The Unintended Groom

Colette glanced at Abby, then back at the ground again. “I—I am so sorry, mademoiselle, but he is here.”

“Who’s here? The man who kept my post?”

“No, mademoiselle. Mr. Kingsley.”

“Mr. Kingsley?” Abby frowned, then her eyes bounced open at the recognition of the name. “Mr. Kingsley is here? Now?”

“Oui. I am sorry.” Remorse crackled through Colette’s voice. “That telegram came several days back, but I forget to give it to you. When I went to wash my dress just now, I found it.” Colette rattled on, intermingling French with English.

Abby heard nothing more as she looked down at her soaked apron and the simple blue dress she wore to do chores in. She caught Colette’s gaze glossed over with unshed tears. Her heart went out to the poor girl who tried so hard, but always seemed to fall short. She looped arms with Colette and headed toward the door. “Don’t you go crying now, you hear? I know you didn’t mean to forget. Nothing in this life is worth fretting over. Everything will work out the way it’s supposed to. God has a plan. Even in this.” Abby encouraged her, sincerely hoping she could take some of her own advice. What was she going to do? He was here!

Well, she couldn’t let that bother her. He was here, so she might as well go ahead and make the best of it. She just hoped and prayed he wasn’t one of those snobbish businessmen like the city council members were, one who would surely look down his nose at her attire and might even judge her for it. Nothing in his letters indicated he was. But even if he was, she decided as they headed to the door, that was his problem, not hers.

Realizing she still had a hold of Colette’s arm, Abby let it go, but her attention stayed riveted on the sixteen-year-old girl, looking for any sign that she felt better. The frown on the young girl’s heart-shaped face disappeared, and Abby was glad to see it. “Are you all right now?”

A moment and Colette nodded.

“Good.” Abby smiled, and without looking where she was going, she stepped into the hallway and turned right. Her body collided into a granite wall of flesh and stumbled backward.

Something warm, strong, yet gentle secured her arm.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I wasn’t watching where I was—” Words escaped her the instant her eyes landed on the sculptured face of the handsome man gazing down at her, still holding her arm.

He looked every bit as startled as she was. “Are you all right, miss?”

“I’m—I’m fine. Thank you.” She straightened. Only mere inches from him, her eyes never drifted from his. Something was different about his eyes. Abby looked at one, then the other. One was minutely wider, and the other looked like it hadn’t quite awakened yet because the outer half of his eyelid rested against his eyelashes a little heavier than the other one did.

That wasn’t what was different about them, though.

Abby placed her fingertip on her lip. It was something else. Then she spotted it. Her mouth formed into an O. Both eyes were grayish-blue except the right one. A third of the lower iris was hazel. The amber color started small at his pupil, but spread out, ending with the same grayish-blue as the rest of his eye. She had never seen anything like that before. “I’m sorry for staring, but you have very unusual eyes. They’re quite beautiful.”

Those same eyes, surrounded by long but straight medium brown eyelashes, twinkled. “Thank you.” He said it like he meant it, but his closed-lipped smile didn’t stretch very far. Far enough, though, to reveal a crescent-moon line on one side of his half-full lips and a quarter-crescent moon on the other. “Could you please tell me where I might find Miss Abigail Bowen?”

“Abigail? Oh. Oh. Yes. I’m Abby.” She waved her hand at her momentary lapse into forgetfulness because no one ever called her Abigail. Except her mother, and that was only when Abby was in trouble.

Surprise flounced across his face, and his attention drifted over her again, starting with her feet and ending at her hair. “You’re Miss Bowen?” One of his eyebrows peaked.

Hey. She knew she looked a mess, but the man didn’t need to be so blatantly rude with his disapproving perusal of her. Abby pushed her shoulders back and stood as tall as her five-foot-six-inch frame would allow. “Yes, sir, I am.”

Once again, his gaze roamed over her.

This time, she wouldn’t let it steal her joy or her peace.

If he didn’t approve of what he saw, again, that was his problem, not hers. But in all fairness, the man did have a good reason to be shocked. He probably wasn’t expecting to see her looking like a scullery maid, especially since from his perspective, she should have been waiting to meet him for the first time. “Please forgive my appearance. Because of an oversight, I didn’t get word of your arrival until a moment ago, so you caught me in the middle of cleaning.”

“So I see.” A chuckle vibrated through his low, brassy voice. “Well, Miss Bowen. I’m Harrison Kingsley.” He reached for her hand.

Abby quickly tucked both her hands behind her back. “Trust me, Mr. Kingsley. You do not want to touch these hands. They’ve been in soapy water all morning and probably feel pricklier than pig bristles.” And the rest of her, she was certain looked even worse. Oh, well, couldn’t be helped. She had a lot to do. If his time was as valuable to him as hers was to her, rather than keep him waiting while she cleaned up, she decided to go ahead and get right down to business. “Colette, would you make some tea and bring it to the parlor?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.” Colette curtsied.

