“I hadn’t thought of that. Can you suggest a viable candidate? He’d have to agree to deal with a female, and he’d have to promise to listen to me rather than my father.”
“I’ll ask my brother about it.” He halted, then scowled. “No, actually, I’ll ask Sybil. She might have a better notion of who you need.”
He kissed her, then walked to the door. She remained where she was, determined not to rush over and glom onto him, determined not to beg him to stay a bit longer.
“Are you still glad you’re in London?” he asked.
“I’m still glad.”
“It will get easier. You merely have to assimilate.”
“I realize that.”
“I’m proud of you,” he suddenly said.
“Proud? Why would you be?”
“You’ve engaged in a dramatic adventure. You were desperate to change your life, and you did. I’ve never met a woman who was so bold. I like it.”
She yearned to ask when he’d be back, but she swallowed down the question. She would not demean herself by seeming inordinately fond.
He flashed a wicked grin and sauntered out, the sound of his boots fading on the stairs. She gazed down into the street, anxious to watch him as he mounted his horse and rode away, but even though she stared for an eternity, she didn’t see him.
She tarried in the quiet. She could hear her heart beating, could hear a clock ticking in the adjacent apartment, and when she recognized how terribly morose she was being, she shook off her dour mood. This was the existence she’d picked for herself, and she wouldn’t rue and regret. There was no point to it.
Blake Ralston was the man of her dreams, the man she adored, and she could have wept over how she’d misplayed her hand with him. She didn’t want a cold, detached relationship where he visited for an afternoon romp. She wanted a ring on her finger and a home of her own, with Blake as her husband.
She shouldn’t have fallen into the trap she had with him. She grasped that now but, in her own defense, she hadn’t understood how intimate a physical affair would be. How could she have known? And once they’d started in, how could she have resisted him?
He was simply too dashing for words.
She wished she was acquainted with an older woman who could advise her as to what she should do—for she had absolutely no idea.
Finally, she yanked away from the window and went to the table in the corner to peruse the newspaper. There were so many intriguing jobs described in it, but they were all for men. She waded through them anyway, forcing herself to be optimistic.
She sat down and began to read when a personal notice caused her to blanch with surprise: Caroline seeking Janet. I’m in London. Where are you? Please reply as indicated so I can find you. There was a box listed at the newspaper office where a response could be sent.
Was it Caroline? Should Janet answer the query? But why would Caroline be in town? What if it was Janet’s father? What if it was a trick he’d used to locate her? If she was caught by him, he might lock her in a convent for being so reckless. She wouldn’t put it past him.
Her pulse pounded with dread—but with excitement too. She couldn’t decide what was best, and she laid the page aside. She would show it to Blake to garner his opinion, and she would figure out a path from there.
Caroline left the newspaper office, and she dawdled on the sidewalk, debating how to proceed. She’d been checking every morning for a month, but there had been no message from Janet, and she was out of options. There was no guarantee Janet would ever chance upon her advertisement, but other than publishing her appeal, she couldn’t guess how to contact her cousin.
She’d arrived in London with no difficulty. On the mail coach, she’d chatted with a widow who’d offered information about the city and how Caroline should settle in. On her recommendation, Caroline had taken a room at a boarding house that was clean and situated in a safe neighborhood.
But the next month’s rent was due, and Caroline had to pay or move out. She was conflicted over her choices. No alternative seemed to be the right one.
She’d been to London on several occasions, so it wasn’t completely strange to her. So far, she’d spent her days meandering and sightseeing, and she’d spent her nights fretting and fuming.
She wanted to return to Grey’s Corner and confront her uncle. He was intending to inflict grave harm on her for no reason she could discern. She’d always been kind to him, and the only time she’d ever been stubborn was over the wedding. Why had he reacted so cruelly? Why would he be so eager to hurt her?
When she was feeling particularly harassed, she’d wonder about Mrs. Scruggs’s belief that he was planning to have her committed to an asylum. What if Mrs. Scruggs had been mistaken about what the footman had overheard? What if Uncle Samson hadn’t planned any such outrage? If so, she’d fled for nothing. Should she go home?
The instant she pondered the notion, she’d scold herself. Mrs. Scruggs wasn’t prone to fantasy. If she thought Caroline was imperiled, then she was.
She had to find Janet. It was growing ever more imperative. She’d be less anxious once they were reunited. Janet was smart and pragmatic, and she’d provide shrewd counsel as to how Caroline could protect herself.
She started down the block, and at the corner, a crowd had gathered. A newsboy was hawking the latest edition of the paper, and people were rushing up to buy copies. She stood on the edge of the group, curious as to
