The bird-thin wisp of her wrist would not let him be. It flashed every time she lifted her teacup or reached for another roast beef sandwich. How many had she eaten now?
Did she not have the funds to feed herself properly? Was she often hungry?
Alistair had begun this conversation fully intending to dismiss her. To discuss the impossibility of them working together in any capacity, for both their sakes. To usher her out his front door and relegate Chris firmly to his past.
But now . . .
What would she do if Alistair sent her packing?
Return to Aunt Eunice’s bleak bedchamber and even bleaker charity? Spend her days hungry and shivering?
To say nothing of what might befall her once Aunt Eunice drew her last breath.
Despite everything that had occurred between himself and Chris, how could Alistair leave her to such a fate?
CHRISSI TRIED NOT to squirm under Alis’s direct gaze and the sharp probe of his questions.
Pragmatic and forthright—that was Alis. He had never been one to mince words.
Moreover, she had forgotten how unnerving he could be—how he listened with his entire body, leaning forward, eager to hear what she might say next.
Physically, he was just as overwhelming. His shoulders dwarfed the armchair where he sat, his long legs stretched before him. He had swapped his mud-splattered shirtsleeves for a tailored, superfine suit the gray color of wood ash, a blue-and-cream striped waistcoat underneath. The chain of a gold pocket watch winked in the light, as did the carved signet ring on his right pinky.
In short, Alis no longer resembled the impoverished student he had been, hungry to uncover artifacts. Instead, he looked like the wealthy lord he had become.
Chrissi felt every last inch of the worn fabric of her outdated dress. Depressingly, it was one of the nicer garments in her meager wardrobe. If Alis dismissed her this afternoon, the dress would not be replaced anytime soon.
Why?she wanted to scream, shaking an angry fist at the sky. Why did fate have to land her here, in this castle, seated across from the remnants of her broken heart? She wanted thepast scrubbed from her brain. Heaven knew she had tried to erase Alis from memory.
And now, to find herself entwined with him once more, in desperate need of his charity...
“I have enjoyed your archaeological articles,” he said after a moment. “Those ye did with Dr. Newton.”
“Thank you. Stephen encouraged my writing.” Chrissi didn’t add “unlike others” to the end of her sentence, but she was rather sure Alis heard it anyway.
“Are ye no longer writing?” he asked.
“As you are well aware, my lord, a woman must generally have a man’s name beside her own in order to publish.” She set her teacup back on its saucer with an audibleclink. “And even then, realizing one’s work in print can be fraught.”
He at least had the decency to wince at her jab.
“Ah.” Alis sat back, saying nothing more.
Please don’t turn me out, she silently pleaded.
She eyed the sandwiches remaining on the tea tray. How many could she eat without sparking more questions?
Though given the ponderance of Alis’s stare and his probing queries about Aunt Eunice, she rather suspected he already understood the whole of her situation—impoverished with few prospects.
She and Stephen had wed without a marriage contract. So foolish of her, in hindsight, not to insist upon one. Not to demand over and over that the gentlemen in her life—father and husband—spare a thought for her future.
But then, she had made a tremendous number of foolish mistakes at that point.
Her father had assumed that her husband would care for her, as the significant sum she had inherited upon her father’s death had become Stephen’s to pass along. After all, as a woman, she had no personhood under British law; all herpossessions were held by her husband. Chrissi was merely an extension of Stephen.
For his part, Stephen had promised he would amend his will to include her—a promise he had neglected, as she learned after his death. Stephen could be absent-minded, but she had trusted him to adhere to his word and heed her insistent nagging. By the time she realized Stephen’s negligence, he was already gone.
And, therefore, all of Stephen’s possessions—including the fortune she had inherited from her father—passed to her husband’s adult son from his first marriage, Mr. Thomas Newton.
