All in Good Time (The Gilded Legacy) - By Maureen Lang Page 0,57

all the tighter. She was no longer that young, naive girl Bennet Pierson had taken advantage of. She could take care of herself—and she would.

Henry, at one of the tellers’ cages to oversee a rather large withdrawal, spotted Miss Caldwell on the sidewalk outside, slowing in front of the bank. He lost count of the money in his palm. Would she come in?

But then she continued at a faster pace than before. Surely this street wasn’t on her normal route for errands. Had she intended to come inside but changed her mind? Why? And why would she have wanted to come here in the first place?

He nearly dropped the money he was distributing to go out after her.

But instead, knowing not only his duty but that such an action would have been hard to explain—a banker chasing down a woman on the street?—he went on with his business, just as he always did.

Perhaps, though, he would have Fallo take him home by way of Pierson House this evening. It was several blocks out of the way, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d done so.

It didn’t take the glazier long to install a new pane of glass, and when he neared finishing, Dessa went to the kitchen to check on the last-minute preparations for dinner. Duckling, new potatoes, peas in turnip cups, and dinner rolls she had made yesterday. For dessert, she would serve a silver cake that was just like a golden one except she’d siphoned off the egg yolks—which she would use tomorrow for a vanilla pudding recipe.

The duckling only needed to cool a few minutes before she could slice it and serve dinner. After asking Jane to fill the glasses with water, Dessa made her way back outside.

Although the glazier had told her he came at Mr. Foster’s request, Mr. Foster himself had not yet arrived. Dessa wondered if she would be relieved or disappointed if she had only the friendly, middle-aged glazier to share her dinner. She should definitely be relieved . . . and yet, she wasn’t entirely sure that was all she felt.

However, when she arrived outside to let the glazier know his promised dinner would be served as soon as he was ready, she saw that he and his wagon were already gone.

In the wagon’s spot was a fancier carriage, the same one she’d seen earlier that day. Mr. Foster’s. She knew because it was pulled by a pair of shiny black horses with long and thick matching manes—a uniquely attractive pair.

Mr. Foster was just alighting.

“That’s what I like,” he said with a broad smile, “a woman so eager to see her guest that she comes out to the curb to meet him. As long as I am that guest, of course.”

Dessa looked around. “Your glazier must have just left. I was about to tell him dinner is ready.”

Mr. Foster gently took her arm and looped it through one of his, leading her toward the Pierson House porch. “He’s been well compensated, I assure you. But he has a family waiting at home and a wife who would rather he ate dinner only at her table. You understand, of course. This neighborhood has a way of making a woman want to see her man at home, if you know what I mean.”

Dessa nodded, though she couldn’t deny feeling her pulse speed. It was certainly a reasonable excuse, one she hadn’t considered. “I should have extended the invitation to her as well, then. Perhaps she would have enjoyed having someone else cook for both of them.”

“No need to worry. Today’s job brought him a nice little bonus, and my compliments.” He glanced to the repaired window. “Is the work to your satisfaction?”

“Yes,” she said, though she didn’t look at the window. She looked down the street instead, wondering if the glazier was close enough to hail back. She could ask him to return with his wife. Certainly she could keep the duck warm in the oven. . . .

But instead of seeing the wagon, Dessa spotted another familiar carriage turning onto the street. Surely that was Mr. Hawkins’s coachman atop that black lacquered clarence? What in the world had brought him into this neighborhood?

She smiled to herself. Perhaps it wasn’t anything in this world at all.

“Oh, Mr. Foster, you’ll excuse me, won’t you? I believe we have another guest for dinner after all—one of the parties responsible for helping me to open Pierson House.”

Mr. Foster’s gaze followed the direction of hers, though she