabelle’s fingers stilled. “For what purpose?”

“Perhaps he’s bored of the profession. It would be prudent to leave it in the hands of someone he trusted.”

“If so, I doubt he would’ve invited Shane to dinner. Likely, it’s something far more mundane. He probably wants to give Mother a chance to get to know Shane better. Since he’s ensconced with Father and his railway, it’s logical.”

“Is it?”

Isabelle picked the ribbon from the vanity and weaved it into Honorine’s coiled hair. “I’m sure to Father it must be. Besides, his visit will afford you time to continue your acquaintance. I wouldn’t discount that.”

Oh, she didn’t. If the night gave her any chance to converse with Mr. MacIntyre, she didn’t plan to let it go to waste.

The clap of the front door closing and voices downstairs drew their attention to the hallway. Isabelle tied off the ribbon and ran down the staircase. Honorine was right behind her, if trying for more dignity this time.

When they hit the middle of the stairs, Honorine found her mother leading her father and their guest toward the parlor threshold.

“What smells so scrumptious?” her father asked.

Shane bowed to her and her sister. “Miss Camden.”

Honorine’s skin tingled as he kissed her hand. When he released her, she balled her hand in her skirt. “It’s good to see you again, Sh—Mr. MacIntyre.”

Father offered him something to drink, and made sure he settled in until dinner was announced, then turned his attention to her. “What have you been doing this afternoon, my dear?”

“Just a bit of mending and some reading.”

“Poetry?” Shane asked.

“We were reading Carroll.”

“Ah, an appropriate subject. I’ve seen several maidens chasing rabbits down into their rabbit holes.”

His statement elicited a curious “what?” from her father.

“After their pocket watches,” Honorine guessed.

“Precisely.” Shane winked at her. “Just today, in fact, one ran right into me trying to trap a wily cottontail.”

Honorine giggled, covered it with her hand, but studied him. He still wore his black coat of earlier and she was glad to see it. After all, there was no reason for him to make a special trip home to change, not for their informal dinner.

“I’m sure you have a legend or two about strange wildlife.” Isabelle glanced to her out of the corner of her eye. “My sister tells me you haven’t shared them with her. How is that possible, Shane?”

“You mustn’t believe what Edwin says about me.” Shane looked her over and Honorine felt warmth flush over her skin. “He exaggerates.”

“Mr. Hetherington isn’t to blame,” Isabelle scolded. “I’ve been in drawing rooms where you’ve told some of your long tales myself.”

“Speaking of tales.” He reached into his coat pocket. “I’ve been meaning to return your book.”

Honorine glanced to the cover. It wasn’t a novel or book of poetry, but the herbal dictionary she’d loaned him. “How did you like it?”

“What I’ve had a chance to read, I found interesting.”

“What you’ve had a chance to read?” His hesitation alone told her he wasn’t entirely truthful. When she opened the book, his bookmark fell out. “But you’re only halfway through.”

A little color tinged his cheeks. “Yes, and you see how busy I’ve been. I should’ve finished it ages ago.”

“Keep it as long as you need.” She held the book out to him.

“Surely, you need it back.”

“I can part with it a while longer.”

Surprise flitted over his face but he nodded. “As you wish.”

She handed the book to Miss Pett. “Can you put this with Mr. MacIntyre’s coat, please?”

The governess nodded and exited the room just as Agatha announced dinner.

Isabelle wrapped an arm through Honorine’s and followed her parents to the dining room. “You don’t really mean to make him read that do you?”

Honorine glanced to Shane, and hoped he didn’t see her laugh. “I wonder how long he’ll try to convince me he’s interested in the topic.”

“Honorine, you are wicked. On the other hand, he will have to return it to you. That might not be a bad thing.”

Honorine saw where her sister was leading the topic. Still, to say extending a loan of a book she’d leant him months ago meant anything at all? Let Isabelle have her romantic ideas. Honorine had given up on romantic daydreaming a while ago.

“Do you still find him handsome?”

Honorine blinked at her sister. “When did I say any such thing?”

“I saw you looking back at him this afternoon.”

Oh, bother. She didn’t realize someone noticed. “He’s agreeable.”

“Nothing more?”

“Belle, I’ve hardly spent an hour in his presence!”

“I thought three months altogether, given how many times over the years Father has invited him to join us when we go out to lunch.”

Honorine blinked. Would their brief acquaintance add up to such a long time?

Isabelle relinquished her hand. “When you’ve had a chance to decide, let me know.”

Shane cleared his throat behind her where he had one hand on the back of her chair. “Miss Honorine?”

Honorine started, wide-eyed. Had he overheard what Isabelle said?

