For Love's Sake
Authors: Leonora De Vere
FOR LOVE’S SAKE
Book One of the EDWARDIANS IN LOVE Series
At the turn of the twentieth century, an English aristocrat reluctantly inherits a failing North Carolina cotton mill and changes the life of Laurel Graham, an outcast young woman who wants more than her sleepy town has to offer.
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FOR LOVE’S SAKE
Leonora De Vere
“ . . . But love me for love's sake,
that evermore
Thou may'st love on . . .”
Sonnet Fourteen
Elizabeth Barrett Browning
CHAPTER ONE
1900
The thundering of machinery drowned out any possible conversation. Luckily for Laurel, she developed the ability to read lips early on in her years at the mill.
“Are you bringing Danny to dinner tonight?” the girl across the enormous spinning machine asked between rolls of pale white cotton thread.
Laurel shook her head and laughed. She had only seen Danny outside of work twice, but they were already the source of much speculation in the little mill town. A girl of eighteen was expected to marry the first man who came along, settle down, and raise a litter of babies. Her friends all thought she was full of herself to want more out of life than a three-room house on Mill Hill, but Laurel couldn’t help herself.
It was a new century, after all—if a girl could go out and get a job, live on her own, and make her own money, then who could expect her to give that freedom up to be saddled to a husband for the rest of her life?
She ran down her side of the spinning machine, switching out full bobbins of cotton thread for empty ones.
“Bring him!” her friend ordered.
Again, Laurel shook her head. There was no way she was inviting Danny Clay to have dinner at the Jones’.
Absolutely no way.
“Thanks so much for coming, Danny,” Mrs. Jones said, smiling from the front porch steps.
Laurel, Danny, and Deirdre stood on the dirt path in the twilight. Lightening bugs flashed here and there in the distance, and the sticky summer night air was alive with the music of crickets and the croaking of frogs.
“Yes!” Deirdre added, “and we hope you’ll come back!”
She nudged Laurel in her side with her sharp elbow, almost making her yelp.
Danny grinned his broad, unaffected smile. “I’d love to!”
Laurel just rolled her eyes. “Walk me to the end of the road.”
“Bye Deirdre,” the young man tipped his worn-out old cap. “Mrs. Jones.”
As they ambled down the red dirt path that led between the rows of mill-worker’s houses, Laurel kicked a rock with her booted foot. Deirdre was lucky to have such a nice mother, even if her father always spent his evenings in town. It was probably for the best that he was out most of the night anyway, since Mr. Jones was a notoriously mean drunk. Being drunk and ‘piss-poor’ was a bad combination, and many mornings just before dawn, Deirdre snuck out her bedroom window to run to Laurel’s. They would lay in her narrow metal bed and talk about getting out of Gaston County, knowing all too well that they never would.
“Deirdre’s family sure is nice,” Danny said, feeling awkward in the silence.
Laurel liked the quiet, and was disappointed that he ruined it.
“Me and her and her brothers, we all went to school together. It sure is a shame about her daddy.” He shook his head. “A damn shame.”
An old blue bicycle sat propped up against a pine tree at the end of the path. Laurel grabbed the handlebars and walked it a few steps before she lifted her leg over the frame, fixed her skirts, and looked back at her date.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you,” she said.
Danny waved as she pedaled off down the road, and stood there until she slipped off into the night.
Laurel kept to the side of the dirt road, coasting down the hill that led to the outskirts of town. She passed by dozens of houses with whitewashed picket fences and carefully trimmed lawns. These homes were much different than the ones the Mill rented out to its workers. The people who lived here were well-off in the community.
On the left, there was the druggist’s house, with its large wrap-around porch and hanging baskets with bright green ferns. Beside that was the home of the Widow Price, which had just been painted sunny yellow a few weeks before. The local Baptist church had volunteered their time – just one example of the close-knit relationship the small town prided itself on. Across the street, a porch light was still burning, and Laurel could make out the form of a couple sitting on the porch swing. They waved as she passed.
A shortcut at the corner where Doctor Monroe’s dog always barked at her from the yard took her down another quiet street. Then a quick left brought Laurel through a narrow alleyway. She kept a small apartment above the Dry Goods store, and she pulled her bicycle up to the stairs.
“You’re hungry, I bet!” she said to an old gray cat perched on the top step.
He yawned and swatted at her skirt while she fumbled with her key in the lock. Reaching down to pick him up, Laurel pushed open the door to her simple home. It had two small armchairs in each corner, which she found for cheap in a rummage sale, a little square table, and a narrow metal bed. It was not much, but Laurel counted herself fortunate to have a home at all.
The next morning, she was up by five and pedaled like her life depended on it into the mill yard at half past six. There, she waited in line with the rest of the employees, mentally preparing herself for another grueling day in the cotton mill. Eleven hours a day, six days a week, for the past five years, Laurel had been a spinner for Hathcock-Holbrooks Textiles. And if her life followed the pattern of all the other women on Mill Hill, she’d probably die there, too.
Laurel thought about that every time she punched her time clock.
“Mother told me to be sure to tell you how much we all enjoyed you and Danny’s company last night,” Deirdre grinned as she took her place across from Laurel at the spinning machine.
