For Love's Sake (12 page)

“I would take very good care of you. You would have nice clothes, good food, and your own servants….”

Laurel could not believe her ears. “You want me to be your mistress?”

“Mistress is too harsh a word,” he said. “However, you yourself said that you did not want marriage. Neither do I, but I would like you to be part of my life. A very important part of my life.”

England was so far away—far from her friends, although when she thought about it, Deirdre was her only friend. There was also Hattie Stroup. She did not want to abandon the elderly woman. Then again, Laurel would have no other way to support herself now that the mill was gone, and she would be no good to anyone homeless and starving.

Christopher could sense her wavering. “Think on it. You have a few weeks to decide.”

Laurel’s ‘few weeks’ slipped by much faster than she anticipated. Crews worked at the mill almost around the clock, knocking down walls and shoveling charred paperwork. It was not long before the only thing left standing was a lone brick smokestack. A heated debate ensued over whether it should be brought down or left as a reminder, but it was finally decided that it posed too much of a threat to the new mill, should it ever fall.

Everyone in town came out to see the crews pull it down. Some clapped and cheered, others cried. Laurel just stood there, unable to do either. She had said goodbye to her mother, then her grandparents, her childhood home, and now her place of employment.
Was there nothing that could not be taken away without a moment’s notice?
As she watched the resilient old smokestack crumble to the ground, Laurel knew that there was no reason to stay. She would leave and start a new life on the other side of the world.

“I want to come with you when you go,” she whispered to Christopher when the cloud of dust and debris settled. “There’s nothing left for me here.”

He nodded, placing his hand on the small of her back. Nothing she could have said would have made him happier than those few words she had just spoken. He could go home, and she would be there with him.

“I can’t believe you’re going to England!” Deirdre exclaimed. “What am I going to do without you?”

 
Laurel tried to keep her sprits up. “Will you stay here and wait for the mill, or will you move on?”

“Daddy says we’re staying. There will be plenty of work when construction starts on the new building.”

At least families would be able to earn a living while the mill was being built. Laurel hated to think of everyone pulling up their roots and moving from their cozy little homes on Mill Hill.

Deirdre was too busy thinking about all the wonderful places her friend would see and the beautiful new dresses ‘His Lordship’ would no doubt buy for her. “You’ll have to write to me and tell me everything! Even send photographs! And if you get tired of having so many gowns and furs, you can always send some over to me!”

Laurel laughed, but felt very sorry to lose her only friend in the world. “Maybe some day you can come and visit, or maybe when the mill is finished, I can come and see you.”

A quick glance out the Jones’ front window showed an impatient Christopher pacing circles in the dirt outside. They would need to be leaving soon if they planned on catching the train out of Gastonia, and Laurel still needed to bring her cat to Hattie Stroup.

The two girls stood up and gave each other one last tight hug. Deirdre wiped a tear from her cheek, trying to keep Laurel from seeing her cry. “I always knew that if one of us would ever leave, it would be you. Now, you go out there and let your Prince Charming whisk you away to his crystal palace!”

From the Jones’ home, she and Christopher paid one last visit to Mrs. Stroup, who had offered to take care of Laurel’s beloved cat. Deirdre had volunteered to ride out there at least once a month—on Laurel’s blue bicycle—so that she did not have to worry about the old woman.

Hattie smiled at the young couple. While she was sorry to lose the girl, she knew Laurel would be happiest with Christopher. If that meant that she should leave forever, then so be it.

Laurel had never been on a train before. The white brick station bustled with passengers loading luggage, purchasing tickets, or waiting for the next train on one of the long wooden benches. As she and Christopher stepped out onto the platform, the long locomotive that would take her further from her home than she had ever been awaited them. It hissed steam and bellowed smoke, frightening Laurel half to death.

Christopher could feel her hand shaking as he took it to help her up into the passenger car. He wished that he had remembered to give her something to calm her down before they left, but it was too late now.

“Would you rather have the window or the aisle?” he asked her as they found their seats.

