He wouldn’t stay in London one minute longer than he had to. It was suffocating. The people. The emptiness. The memories. Oswine House, and his brother Tiberius, who’d barely recognized Ajax the last time he’d managed to make it downstairs. Rokeby’s words banged about in his head. When he sat to write, nothing came; instead, every sound intensified and became acutely intolerable. And now this governess, this bit of skirt with an angelic face and a voluptuous figure, slept three doors away from him every night. He thought of their conversation the night before, and how animated she’d become when speaking of the stars and planets. A heat returned to his middle, flashes of fantasy polluting his mind. What he’d pay to see her unbuttoned and revealed, sleeping next to him, all creamy white skin and unbound dark curls.
He had to get home.
He settled into the carriage next to his daughter, who’d brought the dowsing crystal with her. She batted it about like a cat, fully entranced.
“There. Happy now?” he asked, feeling a curious warmth about him as he regarded her, seeing himself in her features: her sharp cheekbones, wide-set eyes, and dark hair. From the moment he’d first seen her months ago, there’d been no doubt in his mind that she was his. It had immediately born a protectiveness in him he didn’t know existed. She’d not want for anything, nor suffer any hurt. Not if he could damn well help it.
“Hm,” she said, thoroughly engrossed in her new metaphysical toy.
“I’ll take that as an affirmation,” he said, a genuine joy in his words. He held on tightly to the feeling, wishing dearly that life could always be thus, and not such a bloody struggle all the time.
They rode on for a period in silence, until the carriage pulled up in front of another shop. Charlotte looked out the window and frowned. “The dress shop?” she said, eyeing him accusingly.
“I have a favor to ask,” Ajax said, fingers tapping on the plush seat.
Her face shut down, the emotionless mask assuming its usual place. “I am content with my clothes.”
He sighed. “Not for you. For Miss Abbotts.” He forced himself to look at her and caught the spark of curiosity in her eyes. “She, ah, it seems she has nothing suitable for the wedding. I’d have given her advance pay, but you know those types, constantly martyring themselves,” he joked, before realizing that Charlotte most likely didn’t know those types. She had grown up in the ribald world of the stage, where no one denied themselves any physical luxury if they could afford it.
Charlotte stared at him. He heard the driver climb down from the bench.
“Well. Regardless, Miss Abbotts should have something nicer than those hair shirts she calls frocks. I was hoping you’d help me find something appropriate among what’s already made up. It’s just one dress—the seamstress is bound to have something governess-sized that someone forgot to pay for.”
Having his daughter make the selection would also help keep his intentions above board, and ensure that it be seen as a kindhearted gesture rather than some lecherous play for the governess’s virtue. Heaven help him, though; Ajax would gladly take that virtue, if freely given.Egad, man, he scolded himself.That woman is here to instruct your child, not warm your bed, you filthy, hateful—
The carriage door swung open. Setting aside his tirade against himself, he climbed out and turned back, holding a hand out for Charlotte.
She emerged slowly, accepting his assistance as she stepped down.
“Fine.” Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, much the same look she’d had upon pulling up before the occultist’s shop.
Worried that he’d given himself away, that Charlotte’s powers of perception could see right through his flimsy attempt at respectability, he explained in a dismissive tone, “It’s only one dress, Charlotte.”
“You said that already,” she replied as they walked toward the modiste, adding with much relish, “Papa.”
She’d never had this much time to herself before.
Not even when she was a girl; David and Thirza Abbotts had no interest in modern views on the sanctity of childhood. Susanna and Maddy said their prayers and did their work in a focused and timely manner, waiting all day until they were allowed to enjoy the prescribed hour of reading and leisure time after supper.
She felt positively indolent, lazing about the white-sheeted, very nearly empty house. Unsure of how to behave, she initially felt a measure of anxiety. It eventually settled, though, and she left on a brief excursion to purchase some small effects: a new bar of soap, a sheaf of letter paper, and a fresh packet of needles, hers having all gone dull. After her solitary midday meal she was taken to Oswine House, where a reserved but pliant Charlotte was waiting politely in a drawing room that had been hastily rearranged into a semblance of a schoolroom. Her newpupil was a quick study, and Susanna was pleased to find her much less prickly without her father in attendance, though still a bit strange and daydreamy. Susanna didn’t mind that last bit, though; it gave the girl her own ethereal charm.
Now it was evening, and she again sat alone in Mr. Sedley’s empty house, flushing every now and then at the thought of him. He was dining at his club tonight, leaving her gratefully alone, with only herself to blame for any improper thoughts she might have. On that front, she was fortifying her defenses, sitting upright in a straight-backed chair in the library rather than stretching out on the plush chaise lounge facing the fireplace, tempting though the latter was.
She sighed, and turned the page in her missalette. She had an awful lot of days to catch up on, having fallen off the habit a few weeks ago when her brain had become addled by the Earl of Clifton’s attentions. The memory of it embarrassed her, but she shook her head and pressed on. Perhaps one day, the notion that a handsome and powerful man might show her preference because ofher, and not her lush figure, would seem merely silly, rather than painful to contemplate. She wrapped her other arm tightly around herself.
It wouldn’t do, this self-pity. She had a job to do—steeling her resolve through the divine word of the Lord—and she set to it.
She must have lost track of the hour, for by the time she next looked up from the page, the clock told her it was far too late to be about, and the sounds of voices in the hall were informing her that Mr. Sedley had returned from his club.
Her heart picked up its pace, and she fretted about whether to move out of the library now, or wait until the coast was clear so as to avoid risking another late-night encounter with him.
Then the door swung open, and the choice was made for her.
“Miss Abbotts,” he said, startled.
“Mr. Sedley,” she said, feigning surprise and knowing it was not at all convincing.
“I’d have thought you would be… what the deuce are doing up at this hour?” He frowned, and stalked over to a bookshelf a few feet behind her. His usual refined elegance was tempered by his loosened collar and tousled hair; his relaxed features suggested he’d imbibed a bit at the club.
