Page 12 of Mail-Order Lady

He turned back toward the hotel.

The morning stretched ahead with too many hours before one o’clock. He could check on Clara, but she’d told him last night she’d be fine. Hovering might make her feel smothered.

The lobby was empty when he entered except for the clerk, who glanced up and then back down to his work with the disinterest of someone who’d learned not to notice guests’ comings and goings.

Robert climbed the stairs. Sixteen steps, same as yesterday.

When he reached the second floor, Mrs. Wang’s door was closed. Clara’s too. He stood in the hallway for a moment, listening to the silence, then unlocked his own room and went inside.

After an interminable two hours where he tried to force himself to read, he escorted the ladies to the dining room. They all ate quietly, though Clara barely touched her food.

Then at five minutes until one o’clock, they stood. Mrs. Wang retired upstairs, and he and Clara faced the parlor door.

“Ready?” He glanced at her.

She met his gaze. Something moved in those dark eyes that he couldn’t quite read—it was there and then it wasn’t, tucked away with everything else she kept out of sight. “Yes.” If only she would let him in, maybe then he could help her more. For now though, all he could do was protect from the outside.

He nudged the parlor door open and stepped in first.

Margaret McKinney already sat in a chair near the window. One where the light from behind darkened her features, but she had clear visibility to the door and every part of the room.

She rose with that fluid grace she’d displayed last night. The smile she offered when they entered was warm and immediate, in that way that made it nearly impossible to be certain whether it was genuine.

She didn’t even glance his way, as though his presence gave no surprise, and also wasn’t important.

Instead, she focused on her daughter as she swept forward with both hands extended. “Clara.”

Clara took her mother’s hands, and Robert stepped to the side—close enough to be present, far enough to give the illusion of privacy.

“It’s so good to see you, darling.” Margaret’s voice held that familiar warmth that made everything harder. “Come, sit with me.”

She guided Clara to a settee against the wall, still holding one of her hands.

Robert crossed to a chair by the hearth and settled into it like he’d always planned to be there.

Margaret McKinney glanced at him but he ignored the look.

Maybe she decided that making an issue of his presence would cost more than it was worth, for she turned back to Clara with a smile that softened the lines around her mouth. “I’ve missed you so much, darling.”

Clara’s throat moved as she swallowed. “I’ve missed you too, Mama.”

Mama. Not Mother, but the softer version—the one that belonged to a younger Clara who hadn’t yet learned to guard herself.

His entire body clenched. She shouldn’t have to guard herself from her own mother, but she did. They both did.

Margaret had already shown she was willing to sell her daughter to the highest bidder. Clara had escaped that fate with Kate’s help, so Robert wouldn’t underestimate her. Nor would he give her unrestrained access to manipulate Clara again. Kate had made him promise to protect her during this meeting.

Margaret reached into the bag at her side and withdrew a small cloth bag, faded blue with embroidered edges. “Before we talk, I wanted to give you this.” She placed it in Clara’s hands. “These belonged to Kate’s mother. Your father was very specific that they should go to her.”

Clara accepted the bag like it might break. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Margaret’s fingers brushed Clara’s wrist—just a touch, brief and gentle.

Then she reached back into her bag. “And these are for you.” She drew out a small wooden box, polished walnut with brass hinges. When she opened it, sunlight caught on a garnet brooch set in gold filigree. Beside it lay a plain gold ring and a folded sheet of paper.

“Your father and I agreed together that we should give you these.” Margaret’s voice went soft. “He gave them to me when his business started to grow. When we first understood how money could change our lives for the better.”

Margaret lifted the brooch, turning it so the garnets caught the light. “This was the first piece. He came home one evening with it wrapped in brown paper, so proud of a new contract he’d signed. We weren’t wealthy yet—not truly—but it felt like a promise of what was coming.”