A logical objection, but… “I’ve seen enough to know it’s not what I want.”
Mr. Beggsly showed them three other locations, none as elegant as the first, none as well situated, and after a cursory perusal of all three, Drew declared flatly, “No.”
Outside the final house, Mrs. Dart pulled him aside, her mouth thinned into a line of disapproval, her gaze as flat as he made his behind his glasses.
“You are being difficult, Lord Andrew.” She glanced over his shoulder at Mr. Beggsly slumped, dejected against the front door of the final residence.
“It is an important choice to make. I’m being careful.”
She pulled him around the corner of the building so they were out of sight. He approved her care for privacy. No need to let all of London know they disagreed. “The first location proved perfection itself.”
“The townhouses were too far apart.”
“Nonsense. You know it is difficult enough to find two available townhomes side by side in a good location. We’ve seen three good options and one excellent one. Though I can only surmise its excellence as you barely let us walk through the door before turning your nose up at it.” Color rose high in her cheeks, pink like the gown from yesterday’s wedding.
Unusual, that. He removed his glasses, cleaned the lenses on his sleeve, put them back on. The color remained, a more flustered rose hue now. Odd. Wrong. “Mrs. Dart, rein in your passions, please. There is too much distance between them, and no amount of anger will fix the dilemma.” And it was a dilemma.
Once, a man had tried to break into the agency in Manchester. He’d broken a ground-floor window in the townhouse where Mrs. Dart slept. She’d woken, cried out, and Drew had been down the stairs and into the women’s townhouse before the intruder could get any farther than the room he’d broken into.
Could he get to her so quickly if he were down the street? Would he even hear her if she needed him? She was just as much his to care for as his tutors and governesses were. A single woman, very much not a widow, alone. Because he’d asked her to be. Yes, he paid her well, but still. It did not quite cover the danger of the situation.
She laid a hand on his arm, and the touch gathered his entire attention. She rarely touched him, and he never touched her, and… and her hand on his arm seemed tiny and frail.
What if he couldn’t get to her? What if he didn’t even hear her cry out? He took a breath that banished his own rising passion, a waving crest of fear and?—
“Lord Andrew, look at me.”
He ripped his gaze from her hand and found her usually almost-black eyes the softest brown in the sunlight. “Let us view the first residence one more time,” she said, her voice as soft as her eyes. “Let us at least view it past its entry hall. Inspect the other rooms. We can time the walk from one townhouse to the other.”
He couldn’t very well stand in one, have her stand in the other, and ask her to scream to see if he could hear her. Beggsly would think him odd. Likely already thought him odd for passing up such a prime location for his agency. His clients would be impressed. His governesses and tutors would feel at home in the architectural finery. It would restore their self-respect, help them remember they were not to be scoffed at or looked down upon. They were worthy.
Drew exhaled, slow and heavy, ruffling a hand through his hair. “We’ll look at it.” And he’d hire a burly footman or two if he had to. To guard the place when he was not about.
“Excellent!” She pulled her hand back then strode round the corner and out of sight. “Mr. Beggsly! We wish to return to the first location.”
Was that a cheerfulhuzzahDrew heard from the other man? Excitement… what a waste of energy. Beggsly and Mrs. Dart chatted about the residence as they walked the short distance to it, and when he ushered them inside once more, Drew felt… at home. Damn. He’d not wanted to like it.
Mrs. Dart led the exploration, and Mr. Beggsly chuckled at her enthusiasm. She broke from him here, like a bit of him become rogue. She did that now and then when they were alone. She acted as his mirror twin in almost every mannerismwhen they were with others. But, admittedly, better. Warmer, cheerier, the type of him others would actually like and trust. It was why she had so often proved perfect for him, for his agency.
“You see, my lord,” Mr. Beggsly said, nodding at Mrs. Dart’s retreating form as she bustled into an upstairs room with sighs of rapture, “she loves it, and since she’s the one who runs the agency and will be spending her time here, perhaps you should bow to her wishes.”
Hell. He’d known he’d have to even before Beggsly said so.
He didn’t like it, though.
He followed her into the room, and Mr. Beggsly stayed in the hall.
She turned to him grinning from where she stood at a window. “Look. There’s a smallish garden in the back. It’s perfect.”
He joined her. “I suppose. But… Mrs. Dart… what if something happens?”
She frowned at him. “What do you mean?”
“Like the intruder a few summers back. What if I cannothearyou? Because I’m too far away.”
Her mouth opened then closed again. Then she took a deep breath before speaking. “You surely will not live in one of these residences. You’ll have a different home. With your wife.”
A different home. He’d not considered that. A wife would not wish to reside in a place of business, no matter how elegant and homey that place was. Something like a gnarled knot on an ancient tree grew tight in his chest, and he turned from her, strode from the room.
