The Croome townhouse had seemed quite large, larger than he’d expected. The house could’ve easily been located in Mayfair, like the ball he’d accompanied the countess to after his first run as Romeo inRomeo and Juliet.
He hadn’t expected that the Croomes were that well-off. “You said you were the fabric princess. My lifestyle will seem very meager compared to your family’s, Miss Croome.”
“Is your life happy, Bex? That’s what I want.”
Another point for Miss Croome, but did she truly understand the differences in their stations? Unease rolled again in his gut. He pulled on the reins, slowing the horses. “Do your parents give parties often?”
“Yes, every few months. This is the second since the king’s passing. It was so strange to see the dark armbands, and so many dark colored and gray gowns at the first one. It was good to see people in a little more color again.”
She liked parties? Half a point deduction. Absent everything else, he’d just run off with a rich girl, one who might hate his little life. His stomach soured at the thought of her reacting like the countess, sneering at the gifts he bought, belittling his offerings—the pearls not big enough, perfume not fine enough, clothes not created by the right mantua-maker. Hard-earned money wasted had proven difficult for a frugal man.
He adjusted his hold on the reins, again slowing the horses. “Many think the life of an actor is wild, with extravagance every night. I don’t live like that.”
She didn’t look up at him. Maybe her glove was more interesting.
“Mama likes her parties.” Miss Croome’s voice, low-toned and sweet, rose. “Papa likes to be showy. He even hired more servants, just to make the evening seem bigger. I don’t think it necessary, but it makes them happy.”
He needed to make things clear before they left London so his fiancée wouldn’t react like the countess. “Miss Croome, I have no servants. My household is just me.”
“Not one?”
Full point deduction. His gut soured more. “Not even a man-of-all-work.”
“Oh.”
She might not mind his profession, but maybe she did not understand his lack of a fortune. His reservations slammed his middle like opening night, except with sledgehammers in place of butterflies. He swiped at his chin. “Miss Croome, we don’t have to do this. I could return you to the party that you left. You could walk back in through the front door. It’s only been about thirty minutes of travel.”
Fumbling with her folded hands, she shifted her gloved fingers in her lap. “No. That wouldn’t do. Mama might not have cut into her cake. I won’t have eyes on me, ruining her moment.”
“It’s a poor beginning if you can’t look at me when I’m telling you I understand my situation might be a little less than you bargained.”
She wrapped her arms about her, further obscuring the outline he’d admired. “Bex, I’m a shy person. And I’ve never done anything like this. And the shame I’ll cause my family, if… I’ve never, ever done something like this.”
Shame was a terrible thing, a stain that wouldn’t go away, like Shakespeare’s Lady Macbeth’s stained hands. He needed to make Miss Croome laugh. He needed to laugh to not think about shame. “Well, this would be my first elopement, too, Miss Croome.”
“I’ve never, ever gone against what my parents wanted. Never, Bex. I suppose it is different for men.”
He tightened his hands on the reins. “My parents died when I was very young. But I had to go against my guardian once. It wasn’t easy.”
From the corner of his eye, he saw Miss Croome’s face fully. Half hidden by long lashes, shadowed topaz eyes reflected the sparkle of the gaslights. She liked him, but what would it cost for her to trust him? And what price was he comfortable paying?
She spun in her seat as they approached a few of the warehouses lining Lower Thames Street. “Bex, this is Papa’s warehouse. Can you slop for a moment?”
“We are supposed to be fleeing, Miss Croome. Are you changing your mind?”
“This is it. The home I grew up in. I haven’t been back in years.” She leaned over, her hand atop his and tugged on the leather strap. “Please stop the carriage.”
Curiosity outweighing caution, he stopped the phaeton in front of a large stone building with boarded-up windows. “Is it abandoned?”
“No. Papa doesn’t like people looking in. I was born in the small rooms at the top. I lived here until age fifteen.”
The way she said it, “until age fifteen” sounded wistful, but how could that be in this section of town? Wealthy folks didn’t stay here. Maybe she wasn’t a spoiled little rich girl. It felt wrong to be proceeding without knowing more. He leaped out, came to her side, and held a hand up to her. “Come down, Miss Croome. “
“I just wanted to see it. We can keep going.”
“You wanted to see this place until I came for you. Do I make you nervous, or are you having doubts? Maybe I’m having doubts too.”
“What?” She took his hand and came down. The lady was small in height, coming up to the middle of his chest. “Bex, I don’t understand.”