Laurel looked at the plush button-and-tuck velvet seats with the polished table separating them from the ones facing it.
Would she rather have the window or the aisle?
A shrieking whistle blast made her jump, sending her crashing in to Christopher’s chest.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered in his ear.

They were holding up the other passengers, so he pushed her down into the seat closest to the window. “It is too late for that, my dear,” he said, pulling out his gold pocket watch to check the time. “I’m afraid you’re along for the ride.”

The great whistle gave one last bellow, and the train groaned to life. It moved so slowly at first that it seemed like it would never make it out of the station, but with each turn of the wheels, the old locomotive picked up speed. Laurel watched as the city faded to the outskirts, and then into farmland all around.

“It is about six hundred miles to New York City,” Christopher informed her, his black homburg hat pulled down low over his eyes. “I suggest you get comfortable.”

Laurel saw more of the country in those few hours than she had in all her eighteen years of living. Somehow Christopher managed to sleep until lunchtime, only stirring to move them both to the adjacent dining car.

A waiter brought around bowls of cream of cauliflower soup. Next came delicious veal cutlets and mashed potatoes, which Laurel forced herself to eat even though she was not hungry.

Christopher dabbed the corner of his mouth with his white napkin. “Tomorrow you can purchase your wardrobe, and then our ship departs for Southampton at noon the following day. If all goes to plan, I will have my feet propped up in front of my own fireplace exactly one week from Monday.”

“Tell me what your home is like.”

He smiled as he thought about the rough hand-hewn timber beams that composed so much of his house, the bleating of sheep in the pasture across the lane, and the sweet smell of hay in his stables. “I’d rather it be a surprise.”

Laurel pursed her lips. Christopher
hated
surprises, yet insisted on keeping her ignorant of everything about him. If she was going to live there, she at least deserved to know what she was getting herself into!

“You will love it, I’m sure,” he said, soothing her. “Truly.”

A series of long, loud whistle blasts announced their arrival into the New York City station. The passengers unloaded stiffly, thankful to finally be out of their seats. Christopher collected their baggage, and together they walked into the crisp night air. On the sidewalk, Laurel gazed up at the enormous buildings looming in the distance, and even though it was dark, the night sky was illuminated by their electric lights.

“Jumping Jehoshaphat!” she cried as she craned her neck back, trying to see all the way to the tops of the giant structures.

Christopher could not disagree with her on that—New York City was a lot to take in, even for him. However, there would be plenty of time for sightseeing tomorrow. Rail travel always exhausted him, even though he usually slept right through it, and his current focus was on a hot bath and crisp, clean sheets.

They hailed a cab, which took them to their hotel. The large building had once been an elegant private mansion, but had been renovated to receive guests who appreciated more secluded lodgings during their stay in the city. It was built of gray stone, in the Gothic style, with arched windows and tall spires. Two bellboys rushed out to collect their baggage while Christopher and Laurel climbed the stone steps to the front door.

The interior was like nothing Laurel ever saw before. Thick damask wallpaper glowed in the lamplight from colorful leaded-glass table lamps. Guests milled about the room, sitting in heavy armchairs by the marble fireplace, or in the adjacent room, which was set aside for meals. She studied her surroundings while Christopher signed the guestbook, and then the bellboys showed them to their rooms on the third floor.

The large canopied bed took up the majority of the room, which was papered and carpeted in a nauseating array of clashing colors and patterns. Heavy brocade curtains had been pulled back and tied at the four posts of the bed, and on almost every available space of wall, artwork in gilt frames was hung.

“If this is fashionable decorating, I don’t think I’d have the knack for it,” Laurel observed, shaking her head at a hideous lamp as she ran her fingers along the fringe that dangled from the shade.

Christopher could not help but laugh at their predicament. “Thankfully, most of it is about twenty years out of date…but I’m afraid
all
of it is ugly.”