“Thank you.” Abby spoke to Colette’s retreating back before she turned and faced Mr. Kingsley. What a fine specimen of a man he was. Like one of the heroes in the dime novels she often read. Only she hoped he wasn’t as stuffy as some of the heroes in those books seemed to be.

She couldn’t help but wonder, if instead of the dark blue three-piece suit Mr. Kingsley had on, what would he look like in a blue plaid shirt, denim blue jeans, Hyer boots and a black Stetson? No. Nix the cowboy hat. It would cover up that lovely head of medium brown hair. Abby liked the way he parted it—not on the side, not in the center, but in between the two, and straight in line with the inside of his right eyebrow.

She pried her attention from his broad-shouldered frame. “Shall we?” Abby swayed her upward palm toward the direction of the parlor. At his nod, she headed that way, tucking the loose strands of hair back into place as she went.

Having someone as handsome and fine-looking as Mr. Kingsley for a business partner was going to be a lot harder than she had anticipated. She’d always been a sucker for a handsome face. Probably due to all those romance novels she’d read. A handsome face didn’t guarantee happiness, though, as she had discovered with David. The most important elements in any human being were their hearts and their souls.

While that was definitely true, a quick glance at the gorgeous man standing in front of her, and she knew because of the romantic nature in her, she would have to work very hard at keeping her focus on business, or she might very well risk opening up her heart. Having done that once before, she refused to do it again. Therefore, her hopeless romantic notions would have to stay locked deep inside her heart, tucked away safely, even from herself. No. Make that especially from herself.

Chapter Two

Harrison’s footsteps thumped on the old hardwood floor that was in need of a good polishing, ricocheting off the walls of the large mansion as he followed Miss Bowen to the parlor. The place was almost barren. There wasn’t much furniture and the walls were empty.

As they made their way toward the parlor, he marveled that the woman hadn’t even offered to go and clean up first. The little beauty was an unpretentious woman, and he liked that. Back in Boston he was surrounded by ostentatious women. The type of women he would rather avoid.

His possible new business partner wasn’t anything like them, or what he had expected. He’d expected a woman of sophistication. Pious and haughty like his ex-fiancée, Prudence Whitsburg. Not a veritable maid who smelled of cleaning soap and dust.

Yellow strands of hair had come loose from her bun. Some of them clung to her damp, yet slender neck. Black smudges brushed across her lightly freckled nose and above her delicately arched eyebrows. Yet none of that deterred her beauty from shining through. Her sapphire eyes smiled even when her lips didn’t, and long medium brown eyelashes surrounded them. Her bottom lip was slightly fuller than the upper one, and when she smiled, straight white teeth sparkled back at him.

They reached the parlor door and stepped inside. Harrison held back his shock. The only pieces of furniture in the expansive room were a worn-out, faded, blue settee, a matching wing-back chair in the same shape as the settee, a scratched and marred coffee table and a small, round table with a blue globe oil lamp sitting on a white-and-blue doily.

His attention went to the massive fireplace. Several framed photographs lined the mantel, along with two oil lamps, one on each end. Other than that, the room was almost empty. Nothing hung on these walls, either. He didn’t know if this was where she planned on opening her business or not. They hadn’t gotten that far. But if it was, it was going to take a lot of money to fix this place up. More than he had right now. And that made him more nervous than he wanted to admit, even to himself.

“Mr. Kingsley, won’t you be seated?” Miss Bowen’s voice reverberated throughout the empty room and thankfully yanked his attention away from where his taxing thoughts were heading.

She motioned for him to sit. When he reached the chair, he noticed how clean it was. How clean the whole room was. Even the bare windows sparkled. He sat down and was amazed at how comfortable the aged chair actually was.

Miss Bowen sat across from him on the settee, facing him.

The young girl who she’d told to get tea entered the room. She set a tray with a teapot, two cups and saucers, and a plate of cookies with some sort of filling in the centers on the coffee table in front of them. She went right to work pouring the tea into the cups and serving it along with two cookies on the side.

“Thank you, Colette.”

The girl turned.

“Don’t leave just yet, Colette.”

Colette faced them, nodded and waited.

Abby looked over at him and asked, “Mr. Kingsley, would you like to join us for dinner this evening?”

He saw no reason not to. “I would like that. Thank you.”

She smiled and turned her attention back to her maid. “Would you tell Veronique we’ll be having a guest join us for dinner this evening?”

“Oui, mademoiselle.” With a quick curtsy, Colette left the room.