An Unexpected Love (21 page)

George still held a snowball in one hand, but Jefferson shook his head, and the two of them retreated inside while Wesley and Sophie hurried to the front porch.

“And those young men would be?” Wesley asked.

“Amanda’s brothers and my cousins, George and Jefferson Broadmoor. They are quite immature for their age.”

“I must remember to compliment your aunt on the lovely decorations.” Wesley nodded toward the boughs of evergreen tucked along the railings of the upper and lower porches that fronted the house. Under her aunt’s direction, the servants had secured the greenery with deep red bows and an occasional cluster of silver bells. A giant evergreen wreath, adorned with matching bows, decorated the front door.

“We’ll be decorating the tree on Christmas Eve. I’m so pleased you’ll be here to celebrate with me.” She tightened her hold on his arm, feeling as though she could never let him leave her side again.

Sophie rolled over in bed and hugged the coverlet close. The bright early morning sunshine reflected off the blanket of snow that covered the porch roof and danced along the frosted bedroom windows. She snuggled deeper beneath the quilted covers until the cobwebs cleared from her mind.

Wesley!
She glanced at the clock on the bedroom mantel and immediately wondered if he’d already gone downstairs for breakfast. Though the idea of throwing aside the covers was unappealing, she didn’t want to miss even one minute with him. They’d had little time alone since he’d arrived, and today would likely prove no different. There would be great fuss and commotion as each of the Broadmoor relatives arrived to visit and then gather around the festive dining table to partake of the annual Christmas Eve supper. She hoped there’d be none of the usual bickering and arguments that seemed to ensue each time the family congregated. A celebration of Christ’s birth or not, the family always managed to find something over which to argue on Christmas Eve. No doubt Wesley would be appalled. The bantering hadn’t particularly bothered her in the past: she’d grown up with the familial bickering. In fact, Sophie had contributed her share of it in the past. But this evening would be different, for she’d never before wanted to impress a man.

She rang for Veda. The maid’s swift appearance startled her; she must have been nearby helping one of her cousins. “Good morning, Veda. Do you have time to assist me?”

“Of course. I’ve already helped Miss Amanda with her dress and styled her hair, and Miss Fanny went downstairs an hour ago.”

Why was she always the last one to rise? Wesley would think her lazy. She should have asked Veda to awaken her earlier. “And Mr. Hedrick? Have you seen him this morning?”

“Oh yes, Miss Sophie. He was up several hours ago and requested one of the carriages be brought around for him.”

Sophie felt as though she’d taken a blow to the midsection. Her stomach lurched and then plummeted. “Did he say where he was going? Did he have his baggage with him? Was he angry? Did some family member offend him?”

Veda stared at her wide-eyed. “I can only answer one question at a time, Miss Sophie, and I don’t even remember all that you’ve asked me. He didn’t appear angry. As for his luggage, I don’t think so, but I didn’t see him depart. What else did you ask?”

“Never mind, Veda. Just help me dress. Quickly!”

Veda didn’t have an opportunity to properly fashion her hair, for Sophie wouldn’t permit her sufficient time. The maid was still attempting to shove pins into Sophie’s hair as she descended the steps. Sophie signaled for her to stop. “Once I discover why and where Mr. Hedrick has gone, you may fashion my hair. In the meantime, please stop jabbing those pins at me. One misstep and I’ll have a hairpin stuck in my ear. I don’t believe that would prove a pleasant experience for either of us.”

The warning carried enough of a threat for the maid to shove the remaining pins into an apron pocket. “Just let me know when you’re ready for me, Miss Sophie.” Veda disappeared while Sophie continued toward the dining room. Only Amanda and Aunt Victoria remained at the table. They’d finished their breakfast and were making some sort of list.

“Good morning,” she greeted them.

“Good morning, dear,” her aunt replied. “There’s tea and coffee on the sideboard. Ring for Betsy and let her know what you’d like for breakfast.”

Sophie poured a cup of tea, but she didn’t plan to ring for Betsy or order breakfast until she knew where Wesley had gone. She sat down by her cousin and nodded toward the list. “You two appear busy.”

“Just going over the last-minute seating arrangements for dinner this evening.” Her aunt glanced over the top of her reading glasses. “We have several extras, and I want to be certain I have everyone on the diagram.”

“Do ensure that Wesley is seated next to me,” Sophie said.

Her aunt nodded. “Well, of course. And I’ve seated Dr. Carstead to your left, Sophie, then Amanda—”

“Dr. Carstead? Who invited him?” Amanda reached for the piece of paper.

“Your uncle Quincy. I do think it was a kind gesture on his part. The doctor is alone for the holidays, and Quincy thought it would be a nice way of thanking him for providing medical treatment at the Home for the Friendless.”

Sophie scooted to the edge of her chair. Before mother and daughter ventured any further into their discussion of Dr. Carstead, Sophie wanted to gather information regarding Wesley’s whereabouts. “Have you seen Wesley this morning?”

“He said he had business to attend to in Rochester but will return in ample time for the evening’s festivities.”

Sophie wilted. She had hoped to spend the entire day with him. He’d never mentioned any business dealings in Rochester, but then they’d never spoken about such matters. Perhaps he’d gone to purchase her a special gift. She warmed at the thought. That must be it. And he wouldn’t want to mention such a thing to Aunt Victoria. Could he have gone shopping for an engagement ring? Last night he’d again spoken of how much he cared for her.

