Page 71 of In These Hills

“I was reading a newspaper at the time,” he went on, seating himself opposite her at the exact moment she rose to relinquish the office chair—he waved her back down. “I learned the queen often enjoyed a glass of wine with her meals. German wines, mostly, thanks to her beloved Prince Albert. But the truly intriguing detail was this . . . whenever she traveled to Balmoral Castle in Scotland, she partook of Scotch whiskey.” He waggled his brow. “And while I respect my own Scots-Irish heritage and the whiskey-making traditions coursing through my veins, I knew Old No. 7 would beat that stuff hands down! So I shipped a barrel to the ol’ gal!”

Josephine shook her head. “You are quite the entrepreneur, Mr. Daniel.”

“I will take that as a compliment, though your tone lacks the admiration I typically receive from the more delicate gender.”

“Which I imagine surprises you not at all.”

“Goodness, no. That’s partly why I hired you.” He leaned back, boots finding the corner of his desk. “I knew you’d be a challenge! But mark my words, madam. Little by little, I will win you over.”

Josephine gave him a droll look, but the mischievous sparkle in his eyes said he wasn’t fooled.

“Did you know,” he continued, “that Queen Victoria lived another forty years after her beloved Prince Albert died? She wore black for the rest of her life. What a great love they must have shared.”

“Don’t tell me you’re a romantic, Mr. Daniel.”

“Could there be any doubt, Mrs. Dunham? After all, I do adore women. The pursuit, the wooing . . .”

She turned to file the receipt in a folder. “Being a romantic and adoring women in general are not the same thing. How can a man and woman share a great love when one of them is continually infatuated with the pursuing and wooing, as you put it?”

Silence followed.

She looked up. The sparkle in his eyes had dimmed.

“Mr. Daniel, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, Mrs. Dunham, you spoke truth,” he said quietly. “And truth, as I’ve learned in my fifty-five years, is often barbed. Even when unintended.” Memory swept his features. “There was a woman once. Frances Elizabeth Blythe. Fannie, everyone called her.” He paused. “I asked her father for her hand but . . . He told me I was a little too old for such a young woman. I’ve long wondered whether my occupation factored into his refusal. After all, distillers are not always held in the highest regard.” His focus shifted back, his smile wry. “Difficult as that may be to believe.”

Not even tempted to smile, Josephine realized genuine regret when she saw it, and she struggled with what to say next. “I don’t know why her father refused you, sir. But I am sorry it turned out that way. It seems you cared for her deeply.”

He shrugged. “I haven’t spoken of her in years. And don’t know why I did now. She played the piano at gatherings I hosted in my home. I’d send my carriage to collect her and her mother. She could play anything—classical pieces, popular ditties. She was a gifted musician. And a genuine soul.” He hesitated. “It seems neither of us have found our great love story yet . . . have we?”

When Josephine didn’t answer, he abruptly straightened.

“Please forgive me, ma’am. I spoke out of turn. I did not aim to imply that your marriage, despite its apparent difficulties, is not—”

“Please.” She met his gaze. “Any man capable of doing this to a woman is not capable of a great love story. So no, I haven’t found one yet either. Nor is it likely that I will,” she added softly.

The last comment outmaneuvered her better judgment, but was true nonetheless.

He leaned forward. “My dear woman, you are young yet. You have time. Assuming you can find a man equal to your ideals. Which, indeed, may prove challenging.”

“I am not looking for a man, Mr. Daniel. Or another man,” she added quickly, knowing he must be aware of the rumors about her.

She rose, eager to change the subject. “Several invoices arrived in your absence. They’ll require your approval before payment.”

He joined her at the desk.

“Also, sir . . .” She kept her tone even, her conscience stirring even before she got the words out. “Mr. Prince with the Department of the Treasury was waiting on the porch this morning. I tried to help him, but he said he prefers to meet with you personally. He’ll be back later.”

“Ah. Mr. Prince.” He nodded. “Our favorite revenuer. And a stickler for details. I’m assuming you’ve met him? He always stays with Miss Mary. They all do.”

“Yes, sir, I’ve met him.” She stared unseeing at the invoices in her hand. “If I can help you get ready for your meeting with him, I’m happy to.”

“He’ll want to start with the gauger’s book in the safe.”

“The gauger’s book?”

He looked at her. “You’re working for one of the fastest-growing distilleries in the world and don’t know what a gauger’s book is?”