“Sit there, Shane.” Isabelle pointed to the chair next to which he stood.

“So you can block the door, should I want to run?” He winked at Honorine.

Flustered, Honorine swept her skirts out of the way, and sat.

“No, here, Mr. MacIntyre.” Her mother pointed to the chair beside which she sat.

Shane took the seat next to her, as she had directed.

Isabelle hid a laugh behind her napkin.

Their dinner passed uneventfully, with her father carrying most of the conversation. Mother chimed in with questions for Shane. Honorine had to wonder, did she ask out of her own curiosity? Or because she sensed Honorine’s tongue tied itself in knots? Silly of you, she scolded herself. Why should he push all thoughts of polite conversation from her mind now? They’d spoken so easily together before.

Think! What did we discuss the last time we met?

Her mind had gone utterly blank.

Two

The Plan

HONORINE WAS SO talkative the last time he’d had lunch with her family, but now, she said very little. Shane was certain he’d done something to offend her. But what? A heavy scent of soot still lingered around him, despite his distance from the station. Did she still smell it? Blast it! There wasn’t much he could do about it now. Should he have offered to spend an extra hour on her porch? In the dark? In the cold?

This wasn’t a good idea. He should’ve bartered a Sunday lunch invitation instead of coming to dinner. Whatever Everett had on his mind, surely it would wait a few days.

Blast it! Next time, tell Everett you’ll come along after him and take ten minutes to bathe! Surely, he’d already offended Honorine’s delicate nose. This is no way to begin, man!

There was no sense in cursing hindsight. Here he sat, and was stuck. Maybe he’d find a way to make amends by the end of the evening.

“How can I decide so soon? Despite your guess, we’re only friends, he and I.”

Honorine’s statement piqued his curiosity.

“All right, then.” Isabelle relinquished her hand. “When you’ve had a chance to consider the question, let me know.”

“Miss Honorine?”

She stood staring at him, her violet blue eyes wide, aghast. Then she looked to the chair he held out for her, thanked him, and took her place. As he stepped back, he winked at Isabelle. He took the seat her mother indicated, by her side, she—and also her sister—firmly between them.

Any further away and I might as well be on the front porch.

In a few heartbeats, their maid entered the dining room, and moved the fine china serving dishes from the sideboard to the center of the table. Everett settled back and allowed the maid to pour pear cordial into his crystal glass. Mrs. Camden had spent much care and time, it seemed, to outfit the table in expensive crystal, china, and silver. Perhaps not as rich as Lady Bascomb’s collection, but comparing it to his own bottom of the line set, Shane didn’t find his friend’s family wanting. The knowledge gave him even more to aspire to. For what would any future wife he might choose expect?

He found his gaze wandering to Honorine.

Mrs. Camden dragged his attention away from her daughter by offering a serving dish to him. “As guest, you may have first choice, Mr. MacIntyre.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” He nodded in thanks, plucked off the delicate china lid—and froze.

Honorine gasped.

Certain words crossed his mind that he knew it best not to repeat in her presence, for the dish held a steaming mound of boiled potatoes.

Shane frowned at the plate. Potatoes? Why potatoes? He peered at the family. Mrs. Camden’s meaning by serving this was clear: She really didn’t like him. But why? What had he ever done to her? He couldn’t think of an answer to that question.

“Oh, Mother,” Isabelle said and shook her head.

“Adella,” Everett said, “really.”

Fine. If she wanted him to eat potatoes, he would. For Everett’s sake, for Miss Camden’s sake he would. He’d done worse things in life. No matter how long you’ve avoided the damnable things, for the stigma of them, if nothing else, one won’t kill you.

He set the dish cover down and picked up his fork, poking at the ones on top.

“No, Shane, don’t bother.” Everett waved a work-hardened hand at the dish. “Agatha, take those away.”

“But—” Mrs. Camden began to protest, but Shane didn’t miss the shock on the two daughters’, nor the anger on the father’s, faces. Mrs. Camden relented with a sigh. “Very well. We can have them for lunch tomorrow. Forgive me, Mr. MacIntyre. I wasn’t thinking.”

Was she not?

He wasn’t blind, after all. He had an idea of exactly what message she’d hoped to send with this particular menu inclusion. He had no doubt she knew he’d been born in the heart of the great Irish famine, or had somehow assumed so.

And she made it clear she was one of those bloody English who had no love or charity for his people.

If she was anyone else, was this any other house and were he not here because his employer had not yet broached why he’d garnered the invitation, Shane might have made a quick exit as politely as possible.

But he was here as her husband’s underling and guest.

