“I—Yes.” She reached behind her head to wind her hair into another knot, all the while feeling his eyes on her.
“It’s a shame to hide it.” He sighed as she secured it with a few pins.
Throughout the entirety of her marriage, she’d never once put up, nor let down her hair in front of her husband. She was struck by the unexpected intimacy of their circumstances. She ought to send Mr. Bateman away but felt relief to not have to walk through the tap room alone.
If she was going to be an independent woman, she was going to have to find more courage within herself. She was not a green girl, a debutante. The same rules did not apply to widows.
She pushed in one last pin and then turned to face him.
“I am ready. Thank you.”
“I do believe, Mrs. Bloomington, that you blush far too much for a woman who has been married.”
Upon which her face felt even hotter. “Mr. Bloomington did exist, I assure you.” She opened the door and waited for him to follow.
He was leaning casually against the bed, however, studying her and in no hurry to leave her chamber. “You’re also far too young to be a widow. Was he killed in the war?”
“Shall we go down now, Mr. Bateman?” She ignored his question.
With a shake of his head, he seemed to give up his questioning.
For now, anyhow.
Initially, both of them seemed content to forgo additional conversation as they sat down in the small room set aside for private dining. It was only after one of the maids had poured Aubrey a cup of tea and brought Mr. Bateman an ale that Aubrey gave into her curiosity.
“You ask the most impertinent questions, Mr. Bateman, for one who has shared essentially nothing about himself. Why, might I ask, are you required to be in Margate this weekend?”
“An appointment. How old are you, Mrs. Bloomington?”
His answer wasn’t as forthcoming as she might have wished but in all fairness… “I am six and twenty. You?”
At this he laughed. “Old. Ancient. Beyond my prime.” And then at her scowl. “I shall achieve my third decade on Saturday.”
Aubrey watched him closely. “Your appointment, then, has something to do with your birthday?”
He smiled and lifted his glass as though in a toast. “I’m expected at a party.”
“So you have family in Margate?” She pressed.
He seemed to mull over her question before answering. “I suppose you could say that. Do you have any family in London? Any aquaintances?”
“The townhouse where I shall be taking up residence was bequeathed to me.” Harrison had left it to her mistakenly, when he’d signed off that all of his worldly belongings not designated to others be left to hisloving and devoted wife.
Mistakenly, in that when he’d written the words “loving and devoted wife” he’d been referring to his first wife. And compounding the fault exponentially, in that the townhouse had somehow been omitted from the properties listed to go to Milton, along with a trust to cover staffing and maintenance.
When the oversight had come to light, her brother-in-law had turned a dark shade of purple.
The part of Harrison’s will that had specifically addressed Aubrey had included a designated allowance of fifty pounds per year and had stipulated that she could not take possession of any of her inheritance until she’d observed the full year of proper mourning.
When the lawyer informed her that she was to receive the townhouse, Aubrey could only believe that, at last, one of her prayers had finally been answered.
“Not quite aPrincessebut an heiress, then?”
She waived such a notion away and briefly explained the probate blunders, he asked a few questions as their meal was brought in, and eventually was nodding at her with a small smile of approval. “It must have been fate, then.”
“It was a miracle.” Aubrey smiled into her bowl of soup. She’d not talked about this with anyone but Mr. Moyers, the solicitor. For an entire year she’d remained living with two individuals who resented her very existence. When they had deigned to show her any kindness, she’d realized that those moments were half-hearted attempts to persuade her that she ought to do the right thing, and that that would be to revert her inheritance to Milton.
The past year had been a long one.
