Page 18 of Deception and Desire
A young man with the same blue eyes and black hair as the giant sat behind a dilapidated desk. One hand clutched at his hair, the other drummed stained fingers against the pages of a ledger. He glanced up, looked down, then jerked his head up again.
“Good day, miss,” he said, a slow smile turning his mouth. “May I be of assistance?”
“Yes, I…” Fenella faltered. She wasn’t used to telling Banbury tales and hoped they didn’t ask too many personal questions. “I’m here for the interview. My name is Fenella Franklin.” She held out her hand and refused to pull it back when he only stared at her.
“That’s the look I was waiting to see,” announced the giant. “A bit of a surprise, eh?” He settled back against the wall, crossing his arms over his expansive chest.
The man behind the desk stood and finally extended his hand. “My apology, Mrs. Franklin, I’m Ian MacNaughton. Ye caught me by surprise. We thought aMr.Franklin was applying for the position.”
“Surprises keep life interesting, do they not?” Fenella wondered if she should correct the address and tell him she was not married.Keep it simple and stick to the truth,her grandmother had said.
“Aye, it certainly does,” Mr. MacNaughton agreed with a grin. “Would ye like to sit down, Mrs. Franklin?”
“I’m afraid it’s still Miss Franklin, sir.” Fenella sat down in one of the three uncomfortable-looking chairs.
“Where would yer mother be, if ye dinna mind me asking? No offense meant, but ye look a wee young.”
“She’s in England with my sister, and I’m in my twentieth year. I live in Grahamston with my grandmother, Aileen Douglas. She recently sold her bookstore near Glasgow Cross.” Guilt pinched her heart at the information she left out. She’d promised her father no more misrepresentation, but this was only a tiny bit false. “As she’s getting older and widowed, I was sent as her companion.”
“Yer mother is English?”
She’d prefer to be,thought Fenella. “She’s half-Scot and married to an English merchant. My grandmother is from Inverness, but my grandfather was from Manchester.”
Mr. MacNaughton nodded and rummaged through a stack of papers, pulling out her letter. “So ye have experience with textiles and accounts?”
“Yes, sir. I managed the ledgers for my father. He used to import raw materials, such as cotton and flax, and sell them to gentlemen such as yourself. Then—”
“Is yer father in Glasgow? He approves of ye applying for a position here?”
“He’s gone,” she said, looking at her hands folded in her lap, trying to think of what she should say. “These past few—”
“I’m sorry to hear it, Miss Franklin,” he said. “I willna pry into any more of yer business.”
Fenella met his sympathetic gaze and realized he thought her father was dead. “Oh, no. I meant—”
He held up a hand. “Yer personal life isna my business.”
This was far from a harmless clanker. Fenella needed to set him right on this point. “Oh, no. You see, before my father—”
Mr. MacNaughton stopped her again with a shake of his head. “I apologize, but such a lovely lass entering my office had me a mite curious. I’ll admit, I never considered a woman working for us in this capacity.”
The last statement distracted her, her temper flaring at the words. Sheknewit. This man never would have given a female an interview. Fenella clenched her jaw, then arranged her face into a sweet smile.
“Why?” She wondered if the question would irritate him. The English gentlemen she knew didn’t appreciate having to explain themselves or justify their opinions to the gentler sex. Yet, it galled her that she might be qualified and not considered because she wasn’t a man.
“Well, er, women work in other parts of the mill but…” His face turned red. “No’ that I have anything against…”
“You don’t think a woman can keep the books as well as a man?”
“To be fair, Miss Franklin, most women are not as educated. And if they are, it is because their family has money. And a young woman with money would not be interested in this position.” He leaned forward, the rolled cuffs falling to his elbows as he propped them on the desk. “Which leads to my next question. Tell me, why should I hire ye?”
“I am somewhat of a wizard with numbers,” she answered brightly. “Give me some figures, random numbers, and I’ll give you their sum.”
The giant chuckled softly behind her. “Let her have a look at yer books, Ian. See if she can find what ye’ve been missing all morning.”
That suggestion seemed to please Mr. MacNaughton. He turned the ledger around and pushed it toward her. “I’m off by two pounds and some shillings and canna find where. Here are the orders. These statements should match this column here.” He pointed to a row of numbers and handed her a pencil and paper. “For scratching out the sums.”
“No, thank you.” Thumbing through the papers, her eyes flicked back and forth between the pile and the column. She set one aside, resumed her attention to the stack, and put another sheet aside. Her anxiety was forgotten; her mind was focused on the task. She studied the writing on the orders, rechecked the columns, and nodded.
