“Stop being so rational! You’re starting to make me feel silly for crying so much.” Della swatted his shoulder lightly. A second later, her expression transformed into one of mild horror. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I’ve been going on and on about my problems, and I didn’t stop to think about how you must feel. I shouldn’t be talking to you about my club, when it—I mean, you must not like to be reminded of all that…”
“It’s all right,” Lyman assured her. “I don’t enjoy being invited to play cards at parties, but this isn’t upsetting me.”
He studied Della a moment. She looked so downcast that Lyman’s instinct was to find a solution for her. Some way to save the young lady who’d been caught with their dealer or to suppress the rumors. But the truth was that there wasn’t an easy solution to this problem, and barging in with his own ideas might make things worse. Della knew the situation better than he did.
Instead, he asked softly, “What do you need now?”
Della blinked. She looked startled by the question, as if this were the first time she’d considered it. “I’m not sure,” she began. Then, tentatively, she added, “I need to do something to set things right again, but I don’t know how I can. Mrs. Williams asked me to stay away from the club tonight.”
She fell silent, dropping her gaze to her hands. This seemed to upset her more than anything else, though Lyman privately thought a little rest might do her good.
A moment later Della spoke again. Her voice was very quiet. “I think I’d like to finish up my guidebook so that I’d at least have done one thing right, but I’m afraid I haven’t made as much progress as I hoped. I don’t know if I’ll be able to meet the deadline we agreed to.”
She mumbled the words in the direction of her lap, as if ashamed of this confession.
I’m the one who should be ashamed.He’d imposed a two-month limit on their time together out of a selfish desire to get back to his own work, without any concern for how much pressure it might put on Della. He hadn’t known her then. He hadn’t been thinking of her well-being.
“It doesn’t matter if you meet our deadline,” he reassured her. “I shouldn’t have been so demanding with you. You can take more time if you need it.”
“But I don’twantmore time. You might not be there soon! I should have been able to finish this already, if only I hadn’t been sodistracted. I’ve had two months and I haven’t done anything of any value.”
“That’s not true,” he pointed out. “You saw the views with me, and you went to the shops and the theater. You were researching attractions so that you could write about them persuasively. I happen to think you could write a very engrossing section on the tableau vivant at Laurent’s Casino, if you like.”
Della smiled reluctantly. “It doesn’t amount to anything if I can’t finish the book and get more members for our club like I wanted.”
“Very well. What would help you write?”
This time, there was no hesitation. “A quiet place where no one will disturb me.”
“Shall I leave you to work now?” Lyman didn’t like to walk out while she was suffering, but he would go if his presence was a burden. At least Della seemed in better spirits now than she had when he’d first arrived.
“No,” she replied. “It’s impossible to get a moment’s peace here, with Annabelle and Peter bothering me all the time and guests popping by for morning calls. And I can’tbearto face the visitors who will turn up to sniff for gossip once word gets out. I might ask Miss Chatterjee or one of my other friends if I can hole up in their house, but then I’ll feel obliged to socialize instead of writing. What I really need is someone to keep me on task, without trying to talk to me for longer than five minutes at once.”
Lyman mulled all of this over. “Would you like to come to my rooms and try to write there?”
It wasn’t the most likely place to bring a woman of her status. She must be accustomed to the sprawling country houses of the landed gentry and town houses that made up for their constrained size with an abundance of decor.
“I’ll warn you, it’s not much,” he added quickly. “And there aretwo other gentlemen who let rooms from my landlady, but they shouldn’t be home at this hour of the day. They both have apprenticeships and don’t usually return until late evening.”
“I don’t mind what it looks like,” Della assured him. “Just so long as there’s nothing to distract me and we can work in peace. But are you sure I wouldn’t be a bother? I don’t want to impose.”
“Not at all. You can work on your book and I’ll work on mine. I’m nearly finished my guide to Bath.”
“That’s perfect!” Finally, Della’s smile had regained its usual spark.
Fifteen
Lord Ashton instructed Della to wait on the landing of the stairs that separated the rented rooms from the family’s home while he went up first to check that no one else was there. She kept the hood of her cloak pulled low over her brow. Once he’d confirmed the coast was clear, she padded quietly upstairs, through a hall with faded wallpaper, and into a little room that was arranged as a study. It wasn’t much, just as Ashton had said, but it was tidy and it carried subtle signs of his presence that Della enjoyed observing.
The walls were papered over in the same blue damask that the owner must have chosen for the hall some time ago. Over this, Lord Ashton had hung many decorative objects—maps from a variety of places, more than one portrait of individuals who seemed to share his eyes and firm jaw, and a series of watercolors that all looked to have been painted by the same hand (one of only middling talent). Della might have dismissed his artistic taste, but the obvious explanation was that he must have sold anything of real value to pay his debts and these remnants were all that he’d judged himself able or willing to keep. Rather than making her sad, Della found somethinghopeful in the act of trying to improve one’s surroundings in the face of a setback.
The room had a little window overlooking the street, shrouded by white curtains, with a writing desk set before it. Beside the desk were two slender bookcases that housed an assortment of volumes. At the end of the room, a door stood ajar. Through it, Della could just see Lord Ashton’s bed. She looked quickly away, her face heating. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here.
Della had taken more than her fair share of risks in her life, but this one made her unexpectedly nervous. Would Ashton think she intended to proposition him, rather than work on her writing as she’d claimed? She’d been too distressed to consider the appearances of things when they’d left the house. All she knew was that she needed one thing to go in her favor today, and he’d offered the means to make that happen. But now that she was here, in a room that smelled faintly of sandalwood just as he did, the gravity of Della’s decision hit her. She was in the place where Lord Ashton lived, wrote, and slept, looking at all the things he’d collected and kept nearest him. This was…intimate.
Lord Ashton didn’t seem to have noticed her sudden shyness. He moved quickly around the room, tucking away a few stray objects.
“Sorry about the mess.”
