“Course not.” Not today.
She hugged me and drew me into our room. Her thick accent sounded like Mama’s voice and reminded me of her little hums she sang around the fire, roasting pheasants.
My stomach purred.
“Mrs. Chari. You no . . . you not cheated.”
Her English had improved greatly. I was proud of that. “He paid in full. Mr. Downes was pleased. He’ll hire me again.”
Enna nodded as she took my coat. “Very good. Yourweldoenersaid Downes would be good.”
Weldoener?My benefactor? No. Tramel wasn’t that.
Looking away from the window to the vases Enna used for fresh flowers, ugly mud-brown vases she’d bought for a penny in Covent Garden, I sighed. Here, deep in the city, they’d never hold anything wild, but day-old fare bought on the cheap.
I took my pretty purple coat from her fingers and laid it over a chair, squaring the seams like Felton taught me. “Lord Tramel has been helpful, but I think I can get commissions now on my own.”
Enna went to the crib and retrieved a yawning Noah. His blue-black eyes were a match for the Lance family, but he had Helena’s skin, dark gold and soft.
“You sit. Then I give ’im a bath.” She made faces at the little boy.
It still didn’t feel quite natural holding this little person who’d just learned to keep his head up.
“When do you think he’ll start to talk? Then he could tell me what he wants. That seems a problem for boys and men.”
She looked at me the way Enna always did when I said something stupid or she couldn’t quite translate. She put the babe in my arms. “Women know not what they want too, Mrs. Chari. Even when it’s clear.”
Her words shook me. Then Noah cried until his little hand snatched my nose. Did he know I wanted to kill his father tonight?
Enna came and steadied my hands, shifting the babe to a more comfortable position, tucking Noah fully into my arms.
He looked content, cooing, with his lovely eyes following my finger. But sometimes I didn’t feel very maternal.
“Yourweldoenersent another package.” She took a pot of water and heated it. “It’s on the sofa.”
Though it was probably brushes or French cheese, I couldn’t look at the parcel. The dear duke had already given too much. If I encouraged his attentions, he would deliver what I desired: revenge. Gladstone’s death. I couldn’t ask that of him and be more indebted.
“Noah, what are we going to do?” My whisper made him blow spittle.
The bubbles were pretty with translucent rainbows caused by the candlelight. Unless one thought about how fragile the surfaces, how easy they were to pop, you’d think them safe.
I had a feeling with so many Lance men bumping about the theatre district, the protective bubble I bound about my family would soon be pierced.
CHAPTER23
FELTON—CONFESSION ANDCOCONUTS
It was a universal truth that if a wife wished to be a widow, her living husband had cheated her of the one thing that would bring her peace.
His daughters’ laughter rang loud in the hall of Sandlin Court. They made no attempt to hide the joy they found visiting the Duke and Duchess of Repington. They learned everything from battlefield engagement to cannon maintenance to how to bribe a man with coconut bread—properly cooked coconut bread.
Felton did miss the overly browned caramelized bits, but he’d never say it. You don’t touch another man’s bread. The duke loved his just as Her Grace made it.
Patience Thomas Strathmore was Felton’s sister-in-law. He wondered if she had instructions for wayward wives as much as she did for widows of her secret society, the Widow’s Grace?
Cecilia, gone ten months and then two days ago she was in his embrace returning his kiss.
Warm. Vibrant. And he had to let go, again.
