would be decent enough. Probably one that would be a lot larger than the house on Nob Hill. “Ball gowns and tickets to the opera can be so expensive.”
“They are ten, Miss Whittier, and don’t need ball gowns.” Daniel pulled in his feet, preparing to stand. “I commend your noble goals, but I’m rather certain the probate court will rule that my sisters and I are the lawful heirs to Josiah’s estate. I’mnot going to apologize for that fact. Your bribes won’t change my mind about pursuing the case and neither will your attempts to make me feel guilty.”
Remorseful, she gripped his hand to stop him before he could rise. “I want you to see the shop. See what I intend to do.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
She very likely was. “My future and the futures of four girls are on the line, Mr. Cady. Everything we’ve dreamed of. Let me decide if I’m wasting my time or not.”
Daniel’s irritation had eased by the time they had gone a block. He’d been insulted by her attempt to buy him off and angered by her implication that the promises he’d made to Lily and Marguerite were a less worthy use of Josiah’s money than her plans, but the walk in the refreshing afternoon air had cleared his head and let him think. Miss Whittier was merely fighting for her cause. He would do the same in her shoes. He
was
doing the same, fighting to win his proper inheritance. For his sisters’ sake. For the vow he’d made to his mother on her deathbed.
The woman marching along the sidewalk beside him hadn’t said a word since she’d stalked out of the Occidental, Daniel in her wake. Sarah’s face was as stern as a schoolmarm’s, the ribbons of her hat fluttering beneath her chin. She couldn’t possibly hope she would convince him that her shop would detach him from his . . . from Josiah’s money. But then, Sarah Whittier wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met. Maybe she did.
And maybe she would.
Sarah looked over and caught him staring. “Debating how to tell me you don’t want to see my shop after all, Mr. Cady?”
“No, Miss Whittier, that’s not what I’m thinking about in the least.”
“I won’t ask you to elaborate,” she retorted.
Spunky and determined. Could be a dangerous combination in a woman.
He almost smiled at the thought as they hurried across the street, dodging a draft horse with a shopboy astride its broad flanks, his feet barely reaching the stirrups. Going the other direction, a wagon carrying what looked to be freshly arrived Chinese trundled up the road, each of the men—and many boys—perched atop a canvas bag probably filled with their belongings, their eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.
Interesting place.
Sarah reached the curb before Daniel, evading his attempt to take her elbow to assist her onto the sidewalk. Typical for her, he decided.
Sarah stopped at an empty corner storefront and pulled open the beaded reticule suspended from her wrist. “Here we are.”
She turned a key in the lock and stepped through the doorway ahead of him, the shop bell jingling over their heads and the musty smell of unused space swirling in the air. “Don’t lean against anything. I only received the keys yesterday and haven’t had a chance to clean.”
“The dirt doesn’t bother me.”
“It does, however, bother
me
,” she replied, sounding impatient that he didn’t understand that she would want everything to be perfect.
Removing his hat, Daniel wandered through the rooms, his footsteps breaking a trail through the dust coating the scarred wood floor. Lined on two sides with large windows, the store comprised a medium-sized space walled off in the corner to form a separate set of offices. An iron staircase against the separating wall punched through the ceiling, leading to the upper floor. Given the location—at the center of the city’s commercial district—and the size, the shop had to have come with a hefty price tag. But he already could see why she’d
“They are ten, Miss Whittier, and don’t need ball gowns.” Daniel pulled in his feet, preparing to stand. “I commend your noble goals, but I’m rather certain the probate court will rule that my sisters and I are the lawful heirs to Josiah’s estate. I’mnot going to apologize for that fact. Your bribes won’t change my mind about pursuing the case and neither will your attempts to make me feel guilty.”
Remorseful, she gripped his hand to stop him before he could rise. “I want you to see the shop. See what I intend to do.”
“You’re wasting your time.”
She very likely was. “My future and the futures of four girls are on the line, Mr. Cady. Everything we’ve dreamed of. Let me decide if I’m wasting my time or not.”
Daniel’s irritation had eased by the time they had gone a block. He’d been insulted by her attempt to buy him off and angered by her implication that the promises he’d made to Lily and Marguerite were a less worthy use of Josiah’s money than her plans, but the walk in the refreshing afternoon air had cleared his head and let him think. Miss Whittier was merely fighting for her cause. He would do the same in her shoes. He
was
doing the same, fighting to win his proper inheritance. For his sisters’ sake. For the vow he’d made to his mother on her deathbed.
The woman marching along the sidewalk beside him hadn’t said a word since she’d stalked out of the Occidental, Daniel in her wake. Sarah’s face was as stern as a schoolmarm’s, the ribbons of her hat fluttering beneath her chin. She couldn’t possibly hope she would convince him that her shop would detach him from his . . . from Josiah’s money. But then, Sarah Whittier wasn’t like any other woman he’d ever met. Maybe she did.
And maybe she would.
Sarah looked over and caught him staring. “Debating how to tell me you don’t want to see my shop after all, Mr. Cady?”
“No, Miss Whittier, that’s not what I’m thinking about in the least.”
“I won’t ask you to elaborate,” she retorted.
Spunky and determined. Could be a dangerous combination in a woman.
He almost smiled at the thought as they hurried across the street, dodging a draft horse with a shopboy astride its broad flanks, his feet barely reaching the stirrups. Going the other direction, a wagon carrying what looked to be freshly arrived Chinese trundled up the road, each of the men—and many boys—perched atop a canvas bag probably filled with their belongings, their eyes downcast and shoulders slumped.
Interesting place.
Sarah reached the curb before Daniel, evading his attempt to take her elbow to assist her onto the sidewalk. Typical for her, he decided.
Sarah stopped at an empty corner storefront and pulled open the beaded reticule suspended from her wrist. “Here we are.”
She turned a key in the lock and stepped through the doorway ahead of him, the shop bell jingling over their heads and the musty smell of unused space swirling in the air. “Don’t lean against anything. I only received the keys yesterday and haven’t had a chance to clean.”
“The dirt doesn’t bother me.”
“It does, however, bother
me
,” she replied, sounding impatient that he didn’t understand that she would want everything to be perfect.
Removing his hat, Daniel wandered through the rooms, his footsteps breaking a trail through the dust coating the scarred wood floor. Lined on two sides with large windows, the store comprised a medium-sized space walled off in the corner to form a separate set of offices. An iron staircase against the separating wall punched through the ceiling, leading to the upper floor. Given the location—at the center of the city’s commercial district—and the size, the shop had to have come with a hefty price tag. But he already could see why she’d
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