An Heiress to Remember (The Gilded Age Girls Club #3) - Maya Rodale Page 0,27
would have gotten to her by now. The duke, the whole aristocracy, her mother, all those rule people. They hadn’t crushed her yet. And if they hadn’t . . .
Who was he to try?
She popped her head back out.
“Oh, come on, Dalton! I don’t bite. I thought you were a charming, downtown rogue and now you’re just another uptight, uptown man. What happened to the wild boy I once knew?”
You broke his heart.
Young Dalton was long gone. That young, romantic, idealistic downtown rogue had received a harsh lesson in hoping beyond one’s station. He had learned that money mattered more than love, that power and prestige counted for more than kisses. When the opportunity to have those things presented itself, he took it.
But now he thought about what he’d paid for it.
The girl he gave up.
The empire he gained.
All for this moment when she was here and he could impress her and show her what she had missed. It would make the inevitable revenge burn all the more.
Rule: give women what they want.
“Fine,” he said. And he pushed aside the curtains and joined her in the “cozy corner” haven that was the top interior decorating trend of 1895.
He knew, logically and rationally, about the appeal. But he hadn’t felt the emotional impact of the space until he was ensconced inside with Beatrice. All of a sudden he couldn’t breathe.
They hadn’t been this close, nearly touching, for years. All of a sudden he felt twenty-two again. Passionately yearning and desperately uncertain all at once, with an intensity that was paralyzing.
“It’s just like old times, and yet not at all, all at once,” she said softly.
“That makes no sense and yet I know exactly what you mean,” he replied.
This, this was like old times. Just the two of them, the department store as their playground, a world within a world where nothing mattered as much as catching one of her quick smiles, or sparking her laugh. It was coming back to him now: the heady rush of first love, the first hot flares of lust. It made a man think maybe about everything and anything—like a high society heiress marrying an assistant store manager.
He didn’t want the memories.
Memories got in the way of revenge.
He didn’t want the tension of competitors to morph into the tension of desire.
But there it all was, in the air between them, a feeling of fierce competition, unbelievable hurt, uncertainty. And still, after all the years of heartache and anger, in this moment he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.
He didn’t want the feelings.
Feelings got in the way of revenge.
“I should think you’ve seen enough,” he said, standing and making his escape. “Good day, Beatrice, and good luck.”
Chapter Twelve
The Ladies of Liberty Club
25 West Tenth Street
One week later
Beatrice sank into the settee in a state of utter despair. Ava pressed a cup of tea into her hand. She hadn’t been aware how trying things had been until she arrived at the weekly meeting of the Ladies of Liberty. Though many of the women were only recent acquaintances, Beatrice still felt safe enough to relax.
Harriet, who had devoted her time to the Ladies of Liberty and opened her home to the members, had created a magical space in her drawing room.
“How goes your adventures in commerce?” Harriet asked, obviously hoping for word of success.
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
The women made sounds of commiseration, urging her to tell them everything, to share her burdens with them.
“I have managed to obtain this position,” Beatrice began. “I have done my research on the other department stores and their innovations in pricing, merchandizing, and service offerings. I even braved Dalton’s and an encounter with the man himself.” Here, she paused, still a little shaken from the experience. “I believe I know what needs to be done for Goodwin’s to become competitive again. Yet I can’t seem to command the staff to do it. I speak, and it is like I have not even spoken.”
Once she began, she felt the tension in her chest ease, as if she’d loosened her corset at the end of a long day. Chasing that feeling, Beatrice continued. “But I am the president. Or perhaps they don’t listen because I haven’t much experience? And yet how is any woman supposed to get sufficient experience to lead if she’s expected to marry and stay home? I simply don’t know what I need to do.”
“It is because you are a woman,” Harriet said sagely. “I have noticed that some men seem