Chapter 1

CHAPTER1

January 1910

Central Florida

Ellie Hastings didn’t need to be as sly as the heroine in her favorite detective novel. Dora Myrl combined skill with beauty to achieve her objectives, but Ellie could rely on the invisible cloak of plainness.

She’d been sitting at a table in the train’s dining car next to Lewis Thornton’s for a full ten minutes, and he hadn’t once looked up—not even when the waiter brought her tea. But perhaps that wasn’t personal. Alternating his attention between his steak and a small book open at his right hand, the bachelor her aunt deemed a prime candidate for her daughter Ada also failed to acknowledge the curious glances of businessmen or tittering mamas with female offspring in tow.

Ellie stirred sugar into her teacup and drew a blank square of paper closer. She plucked her pencil out of the spine of the leather notebook where she kept observations of potential suitors for her cousin—loose-leaf, so she could organize them in order of preference. Lewis Thornton, she wrote.

Nibbling her lower lip, she studied the mechanical engineer from under her pale lashes. Tall and blonde, square-jawed, firm-lipped, Thornton bore himself like a man of the new century. Suave. Aristocratic. Confident. Aunt Florence had heard he’d made a fortune off some invention for the railroad. Florence had no idea what kind. She’d been snagged the moment a friend uttered the word fortune. And he didn’t reside so far from Pittsburgh as to prevent the continuation of a courtship Lewis and Ada might begin during Hotel Belleview’s upcoming winter season.

Ellie scratched on her paper. Pros: Handsome. Wealthy? Philadelphia.

Surely, Ada couldn’t dismiss this one on looks. Or style. His stiff collar and four-in-hand tie countenanced society’s dictates enough to please Walter Hastings, while the gray-striped pants he’d paired with his black frock coat—popularly termed “mixed cheviots”—should satisfy Ada’s panache.

Traditional. Stylish.

Cons?None visible upon brief observation. She might be forced to talk to him. She could wait until he got up and make her departure at the same time, but the idea of employing her usual dropped-item tactic made a knot form in her stomach. She wasn’t a brainless female. Why did she submit herself to such indignities? She firmed her lips. She knew well why. She clanked her spoon around in her tea, laid it on her saucer, and took a sip of the lukewarm brew.

The live oaks and palmettos crowding the edge of the railroad bed indicated they were still heading west, as they had since changing tracks at Trilby. But once they reached Tarpon Springs, the line would hug the coast of the Pinellas Peninsula. They’d arrive in Belleair, a three-hundred-acre tract a mile and a half from the town of Clearwater, later today. Aunt Florence expected a report on Thornton before they disembarked.

Ellie’s hand shook as she returned her cup to its saucer. What did she care what another snobby parti thought of her? The highbrow man’s response should quickly provide the sought-out information. After she helped match her picky cousin—at nineteen, the last of Walter and Florence’s brood—she’d be free. Free to what? Find work as a governess or a teacher? She could never survive on the remnants of what Father had left her.

Perspiration dampened her skin beneath her white shirtwaist and corset. Whomever had installed the steam heat and electric lights in this car hadn’t traveled to Florida. Thankfully, the man behind her appeared to be opening a window as he wrestled with the Venetian blinds in an attempt to access the window lock.

Thornton closed his book and laid his utensils across his plate. Ellie sat up straight, stacking her notes. Indeed, he withdrew his pocket watch from his jacket. But something on the inside of the lid rather than the timepiece’s face captured his attention. His resulting smile produced dimples that loosened Ellie’s grasp on her papers.

No, she most certainly couldn’t speak to him.

The man behind her finally succeeded in cracking his window. A woosh of surprisingly cool air scooped Ellie’s notes aloft. One flew straight toward Lewis Thornton. Ellie shot to her feet with a cry of dismay. It would be just her luck that the paper smacking Lewis Thornton in the face was her description of him.

* * *

With a billow of her navy skirt and floundering arms, the woman from the next table flew at Lewis a millisecond behind her papers. Simultaneously, he and she both grabbed the one that had struck his cheek before settling like a translucent moth on his collar. Lewis retained the firmer hold.

“Pardon me!” The exclamation came not from his female visitor but from the man who’d opened the window. Casting them an apologetic glance, he shut it and accepted the assistance of a dark-skinned porter in locking it.

“I’m so sorry.” Eyes downcast, the woman withdrew as pink stained her cheeks. Even as she tucked her hand behind her back, it appeared to attempt to defy her, twitching for the paper again.

Curiosity overcame him. Lewis flipped the paper and read aloud. “‘Alton Adler III. Pro: helps old ladies with their seats. Cons: chews hangnails, attached to mother’s apron strings.’” The apt description of the moon-faced son of a New York railroad tycoon stole a bark of a laugh.

