Her father pointed to a crate. “I’ve finally made room on the shelves for these elixirs, and I came down here to retrieve them. Carry the crate for me?” he suggested with a wink.
She chuckled. Leave it to her father to find a way to appease both women. She set her books on top and picked up the crate before following her father to the stairs, the load straining her already tired arms.
“Don’t judge your mother too harshly. She wants what’s best for you,” he advised as he waited for her to precede him.
“What if she doesn’t know what’s best for me? Isn’t that something I should decide for myself?”
“Then you do what you feel is right and give her time to realize you’ve made the choice that truly makes you happy.” He settled a hand on her shoulder. “In the end, she wants nothing more than for you and your sister to be happy.”
Giving him a nod, she climbed the stairs. Maybe he was right. Her mother meant well. Still, her mother’s views were becoming outdated. More and more women were educating themselves and doing more with their lives than managing a home. How her mother could compare her quest to improve herself, and society at large, with preparing for a simple dinner party was beyond her. Really, how long could it take to ready oneself to eat and socialize?
Chapter Three
As a footman took their coats, Laura scanned Mattie’s attire yet again and sighed. “If we were the same size, I would have lent you a gown,” she muttered.
Laura was indeed much smaller than she was. Mattie fairly towered over her. Still, Mattie peered down at the gown in question with its scooped neckline and elegant draping. A confection of white and pink satin and lace, the dress was her favorite.
“No more fretting,” Laura’s husband gently admonished, offering his arm to Laura. “Our hosts will understand.”
Understand? Mattie’s ire rose. She had to assume he meant they will understand that she couldn’t possibly dress as well as they could. After all, her family didn’t possess the amount of money these people did, as if that were such a sin.
She followed Laura and her husband into the drawing room where the butler announced them.
A petite woman approached. Given the abundance of jewels she wore, it was a wonder she wasn’t stooped over under the weight. “Arthur, so good to see you again.” She spared a glance at Laura. “And of course, your wife as well.”
“Allow me to introduce my wife’s sister, Miss Matilda Duncan,” Arthur said to the woman. He then turned to Mattie. “This is my aunt and our hostess, Mrs. Luella Whitman.”
Mrs. Whitman’s gaze barely touched on Mattie. “Come, join everyone.”
With that, their hostess glided away, leaving them to their own devices. Laura and her husband followed the woman’s path into the room, and Mattie trailed behind. This dreaded night had come, and with it, the discomfiture of being the odd one out. As expected.
To Arthur’s credit, he introduced her to each person he spoke to and attended to her and Laura’s every need, procuring refreshments and finding them a place to sit amid the crush. There were more attendees at this dinner than Mattie would have imagined. The room hummed with conversation.
“Shall we speak to the Wests?” Arthur offered, gesturing to an elderly couple across the room.
“You two go,” Mattie insisted, setting aside her glass and taking a seat. “I find I’m weary at the moment.”
“Are you sure?” Laura asked.
“Quite.” After all the subtle slights Mattie had received since her arrival, she’d rather sit quietly in this corner. Just as her sister had done, every woman here seemed to scoff silently at her attire. Was the design outdated? It certainly didn’t look worn. Was the material of lesser quality? She barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. What did her clothes matter? The world was filled with issues that mattered more.
“Miss Mattie Duncan.”
She turned toward the familiar male voice to see Clark, the dapper gentleman from the firehouse. “Mr. Clark …” Oh dear. What was his surname again?
Amusement glittered in Clark’s eyes. “Whitman.”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I’m afraid remembering names is not a skill I possess.”
“Don’t worry. I could say the same.”
“I’m surprised to see you here,” she confessed. What a coincidence to have met him at the fire station and now here.
“You are?” Clark’s smile broadened. “This is my home.”
“Your home …” How could that be? Unless … “Mr. Clark Whitman. You’re the son of our hostess, and cousin to Arthur Cogswell.”
“I am.”
The Cogswell’s nephew. Imagine that. He was the very same man her mother had been so keen that Mattie meet. A chuckle broke free. How ironic that she’d already met him at a place her mother would rather she not go.
“Do I amuse you?”
“No, but the circumstance with which we first met do. Tell me, why do you choose to be a firefighter? Certainly not for the income.”
Clark took the open seat next to her. “Perhaps I have benevolent reasons, like saving lives.” He huffed out a laugh. “Benevolent reasons that have turned into selfish ones. I’ve friends at the station, people I wouldn’t have otherwise met. The job also appeals by my adventurous nature and keeps me fit.”
Mattie rolled her aching shoulders. “I can see how that’s possible. Jack seems determined to have me focus on the physical effort rather than the job itself. I realize he’s doing so in an effort to make me want to quit, but I’m eager to learn about how to actually fight a fire. If only I could convince Jack to teach me.”
Clark’s attention shifted toward the entrance to the room. “Now might be an opportune time to talk with Jack about your training.”
“Now? He’s here?” She turned and spotted Jack approaching, wearing his best suit. Mattie feasted on the sight, her stomach filled with flutters. While he’d worn the suit many times, and the material wasn’t of the highest quality by any means, it molded over his lean figure as if proud to be on his person. He was by far the most handsome in the room.
A man strode beside Jack, also heading this way. Dressed in a fine black suit, complete with a white tie, shirt, and gloves, he walked with a confident swagger.
When the two reached them, Jack’s eyes met hers, and she swore she caught a hint of something within them. An eagerness to see her? She’d like to think so.
“Mattie,” he said with a nod before he greeted his friend. “Clark.”
Clark leaned toward her an inch or two. “You already know Jack, and”—he gestured toward the gentleman standing next to Jack—“this is Warren Hightower. He’s also a firefighter at our station.
“Warren, this is Miss Mattie Duncan, a new recruit in training.”
Warren’s prominent dark brows rose. “A new recruit?” He tipped his head to the side. “My sister mentioned a female recruit, but I didn’t believe her.”
“Ah, yes, I met your sister once. Her name is Constance, correct?”
“It is.” Warren regarded her with a stern stare. “How do you find the training so far? It must be difficult for a woman.” His tone held the taint of disapproval.