The Vow (30 page)
“Whatever I am, you made me.”
He glared at her, then whirled on his heel and. stormed out, slamming the door behind him.
When Reiver’s angry footsteps died away, Hannah let out the breath she had been holding, staggered over to a nearby chair, and sank down. She hugged herself to stop the violent shudders racking her body.
She must have been insane to take Reiver’s mill away. She was no match for him. He was far too clever and ruthless, far too strong. He would win back his company and make her rue the day she was born.
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Hannah took several deep breaths until the shaking stopped. She had to keep her wits about her. She had to think. She would have to be on her guard from now on because she was all alone, and could rely only on herself.
Reiver stood behind the new girl and stared over her shoulder while her nervous fingers sorted the latest shipment of cocoons.
He came around the table to stand before her. “What is your name?” She looked very young, all of fifteen, if that.
“G-Grace Alcorn, sir.”
He should have known her name, for he had just hired her yesterday to replace Constance Ferry, but for the last two months, ever since signing over his mill to Hannah, Reiver couldn’t concentrate on business matters.
“Well, Grace Alcorn,” he said, “you’ll have to move faster if you expect to remain at Shaw Silks.”
Tears sprang to her fearful eyes. “P-please, Mr. Shaw, I need this job or m-my family will starve.”
He picked up a broken cocoon and shook it right under her nose. “If you want to keep this job, then you’ll have to remember that the object of sorting cocoons is to separate the perfect ones from the broken ones like this.” His voice rose. “You do not put them in the same basket, do you understand me?”
Her lower lip trembled. “Y-yes, Mr. Shaw.”
“See that you do, because I can’t abide incompetence.” Without another word, he whirled around, and when he caught several workers staring in shock, he glared back. “I pay you to work, not gawk, so get back to it!”
They averted their eyes and resumed working.
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Reiver stormed out of the room before he fired every last one of them, and headed for the stables that had replaced the old barn. He saddled his horse and rode out of the yard at a canter, needing to get away before he exploded.
He didn’t slow down until he reached Coldwater’s wide, tree-lined main street. Roger Jones, the blacksmith who had once thrown Reiver’s belligerent drunken father out of the local tavern, now smiled and nodded as he hammered a glowing horseshoe at his anvil. Bart Putnam, the livery-stable owner who had once refused Rummy Shaw’s eldest son a job as a groom because he put on airs, waved and called out a friendly greeting. Old Granny Fricker, sweeping dried autumn leaves off her porch, beamed at him in approval instead of chasing and cursing the hungry boy trying to swipe a peach pie cooling on her windowsill.
The hard-won respect he now enjoyed couldn’t compensate for the loss of his company.
Hannah had cut off his balls as surely as if she had used a knife.
It wasn’t as though she had marched into the mill and announced that she would be giving the orders now. Just as she had promised, she kept their home and raised the children as she always had. She made no attempt to challenge Reiver’s decisions or usurp his authority. Only their lawyers knew what she had done.
He couldn’t deny that her outsmarting him still rankled like a boil on his backside. Even though no one could see it, Reiver knew it was there and felt it every time he moved.
He came to the end of Main Street and turned his horse northward. Adding to his frustration was the fact that he hadn’t had a woman in two months. He had debated forcing himself on his wife, but thought better of it. Hannah had sworn the mill would suffer, and he couldn’t risk calling her bluff. He would have to seek his pleasure elsewhere.
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Reiver thought of Georgia, with her ginger hair and quivering breasts, and grinned. It would serve Hannah right if he availed himself of the nursemaid in his wife’s own house. She pretended not to care, but he knew otherwise. Besides, Georgia was too sweet for his tastes, and he put the thought of seducing her right out of his mind.
There had to be some way to get his mill back. Some way…
“Something’s troubling Reiver.”
James watched Hannah carefully as she looked up from the accounts, but she revealed no emotion in her gaze or features. She had changed gradually over the years, from outgoing and as eager to please as a puppy to pensive and reserved.
