father frowned. “Now, you sound like Brock.”
She stared at the door after he left, her stomach in knots. Was Brock’s dour nature already changing her outlook on life? Was it too late to break off the engagement? It would cause a scandal but…
“Come along, girls,” her mother chivvied. “Breakfast first, then we’ll get started on parceling everything up. You know how Cook is. She’ll want to be off home with her box as soon as possible.”
“I often wish I was a fly on the wall when her family opens the box,” Grace said. “I hope they like what we give them.”
“Oh, yes,” her mother replied. “She’s always most appreciative. They don’t have much, you know, especially now her husband is out of work with the completion of the bridge.”
Samantha took her place at the breakfast table, wondering what it must be like to be appreciative of cast-offs from one’s employer. The Hindleys weren’t rich, but her father’s job provided a comfortable living. She shuddered at the thought that might all come to an end with the opening of the new bridge. Few people would take her father’s ferry when they could cross the Severn in half the time by train.
“I’m adding my red shoes to the pile for the box,” Grace declared, slicing the top off her boiled egg. “My feet must be growing they pinch so.”
Samantha had never worn second-hand shoes. Marriage to Brock would ensure she never had to.
Parker handed the box of items he no longer needed to the woman who came in twice a week to clean his suite of rooms and do his laundry. “There you are, Mrs. Beaton,” he said with a smile. “I’m grateful you take care of me so well.”
The buxom little woman bobbed a curtsey as if in the presence of royalty. “Fanks ever so much, Mr. Cullen. You’re generous to a fault.”
Her gratitude, he knew, was genuine, and it struck him, as it did every year, how easy it was to bring someone a little bit of happiness. He no longer needed the bits and bobs he’d put in this year’s box, but the widowed Mrs. Beaton had growing lads who would appreciate them. And the five quid he’d included would be well spent. “Off you go now,” he said. “There’s nothing to do today. I spent yesterday with my uncle, so…”
“The bridge builder?” she asked, her wide eyes full of admiration.
“Well, he doesn’t actually build the bridges, just designs them.”
Her eyes darkened. “It’s a marvel, that bridge, but you wouldn’t catch me on it. Too long, and all that water underneath. I’ll stick to the ferry.”
A lot of people probably held the same fears about the bridge. However, all his uncle’s previous feats of engineering had stood the test of time. There was no reason this one shouldn’t be the same. Folks would soon get over their apprehension and ride the train across.
Darren locked the door of his room in what passed for a hotel in these parts, slipped the key into his waistcoat pocket and made his way to the dining room. He wasn’t looking forward to another plate of fried food swimming in grease. Only Englishmen would think it was a good idea to fry bread—and kidneys for God’s sake.
Passing through the dingy lobby, he paused, wondering what was going on. The manager had the maids and valets lined up and was presenting each member of his staff with a small box.
“What’s this?” he asked a guest he recognized as a fellow Yank from a previous conversation.
“Boxing Day,” the man replied. “Servants get a boxed present from their employers.”
Darren chuckled. “A quaint English custom, I guess. And here I was thinking there might be a boxing match to attend.”
“No such luck,” his fellow countryman groused, “though they say there’s excitement to be had at the racetrack in Gloucester, and I sense you have a bit of an Irish brogue.”
“You’re right and what Irishman can resist a day at the races? I might just be interested, if you’re going,” Darren said.
He didn’t hear the reply, his attention suddenly taken by Daffyd lingering outside the hotel’s front door. “My apologies. I see my messenger has returned,” he said as calmly as he could. “Perhaps I’ll see you in the dining room?”
He stalked though the door, grabbed Daffyd’s arm and steered him away from the hotel. “I told you never to come here,” he seethed.
“You promised we’d be paid. Me and Gwilym froze our balls off laying them charges. You