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were nothing, as simple as a letter of greeting, then she would ignore it. Throw it into the fire. But if it was something…she could apologize later, but it was too important. She opened the envelope, pulled the paper out, and scanned it.
    None of the shorthand nonsense, here. Mary pursed her lips. Her father had written this, after all. She would need to bring this to James Poole's attention immediately.

8
     
    James
     
    James Poole stood over his bags once again. It wasn't lost on him how briefly he'd had them unpacked for, and what it meant that he was packing them once again. There was no money, after all. He'd tried, for all the world. He cursed his luck, that he'd been so close and for nothing.
    He'd gotten further than he had expected, and that was something he would keep close to his heart. At least he had done more than he had expected of himself. Why, then, did failure sting so badly?
    The game had been rigged against him from the beginning. He had known that. He took a deep breath and let it out unsteadily. His eyes stung and for a moment he was worried that he would lose his composure.
    He knew, of course, where his problems lie. He'd gotten close enough to taste success, and he knew where the impasse lied, but his effort, however frustrating, to solve the problem had only made things worse.
    Mary Geis was an incredible woman, it seemed. A woman of supernatural beauty; when he'd seen her the first time, she had reminded him more of a Greek goddess than an Irish baron's daughter, and that hadn't changed. What had changed was the temper—a temper that brought her ancestry sharply into focus for him.
    Certainly, he had been a bit brusque. That was unquestionable. But at least he had made the effort, in the end, to bridge whatever rift had opened up between them. That was more than he could say for her. What's more, he had tried to help her.
    James picked his bags up from the bed and set them down on the floor. Then he laid down, still in his clothes, and tried to shut his eyes. As long as he could forget about things for a while, he could pick up the pieces of his life.
    His situation was not too dire, he reasoned. Someone would surely hire him, even without the recommendation of his previous employer. After all, he had only been here a week, and then he had worked for no one in particular. He didn't even need to add it to his Curriculum Vitae.
    There wouldn't be anyone hiring, at least not in an open way. There were other ways into positions, though. He knew people from his days in University, and a few army friends had gotten out since he had left. They might be willing to stick their necks out for an old friend. It wasn't completely impossible, or even exceptionally unlikely, but as he tried to convince himself, it all rang hollow.
    This had been his long-shot gamble, his big chance to turn things around for himself. It was over, now, and in the morning he would be going back to his apartment empty-handed and broken-spirited.
    A knock came at the door. It was soft, and for a moment he wasn't sure he'd heard it. He knew who it was, who it had to be. That made him want to answer it even less. He pretended that he hadn't heard it after all and rolled onto his side.
    The knock came a second time, and Mary Geis's wonderfully melodic voice carried through the door into the room. It was strange how intoxicating everything about her was, even when she was being difficult. When she cooperated, he thought, it must be so much more.
    "Mr. Poole? Are you in there?"
    He thought about not answering for a moment, as if to spite her for that afternoon. Turnabout was certainly fair play, he thought, but it seemed a bit unfair of him. After all, he had positively hated it when she had done it to him, what sort of man would he be for doing the same to her?
    He sat up and rubbed his tired eyes.
    "What is it, Miss Geis? I'll be gone in the morning, and I'm sure that Davis can still be reached in town. In fact, I'll try to turn up