Including the ceiling.
Joanna had to admit their accommodations weren’texactlywhat she had imagined when they’d embarked on their grand adventure across the pond. She’d pictured an old English manor with ivy crawling up the side and servants in lace caps and tea being served every hour on the hour. Unfortunately, while she’d seen such houses from afar (usually tucked behind tall, iron gates), it appeared the majority of London was a crowded sprawl of townhouses and narrow alleys and busy streets.
Or at least, the part of London they could afford.
Evie’s dress hadn’t fetched nearly as much as Joanna had hoped it would, leaving them with limited options. But while Mrs. Privet’s taste in décor may have been questionable, at least they had a roof over their heads.
Sort of.
“How long has this puddle been here?” Grabbing a pitcher from the wash stand, Joanna shoved it in the corner of the room where a pool of water, courtesy of the steady drizzle falling on the roof, had started to collect. Exasperated, she turned to the bed and the sister-sized lump huddled in the middle of it. “Evie, I know you do not feel well, but you must get up atsomepoint.”
“Easy for you to say,” Evie mumbled from underneath the blanket. “You didn’t spend eight weeks throwing up into a tin pail.”
“Maybe not,” Joanna retorted, “but Ididspend eight weeks holding your hair and chucking the contents of said tin pail out a porthole the size of a dinner plate. I’m sorry the trip wasn’t pleasant,”—to put it mildly—“but we’re here now, and I just had a splendid visit with Kincaid, who has agreed to help us!”
Considering the bad luck that had followed them ever since the ring was stolen in Boston, Joanna was still surprised that she’d been able to coax Kincaid into taking their case. Particularly since she’d had no money to pay him. He hadn’t exactly seemed pleased, but an agreement was an agreement, and she intended to hold him to his end of the bargain.
By force, if necessary.
Evie peeked out from beneath the blanket. “Who is Kincaid?”
“The private investigator Mrs. Benedict told us about, remember?” On their first night at the boarding house, Joanna had made quick work of asking their fellow tenants if they could recommend someone to help find the ring. Mrs. Benedict, a quiet widow, had suggested Mr. Thomas Kincaid.
Apparently, she had hired him two years ago to track down her sister after she’d eloped with a footman, and she’d employed his services again just this past winter to find a missing necklace.
“There’s no one better,” she’d told Joanna. “He’s also a gentleman through and through, so you needn’t worry about him trying to…well,youknow.”
Truth be told, now having met Kincaid, Joanna didn’t think she’d mind a little “youknow”.
From the moment she had walked into his house, she had felt an instant connection. A recognition of sorts, even though they’d never met and he wasnothinglike what she had been expecting.
For some reason (she blamed her risqué dime novels), she thought a private investigator would have an eyepatch and a mouth curled in a menacing sneer and a pistol sitting on the edge of his desk. But Kincaid, with his angular face and tousled, brown hair and somber, amber gaze, had none of those things.
Instead of an eyepatch, he had thin, wire frame spectacles. Instead of a menacing sneer, he wore a politely detached smile. And instead of a pistol, he had a very friendly cat named James.
She’d liked James.
She’d also liked Kincaid.
Her feelings for the cat she understood.
Her feelings for the private investigator she…did not.
“I might recall you mentioning him.” Throwing back the covers, Evie opened her mouth in a jaw-cracking yawn and sat up. “That’s good he can help us, I suppose. But how can we afford him? We can barely afford to stay off the streets. Although, I’m beginning to wonder if a nice alley wouldn’t be preferable tothis.” She gestured to the room with a broad sweep of her arm. “The pillows are so hard my neck is beginning to ache, and I swear I saw a mouse run across the floor this morning. A mouse!”
“For the last time, this isn’t meant to be a vacation.” Trying—and failing—not to roll her eyes, Joanna picked up one of the pillows in question and gave it a good hard whack to even out the lumps before tossing it back on the bed. “There, all better. As for being able to afford Kincaid, he and I agreed to a trade. My services for his.”
Evie gasped. “Joanna! You cannotpossiblymean to—to sell yourself to this man!”
“What? No! That isn’t what I…no.” Unable to stop the blush that flooded her cheeks with heat, she quickly went to the dressing table and began to mindlessly line up all of Evie’s little beauty tinctures and potions into two straight rows. “He is in need of a secretary. Someone to greet potential clients as they arrive, organize his office, and keep his schedule in order. As the oldest of three siblings, I believed myself suited to the task.”
“Naturally,” Evie said with an unmistakable bite of sarcasm.
Holding a small bottle of rose water intended to soften the complexion, Joanna spun towards her sibling with narrowed eyes. “What isthatsupposed to mean?”
“It means that just because you’re the eldest doesn’t mean you’re the only one who can accomplish things.”
“I never claimed I was!”
