congenial company.”
“Perhaps,” Caroline returned grudgingly, but she was
ensnared by her own curiosity, and her uncle knew it. He
chuckled.
“Go put on something fetching. And why don’t you
order some new gowns from the modiste? I have the name of a
fashionable one, on Tremont Street. You can hardly have a
successful season here without a few frocks and fripperies.”
Caroline was astute enough to know she was being
bought, and she fleetingly wondered why. She pushed the question
out of her mind, for the prospect of new gowns was too tempting to
resist. And she did need them, if she was to be seen in society at
all. The fashions in Boston were quite different.
Caroline hurriedly bestowed a kiss on her uncle’s
cheek.
“Thank you, uncle.” She left the
room, determined to forget about Ian Campbell. He was a stranger,
and as her uncle had said, a penniless doctor at that.
Caroline paused, recalling Ian’s ready smile, his
cheerful good nature with a little twist of longing. No, she barely
knew him. And all things considered, perhaps it should stay that
way.
CHAPTER SIX
Rupert gazed out at the rain-washed streets of
Boston and sighed contentedly. He’d only been working for Henry
Moore for a week, but already he loved his work and his adopted
city.
“Have you finished those yet?” Aubrey, Henry’s
personal clerk and office manager, glanced at him with ill
disguised impatience. “Accounts are dull work, I’m sure, but they
must be done.”
“Far from dull,” Rupert replied civilly. The other
clerks had not warmed to him, and Rupert knew why. He was
uneducated, from the backwoods of Canada, and he’d been given a job
most promising young men would struggle for.
He also saw the glint of suspicion in Aubrey’s eyes,
the fear for his own job. There was no hiding that Henry favored
his brother-in-law, even if he insisted on giving him the most
menial of office tasks. Whenever Henry came into the offices, he
spoke with Rupert, joked with him even. The other clerks
seethed.
“ Compared to ploughing fields, this
is positively scintillating,” Rupert added. As a joke, it fell
flat, reminding the other man of his own inadequate
background.
“Not a farmer, then, are you?” Aubrey sneered.
“No.” A pang of guilt assailed him, for he knew
farming was honest work and worse, how much his father had longed
for him to continue on at Mingarry Farm.
Rupert glanced down at his neat row of figures. Yes,
he was happy tallying numbers for Henry, but his eye was on greater
things. He spent his free time reading newspapers or listening to
the talk on the docks, in the public houses, even outside the
gentlemen’s clubs. A word here, a tip there, and he found he was
already discovering new investment opportunities. He looked forward
to telling Henry of his plans, when the time was right.
“Ready?” Charles, one of the junior clerks, walked
up to Aubrey. Rupert knew they were all going to the Union Oyster
House, as they did every Saturday night. So far he had not been
invited. He wanted the amity of his coworkers, yet he understood
why it was not forthcoming and he was honest to acknowledge that he
valued his own ambition more.
“ I’m finished.” Rupert pushed the
figures towards Aubrey, who nodded shortly. “I’ll check them on
Monday. It’s too late now.” As if that were Rupert’s fault, when
the figures had only been given him half an hour ago.
He shrugged easily, refusing to be baited. Charles
shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t suppose you want to join us,
MacDougall?”
Aubrey glanced at the younger man
sharply. No doubt Charles would pay for his moment of grace.Rupert
smiled with regret. “Another time, perhaps. I’m afraid I’m already
engaged this evening.” Even if he were not, he wouldn’t go with the
other men. Not yet. Not till he’d proven himself, and won their
respect.
Aubrey nodded. “Of course. You’re dining on the
hill, I suppose?” The sneer, Rupert knew, masked
“Perhaps,” Caroline returned grudgingly, but she was
ensnared by her own curiosity, and her uncle knew it. He
chuckled.
“Go put on something fetching. And why don’t you
order some new gowns from the modiste? I have the name of a
fashionable one, on Tremont Street. You can hardly have a
successful season here without a few frocks and fripperies.”
Caroline was astute enough to know she was being
bought, and she fleetingly wondered why. She pushed the question
out of her mind, for the prospect of new gowns was too tempting to
resist. And she did need them, if she was to be seen in society at
all. The fashions in Boston were quite different.
Caroline hurriedly bestowed a kiss on her uncle’s
cheek.
“Thank you, uncle.” She left the
room, determined to forget about Ian Campbell. He was a stranger,
and as her uncle had said, a penniless doctor at that.
Caroline paused, recalling Ian’s ready smile, his
cheerful good nature with a little twist of longing. No, she barely
knew him. And all things considered, perhaps it should stay that
way.
CHAPTER SIX
Rupert gazed out at the rain-washed streets of
Boston and sighed contentedly. He’d only been working for Henry
Moore for a week, but already he loved his work and his adopted
city.
“Have you finished those yet?” Aubrey, Henry’s
personal clerk and office manager, glanced at him with ill
disguised impatience. “Accounts are dull work, I’m sure, but they
must be done.”
“Far from dull,” Rupert replied civilly. The other
clerks had not warmed to him, and Rupert knew why. He was
uneducated, from the backwoods of Canada, and he’d been given a job
most promising young men would struggle for.
He also saw the glint of suspicion in Aubrey’s eyes,
the fear for his own job. There was no hiding that Henry favored
his brother-in-law, even if he insisted on giving him the most
menial of office tasks. Whenever Henry came into the offices, he
spoke with Rupert, joked with him even. The other clerks
seethed.
“ Compared to ploughing fields, this
is positively scintillating,” Rupert added. As a joke, it fell
flat, reminding the other man of his own inadequate
background.
“Not a farmer, then, are you?” Aubrey sneered.
“No.” A pang of guilt assailed him, for he knew
farming was honest work and worse, how much his father had longed
for him to continue on at Mingarry Farm.
Rupert glanced down at his neat row of figures. Yes,
he was happy tallying numbers for Henry, but his eye was on greater
things. He spent his free time reading newspapers or listening to
the talk on the docks, in the public houses, even outside the
gentlemen’s clubs. A word here, a tip there, and he found he was
already discovering new investment opportunities. He looked forward
to telling Henry of his plans, when the time was right.
“Ready?” Charles, one of the junior clerks, walked
up to Aubrey. Rupert knew they were all going to the Union Oyster
House, as they did every Saturday night. So far he had not been
invited. He wanted the amity of his coworkers, yet he understood
why it was not forthcoming and he was honest to acknowledge that he
valued his own ambition more.
“ I’m finished.” Rupert pushed the
figures towards Aubrey, who nodded shortly. “I’ll check them on
Monday. It’s too late now.” As if that were Rupert’s fault, when
the figures had only been given him half an hour ago.
He shrugged easily, refusing to be baited. Charles
shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t suppose you want to join us,
MacDougall?”
Aubrey glanced at the younger man
sharply. No doubt Charles would pay for his moment of grace.Rupert
smiled with regret. “Another time, perhaps. I’m afraid I’m already
engaged this evening.” Even if he were not, he wouldn’t go with the
other men. Not yet. Not till he’d proven himself, and won their
respect.
Aubrey nodded. “Of course. You’re dining on the
hill, I suppose?” The sneer, Rupert knew, masked
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