Not that he could blame her. Having a child die and losing her husband to another woman was enough to make any woman guard her heart. She was still pretty, though.
Hannah smiled and sat back in her chair. “There must be a great change in him for you to notice.”
James blushed, set down his toolbox, and settled his lanky frame into the chair across from her desk. “I just keep the looms running and mind my own business. But even I can see that there’s something wrong with my brother.
You’re his wife. Haven’t you noticed?”
Hannah grew more guarded. “Reiver and I have never been as close as some married couples, and these days I find it even more difficult to gauge his moods.”
“I’m sorry, Hannah. None of my business.”
She shrugged off his sympathy with a brief wave of her hand. “What has he been doing to warrant your concern?”
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James groped for the right words. He could describe the complex workings of a machine without hesitation, but people puzzled him.
“Just this morning,” he began, “Reiver lost his temper with the new girl who sorts the cocoons. He hired her just yesterday, so he can’t expect her to know what to do right away. When she mixed in some broken cocoons with the good ones, he flew into a rage. I could hear him shouting all the way down in the machine shop.”
Hannah frowned. “What happened to Constance Ferry? She isn’t working for us anymore?”
James shook his head. “She went to work in that new silk mill that just opened up in Rockville.”
“Why did she leave Shaw Silks? Did she say?”
“They’re paying her more money.”
“That’s a good reason. And Reiver didn’t try to match it?”
James shrugged. “I don’t know. I only take care of the looms.” He hesitated.
“I did hear some grumbling among the workers that Reiver cut their wages.”
Hannah’s blue eyes widened in astonishment. “If he did that, more of our workers are going to desert us for the Rockville mill.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed. “Something is wrong with my brother. Cutting wages and hollering at the girls…that’s not like Reiver at all.”
“You’re right. I’ll see if I can learn what’s troubling him.”
James took his toolbox, walked to the door, and turned. “Is Miss Varner up in the nursery?”
“I expect so. Why?”
His face grew hot. “She said Elisabeth’s cradle has been squeaking. I thought I’d go up and fix it for her.”
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Hannah’s guarded expression softened. “You may see Georgia anytime you want, James. You don’t need to ask my permission.”
He blushed again and left the study.
Hannah stared at the closed door and smiled to herself. So James was smitten with Georgia. Hannah had never seen the shy Shaw brother express interest in a woman before. He always seemed to prefer machines that, once he fixed them, stayed fixed.
She rose, went to the window, and stared out at nothing in particular. It was apparent to her why Reiver was on the rampage. He resented her outsmarting him. That delighted her. But his cutting the workers’ wages angered her.
She needed to gather ammunition to use against him. Hannah closed her account books and went to fetch her cloak.
Upstairs, James stood before the closed nursery door. He swept his hair out of his eyes, moistened his dry lips, rubbed his spotless hands against his trousers, then hesitated. What would he say to her? “Miss Varner, I’ve come to fix the squeaky cradle.” That sounded good. He mentally rehearsed it several times before knocking.
“Come in.”
At the sound of her soft, sweet voice that reminded him of cooing doves, James felt his heart leap into his throat. He opened the door and hesitated in the doorway.
Georgia Varner sat in the same rocking chair that had soothed both James and his brothers when they were babies, feeding Elisabeth with a rapt serenity that touched James deeply. Autumn light, as thick and golden as honey, poured over her through the window, outlining her curling ginger hair with fire and 262
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turning her bare breast into smooth carved ivory. James wondered if it would feel warm and heavy to his touch. His groin tightened.
Georgia looked up and turned crimson. “Mr. Shaw…”
She took one end of her shawl and modestly covered herself. “I—I thought you were Mrs. Shaw or Mrs. Hardy.”
“I had some free time and thought I’d fix the cradle.”
“The cradle? What’s wrong with it?”
“You said it squeaked.”
She smiled, and it was as if the sun had just burst forth on a rainy day. “How kind of you to remember my mentioning it. Do come in.”
James went over to the cradle, set down his toolbox, and looked over at Georgia. “Do you mind if I remove…what’s inside?”
