All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy) - By Maureen Lang Page 0,46

better chance of being offered something to eat.”

Whatever doubts Henry had a moment before disappeared with that suggestion.

Not that he had any intention of following through with his uncle’s ploy. He wouldn’t allow himself to arrive on her doorstep waiting to be fed like some stray cat.

Henry stepped from his carriage, taking the sign with him—along with the hammer and nails he’d stopped to purchase. Instructing Fallo, his driver, to wait, Henry stared at the home Miss Caldwell and his money had purchased. It was quiet, like the rest of the street at this time in the late morning.

Not wanting to do exactly as Uncle Tobias had suggested by waiting until lunchtime, Henry had set out for supplies not long after Tobias left his office, just after midmorning. But the process of leaving his office and searching for the right materials had taken longer than he’d expected. First he’d been detained by Mr. Sprott, then again at the bank entrance when one of his biggest investors had stopped by. Then the mercantile he’d hoped would provide the kind of hammer he wanted hadn’t had one in stock, so he’d ended up going to White’s. It had taken him a full five minutes to decide whether to go inside or look for another store. Despite having sat at the same dinner party with William White the other day, Henry had been avoiding the man for years and planned to continue doing so. It was hard not to recall just how close their competition had once been, when Henry nearly drove White’s Mercantile out of business.

William, however, had been unavoidable once Henry went inside. Even so, he was every bit as welcoming. Particularly when Henry handed over the money for the hammer and box of nails.

So here it was, nearly lunchtime after all.

Spotting the sign Tobias had affixed next to the open bay window, Henry approached. Tobias had found a way to drill hooks into the caulking between the bricks supporting the window. All Henry needed was to attach this sign to the bottom of the one already hanging. There was ample room to do so and still have this addition visible from the street.

Henry held up the sign to center it, but just as he did so, he overheard voices from the other side of the open window.

“My mother always said a woman should dress modestly. To her, that meant just plain ugly, I think. Dresses hung on her even worse than they hang on me. I guess that’s why I thought God must want women to dress in a way that hides everything.”

Henry stopped. He recognized Jane Murphy’s young voice and anticipated hearing Miss Caldwell’s in return. He took a step back. He should leave. If he made any more noise they were sure to hear him and would likely come outside to investigate.

“But you don’t have to look any further than a sunset—or a bird, or a fish, for that matter, if the scales shine in the right light—to know God delights in beauty! And we’re made in His image, so of course we’re naturally attracted to beauty.”

Henry started to back farther away from the window, aware that his indecision about whether or not to make his presence known did not give him permission to eavesdrop. But he heard Jane respond and stopped to listen.

“I know men like beauty. Some think almost any woman is beautiful. I guess that’s why there are neighborhoods like this one. They’re looking for a beautiful woman, or for a drink that might make one of them beautiful.”

Miss Caldwell’s brief laugh coincided with the slight movement of the curtain on the breeze. “For a while, anyway.”

“Do you think everybody who . . . well, who lives in this neighborhood is going straight to hell for their sins?”

Hellfire talk. Worse, hellfire mixed with women talk. Still, he was curious to hear what Miss Caldwell said about that.

“No, I don’t. God tells us outright that some behavior is sin, and other behavior seems to be punishment enough without having it named a sin. But no matter what people do, have done, or will do, God’s seen it before. He went to the cross so we don’t have to be punished.”

Now Henry really should go, but his feet would not obey.

Instead he lifted the sign in place as noisily as he could, then gave it a good whack just for the sound of it, without even a nail. It occurred to him at that moment that he