“Do you love him?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? “I did once, but we are hardly the same people any longer.”
“Do you not believe yourself worthy of love?”
She rather wished she’d declined the offer for help as she wasn’t really in the mood for an inquisition, and yet she’d held so much in for so long. “We were to marry, and when that didn’t happen, I found myself in situations where I proved myself weak and cowardly. I did some things, Sister, of which I’m not proud.”
“You fear he will find fault with you?”
“I would if the situation were reversed.”
“Will you tell him about them?”
“I want to, but no good would come of it. I suspect tonight will simply be an opportunity to say a proper goodbye.”
She felt a tug, a pull, an upward yank of her hair.
“I wouldn’t be so certain, Miss Kent. When I was younger, before I ever even considered taking the veil, I sold my soul to have a man look at me the way Mr. Trewlove looks at you.”
The fervor of the sister’s words astounded her, and she started to twist—
“Be still now,” Sister Theresa ordered. “Almost done.” And then her voice softened. “We all make mistakes, Miss Kent. The secret is not to let them hold sway over us. There you are. I hope you like it.”
Slowly, Lavinia rose to her feet until she could see her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was piled on her head in an elegant coiffure, with curling tendrils dangling down to tease her face and neck. “It’s quite lovely.”
“It would look nicer with pearl combs, but those have not been provided to us.”
Lavinia swung around. “Were you once a lady’s maid?”
“No, Miss Kent.” Sister Theresa smiled wistfully. “I was once a lady.”
“Of the nobility?”
The sister gave a short burst of laughter. “Is there any other kind? I daresay, I should think not. The door knocker just sounded. I believe your young gentleman is here. Don’t close yourself off to the possibilities, Miss Kent.”
Before she could question the sister regarding what she thought those possibilities would be, she was left alone with nothing but her nerves. Loving her had cost Finn five years of his life. Loving him had cost her—
She refused to think about that. She was simply going to enjoy the evening. Perhaps with a bit of prodding he would tell her everything he’d done with his life during the past three years, after he was released.
When she stepped into the entryway and saw him standing there, she realized she wanted to know that more than anything. What was his life truly like now? How did he spend his days and nights—other than skulking about following her?
He was nicely decked out in a jacket, waistcoat, shirt, and cravat. Not as fancy as what a gentleman might wear in the evening, but rather something he’d wear for a stroll through the park. In his hand, he held a beaver hat. “Don’t you look lovely?” he said.
Why did her heart have to misbehave by flipping in her chest? “Shall we be off?”
He arched a brow. “No chaperone?”
“I hardly require one these days.” She wasn’t a young debutante in need of having her innocence protected. “Although the sisters did offer to accompany me, but I trust you not to get up to no good.”
“Ah, Vivi, when will you learn?” He gave her a smile that threatened to send her hurtling back eight years. “Once a scoundrel always a scoundrel.”
“Your carriage?” she asked as he handed her up into the conveyance he’d had waiting in the street for them.
“Mick’s.” He settled against the squabs opposite her.
“Your brother has done very well for himself.”
“He’s earned it. He’s worked long and hard for every ha’penny that now lines his pockets.” He was tearing down and rebuilding a poorer section of London, had built a massive hotel that was becoming quite the talk of the town, and had married into the nobility—even if he himself remained without a title.
