“Doing what?”
“Anything you need.Not dealing with tenants or taking care of Maggie or Samantha, but any kind of manual labor required.He will assist you until we can get you some more help.”
“Is there a reason you’re sending him specifically?”
“I trust him.”He shrugged.“And he owes me.”
Brennan did join them the following morning and was quick to see their luggage loaded onto the train.He also positioned his large frame as a barrier, creating space to make sure no one bumped into Maggie, who insisted on standing on her own two feet, and would only hold onto Samantha’s hand.Trent was basically useless, standing there, doing nothing.
Once they were in their compartment, he sat quietly across from Brennan, and although there was plenty of room for her on the bench, Samantha sat on a blanket on the floor with Maggie.She was probably more comfortable down there, away from the two men, with whom she was locked in a small space.He didn’t need to know what had happened in her past, to know how hard this was for her.The other women in Ash’s care were vibrant and cheerful, but not Samantha.She was obviously afraid of men.But more than that, weariness settled over her like a heavy blanket.And not the kind of exhaustion brought about by a hard day’s work or a fitful night’s sleep.Her soul was hanging on by a thread, and even that was frayed.
She pulled out a sketchpad and some pencils and pastels, teaching Maggie step by step how to draw a butterfly.She was so patient with her, giving her just enough guidance, but also allowing her to do most of it on her own.Encouraging her and never telling her she was doing it wrong.
He couldn’t stop himself staring.Perhaps Samantha would be a welcome presence.Maggie had certainly taken to her, and having a woman in her life who wasn’t her nanny would do her good.
About halfway into their journey, Maggie’s eyes began to droop.Slowly, she curled herself up, until finally, she laid her head down and fell fast asleep on the floor.Samantha fidgeted uncomfortably.She no doubt wanted to get off the floor but was hesitant to sit next to him.Without a word, he moved to sit beside Brennan.There was barely enough space for the two of them on that bench, but Brennan didn’t complain.
Samantha looked up at him, her brow furrowed.
“Now you can get up off the floor.”
“Thank you,” she said, quietly.Closing the case of art supplies, she got to her feet and stretched her back before sitting on the bench.Even without him there, her shoulder pressed against the wall.
With a sigh, she shook her head.“This is silly.The two of you barely fit on that bench.Come back over here where you’ll be more comfortable.”
“And what of your comfort?”he asked.
“I’ll be fine.”She said that, but she swallowed apprehensively.“Really.”She emphasized the word with a nod.
Slowly, he moved across and settled down beside her.“If you change your mind, you need only say the word, and I’ll move.”
She became agitated.“I know everyone told you how damaged I am, but you don’t need to coddle me.I can promise you I’ve survived worse than sitting beside you.”
“I’m certain you have.But I don’t want to be another something or someone you have to survive.”
She looked down at her hands in her lap for a long moment before eventually nodding.She raised her eyes to his.“Thank you.”
* * *
By the time they arrived at Woodburn Hall, the sun was nearly set, casting long shadows around the massive home.Samantha shivered, but it wasn’t cold that brought it on.So many times she’d been sent to a house like this one.Perhaps not quite as grand, but they were all imbued with a certain kind of energy.As if the trauma from all those who had come before lived on within the walls themselves.
Her body was frozen in place as she looked at the servants all lined up, but then Maggie’s excited voice broke through the ice that restrained her.
“Mrs.Baird!”The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she ran.A stout woman with a vibrant smile crouched to greet her before taking her hand and leading her into the house.
So many people, and all of them were looking at her.Her head hummed with dizziness.She could do this.She had to do this.
Trent held out a hand.Reflexively, she shrank back from it, but he didn’t move any closer.She looked up into his eyes to gauge his intention.It wasn’t a demand.There was no leer.No sense of entitlement to her acquiescence.It was merely an offer of support if she chose to accept it.As she stared, he waited patiently.She looked back down at his hand, and after a moment, she nodded with her decision.Her heart beat a frenzied rhythm, but with a nervous swallow and a deep breath, she slipped her hand into his.The light squeeze he gave somehow made her feel protected rather than trapped.
He returned the bows and curtseys the servants gave with a nod, but didn’t stop to introduce her, for which she was grateful.
The grandeur they walked into was startling, even knowing the size of the house.Ash was wealthy.Her gaze wandered around the enormous entrance hall, lit by countless sconces.Its walls were lined with paintings of aristocratic men.Very wealthy.
“Are those your ancestors?”
Trent stopped.He looked around at the paintings as if he’d never really seen them before.“I suppose they probably are.”
“You don’t know?”That seemed strange.Men always knew their family history.Especially rich men.Oftentimes they assessed their own value from who their father and grandfather were.
