Chapter 16
The morningafter her return from Paris, Liv sent around a note to Roger Antram. She wished to see him in his offices the next afternoon at oneo'clock.
Liv had debated writing to him to notify him she wished an appointment, afraid he'd inform Killian and ask him to attend, too. But she had no idea if Killian had returned yet from Paris. His scheduled dinner party for business associates in Paris was to occur tonight. She doubted he'd cancel it. Certainly not to chase her home, he wouldn't. Shouldn't. What point would there be in that? She'd rejectedhim.
It was only fitting she face Roger soon. He'd been too kind to her since David’s death, helping her to build her reputation as a solo decorator and expanding her clientele. Her husband had valued Roger and their relationship had always been upright, honest and profitable, too. She couldn't simply resign her association with him by letter. That would be an insult. Plus she had to lay out for him what she'd accomplished on both Hanniford's building projects and at what stages each of them remained. Whoever took over from her would want those details and both Roger and Killian deserved a full accounting. Furthermore, she owed great gratitude to Roger. To Killian she might not be able to give him what he wanted as a lover or deserved as a wife, but she could and would fulfill her duty as hisconsultant.
But she was terrified that resigning would totally ruin her. Cut her off from a society that cared for her abilities as a decorator. Financially, she was just beginning to feel comfortable. Able to buy sufficient coal for her fireplaces. A housekeeper in London. A decent, if not superb, school for Camille. When she left Roger and Killian, she would have a time of it applying to other architects. She valued only three here in London. Three. How would she go on if she had to return to counting her pennies for bread? Or worse, living in an East End house where David had found her abiding in one suffocatingroom?
She locked her front door and raced down the front steps, her trim bonnet in her hand. Rushing to the end of the street, she hailed a hackneycab.
“South Moulton Street,” she told the driver and climbed up into the tawdry little black carriage.Do this, she told herselfBefree.
But she wouldn’t be. Not of her fears. Or of her desires for this man, this extraordinary man, whom she must give up. For her own serenity. And for his. What did he think of her now that he understood she’d known full well who he was and had not been woman enough to tellhim?
He prized honesty.Strength.
She offered him neither. She would be honest enough with herself to admit her failure and strong enough to leave his circle for both theirsakes.
She was doing the right thing toresign.
She willed herself to serenity. But her pulse was rapid and her head spun. The past two nights, she'd not slept. She’d looked at herself this morning in her dressing room mirror and gasped. She was ghostly, wan, as if she'd stood in the middle of Piccadilly and let the omnibuses run over her. Earlier this morning, she'd applied powder to her face to cover her splotches from crying and a bit of rouge to her cheeks to give her some color. She'd washed her hair, brushed the wavy mass out as straight as possible in the sunny back courtyard of her house and wound it up into the most elaborate chignon she could manage. She might look like one on death's door, but she'd put the best face possible on her masquerade. She'd lie. She'd live. She'dsurvive.
If she would also pine, well, that would end. It hadto.
Camille was soon to visit for three weeks during her August holiday. Liv had to be ready for her. Though she wondered if that meant she'd stopped thinking of Killian and grieving over hisloss.
"Good afternoon, Mister Rush. How are you today?" she greeted Roger Antram'sassistant.
"Very well, my lady. Will you have a chair andtea?"
"Tea, yes, thank you." She removed her gloves, the little office stuffy in the July heat. Where was her fan?Ugh.She’d forgotten it at home. Not a surprise. She'd left the house to hail her cab and had to return inside to get her hat. She still hadn't put it on. In addition to losing her client...and her lover, she was also losing hermind.
She stifled a moan and swept aside her skirts to sit. Putting her little reticule and toque hat down on the table, she tapped her toes on the wooden floor. "Is there a delay, MisterRush?"
"Yes, madam. Actually, no. I was given instructions to have you wait until Mr. Antram was ready foryou."
"I see."What did that mean? Was Killian in there?"Does Mr. Antram have anotherappointment?"
"He does,madam."
Who?
The office door opened and Roger himself appeared in the portal. "Come in, LadySavage."
He seemed wooden, as if he'd smile and all his innards would pop out. And he hadn't addressed her as Lady Savage since before David haddied.
She stood.Feeding myself to thelions.
Inside, three men she did not know rose to their feet and smiled at her with politeexpressions.
Roger made theintroductions.
The three were the directors of a private trust established by a man who had died nineteen yearspreviously.
"These gentlemen," Roger told her when the introductions were finished and all five of them sat around his desk, "are the representatives of the board of directors of the Lockern Foundation. They're hiring us to complete a building project established by the last will of Mr. Maxwell Lockern and awarding the contract to us, LadySavage."
Us. Us.Tension flowed from her like a river. She would prosper. Have a client. Even if she did not work for the Hanniford projects. "Howwonderful."
