An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,85
his apology meant more to her than anyone else’s because he knew, in a way that no one else knew, what it meant to own and run and love a store. Especially this one. She swiped away one rebellious tear, and said, “I suppose you’ve made it up to me by rushing to my rescue like some storybook hero.”
“You clung to me like a damsel in distress.”
“So you claim. I don’t recall that part at all.”
“You’ll just have to trust me.”
Again, his gaze met hers. Beatrice could sense there was so much feeling churning beneath the surface of that inscrutable expression and finely pressed suit. Just as her heart was beating wildly beneath her ugly floral day dress that was her penance to wear because she, too, had ideas about competition and winning even if it meant not wearing that gorgeous pink silk of his.
And what for?
For a store? For the sake of winning?
What had she won anyway? She had no store and no Dalton.
She had refused the love of the one man who would love, cherish, and support her dreams. Oh, God. She bit her lip, choked back a sob. He was still here . . . he was still here . . . would he ask her again, now that she knew better?
Now that she knew she loved him?
Now that she knew she could trust him with her heart and ambitions?
“While I have come to see how you are faring, I have also come to tell you something,” he said. “I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m retiring.”
“What? But why?” she cried out. “You love your store. You are your store. And you have won!”
“Maybe, by default or by a technicality. And it sure as hell doesn’t feel like winning. I no longer have the passion for it. I don’t wish to best you, I don’t wish to fight you, and I don’t even care about the new season’s merchandise,” he said and she gasped.
“And what about the store? Are you really going to give it up? How could you?”
Hers had been stolen from her and he was just giving up, walking away!
“I have no interest in it anymore. I obviously cannot and will not give it over to Connor. I find there are philanthropic endeavors that require my attentions and my fortune. I will no longer partake in the day-to-day operations.”
“But the store is you and you are the store. Your name is on the—” She stopped short. She was about to say your name is on the building. But it wasn’t.
“No, it isn’t. It never was.”
“I am shocked. It’s a good thing that I am lying down, otherwise I would faint.”
“Smelling salts. First floor, past the staircase. Fifty cents.”
“See! You belong in a department store. Dalton, you don’t need to do this.”
“You’re the one who belongs in a department store,” he said. That’s all he had to say for her to know. He saw her and accepted what he saw. She felt seen, truly seen and in this moment, for the life of her, she couldn’t remember why she’d said no to his proposal. His love for her was plain, and he was saying in so many words that he knew where she belonged and was at her best and wasn’t going to fight her for it anymore.
Another rebellious tear made a run for it down her cheek. A mutiny. She who orchestrated hundreds of human employees could not get a few tears to follow orders and stay put.
“What will you do now?” Dalton asked. She just assumed he meant business.
“I’ll rebuild, of course. It will take years, but it will keep me busy. You have caught me on my one day of being idle. . . . Just one. Tomorrow . . .”
She chattered on and he listened and after an appropriate interval he took his leave. He said, “Goodbye, Beatrice. Best of luck in your future endeavors.”
And then he was gone and she was stuck languishing in the drawing room. Alone. Stuck with the fate she had done everything in her power to avoid. No Goodwin’s. And no Dalton.
Just a newspaper that he’d left behind.
Chapter Thirty-three
In the absence of anything else to do, Beatrice reached for the newspaper, with some idea of catching up on the news, or at least avoiding thinking about her own problems. After all, it wasn’t like she had anything else to do, other than rest and try to recover.