Paul stepped down from the carriage outside the Broadmoor residence. It was nearing four o’clock. His invitation had requested he spend an afternoon of visiting followed by Christmas Eve supper with the Broadmoor family. Although he had hoped to arrive much earlier, the Christmas party at the Home for the Friendless had continued longer than expected. At one o’clock, Paul had insisted Quincy go and join his family. “I’ll hail a carriage the minute the party has ended,” Paul had said. He’d anticipated a two o’clock departure—at the latest.

The children, however, had been anxious to have him read the books they’d received as Christmas gifts, peel their oranges, or help them pop corn. And he’d been unable to refuse any of their requests. Thankfully the Broadmoor supper wasn’t scheduled to begin until seven o’clock. He’d have more than sufficient time to drink eggnog and visit with the family prior to supper.

Another carriage came to a halt in front of the house, and Paul waited a moment, certain he’d know any visitor to the Broadmoor home. He pulled his collar tight around his neck and waited until a man who appeared to be several years his senior approached. He carried a small bag in one hand. If Paul had ever met the man, he couldn’t remember. He extended his hand. “I’m Paul Medford. I work with Quincy Broadmoor at the Home for the Friendless.”

The man grasped Paul’s gloved hand in a firm hold. “Wesley Hedrick, from New York City,” he said.

“So you’re the man Sophie tells me she met while in England.” The two men continued up the walk. “I understand you’re considering becoming a benefactor at the Home for the Friendless,” he added. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Hedrick.”

When they stepped onto the porch, a butler opened the front door before either of them could knock. Paul removed his coat and hat, and handed them to the butler. Mr. Hedrick did the same after tucking the small bag into his pocket. Then the two men stepped into the room, which appeared to be overflowing with women and children.

“Rather large group, isn’t it?” Wesley commented.

“Follow me. It may not be quite so crowded or noisy in the other room.” Paul threaded through the crowd but discovered the massive sitting room even more congested than the receiving parlor. “Perhaps the library,” he said.

There were only a few men in the library, clustered in small groups. Paul located a spot near the fire. “I was hoping we would have some time to talk. I’m anxious to hear about your philanthropic work, Mr. Hedrick. Quincy tells me that you have worked extensively helping the poor and orphaned.”

“It’s true that I have done my best to help the less fortunate. I find it a genuine thrill to have the resources to lend a helping hand to those in need.” Wesley took a sip of the eggnog one of the maids offered. “And please call me Wesley. I feel as though we know each other already. Mr. Broadmoor’s letters are filled with accolades for your work.”

“That’s good to hear. He hasn’t told me quite so much about you. I’m anxious to hear exactly what you’ve done—what has proved successful and what hasn’t. I’m always interested to know how others have been able to touch lives and meet both physical and spiritual needs.”

“Oh, well . . . uh . . . I’m sure nothing I’ve done would begin to compare with your work. And I uh . . . um . . . don’t think you’d find any of my ideas new. I wouldn’t consider anything I’ve done either new or different. No, not at all.”

“You’re being much too modest. Quincy did tell me you began your work in New York City. Please elaborate. I’m truly interested in the details.”

Wesley gulped the remainder of his eggnog and placed the cup on the silver tray of a passing maid. “I saw much suffering in New York City. There are many destitute sections of the city where immigrants are huddled together in horrid squalor—unbelievable sickness and no medical aid. Very sad.”

Paul nodded. “Indeed, very sad. And how is it you helped in that regard? What did you find the most beneficial to aid those suffering folks?”

“Well, my . . . ah . . . background doesn’t lend itself to the practical applications of those of someone like yourself. I donated money to several groups attempting to help, but then I was in England a great deal of the time. While I was married to my dear wife, we did our best to help there. Again, mostly financial. Of course, we also had many wealthy friends and encouraged them to give, as well.”

Paul studied the man. Mr. Hedrick was likely at least ten years his senior and obviously a man of wealth. Yet he seemed at odds to explain anything of substance regarding his charitable work. Most wealthy men who donated to the Home for the Friendless wanted to know exactly how and where their money was being spent. They wanted to see results and often offered suggestions and direction.

“I’m surprised you never insisted upon any sort of accountability or report regarding your donated funds. How did you measure the success of an organization and decide if you wanted to continue supporting it?”

“I do realize, ah . . . think you’re right on that account. I have decided my lack of involvement was a definite shortcoming in the past. Wi-with those other charities,” Wesley stammered. “In fact, that’s one of the reasons I came to Rochester. I want to be involved in the Home for the Friendless. If I’m going to contribute financial aid, I want to know more about the operation of the Home.”

Before Paul could question him further, Sophie arrived and grasped his arm. “And I’m going to need to know more about my future wife, as well,” he said only loud enough for Paul to hear. He offered him a wink and a sly smile.

Sophie gazed into his eyes. “What did you say? You two seem to be sharing secrets.”

“It was nothing, my dear. Nothing at all.”

Paul hadn’t liked the man much before, but now he only wished to punch him squarely in the nose. He didn’t like feeling this way and quickly offered up a prayer that his spirit might find peace about the matter. There was something, however, that simply didn’t set well with him. Hedrick didn’t appear to be anything other than what he professed to be, yet Paul couldn’t shake the discomfort.

“Maybe it’s simply because he’s with Sophie—planning a marriage,” he murmured. That alone would be enough.

Christmas Eve dinner evolved into the usual chaotic event that they’d all come to expect. Thankfully, there had been no genuine arguments, mostly children crying and siblings bickering with one another throughout the meal. Sophie had hoped Aunt Victoria would wait to decorate the tree until some of the family members had either gone home or retired for the night. Instead, she told the servants to open the boxed ornaments immediately after they had completed their meal. “The children will enjoy helping,” she’d said.