Chapter Two

The following week flew by so fast that Lena lost track of the days. She worked through the night to bake the first batch of bread and buns, then carried them the near mile into Willowbrook to deliver them to Annie's Restaurant. Then she rushed back home and started her second batch of bread.

Some evenings she caught a few hours of sleep, but more often she didn't.

Esther tried to keep her company most of the time when she was baking, but it was hard for her. She didn't have anything to do, and Lena would look to where Esther sat and find her sleeping.

Lena would smile at the sight of her sister struggling to stay awake. Her eyes would close, her head would drop to her crossed arms on the table, and it wasn't long before she would fall into a deep sleep.

There was something angelic about her when she slept. Lena wondered if everyone looked so peaceful when they slept, or if it was only Esther.

She finished mixing her dough then placed it near the oven to let it rise. On her way back to the table, she stopped to brush a wisp of hair that had fallen across Esther's brow.

Her sister was only a year and a half younger than Lena's six and twenty, and she looked much like their mother, with blonde hair and blue eyes, while Lena took after their father, with dark hair and eyes so dark they were nearly black. They were both quite attractive, although Esther was by far the prettier of the two.

She was the picture of perfection, except for her one flaw—a flaw Lena couldn't fix or make go away.

Esther was born blind, so she didn't know the beauty of the earth. She'd never seen the sun, but she'd felt its warmth. She'd never seen the rain, but she recognized its wetness. She'd never seen the printed word, but she loved to listen to Lena read to her, probably more than she enjoyed anything else.

When they were young, Esther would hold out her hand and wait for Lena to reach for it. Lena was her eyes, and she tried to show her sister every inch of the world around her. As she grew older, Esther had gained an independence that Lena marveled at. She could walk around their small cottage without running into anything. It was as if she sensed where obstacles were and knew where to step to avoid them.

Unfortunately, there were many everyday tasks she couldn't do. Or perhaps she could if Lena allowed her to attempt them, such as cooking, but Lena wouldn't let her take the risks that went along with it, such as getting burned, or starting a fire and not being able to put it out.

No, Lena protected her sister as much as she could, just as their mother had when she was alive, and her father had when he was here with them. But he'd been gone these past ten years, which was why paying their bills was so difficult. At least they had a house to live in for a while yet.

Their father had been the vicar in Willowbrook for more than fifteen years, long before it began to grow. The congregation had allowed his widow and daughters to stay in the house after he was no longer there to serve as their vicar. Lena wasn't sure what the congregation intended to do now that their mother was gone, too.

Willowbrook was growing so rapidly that it was only a matter of time until another vicar was needed. She was certain that then she and Essie would be asked to find a different place to live so they could use this cottage to house a new vicar.

Lena wasn't sure what they would do then. It wasn't as if they could live lives like other women. It wasn't as if they could have the dreams that other females had. Husbands and families were not part of their future. It was obvious that Esther would never marry, and Lena's chances of finding someone who would take on a wife with a blind sister were almost nonexistent.

Lena sat at the table opposite Esther and closed her eyes as the dough rose. Her life was so simple, yet complicated at the moment. This added job of providing bread and buns for the restaurant was such a blessing, but according to Annie, it would soon come to an end. The London investors were due to return home next week, and construction was supposed to begin the following week. According to Annie, that was when her restaurant would return to normal, and Lena would not have to bake nearly as much bread.

The only man who would be busier than now was Jackson Corbin. He'd been given the responsibility of keeping the books and overseeing the finances of the construction of the railroad. He was the owner of Willowbrook's popular gentlemen's club, and Lena couldn't imagine the added responsibility of keeping the railroad accounts. She was just glad that she didn't have that responsibility.

*

"Are you stillworking on the railroad ledgers, Jack?"

Jack looked up to see his friend and partner Brad Prescott standing in the doorway. "Come in. Distract me for a minute. Tell me what is going on in the club I own but haven't seen the inside of since this railroad consumed my attention."

Brad chuckled, then entered the room and closed the door behind him. "We've been quite busy lately," he said when he sat in his usual chair across from Jack. "Everyone wants to hear the latest news about the railroad, and where better to hear that news than here?"

"Ah, yes," Jack said, rubbing the back of his neck. "So, how are you doing, Brad?"

"That's why I'm here, Jack. I need help. You know numbers are not my strength. I'm doing the best I can, but I'm having trouble keeping up. I know you can't do more than you're already doing, so I thought perhaps we might consider finding someone else to fill in, at least with the club's books. I know you want to concentrate on the railroad books, at least until the railroad gets up and running, and I will keep an eye on the club's books so they get done right, but I can't do more right now."

