No, telling her father would not be wise.
The coach slowed to a halt in front of their stately brick home. The footman opened the coach door. Leonie climbed out. Her father didn’t follow. “Aren’t you coming?” she asked.
“I’m not ready to call it a night. You sleep tight, daughter.”
He barely waited until she reached the step before signaling the coachman to be on their way.
Leonie nodded to Yarrow, the family butler, who held the front door open. “Did you have a good evening, miss?”
“Pleasant,” she replied, saying what was expected. She always did what was expected—except for the night she eloped.
Over her years in London, Yarrow had been a constant presence that she could count on more than her parents. He usually was the only one to greet her when she came in. She started up the stairs, but then stopped. “Do you believe in marriage, Yarrow?”
The butler considered the matter a moment and then said, “I believe it works for some people.”
“Does it work for my parents?”
“You know I can’t answer your question, Miss Leonie.”
He was right. She did know he should not answer such a question. “Good night.”
“Good night, miss.”
Most nights she was alone in the house with the servants and yet this night was different—and that was because of the unsettling presence of Roman Gilchrist.
How simple her life would be if her father would just give Roman the money he wanted and she could be left to live her life as she saw fit.
She didn’t want to see Roman’s “man thing.” Or carry any more guilt. Or fear...
Leonie didn’t know what to.
But she knew one woman who might—her mother. She might have the power to change her father’s mind.
Walking to her bedroom, Leonie stopped by the upstairs study to sneak a fortifying nip of brandy from the bottles kept there. She then went to her room, dressed for bed, and dismissed her maid, Minnie.
However, instead of crawling between her sheets, Leonie walked down the hall to her mother’s suite of rooms. It had been some time since she’d been in here. Her family led very separate lives.
Her mother had excellent taste in furnishings and a flair for drama. The walls were painted a dark green like the most lush and vibrant vegetation. The bed linens were snow white. The furniture was upholstered in rich, gold brocade.
Over the dressing table was a mirror of hammered brass. Leonie remembered sneaking into her mother’s wardrobe and trying on shawls and hats to admire herself in the glass. The scent of incense fragranced the air.
A lamp was burning and there was a small coal fire in the hearth, although her mother’s maid, Anna, was not waiting up. Leonie pulled a folded blanket out of the carved chest at the foot of the bed and took the most comfortable chair in front of the hearth. She wrapped herself in the blanket and set about the tedious business of waiting for her mother.
Chapter 6
A shake of her shoulder woke Leonie. She came to her senses with a start. She was cold. And uncomfortable. She looked around, not recognizing her surroundings. Her sleep had been deep and she wasn’t ready to leave it.
“Return to your room,” her mother’s soft voice suggested. She stood over Leonie holding a lamp. She was dressed in her evening finery except that her golden hair was loose and over one shoulder.
Leonie remembered where she was and why. Squinting in the lamplight, she asked, “What time is it?”
“Shortly before dawn.”
Few women were as lovely as Elizabeth Charnock. She had been a bishop’s daughter. Once, when he was in his cups, her father had told Leonie he’d spied the beautiful Elizabeth Snavely in services and had been smitten.
Since her father had rarely stepped foot in church in Leonie’s lifetime, she doubted if that story was true.
What she could believe is that her father had taken one look and wanted Elizabeth. Men always did, even younger men. Whenever Leonie was out with her mother, wandering eyes would settle on Elizabeth first.