If no one bothered to wake him, Christopher could sleep all day. Laurel, on the other hand, was still used to getting up early. For his sake, she laid in bed for as long as she could stand before getting up and taking a bath. The water was cold and the pipes banged, turning what could have been a wonderful start to her day into a virtual torture session. By the time she dressed for breakfast, she was already in a foul mood.

“What a miserable place,” Laurel said to herself, frowning at the teeming streets below.

“I’m sorry you don’t like it,” Christopher called from the bed behind her. “Would you rather we moved to the Waldorf?”

She blushed, not realizing that he was awake to hear her complaining. “No…I was talking about the city.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t like it either. Neither do I care for London, which is almost just as bad. Actually, I couldn’t care less whether we ever stepped foot in a city again.”

Laurel stared out the window, watching an electric trolley make its way between two horse-drawn buggies. “Do we really have to go out there?”

“Yes!” he said, rolling out of bed. “You cannot possibly travel in those old rags.”

“I made these myself!”

“But that does not make them any good.”

It took half the afternoon for Laurel to forgive Christopher for insulting both her clothes and her sewing skills. They walked through a department store, thumbing through the racks of dresses, blouses, and skirts. He decided very early on that she would need about a million of everything. The poor sales girl could not keep up, and everything she suggested—that Laurel actually liked—Christopher announced was not good enough.

“What about this skirt?” Laurel asked, holding the hunter green velvet up to his face.

“Fine,” he acquiesced, growing tired of fighting with her.

She turned around and asked the sales girl, “Does it come in any other color?”

“Blue, I believe, with a matching jacket.”

“
Wonderful.
I’ll take both.”

They also managed to agree on a long-sleeved red blouse embroidered with black sequins, a black silk skirt, two tweed suits, a red velvet gown, five white shirtwaist blouses that looked all the same to Laurel, a gold silk gown trimmed with cream-colored lace, and an array of various trumpet shaped skirts.

Thinking that they were done, Laurel flopped down onto a leather chair. She was certain that she would never get around to wearing all of the new clothes that Christopher insisted she buy.

“Go and choose your lingerie,” he instructed her. “And when you think you finally have enough, buy two more of everything.”

While Laurel was gone, Christopher slipped downstairs to the jewelry counter. She would need jewels—nothing too extravagant, but enough to compliment her outfits. Every fashionable woman of the day required pearls, so he bought her an assortment of necklaces, chokers, earrings, and hair combs. That would at least get them through their voyage; if she needed more, he would send for a jeweler once they were settled in at home.

Christopher also managed to purchase a few things for himself while he waited for her. One thing he could not tolerate was a shabby dresser. It was perhaps the only useful thing his father ever taught him, and both of the Brayles brothers prided themselves on their appearance.

“Are you actually shopping?” Laurel asked him as he slowly made his way back up to the ladies’ floor.

“I cannot spend
all
my money on you,” he said and smiled.

“Well, I think I have enough underclothes to last a lifetime. You would be proud!”

Christopher took one look at the flustered sales girl, who was trying to organize all of their purchases. “Did you remember to find hats, gloves, shoes…”

“Dear Lord!” Laurel said, throwing up her hands in frustration.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

“I’ve never seen the ocean before,” Laurel said as they weaved through the streets on their way to the harbor. “I’m excited!”

Her pleasant mood was infectious and Christopher could not help but grin over at her. She looked stunning in her smart navy blue velvet suit, the jacket of which was lined in sable fur, and her small matching hat. He decided that the very first thing he would do when they reached their cabin was strip her out of it.

“What?” She asked, noticing the way he was staring at her. “Is my hat on backwards? You know, I couldn’t figure out how it…”

“I was just thinking about how I would like nothing more than to make love to you for the entire duration of our voyage.”

Laurel snorted in shock. “You certainly are forward!”

“If anything, I am a man who knows what he wants.”

She slipped one of her hands out of the sable muff she carried and ran her fingertips along the tufts of auburn hair that peeked from beneath his black homburg at the back of his neck. He was so handsome, but his best feature was not his looks – it was his heart, which despite his best efforts to convince everyone otherwise, was kind and generous.