“I have a plan, but before I tell you about it, there’s a question I need to ask you.”
Her heart gave a leap of excitement. Perhaps he wanted to take her to a music hall show? She hadn’t had an outing like that since well before her father died. Or he might take her for a walk—an evening stroll on the Embankment. They could stop at Brown’s and have ice cream. He might dare to touch her hand on the way back—
“I was wondering,” he said, his voice interrupting these delightful contemplations, but thenhe paused to pop the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and reach for a slice of seedcake, leaving Evie in intolerable suspense. “I was wondering,” he resumed at last, “about that storage room you’ve got.”
She blinked, taken aback, blissful dreams of romance faltering. “The storage room?”
“Yes. Do you use it for anything?”
“Do we use it?” Realizing she was beginning to sound like someone’s pet myna bird, Evie got hold of herself with an effort. “Well, we use it for storage, obviously. And it also functions as an office of sorts for me. Why?”
“I’m looking for a place to hold meetings.” His slice of cake finished, he helped himself to another one. “To generate interest, raise funds, that sort of thing.”
“Raise funds for what?”
“Me.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve decided to go into politics.”
Her astonishment must have shown on her face, for he laughed. “Is it such a surprise? You’ve always known I’m political.”
She did know. It was one of the things she liked best about him. He cared about things that mattered, as she did. He wanted to improve the lot of ordinary people. “It’s so good that you want to make the world a better place, but—”
“Making it happen won’t be easy. We have to rid society of the flawed old way first. We have to tear it down—all of it. We have to shatter the outmoded institutions, destroy the privileged classes and everything they stand for—bring down the bankers, the aristocrats, even the monarchy—”
Evie frowned, feeling suddenly uneasy. Shelikedthe Queen. “That’s rather reckless, isn’t it?”
“It has to be done, Evie. Only then, after we’ve rid ourselves of the decadent old world, can we build a new world, a better world. We can’t rely on those doddering fools at Westminster to change anything—it will never happen. They’d rather just stay comfortable in their stodgy beds, fat and complacent and so damnably smug. No, if things are ever going to change, it’s the working men who will bring it.” He took another sandwich from the tray. “Men like me.”
The man behind him made a sound of derision, and Evie cast a reproving look in his direction, but it was wasted, for he wasn’t even looking at her. Instead, he was studying the books on the display table nearby, and she returned her attention to the man in front of her. “So, you want to run for office?”
“I do, but that takes money, so I need to raise funds.”
“What about the money from the sale of your father’s shop? Surely you still have some of that?”
“Of course,” he replied at once, “but it’s not nearly enough. Politics is an expensive game, Evie. It will take a lot of time and work, but I’ll get there in the end, and when I do, the men who do the labor will finally have a true voice.”
Evie’s uneasiness deepened. “I hope...” She paused and cleared her throat, crossing her fingers beneath the counter. “I hope you will push for the ladies to have a voice and fight to gain us the vote? After all,” she added, forcing a self-deprecating laugh, “we are workers, too.”
She needn’t have doubted Rory. “Absolutely!” he said at once, his voice firm with conviction. “I regard women as the most important workers of all.”
“Of course you do,” the man behind him muttered under his breath, turning the page of a book.
“I’m glad to know you support the women’s vote, Rory,” she hastened on, fearing he might take umbrage to the stranger’s rude remark. “It’s so important.”
“Of course it is,” Rory replied as he took another slice of cake. “About that storage room—I was hoping you might let me use it to hold meetings.”
“I suppose that could be managed. Did you have a particular day in mind?”
“One night a week should be adequate. We can bring in a table, add some chairs—”
“Every week?” She stared, appreciating the difficulties of such an arrangement in a way Rory could not. Her storage room was small, and it contained not only the shop’s excess inventory and stationery supplies, but also her desk, filing cabinets, and several more shelves of books. With a table and chairs shoved in as well, there would be no room to move back there. “You want to use it every week?”
“It would only be for a few hours,” he said at once. “It’s vital we have a place to meet, you see, and that storage room of yours would be perfect. It’s for the workers, Evie,” he added as she continued to hesitate, and once again, he leaned closer, giving her an intimate smile. “It’s for us.”
As she lookedinto those gorgeous blue eyes, how could she refuse? “All right, then,” she said, laughing. “You’ve won me over. We’ll make it work somehow.”
He smiled back at her, popped the final bite of cake into his mouth, and straightened away from the counter. “Would Wednesdays suit you? Seven o’clock?”
Without waiting for an answer, he removed the last two sandwiches from the tray and turned to depart.
