Max stared at the deed in his hands.
Was this just like the anonymous donation conscripting Frances to the boarding school? Was this as bad as marrying Bryony to get his hands on her business assets would have been?
Either way, he had wanted to pay for the property, not be handed it out of pity. He wanted it to be true when he said his blood and sweat and tears sacrifice had earned every brick of the Cloven Hoof.
Someone pounded on the door outside.
Not Bryony, of that Max was certain. She had a key. More importantly, she would not be coming back.
He slid the deed beneath a journal on his desk and made his way to the door.
When he swung it open, his sister gazed back at him. Not in a top hat and lad’s clothing, but in a sharp new gown he could only presume had been acquired with her new salary.
He glanced over her shoulder in case she had been spied. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“You stormed off when I told you about my new post teaching dressmaking at a girls’ school.” She pursed her lips. “I expected something else.”
“So did I,” he muttered. “You won’t take ‘charity’ from me, but you will from Bryony?”
“Bryony?” Frances repeated in confusion. Her eyes cleared. “The anonymous donation. I had no idea she was involved.”
“Very involved,” he said bitterly. “She placed you at that school.”
“Go to hell,” Frances spat, her face twisting in anger. “She didn’t place me anywhere.”
Max wished he hadn’t told her. “The donation—”
“—came with conditions, yes. To hire a teacher with certain capabilities. To offer a given salary. There was no stipulation that I be chosen. Only that the candidate meet expectations.” Her voice shook. “I have those capabilities.Ido. With or without Bryony.”
His throat was tight. “Frances—”
“With or without you, either,” she added, dark eyes flashing. “I wasn’t hired to dump chamber pots. I met detailed characteristics. I fulfilled the requirements. I successfully passed the vetting process. I submitted to written and oral examination, and interviews with both headmistresses and the children.”
His heart clenched. “Fran—”
“I was given an opportunity, not a position. Iearnedthe position. To the devil with you for suggesting otherwise.” She slammed the door in his face before he could say another word.
He blinked in shock for a few seconds before flinging the door back open and dashing outside in search of his sister.
The only movement was dust flying from the wheels of a hack as it tore off down the street.
Max leaned against the brick façade—a wall that he now owned—and closed his eyes.
Good Lord, had he bollocksed the situation.
From Frances’s perspective, there had been no dancing to hidden puppet strings. An opportunity had opened. She could choose to pursue it or not. Of her own volition, she had chosen to pursue it. On her own merit, she had won.
It was not a gift. It was a well-paid responsibility with stringent requirements in both temperament and ability. She met each requirement handily, Max had no doubt.
Frances was right. She had earned this herself. It hadn’t been given to her. She had qualified on her own.
A shadow blocked out the sun as Vigo, Max’s burly doorman, reported for duty.
“Why are you standing in the alley with the door wide open?” asked the doorman in curiosity.
“Because I’m an imbecile,” Max muttered. “It just took me this long to notice.”
Vigo laughed. “Don’t tell me you are caught up in the ‘musicale mystery.’”