"I know, Brad. You didn't sign on for this added responsibility."

"I signed on for whatever you need me to do. I'm alive because of you. If not for what you did in that Russian prison, I'd be one of the casualties of war."

"Your bravery is what made you one of the survivors."

Brad gave him the same look he always did when Jack paid him a compliment. Because of the horrific wounds he'd suffered in that Russian prison, he was immensely self-conscious. The wide scar that ran from his temple down the right side of his face to below his jaw had changed his looks, and he still hadn't regained his confidence.

He seldom left the club. He didn't feel comfortable going out in public, and Jack didn't blame him.

People were cruel. They avoided looking at him, and they often shielded their eyes to avoid having to make eye contact.

The club was the only place where he felt comfortable. The men who frequented Jackson's Gentlemen's Club knew him and were used to him.

"So, getting back to your concern. What are you suggesting we do?"

Brad sat forward in his chair. "I'd like you to consider hiring another person to do the accounts for the club."

Jack pondered the request. He'd always been of the opinion that he and Brad should handle the finances by themselves. Jack wanted to keep the amount of money the club made between the two of them. He didn't want word to get out concerning the amount that Jackson's Gentlemen's Club took in, or the amounts its members made or lost at its betting tables.

"I know you never wanted anyone else to see our books or know our income, or how much our clients owe, but things are different now, Jack. That was when we thought that you would always be here to shoulder half of the responsibility."

Brad's last words struck a nerve. He was correct. Jack wasn't shouldering his half. "Do you have anyone in mind to work with us?"

"I have a few suggestions, but that decision will be up to you."

"Who are you suggesting?"

"I thought we might consider Rupert Longsworth. He keeps the books for Jasper and Son, one of the largest retailers in Willowbrook."

Jack thought a moment, then shook his head. "Not him," he answered. "Not only is he a client here, but he has a penchant for gambling and owes us quite a sum. Anyone else?"

"It's a female. Miss Magdalena Osbourne."

"A woman?"

"Yes. Her father was the vicar here for several years."

"Who recommended her?"

"Annie, from the restaurant. Annie says she's a hard worker and as honest as the day is long. She's also very intelligent."

"I've never heard of her," Jack said.

"You wouldn't have. She seldom leaves her home. She took care of her ailing mother until she passed last year, and now cares for her sister."

"What's wrong with her sister?"

"I don't know. She must be an invalid, too."

Jack thought for a moment.

"Will you at least speak to her, Jack? You don't have to hire her. Just talk to her."

"Very well," Jack finally said. "Let me know where she lives, and I'll go see her tomorrow."

"Thank you," Brad said, and left the office.

Jack tried to get back to work but couldn't concentrate on the figures in front of him. All he could think about was hiring a female to work in a gentlemen's club. It was something he'd sworn he would never do, other than in a position to entertain the male guests. But he owed it to Brad to at least go see the lady. He had no intention of offering her a position, but at least he could tell his friend he'd talked to her.

He initially intended to talk to her tomorrow, but decided to get this distasteful task over today. He already knew what her answer would be. She was a vicar's daughter, after all, and wouldn't consider working in a gentlemen's club. He'd call on her, thank her for considering his offer, then leave her, never to see her again.

Jack found out where she lived, then walked the mile to the Osbourne cottage. He paused to consider exactly what he intended to say to the lady. He would offer her the position of secretary in charge of keeping Jackson's Gentlemen's Club's ledgers. He expected her to refuse his offer outright, and vowed to accept her refusal without argument.

The more he thought about hiring a female for such a position, the more he realized what a bad idea this was. His business was for gentlemen only. The rooms on the first floor were legitimate, if you considered gambling a legitimate pastime, but those on the second floor were anything but. And Miss Osbourne was no doubt a strait-laced vicar's daughter. He couldn't imagine her accepting his proposition.

He took a deep breath, lifted his hand, and knocked on the door.

No one answered, so he knocked again, this time a little louder.

He listened, and finally heard footsteps approaching from inside.

Slowly, the knob turned and the door opened, and Jack found himself looking at the most alluring features imaginable. The woman standing in front of him was remarkably beautiful.

Her hair was the most luxurious shade of deep, rich brown, and her large, round eyes were so dark they almost looked black. But what caught his attention most were the big, wet tears that threatened to spill down her cheeks. For some reason, Miss Osbourne had been crying. And even more disturbing was the fact that Jack had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from reaching out to her, wrapping her in his arms, and holding her.