Max lifted his hands in surrender. “He is very angry. The right half of his body works sluggishly if at all.” He looked about the room. “Do you know of a brew to help him?” Then he duckedhis head. “If you want to, that is. I cannot forgive him for what he did to you.”
“I can,” she said honestly. “If I were not stolen from you, I would never have met Madame Sabate. I have an opportunity now that I will not squander.”
Max nodded slowly, his gaze coming back to her. “And what, exactly, is this opportunity? Madame Sabate is not known for her generosity.”
“Neither am I,” Yihui countered. “I have bargained for advantage all my life.”
There was silence between them. A settling, of sorts, as they began to speak together as they had once done in her bedroom each evening. It was familiar and so sweet, and yet it brought with it a longing that she knew would tear her apart the moment he left.
“My lord,” she began, “we cannot—”
“We can,” he interrupted. “We can speak together as friends. We can talk to each other about our days. For example, I can see that this is something momentous. I want to learn what is happening here. And…” He swallowed. “And I have learned some things about my father that burn like acid in my gut.” He looked at the stove pressed against the far wall. “Surely we can have tea together and talk about our day. That would not be so very bad, would it?”
“Of course not.” She spoke quickly, not allowing herself to think about the choice she was making. Or perhaps it was no choice at all since it was already done. The feelings he stirred already flooded her body.
“Thank you, major, for bringing him here,” she said. “I should not have asked you to keep him away.”
The man nodded, his expression polite. “I’ve got work to see to nearby. I can return—”
“No need,” she said. “Olivia will see to my needs.” At the mention of her name, the Irish woman stepped fully into the room. She had been nearby this whole time, standing right outside in the future garden. Her expression was fierce, and Yihui could not help but cheer the woman’s transformation. Yihui knew Olivia to be as kind and careful a person as it was possible to be. Unless she felt threatened.
And while Olivia stood with her brows raised in challenge, Yihui watched Max for his reaction. Rather than affront, Max seemed pleased.
“Shall I set the pot for three then?” he asked.
Yihui burst out laughing. “Do you honestly know how to ‘set the pot’ in any way?”
“Yes, I do!” he retorted. “I did it all the time at school. I just…” He frowned as he looked at the stove. “I don’t recognize how…”
“I’ll do it,” came a fourth voice as Druina pushed her way in from the garden. “Olivia won’t take any tea. She’s a coffee drinker, but—”
The woman shook her head and shrank back outside. Probably too many people in the room for her. She’d be inside in a flash if there were trouble, but for the most part, Olivia preferred fresh air. Even if it was dust-choked London air.
“Good afternoon,” Max said, his eyes narrowing. He was probably trying to remember how he knew her.
So Yihui performed the introductions while the major took his leave. Then within a few minutes, all three of them sat around the worktable discussing their plans for the shop. Yihui didn’t hold back. She told him everything she planned while Max listened with an increasingly alarmed expression.
She didn’t notice at first. Excitement overran her and once begun, she could not stop. But in time, she saw his face and her words abruptly stopped.
“You don’t think it will work,” she said, anger in her tone.
“On the contrary, I think it will make Madame Sabate a great deal of money,” he said. “But it is your work, yours and Mrs. Parise’s. It will take time for the plants to grow, time for the shop to be made habitable, and time again for the customers to come.”
“Workers from the Rose Garden already come.”
“And how much do they pay?”
Not enough. Madame Florina had negotiated to pay a very small price for all the workers at the Rose Garden. Unfortunately, Yihui had underestimated the number of people who worked there and the extent of their illnesses. She had spent much of the last few days tending to one ailment or another without the right herbs to do much for anyone.
Max must have read the problem off her face. He tapped the table with a heavy hand. “May I see the paper you signed? I fear your rent to Madame Sabate is reasonable for an established business, but it is not manageable for one that is just beginning. How will you pay this winter?”
“The customers will come,” she said. She voiced it with assurance because she had no choice. She had raised all those questions to Madame Sabate before, but the woman had remained adamant. So Yihui had been left to either take the risk with a bad deal or choose a different life, possibly as a whore.
She chose the risk and prayed that an answer would come.
And perhaps he had. Perhaps he could convince his mother to speak of the miracle of Yihui’s teas to her friends.
“Max—” she began, but he held up his hand.
