There it was again, that frustration boiling his patience to a screaming point.
Foolish to continue walking a path that led nowhere.
How long had it been since he’d been home?
At least over a year since he’d stepped foot there. But it was time to return, time to complete his father’s old research project. He’d left it unfinished when he’d died. Finding it and finishing it made his stomach turn. Felt right, too.
He rubbed the edge of his pocket watch.
It was time. Time to face his guilt. For his family. And time to push Gwendolyn just a bit. To see if she continued a cold cat or purred and jumped right into his lap.
Two
Lonely as midnight, Gwendolyn walked with sharp steps behind Lord Eaden’s daughters. Bond Street streamed around them, loud and crowded, and they chatted to one another as they wove through the passersby, throwing various comments over their shoulders at her, always including her.
But Gwendolyn rarely answered. Best to keep her distance, to remember they were not her friends but her employer’s children.
Ahead, the sign for modiste shop rocked in the wind. Marianne would be working today. She was always working.
Gwendolyn tapped Ada Cavendish’s shoulder. “I’m going to pop into that shop.” She nodded toward the sign, growing larger with each step.
Ada glanced upward. She looked very little like her father. Green eyes instead of brown, dark hair instead of graying gold. But she shared the same stubborn chin and determined gaze of the man who had saved Gwendolyn all those years ago. Like her father, Ada saw easily those things kept deeply hidden.
“Very well,” she said. “Are you sure you would not like to come with us to my friend’s shop instead? Henrietta’s gowns are the best.”
“No, thank you. I have given my custom to this shop for years, and I am afraid I cannot change my habits now.”
“As you wish,” Ada said. “Will you meet us in half an hour, then?”
Gwendolyn nodded, watched Ada and Nora disappear, then slipped into the shop, a bell tingling above the door. She knew Ada’s friend designed the best gowns in London, and she coveted them, but she was not here to refresh her wardrobe.
“Pardon me,” she told a shopgirl bustling by, “I am looking for Miss Marianne Crawford.”
The shopgirl nodded. “In the back. But she won’t welcome distractions.”
“I do not plan to stay long. Thank you.”
The shopgirl nodded and swept away, and Gwendolyn quickly found the back door, creaked it open, and slipped through into a large well-lit comfortable room where five women sat at various tables bent over yards of silk.
Marianne sat next to a window, her hair more yellow than gray in the foggy light streaming through the glass, a pin between her teeth. She looked up as the door snicked closed, and the pin dropped to her lap. Her brown eyes widened with welcome. “Gwen! I did not expect you so soon after last time. Come. Sit.” She nodded at a nearby chair.
A command from the woman who’d been her governess, from the only person who’d stood by her side when life had shattered around her.
Gwendolyn sat. “Are you well, Marianne? How have you been?”
The woman bobbed her head from shoulder to shoulder and pushed her gold-rimmed glasses up her nose. “Well enough. Eyesight is going. Fingertips hard as leather these days.” She chuckled. “But I’ve an honest job and a new fellow. A sight to see. Bald as a plate and nose broken three times over. At least. But he looks at me like I’m made of jewels. How’s your fellow?”
“He’s”—Gwendolyn cleared her throat—“not mine.” She set her hand palm up on the table almost touching the folds of amethyst silk.
Marianne snorted. “If you say so. His name is always on your lips. ‘Mr. Cavendish found the most interesting artifact. Mr. Cavendish had a most peculiar joke. Mr. Cavendish was more handsome than the Prince of Denmark.’”
“I cannot help it if it’s true.”
“But is it noteworthy?”
Gwendolyn felt heat rush into her cheeks. Perhaps it wasn’t noteworthy to anyone but herself. She noted everything about him.
“Speaking of notes…” Marianne’s voice held a hesitation Gwendolyn had not heard there before.
