Just North of Bliss

By Alice Duncan

Book #2 in the series “Meet Me at the
Fair”

Just North of Bliss

Copyright
©
2002 by Alice
Duncan

All rights reserved.

Published 2002 by Kensington
Corp.

A Zebra “Ballads” Books

Smashwords edition March 15,
2010

Visit
aliceduncan.net

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Chapter One

“New York?” Rowena Belle Monroe gulped,
although her stiff posture didn’t sag a whit. This was only
partially due to the rigidity of her corset stays. The rest was
pure breeding.

Even in the misery of the most hot and humid
day of summer, Belle did nothing more than fan herself once or
twice in order to shoo the flies away from her glowing countenance.
She knew her place in the world as a proper southern lady.

Miss Philomena Sprockett, proprietress of
Sprockett’s Discreet Domestic Employment Services in the quaint old
city of Blissborough, Georgia, nodded. “Yes. New York City, New
York State.”

“I see.” Belle’s stomach pitched and rolled.
It took a good deal of effort for her not to do likewise. But . . .
New York?

Miss Sprockett adjusted the steel-rimmed
spectacles sliding down her long, thin nose. “Indeed.” Squinting
through the spectacles, she peered at the printed form she held in
fingers as long and thin as her nose. After consulting the words
printed thereon, she spoke again. “The family name is Richmond. Mr.
George Richmond is involved with banks, stocks, and investments.
Mrs. Richmond is the former Miss Gladys Lodge. I believe she is a
distant relation of the Boston Lodges.” Miss Sprockett peeked over
the upper rim of her spectacles at Belle. “The Boston Lodges are an
old and respectable family. For Yankees.”

Belle nodded. She understood the
significance of that. Because she was feeling faint and didn’t
approve, she decided to participate in the conversation in an
effort to soothe her leaping nerves. “And you say they have two
children?”

“Indeed. A girl, five; and a boy, seven. The
Richmonds are looking for a genteel lady to serve as nanny to the
children.” Miss Sprockett offered Belle a thin smile. “For
gentility, even Yankees look to the South.”

“I see.” New York City. Good Gad, could
Belle Monroe survive in New York City? Her blue Georgia blood ran
cold at the thought.

“Of course, I thought of you, Belle. Since
you came to see me last week regarding securing employment, I’ve
been thinking hard about your situation.”

Belle knew the expression on Miss
Sprockett’s face was meant to convey kindness and sympathy, but the
poor woman looked too much like Belle’s childhood ideal of a wicked
witch to achieve this aim. Because she feared she might burst into
tears, Belle seized upon the New York couple’s last name. After
clearing her throat, she said, “Their name is Richmond?”

Miss Sprockett nodded. “They have offered to
pay train fare from Atlanta to New York City.”

Silence spread through the hot, tidy office
like a fog. Belle gulped again. This was such a huge step for her.
No one in her family for as far back as anybody could remember had
ever left the great state of Georgia in pursuit of employment. The
Recent Unpleasantness was, of course, an exception to this
standard, but the nobility of fighting for a just cause excused the
soldiers in Belle’s family from any hint of impropriety that might
otherwise have attached to them for heading North.

New York City. Belle couldn’t even conceive
of such a thing.

Before the silence could swallow both women
whole, Miss Sprockett spoke once more, her voice low, again
intending a gentleness Miss Sprockett could never achieve in this
life. “It’s a very good offer, Belle. I fear it’s the best one
you’ll receive, employment opportunities for young ladies in
Blissborough being what they are.”

Slowly Belle nodded. She knew all about
employment opportunities for young ladies of her station in life in
Blissborough. There weren’t any. In order to secure employment in
Blissborough, one had to come from less exalted stock than Belle
had. Too bad a little money hadn’t been passed on to the Monroe
family along with its pride of station and glorious heritage.

“Richmond,” she whispered, testing the name
on her tongue. The name comforted her. Richmond was the capitol of
Virginia. Richmond was home to generations of proper southern
families and traditions. Richmond was a good name. A noble
name.

It was the name of a family of rich damned
Yankees who lived in New York City and needed a nanny.

Belle chided herself at once. She was in no
position to cavil at the injustices of life or of the absurdity of
so fine a name belonging to a New York family. She needed
employment. While her family was happy to support her, Belle knew
they had little with which to do so. The Monroe family fortune had
been burned to a cinder by that marauding fiend, Sherman, and it
hadn’t recovered in the thirty years since the end of the Northern
Aggression.

And the family name was Richmond.

Lifting her chin and gripping the small
reticule residing on her lap, she said, “Very well.”

Miss Sprockett beamed at her. “Excellent!
I’m sure you’ll be happy with this decision, Belle. It’s possibly
the best employment opportunity we’ve seen here at Sprockett’s, and
I’m very glad it will be you who will profit from it, since you’re
by far the best qualified young woman in the entire town of
Blissborough to fill it.”

That was something, anyway. Belle tried to
be pleased with Miss Sprockett’s praise and commendation, but she
wasn’t. Because she was the most proper and polite of young
southern ladies, however, she did come up with a smile. “Thank you,
Miss Sprockett.”

“I shall write to the Richmonds immediately.
I expect that you’ll be leaving within the month. That should give
you time to prepare your wardrobe and attend to any little details
here in Blissborough.”

