JAHLEEL—BEDTIMESTORIES
At five minutes to ten, a confident knock sounds from my closet.
Sitting by the fireplace, I wait, finish drinking my tea, and then rise.
Slow, steady steps take me to my closet, and then to the connecting door.
“Jahleel?” Katherine’s voice vibrates the wood.
My heart races. I’ve avoided her all day, unable to witness the pity in her countenance. It can be nothing else, for nothing has changed. I’m still fighting for time, no matter how much of a fool I am for her.
“Coming,” I say, and allow her to enter.
Jasmine fragrance hits my nostrils as I witness the vision of shapeliness, curves, and color. Her hair is down with braids in the back, and loose curls in the front shine with a tinge of purple highlighted by the sconce’s light. The modiste’s design, a sleek night rail and robe, fits Katherine like a dinner glove. The satin and lace cinch her waist and show off her hips, every curve as if she’s gift-wrapped in pink paper.
Blessedly, she has on thick stockings and slippers as she prances across the ryas on the floor.
“Why is this locked, Jahleel?”
“Steele must’ve …” Followed my orders. “Sorry.”
Her lips pout, and she eyes me with skepticism. “I’ve come for our reading. Have to see how Darcy fares. Rejection is brutal.”
Her soft, humble tone implies some understanding of the misunderstood man. But that can’t be. Katherine hasn’t proposed anything new that I’ve rejected. We’re still working our plan.
Yet the lift of her head and the squaring shoulders indicate preparations for battle.
But I’m tired of war. “Mr. Steele’s brought the latest spouse list.”
“Let’s review it together,” she says, leaning against the door. Her robe flits open, giving a better view of the present inside.
“Nyet.” I blink and come out of the rusalka’s trance. “I’m a little tired. Perhaps we can review the list of eligible widowers and then retire for the evening. No reading to me tonight.”
“Changing rules. Don’t.” She comes closer and puts a hand on my thudding chest. “I know what this is about. Sorry I interrupted you this morning.”
Scarlett must’ve told her.
Sobered, I head out of the closet and pretend I heard nothing. “Did you have a nice day? I heard you didn’t leave Anya House.”
Katherine glides to me, snaking her way to my side. “I hoped to see you, to talk. Instead, I spent time with Lydia. She’s enjoying her lessons.”
“Our daughter is bright, but what of Wilcox Coal?”
“It carried on without me. Thom’s sons are driving the drays. They’ve had no trouble. And thank you for having runners trail them.”
My smirk gives away my pleasure at borrowing a little assistance from the magistrate. “I’m glad you don’t feel I’m overstepping or intruding on your business.”
“It’s welcomed. I want the young men safe.”
This near, smelling delightful, she appears prim and proper. Yet my palms sweat.
“What if you, Lydia, and I go for a drive tomorrow?”
“Won’t that confuse her?”
“Confuse Lydia? I think she’ll like seeing her parents getting along.” Katherine’s fingers slip beneath my robe to my starched nightshirt. Her aim is too accurate, too stealthy. She wedges her hand against my button placard and quickens my heart.
“Wow. That’s beating hard.”
