on a soiled cloth, then made a show of scrutinizing her gown. He let out a low whistle. “I gotta say, ma’am, you’re ’bout the prettiest thing I’ve seen so far today. One of these years I’m gonna have to get myself over to Paris. Does everybody over there dress so fancy, the way you do?”
The question, innocent enough, brought her up short. Particularly in light of Monsieur Baird’s earlier comment about her making a “lasting first impression.” Véronique smoothed a hand over the lilac fabric, suddenly self-conscious. It was one of her plainer dresses and by far not a favorite. Yet it was a great deal finer than any other garment she’d seen anyone wearing in this town. Studying Jake Sampson’s attire, she seriously doubted whether he owned a suit or even a shirt of its equal. That realization prompted an unexpected shyness, and she looked away.
She’d lived such a privileged life in comparison to others. How could she have lived that way for so long being blind to that fact?
“ Merci beaucoup . You are most kind, Monsieur Sampson. And I think you would very much adore the ville in which I was born and raised.” It was a safer answer, in light of not knowing what the recent months of war had done to her beloved city. “I offer my apologies for not being here sooner. I was delayed at the hotel but am eager to learn what you have to tell me.” She glanced about. “And to see this carriage you wrote about in your note.”
He gestured toward the back of the livery.
She turned, only to see the same oversized farm wagon she’d noticed the day before. It hosted no canopy, no plush compartment, and no seating other than the wooden bench the driver would occupy. She tried to mask her disappointment, to think of something to say that would ease the silence growing heavier by the second, and failed.
“I know it’s not what you were expectin’, ma’am, and for sure not what you’re used to. But it’ll get you where you’re wantin’ to go—I promise you that.”
The man’s tone had taken on a forced quality that caused Véronique’s face to heat. She crossed the distance to get a closer look at the conveyance, and to hide her embarrassment. The boards of the wagon bed fit flush together—no cracks for sunlight to peek through—and they were connected with thick bolts, some as thick around as her fist. Though she was unfamiliar with such construction, the careful details of Monsieur Sampson’s workmanship clearly bespoke a man who took pride in what he did.
She ran a hand over one of the rear wheels, regretting her initial reaction. “ Au contraire , Monsieur Sampson. This is one of the most finely built wagons I have ever seen. And it will serve my purpose well. Merci beaucoup .”
“You’re most welcome, mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “Turns out a fella came in here yesterday and told me the very same thing, which leads to why I sent you that note. He’s new to Willow Springs but comes with high marks from a man I’ve known for years. And ’til the sun decides to start risin’ in the west, you can bet that friend’s word can be trusted.”
“Does this . . . fella have experience as a driver?”
A faint smile curved Monsieur Sampson’s mouth. “You’re catchin’ on real quick to our words. And yes, ma’am, this gentleman’s driven his share of wagons, all right. He’s been guidin’ folks for over thirteen years.”
Véronique considered this while wondering how to phrase her next question. Lacking savvy in business dealings, she decided to get straight to the point. “What is the price of this conveyance, monsieur?” Her hand went to her réticule . “I can deliver payment to you this morning.”
“That’s all fine and good, mademoiselle, and I’m sure we can agree on a price. But there’s a few things you and I need to get straight before I get you and this gentleman together. First off, I need to let you know that he doesn’t—”
“Good morning, Mr.
The question, innocent enough, brought her up short. Particularly in light of Monsieur Baird’s earlier comment about her making a “lasting first impression.” Véronique smoothed a hand over the lilac fabric, suddenly self-conscious. It was one of her plainer dresses and by far not a favorite. Yet it was a great deal finer than any other garment she’d seen anyone wearing in this town. Studying Jake Sampson’s attire, she seriously doubted whether he owned a suit or even a shirt of its equal. That realization prompted an unexpected shyness, and she looked away.
She’d lived such a privileged life in comparison to others. How could she have lived that way for so long being blind to that fact?
“ Merci beaucoup . You are most kind, Monsieur Sampson. And I think you would very much adore the ville in which I was born and raised.” It was a safer answer, in light of not knowing what the recent months of war had done to her beloved city. “I offer my apologies for not being here sooner. I was delayed at the hotel but am eager to learn what you have to tell me.” She glanced about. “And to see this carriage you wrote about in your note.”
He gestured toward the back of the livery.
She turned, only to see the same oversized farm wagon she’d noticed the day before. It hosted no canopy, no plush compartment, and no seating other than the wooden bench the driver would occupy. She tried to mask her disappointment, to think of something to say that would ease the silence growing heavier by the second, and failed.
“I know it’s not what you were expectin’, ma’am, and for sure not what you’re used to. But it’ll get you where you’re wantin’ to go—I promise you that.”
The man’s tone had taken on a forced quality that caused Véronique’s face to heat. She crossed the distance to get a closer look at the conveyance, and to hide her embarrassment. The boards of the wagon bed fit flush together—no cracks for sunlight to peek through—and they were connected with thick bolts, some as thick around as her fist. Though she was unfamiliar with such construction, the careful details of Monsieur Sampson’s workmanship clearly bespoke a man who took pride in what he did.
She ran a hand over one of the rear wheels, regretting her initial reaction. “ Au contraire , Monsieur Sampson. This is one of the most finely built wagons I have ever seen. And it will serve my purpose well. Merci beaucoup .”
“You’re most welcome, mademoiselle,” he said quietly. “Turns out a fella came in here yesterday and told me the very same thing, which leads to why I sent you that note. He’s new to Willow Springs but comes with high marks from a man I’ve known for years. And ’til the sun decides to start risin’ in the west, you can bet that friend’s word can be trusted.”
“Does this . . . fella have experience as a driver?”
A faint smile curved Monsieur Sampson’s mouth. “You’re catchin’ on real quick to our words. And yes, ma’am, this gentleman’s driven his share of wagons, all right. He’s been guidin’ folks for over thirteen years.”
Véronique considered this while wondering how to phrase her next question. Lacking savvy in business dealings, she decided to get straight to the point. “What is the price of this conveyance, monsieur?” Her hand went to her réticule . “I can deliver payment to you this morning.”
“That’s all fine and good, mademoiselle, and I’m sure we can agree on a price. But there’s a few things you and I need to get straight before I get you and this gentleman together. First off, I need to let you know that he doesn’t—”
“Good morning, Mr.
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