Page 70 of The Gentlewoman Apprentice

“Why don’t you draw upon your trust?”

Meg withered inside, tired of his mentioning the trust. “I’d rather a loan from you,” she said. “Temporary, of course. So I can pay the good doctor and start saving up again with the help of my boarders.”

He nodded. “Remind me before you depart.”

While relieved by his easy assent, she did not like taking his money any more than drawing on credit.

“Have you spoken with Samuel about returning with me to Stroud?” Meg asked.

He hesitated. “He does not wish to hurt you, but this morning he told me he prefers the estate.”

“Of course he does, but this is not the future he can expect. He will do much better with me.” A downward pull of her chest reminded her if Grace had not stolen from her, this conversation would have gone differently. She could have demanded he stay with her. But she could no longer afford that. Hard work would return her to a place where those demands could be made.

“More than anything, he misses his school friends,” James said. “He asks about returning to boarding school. Would you like to visit the place together? Perhaps we are making a mistake.”

“I am confident we are not, but if it helps convince Samuel, I will certainly go.”

A maid cleared the tea service and Lady Halverton yawned and stole away, followed by Lord Halverton. The dowager excused herself, and Samuel ran off to finish his studies. Meg and Mr. Sloan returned to their work, the hiss of rain their companion.

Meg examined the callus on the pad of her middle finger, formed from years of pushing a needle, and wished for sunshine and dry roads, wanting to be alone in a closed carriage with Mr. Sloan. An odd desire that set her more on edge. Meg felt out of sorts in an undefinable way. Her body seemed to edge toward Mr. Sloan as if he might answer some need she could not identify. The effort to work against the urge was like trying not to scratch an itch. She wanted to settle into the calm ease of his presence, wondered over his reaction if she were to let her guard down.

More likely, the desperate situation Grace had created for her left her unsettled. It could not be that Meg wanted to rest against the shoulder of the man whose arm brushed casually against hers as they worked, who did not need to ask which part of the gown she preferred working on, who handed her the scissors the moment she realized she required them.

She missed him preemptively. Their time together tingled with absence. Time, which usually passed without notice, acquired an intolerable swiftness, an hourglass wherein each grain of sand fell with finality, ticking off the seconds until Mr. Sloan learned what she had done. Although, she still had her valentine.

“Mr. Sloan,” she asked, “what do you think about this valentine business?”

He glanced up quickly. “I am not certain what you’re asking.” He returned his attention to his work, his fingers seeming to weave thread ever faster through the silk.

“I’ve been considering Lady Halverton’s assertion that you might have a hint as to his identity.”

“Ah.” He picked up the scissors and cut a length of thread.

He knew something.

“Is it someone you know well?” She leaned closer to examine his face. He bit his lip. To prevent a smile? “You are not telling me something.”

“I find it amusing you are so interested.”

“How could I not be?” She leaned against the cushion behind her, watching him thread a needle. “Whoever it is has thoroughly charmed me.”

“Ah!” Mr. Sloan shook out his hand. “I stabbed myself.”

“Is it bleeding?”

“Not much.”

Meg rang the bell and asked the maid to bring a plaster.

“I’m sure it will stop bleeding in a moment. Let’s pause our work and go find Samuel,” he suggested.

“I will not fall for such a trick. Give me a hint. Or admit to knowing his identity.”

“It is not allowed.”

“So, there are rules? What are they?”

“You must wait until your valentine reveals himself.”