Prepare her wardrobe and attend to little
details. Right. Belle’s wardrobe was so pitiful, it needed no
attention, since Belle had to keep it mended and darned in order to
keep from going naked on a daily basis. As for little details,
Belle expected the most formidable of these would be imparting unto
her family the news of her impending employment and move to New
York.

The Monroes would be horrified to know that
a daughter of their bosom would be leaving her beautiful, if
slightly dilapidated, family home for the devilish world of New
York. For that matter, Belle was plenty horrified herself.

# # #

Win Asher’s jaw ached from being clenched so
tightly for so long. He pried his teeth far enough apart to say,
“That’s a good lad. Now try to sit still for another little minute
and let’s see if we can get this over with.” He dashed for his
camera. The damned child was only three years old. Win supposed he
ought to be patient.

He wasn’t patient. He wanted to thrash the
beastly little monster. He wanted to pick him up and hurl him
through the window of his booth on the Midway Plaisance. He wanted
to tell the boy’s large, fussy mother to go to hell and take her
large, fussy kid with her.

“Isn’t he just a darling?” the boy’s mother
cooed.

Win heard his teeth grind.

The boy moved. Win’s patience snapped. “No!”
He threw the black curtain up with such force that it flopped over
on the other side of his camera. Standing, not daring to move from
behind his camera for fear of what he might do to the boy—or his
mother—Win clenched his fists and scowled.

“Oh, dear,” said the boy’s mother, rushing
over to her fat little brat of a child, who’d stuck his fist into
his fat mouth the instant Win had positioned himself behind his
camera. “Is something the matter, sweetums? Can Mama help little
sweetums sit still with another gumdrop?”

Win feared his teeth wouldn’t survive his
latest business venture. He’d believed himself to be the most
fortunate of men when the directors of the World’s Columbian
Exposition selected him to be the fair’s official photographer. He
still believed that, for the most part. He’d made lots of money so
far, and his photographs were appearing in newspapers and
periodicals worldwide.

Unfortunately, he still had to communicate
with the public, since that was part of the deal he’d struck with
the fair directors. They’d told him that his booth would draw
people to the fair, thereby contributing to the profitability of
the entire Exposition, not to mention Win himself.

They were right. They had not, however, told
him how to deal with fat mothers and their fat brats who wouldn’t
sit still to be photographed. As he watched the woman and her
child, he felt his rage rise like the mercury in a thermometer on a
hellish day. Because he didn’t dare speak yet and couldn’t bear
watching that miserable excuse for a family any longer, he turned
his head with some difficulty—all the muscles in his body,
including those in his shoulders and neck, felt as if they’d been
cemented into place—and looked out his front window.

He took a deep breath and commanded himself
to calm down. That devil and her spawn would go away soon. He only
had to take one more little photograph of the junior fiend, and he
could forget about him forevermore, except when his obnoxious and
doting mother came back to pick up the finished product. He
reminded himself that not all of his subjects were as difficult to
manage as that toadlike boy now squatting in front of his favorite
canvas backdrop and smearing himself with gumdrop goo. Most
children, while not Win’s favorite subjects for photographs, were
more or less manageable. Not this one. This one was a pure—

Win’s brain went blank and his eyes popped
open when he saw, walking down the Midway Plaisance along with the
teeming throng of fair-goers, the most spectacular subject of a
photograph he had ever seen. Forgetting all about Mr. Wiggles and
his corpulent mother, he dashed to the door of his booth in order
to get a better look.

“Mr. Asher?”

Evidently Win’s abrupt abandonment of his
camera had startled Mr. Wiggles’ mother. Not turning his head from
the scene outside, Win waved a hand. “Just a minute. Make the boy
sit still, will you?”

“Well, I never—”

But Win didn’t wait around to see what Mr.
Wiggles’ mother had never. He darted out the door once he
ascertained for certain that his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on
him.

Entranced, he stared at the stunning woman
and the two charming children walking toward him. All three of them
were taking in the crowds and the colors and the sights of the
Midway as if they were fascinated by it all. Which, Win thought,
they undoubtedly were. The World’s Columbian Exposition was an
astonishing example of the American mind and spirit. The creativity
and innovation that had gone into its production boggled Win’s
mind.

The World’s Columbian Exposition had been
intended to be a showcase of American ingenuity, enterprise, and
character, and its directors had succeeded in their goal beyond
anyone’s most exalted anticipation. The fair exhibited the
brilliance of a country founded on the tenets of freedom and
equality better than anything else ever had. Not even the fabulous
wealth of the Morgans or Rockefellers displayed the true essence of
the American experience, to Win’s mind. Hell, there were rich
people everywhere. Only in America could a fellow decide for
himself what path to take in life and then take it. Only in America
did such opportunities flourish.

And there, strolling along the Midway in the
bright summer sunshine of this perfect June day, came the epitome
of everything good about the United States. Win’s heart felt full
to overflowing as he watched the woman and her children. For a
fleeting second he envied the woman’s husband; any man must be
congratulated for attaching that object of perfection unto
himself.

The little girl wore a pink checked summer
frock with a low waist bound with a sash in a deeper shade of pink.
On her pretty blonde curls sat a straw bonnet encircled by a
similar sash, the tails of which fluttered at her back. Her feet
were encased in white cotton stockings and black patent-leather
Mary Janes. The boy, a sturdy fellow of six or seven, wore a natty
sailor suit and a straw boater. The costume was fashionable yet
manly, and Win approved. He felt sorry for little boys whose
mothers insisted on dressing them in blue velvet and other sissy
fabrics.