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he said in a seductive drawl. “I’d very much like to know how you feel. But I’d rather it come in the form of how you feel in my arms rather than how you feel about locomotives.”
    Carolina’s mouth dropped open in surprise. From the expression on his face, Hampton appeared to enjoy her discomfort, and this only fed Carolina’s anger.
    “Good morning, sir! I’ve had quite enough of this conversation.” She moved quickly to the door, but not fast enough. Hampton reached out and pulled her into his arms. She could feel the hard buttons of his coat press into her body.
    “I did not mean to insult you, Carolina. I rather thought you might like to know what an attractive woman I find you to be. Most women enjoy hearing their praises sung, but you appear quite different on the matter. Could it be that I am your first love?”
    Carolina pushed him away. “You are not my love at all!”
    “Only time will tell that for certain,” Hampton said, his voice low and husky. “But I can see by the way you tremble that I am your first. Not to worry, I’ve experience enough for both of us, and I assure you I can make you quite content to be my wife.”
    Carolina could bear his leering grin no longer. She pulled open the heavy oak door with such rage that it crashed against the wall. She could hear Hampton’s laughter as she hurried from the room, but it no longer mattered. Her heart was racing and her breath came in labored gasps as she found refuge in her own bedroom. Locking the door, something she was not often given to doing, Carolina hugged her arms to her body and shuddered.
    The idea of finding herself in Hampton’s arms had been alarming. On one hand, he infuriated her and repulsed her because he was typically male in his attitude toward women. On the other hand, his words of passion and love fascinated her and gave her cause to wonder at her own feelings. He made her feel so strange. He confused her mind and then only made it worse by throwing out statements about being her first love.
    “But you aren’t my first . . .” she whispered in the solitude of her room. “My heart has already been given . . . and . . .” she sighed, feeling the empty ache inside, “already broken.”

5
Divine Intervention
    James felt honored to be in attendance at the B&O board meeting. Sitting at the far end of the room, he had no say on the choice for the new president, but he clearly agreed with the retired president, Philip Thomas. Though Thomas had resigned last summer, he still had a strong voice in the workings of the railroad.
    “McLane is favorably received by this body,” began Thomas, “to become the next president of our esteemed railroad.” Thomas had agreed to continue serving on the board of directors, and everyone in the room had great respect for his opinion. Thomas was only one of two men, the other being William Steuart, who had been on the original board selected in 1827.
    “I feel confident in his ability to lead us forward,” Thomas concluded.
    From everything James had read or heard, McLane was a mover and a doer. He would see the Baltimore and Ohio push west past Harper’s Ferry, or die trying.
    McLane was an energetic man, well known as a statesman and politician. He had served a dozen years in Congress and acted as ambassador to England, secretary of the treasury, and secretary of state under Andrew Jackson. He moved with complete competence and ease amid the social circles of New York, London, Washington, and Baltimore, clearly opinionated and highly respected. He was exactly the dynamic infusion of new blood that the Baltimore and Ohio so desperately needed.
    “The board will meet officially after Christmas, December twenty-seventh, and a vote will be cast at that time,” Joseph Patterson, the acting president, confirmed. Murmurs of approval went up in the room. “I therefore propose the motion that we adjourn until such time.”
    “I second the motion,” Thomas declared and the ayes held the