How dare he!
The hours stretched around her spiraling thoughts until Mr. Daniels pulled to a stop at a clean but sparse inn sometime before nightfall. This time, she felt none of the temerity or anxiety she’d felt before when signing the register for a room. She was not a timid and innocent girl. She was a woman. She’d taken a lover, even.
Lying in the strange bed that night, however, her righteous indignation fled.
He had, in truth, pushed her away on more than one occasion. He’d not pursued her. She had disrobed in front of him. What did she expect? She’d been so forward with him that he’d had no choice but to make love to her. And then he’d felt compelled, for reasons she didn’t quite understand, to abandon her before they arrived in London.
He’d likely feared that she’d cling to him with pleas and tears.
And she might have.
If she’d acted like a proper lady, like a moral lady, then he would not have felt it necessary to flee.
She curled up in the strange bed, berating herself—questioning things she’d said to him. Replaying the numerous warnings he’d expressed more than once.
This was her fault. She had only herself to blame.
It would not happen again.
AUTUMN HOUSE
The next afternoon, as the carriage wound through London’s crowded streets, Ambrosia braced herself for the unknown. With every turn of the wheels, she recited silent affirmations: You are on your own. You are not dependent on any man. You are beginning anew.
She clutched Mr. Dog a little tighter as they passed bustling markets and well-dressed pedestrians. She was prepared to find the townhouse to be modest, perhaps slightly worn from neglect, with a skeletal staff and drafty rooms that would require her personal attention.
But when Mr. Daniels finally brought the carriage to a halt on a quiet, tree-lined street in Mayfair and Ambrosia stepped down onto the cobbled walk, her breath caught.
The townhouse before her was brick-fronted and elegant—three full stories high, its windows gleaming in the late afternoon light. A wrought iron railing bordered the steps. Autumn House, the deed had read. It looked nothing like something left to decay.
And then the door opened.
Out stepped a tall, elegant gentleman in formal livery. Behind him followed two uniformed footmen, then an older, pleasant-faced woman in a crisp apron, a younger pair of maids, and a flour-dusted cook who looked as though she'd come straight from kneading dough.
The gentleman bowed. “Mrs. Bloomington? Welcome to Autumn House. I am Mr. Carrington, your butler. And this”—he gestured with a subtle turn— “is Mrs. Smith, your housekeeper.”
Each of the servants stepped forward in turn, curtsying or bowing with practiced ease, as if this sort of greeting were not only expected, but rehearsed.
Ambrosia could only blink. “I—yes. Thank you.” She looked down at Mr. Dog in her arms and then, because she didn’t know what else to do, added, “This is Mr. Dog.”
Mrs. Smith smiled, unfazed. “We’ve prepared a cozy spot for him by the hearth in your private sitting room.”
They knew?
She hadn’t given a date. She hadn’t expected… well, anything, really. A dusty house. Locked doors. A sense of abandonment. And yet, someone had made certain this place felt like a home.
Still stunned, she followed Mrs. Smith inside, the warmth of the foyer wrapping around her like a shawl.
Behind her, Mr. Daniels began unloading her trunks with the footmen.
Ambrosia looked back only once—at the open doorway, the quiet London street beyond—and realized that, for the first time in days, she didn’t feel quite so lost. Or quite so alone.
Fresh flowers arranged in shining vases were displayed on pedestals, and an elegant staircase wound up and around to where a balcony encircled the foyer from above.
The wood gleamed, and along with the scent of the blooms, a faint hint of lemon oil hung in the air.
“Your suite has been prepared.”
Ambrosia shook her head in disbelief. Milton had mentioned that the townhouse had been sitting empty—that she would have to have it aired out, refurnished, and that she’d have to hire help. But that was not the case at all!