For Everett’s sake, for the possibility of continuing his acquaintance with Honorine Camden, for the sake of his career, he ignored the slight.

“There’s nothing to forgive, Madame.” He pointed to another dish. “Pass the parsnips, please?”

The tension lessened and as their dinner continued on, Everett took up most of the slack in the conversation, discussing matters of the railway. Until Mrs. Camden rubbed her temples. “Ev, you’re talking about your business again.”

Her husband paused, and tapped a hand on the table. “I’m sorry, my dear. She’s right, Shane, we can cover all this tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.” Folding his napkin and placing it just so on the table Shane said, “You hinted you might have some idea for the party. But why involve me?”

“And why not?” Everett shot his wife a quelling stare. “You’re as close to the men as anyone else in the station.”

“Other than you, sir.”

“Moreso, and what time do I have to worry about such a thing?”

Shane nodded, and grumbled under his breath, “That’s my question.”

“What I don’t understand,” Mrs. Camden said, “is why you wish us to plan this party, all of a sudden.”

“I suppose you will have to assist them, my dear, but it is Honorine’s project.” Everett rubbed his hands together and took in his daughter. “You haven’t changed your mind about it, have you?”

“Of course not.” Honorine touched a small, dried rosebud pinned to her dress. “I’ve already written down a few ideas, since this afternoon.”

Her father’s lips pursed in a triumphant smirk. “So you see, MacIntyre, that’s why I invited you here. Between you and my daughters, I trust the thing will succeed.”

Shane blinked. “Me, sir?” Was Everett teasing him? “What do I know of planning a party?”

“Oh, come now, MacIntyre, I’ve seen gangs of our motormen around you when you speak. You’re a born entertainer. Don’t deny you’re a good talker. I remember you convincing me to hire you, a scamp who knew nothing about railways.”

He did, at that. Shane smiled at the memory. “Of course I can talk, sir. Talking is a little thing.”

“Not for some people.” Everett looked at Honorine. She looked to her fingers.

“But the whole of the party, sir?” Shane shook his head. “I appreciate your confidence in me, but I can hardly accept the praise.”

“No? Tell me a story, then.”

The old man had gone off his head. “A story, sir?”

“Yes. Prove to me there’s no reason my men flock around you, from time to time.”

Shane glanced at Isabelle. He’s your father. Help me.

Isabelle simply nodded, and in a sentence, proved whose side she was on. “Tell the one about the little dog and the crow’s nest man. Laurie, I think you called it. It’s short, sweet.”

“Lorrie?”

The girl nodded.

They gave him no choice and he started in. It was a wee bit difficult to keep his mind on the story he told when Honorine sat there, a tiny dab of jam from dessert decorating her upper lip. A desire to kiss it off rose. With her whole family watching, he had no chance to act on his impulse. Instead, he met her gaze and swiped at his lip.

Her hands remained firmly in her lap; clearly, she didn’t understand his message.

Smiling over this story wouldn’t do, so he turned his attention to her father as he continued. “Lorrie leapt out of the crow’s nest, intent on the ghosts taunting him.”

Ten minutes later, he concluded with, “The dog’s bark guided the ships safely to shore, and none but the crow’s nest man lost. Sure, some say even today they see the pup frolicking on the shore with the ghost of poor lost Lorrie.”

Honorine sniffled and dabbed at her eyes. Mrs. Camden wiped away a tear.

“There, you see?” Everett puffed up as if he was pleased with himself. “Now how can you tell me, you, who can make my girls weep with such an abbreviated tale, know nothing of entertainments?”

“I never said I don’t know anything about parties, sir.” Shane spread his arms wide. “But planning the party is what you’re after. I suspect far more goes into it than me standing center stage, chattering.”

Every party he’d ever attended had astounded him. The array of food, the musicians, the dancing. The constant conversations and how the hostesses revived one whenever there was a lull. Not to mention how the hostesses could stand to have so many people invade their private parlors. The thought of trying to do the same baffled him.

“It’s only a matter of invitations, music, and food,” Honorine said. “While I’m no cook, I’ve helped Mother at Easter.”

“Yes we have,” Isabelle said. “And some summer gatherings. Many times. I can’t think this would be much different.”

“What do you say, MacIntyre? You’re not going to let my girls take all the glory for this, are you?”

Shane held Honorine’s gaze. If she were to be involved? “I’d rather step off a cliff than say no, sir.”

Will their chance to work together lead to love? Or disaster? You’ll have to read to find out. You can find a copy of Courting the Stationmaster’s Daughter in ebook and paperback at Amazon.

Find out about book 2: Engaging the Heiress, here.

And book 3: Miss Camden Kissed the Duke, here.