But the unexpected intruder into his personal space appeared to relax, her shoulders lowering with the breath she released. Something about her rang familiar. The next moment, she lunged for another page on his table, then set to rather frantically collecting several others from the floor, the wobbling of her loose bun putting Lewis in mind of an unset vanilla pudding.

“Allow me to assist.” Lewis bent, but the young woman grabbed the last paper before he could. Her desperation elicited a chuckle. “My. What do you have there? Secrets of state?”

“Indeed not.” Her breathless voice, while soft, possessed a surprising husky edge.

As they both straightened, he got his first full view of her face. Her slight figure and flustered demeanor had caused him to deem her a harmless mouse, but those eyes…light aquamarine that stopped his heart. So unusual. Eyes like the mirror to a soul. He’d trained himself to conceal his reactions, but his eyelids disobeyed with a startled blink.

“No?” He cocked his head, drawing up one side of his mouth. “Then you must be an author.”

Those eyes of hers widened. “What makes you think so?”

Lewis gestured toward the papers she clutched at her waist. “You must be taking notes on us. Poor Alton doesn’t sound as though he has enough backbone to be the villain. Dare I guess that role might have fallen to me?”

“Indeed, no, sir.” Her pale skin flushed even more.“Then you are not an author?”

“I am not, although my father—”

“Your father…of course.” He snapped his fingers. “Please forgive me, but now I recall why I recognize you.”

“You—you do?” A pulse throbbed beneath the delicate skin of her neck.

“Yes. I held the door for you when you were boarding the train.” She’d kept her head ducked in the same manner then, murmuring her thanks without looking at him—unlike most females intent on matchmaking during the winter social season.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you.”

As though he required some sort of extra acknowledgement. He much preferred her disregard, but he’d already spoken to her too long without making an introduction. “My name is Lewis Thornton…of Philadelphia. And you are Miss Hastings, of the Hastings Packaging family. Am I correct?”

As she tucked her papers into the belt of her skirt, her gaze raked him with a flicker of—what was it? Alarm? “You’ve heard of my family?”

“Naturally.” Lewis extended his hand.

She slipped hers into his but frowned as he offered a brief bow, her attention fixed on his hand clasping hers. She jerked away as quickly as she could. What elicited her standoffishness? Shyness? No, although there was that too. Her abrupt withdrawal—the stiff back and slight pinch of pale pink lips—hinted at disapproval.

Lewis brushed aside a stirring of intrigue. An unlikely hap had forced an interaction he’d be wise to politely conclude. “Everyone in Pittsburgh is familiar with your distribution center there. People seem to love the canned pork. What’s next, if I may ask?”

Her brows quirked. “Are you making sport of me, sir?”

The unexpected question rocked him back on his heels. “Making sport? Why would I?”

When she blinked rapidly and looked away, understanding dawned. Many big-city socialites snubbed those who’d built recent fortunes in practical industries. No doubt Miss Hastings had been served one too many a packaged meat quip.

Lewis stepped closer and gentled his voice. “I admired the way Hastings Packaging treated its workers during the Spanish-American War…guaranteeing their jobs. The plant enjoys an excellent reputation in our city.”

Miss Hastings chewed her lower lip a moment, her gaze rising to meet his. “Ham.”

“Pardon me?” A whiff of lilacs coming from her person momentarily distracted him.

“Ham is the next thing they’re working on.” From her pursed lips and rapidly averted gaze, one would think she’d just confessed she’d forgotten to don one of her unmentionables.

“Ah.” Lewis infused relaxed enthusiasm into his voice. “Then the best is yet to come. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, however unconventionally, Miss Hastings.”

“And yours, Mr. Thornton.”

Collecting his hat from the chair nearby, he nodded and turned. A light touch on his sleeve drew him back.

Miss Hastings glanced toward the forward entrance of the train car. “If you would linger a moment, you can meet my family. They’re arriving now and would be delighted to make your acquaintance.” Her words danced out, crowded together as though forced past a thick tongue. And she fairly cringed at her own request.

It was now Lewis who declined eye contact. Why was he disappointed? She’d probably been finagling a way to meet him from the moment she sat down at her table. Perchance, she’d even paid that man to open the window. He didn’t have to look to know what was coming—a middle-aged man, chest puffed with his own importance, and a wife whose eyes glinted as though she beheld the Crown Jewels rather than yet another eligible bachelor.

“I’m afraid I must delay that pleasure, Miss Hastings. I’m already tardy for an appointment in the car behind us. Have a lovely holiday at the Hotel Belleview.”

He hurried away before her relatives could swoop down on them—and before he could examine the shame that shuttered her remarkable eyes.