“Then be sure to tell your mother how glad I am that we were invited.”
Deirdre’s smile wavered a little. “You aren’t mad – about Danny, I mean? ‘Cause I was really counting on staying at your place tonight. You know how my daddy gets on a Saturday night,
especially
if he’s got a little extra money in his pocket…”
The great oiled machines rattled to life, drowning out the rest of her words by their incessant ticking. Laurel assured her friend that she was more than welcome to sleep at her apartment. Even though Deirdre was only sixteen, she was Laurel’s closest friend.
At the end of the workday, the two girls walked along with a few other young spinners. There was to be a dance that night, and they rambled on and on about who was going with whom, what they were wearing, and which couples would undoubtedly be sneaking out early.
“Danny is taking you, ain’t he?” a blonde girl asked.
Laurel shook her head. “I’m not going.”
“
Not going?
You’re crazy!”
Ignoring the girl, she pushed her bicycle past all of them. “Am I wrong to get tired of seeing the same boys every single day? They don’t look any different with their hair combed and their shirts pressed, believe me.”
Another girl turned and sneered to her friends, “Laurel thinks she’s gonna get a man from town. I guess the rest of us are just gonna have make due!”
Deirdre and Laurel walked swiftly down the dirt road. In the ditches on the either side, wildflowers grew almost head high. Deirdre snatched a couple in her hands. She picked the petals off of a small pink flower while she kept her head down.
“They really do think you’re snobby,” she said.
Laurel squinted as the bright orange sun gleamed its evening rays directly into her eyes. “I don’t care. If I weren’t snobby, they’d find some other reason not to like me.”
“But the boys are starting to feel the same way! My brother says they all laugh that you got your nose stuck up in the air. Nobody’s gonna want to marry you if you keep treating them like you do.”
“Perfect!” she laughed. “Because I don’t want to marry them either.”
“You go on and be an old maid!” Dierdre said. “I’m gonna meet me a handsome man – maybe even a supervisor – and we’re gonna live in a nice little house with so many babies that I can’t even remember all their names!”
As they passed by Widow Price’s house, the stooped-over old woman called to them from her parlor window.
Laurel laid her bicycle on its side in the grass and stepped onto the narrow front porch. “Did you call for us, Mrs. Price?” she asked through the open window.
“I did,” the woman said. “If you’re still going over to Hattie Stroup’s tomorrow, would you mind going around back and getting a bushel of blackberries from inside the screen door? She offered to make cobbler for the summer social, and you would save me an awful lot of trouble by taking them to her for me.”
Laurel disappeared around the house and, after a minute, returned carrying a heavy basketful of dark purple berries.
“So what do you think about the Mill being sold?” Widow Price asked them.
The basket almost fell from Laurel’s hands. “They’re selling the Mill?”
“
Been
sold,” the old woman explained. “We’ve been hearing about it in town for weeks. Naturally, I thought you girls knew.”
“Who bought it?” Deirdre inquired.
“Oh, some rich man from out of town. Mr. Holbrooks just didn’t have the energy to keep up with the running of it anymore. The family decided it would be best to sell. They had a few bids, but nothing like what they were looking for. Then, out of the blue, a fellow swooped in and outbidded them all!”
Deirdre and Laurel stared at each other with wide eyes. The Holbrooks owned the mill for longer than anyone could remember. What would life be like working for somebody else?
CHAPTER TWO
“My condolences on the loss of your uncle, My Lord,” the small, bald man said as he wiped his spectacles with his handkerchief. “But, as you know, you are his only beneficiary. I have a copy of his will here with me if you would like to see it.”
Lord Christopher Brayles rubbed his eyes as if he was trying to push the man seated across the mahogany desk out of his sight. Why his mother’s brother left all of his worldly possessions to
him
, he did not know. It was a damned nuisance though, and he was ready to be done with it all.
The little man pulled on his spectacles and opened his leather briefcase. He produced a few sheets of paper, sorted them out in the correct order, and handed them over the desk.
Christopher waved them away.
Undeterred in the least, the man cleared his throat. “There is a small house in North Carolina. I’m afraid your uncle’s debts have taken all of his funds, so there is not any money to go with it. However, I see here that he recently purchased a textile mill, also in North Carolina.” The little man looked up at Christopher for instructions.
“Sell them both. I have no use for a house or a mill – especially not in the States.”
“Of course, My Lord.”
Christopher rose from behind his desk and ushered the man out the door. He slammed it behind him and locked it. From a cabinet, he pulled out a bottle of whiskey and a glass, poured himself a liberal drink, and tossed it down his throat.
Why couldn’t their uncle just leave everything to Jonathan?
Everyone else had.
A knock at the door caught his attention and he pulled it open, sending the gentleman on the other side crashing into the room.
“Speak of the devil,” Christopher said.
It was Jonathan, his older brother, who also happened to be the Marquess of Amesbury.
“You’re the only person I know who’d be upset at inheriting a fortune from an uncle they barely knew!” Jonathan exclaimed, dusting off the sleeves of his jacket.
“I’m upset at being dragged away from the country. You know as well as I do that I
hate
London. And more than that, I hate business that brings me to London!”