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.
Miss Bowen faced him and sighed. “I still can’t get used to her calling me mademoiselle. I finally gave up trying to get her not to. It sounds so formal. But it’s much better than what she used to call me.”
“Oh? What was that?”
“Miss Abigail. That just sounds so stuffy to me.” She wrinkled her cute nose and shook her head. “And so gratingly formal and impersonal. Especially when she and her sisters are more like family to me than hired help.”
Harrison understood exactly what she meant. They had that in common. He oftentimes asked Forsyth the same thing. After all, the man was more like a father to him than a butler. But Forsyth refused, and so Harrison had finally given up, as well. “You said that she and her sisters were like family to you. Do you have any family, Miss Bowen?”
After taking a sip of her tea, she placed the cup onto the saucer and rested it on her lap. “Yes. My father died a long time ago, but my mother recently remarried. I have three older brothers and an older sister, who are all married. Several nieces and nephews, too.” She looked away. The moment was brief, but long enough for him to understand that something she’d said had bothered her. He’d seen it in her eyes. What it was, he didn’t know. Nonetheless, whatever had caused that momentary look of sadness was none of his concern. He was here on business. Not to get involved in her personal life.
“What about you?” Abby asked him.
“There’s just me and my two sons.”
“Sons? Oh.” She took a sip of tea, seeming to take in the news with excitement, worry or concern. He wasn’t sure which. “How old are they?”
“Josiah and Graham will be four August twenty-ninth.”
“Twins?”
“Yes.”
“My brother Michael has twins, too. A boy and a girl.” Affection