“The bedding? No, I don’t mind at all.” She offered Elisabeth her finger to grasp, and beamed in approval when the baby grabbed it.
James turned over the cradle and went to work. His attention may have been focused on the cradle, but he was all too aware of Georgia Varner seated not ten feet away. He heard the muffled sound of the rocker’s runners going back and forth, back and forth on the bare floor, and the accompanying sigh of her long skirts. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her stealing glances at him.
How he wished he could say something charming and clever like Samuel, but try as he might, his mind remained blank.
“Mrs. Shaw tells me that you can fix anything,” Georgia said suddenly, startling him.
James ducked his head. “Everyone has something they’re good at, and I’m good at fixing things.”
“I think it takes real skill to find what’s wrong with something and fix it.”
Her praise made his cheeks grow warm. “Do you like living here?”
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“I like it fine. Mr. and Mrs. Shaw have been kindness itself to me.” She gave him a conspiratorial smile. “But that Mrs. Hardy…” She rolled her eyes. “‘Don’t do this to the baby.’ ‘Don’t do that to the baby.’”
James smiled. “She always was testy, and she’s gotten worse with age. I think it’s hard on her, not being able to see as well as she used to, and do all the things she once did when she was young.”
“You’re very compassionate, Mr. Shaw.”
He glanced over at her. “How do you like taking care of the baby?”
“I couldn’t love her any more than if she was my own.”
The sudden watery tremor in her voice caused James to look over at her, and to his dismay, her hazel eyes were bright with tears. He gaped at her helplessly.
Georgia wiped her eyes with one corner of her shawl. “Do forgive me for blubbering, Mr. Shaw. But every time I think of my poor stillborn babe—she was a little girl, too, you know—I can’t help myself.”
Elisabeth, sensing her nurse’s distress, spat out the nipple and let out a thin, high-pitched wail.
“Now I’ve upset this angel as well,” Georgia muttered, rising. “Would you take her for a minute? That is, if you don’t mind holding a baby.”
“Mind? I like babies.”
James rose, crossed the room, and took the crying baby from her. Her shawl fell away, but before he could steal a glance at Georgia’s bare breast, she turned away, and when she turned back to take Elisabeth from him, her bodice was buttoned.
Georgia placed the baby against her right shoulder and rubbed her back, murmuring, “There, there,” until the crying ceased.
James knew he should say something—do something—but what? He thought of Samuel again, and touched Georgia’s shoulder shyly. “I can’t claim to 264
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know how it feels to lose a child, but you have my deepest sympathies, Miss Varner.”
She managed a tremulous smile. “You’re very kind, Mr. Shaw. But I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you.”
James stood there awkwardly, lost in the warmth of her hazel eyes. “I—I’d better see about fixing the cradle.”
He worked in silence, save for Georgia humming a lullaby in her soft, sweet voice. When he was through, he rocked the cradle several times to test it, and replaced the bedding.
Georgia beamed at him. “You’ve fixed it.” She carried the sleeping baby over. “Let’s see how Elisabeth likes it, shall we?”
James stepped back, but Georgia was still too close to ignore, flooding his senses. She smelled fresh-scrubbed and milky, with a subtle spicy scent of her own that had nothing to do with soap or perfume. His fingers itched to let down her ginger tresses and discover for himself if her hair felt as soft and silky as it looked.
She set the baby in the cradle, straightened, and looked right at James. He hadn’t noticed until now that her hazel eyes were deeply flecked with gold like dark pebbles strewn at the bottom of a clear, shallow brook. And her lips were curiously mismatched, the upper lip being much thinner than its full lower counterpart. He wondered how it would feel to kiss them.
James swallowed hard and stepped back out of danger.
Georgia smiled. “You’re a godsend, Mr. Shaw. Now the squeak won’t keep Elisabeth up when I rock her.”
“If anything else needs fixing, Miss Varner, all you have to do is call on me.”
“Oh, I will, Mr. Shaw, I surely will.”