“Are there wild Indians where you are from?” Amaryllis asked.
“You can ask her all those questions tomorrow,” Phin said, shooing them away from Lenore. He squeezed his father’s shoulder as he passed his chair, gesturing for Lenore to follow him. “For now, help Father to bed.”
The girls groaned and complained, but did as they were told. As they worked together to shift Mr. Mercer out of his chair, Lenore noticed a narrow bed in the corner of the room.
“I should have warned you about Father as well,” Phineas said once they were alone in the hall.
“I remember hearing that your father was ill,” Lenore said, overwhelmed by it all, “but I had no idea he was this ill.”
“The doctors have no idea what it is or how long it will last,” Phin said, running a hand over his face. He took a deliberate breath before saying, “I sometimes forget how dire the situation is, and then I come home.” He glanced toward the parlor’s doorway.
Lenore couldn’t help herself. She stepped into him, throwing her arms around Phin and hugging him for all he was worth. She needed to feel his solidity and strength, and she needed him to see that she cared.
The worst part of it was, there was so much she could have done. She saw it now as clearly as if the sun had come up and illuminated every part of the house. Her inheritance could have changed the lives of the Mercer family in innumerable ways. Unlike the fortunes of other Dollar Princesses, if she had had the freedom to marry Phin, her money would bolster a family, not just a flagging and outdated estate. And she knew with painful certainty that she could, and likely would, fall madly in love with Phin’s entire family the way she’d fallen head over heels for him.
Yes, love. She had to admit it to herself now, after seeing Phin at home. What she felt for him wasn’t mere lust or overheated friendship. She didn’t just want him as a bedmate or a co-conspirator. The more she discovered him, the more she was certain what she felt was brilliant, beautiful, inconvenient love.
“That isn’t the reaction I expected,” Phin laughed, closing his arms around her in return. “I rather expected you to—”
She silenced him by lifting to her toes and slanting her mouth over his with all the hopeless passion that boiled away inside of her. Her heart and soul longed for him so deeply that it made every part of her ache. He was quick to kiss her in return as well, holding her close and parting her lips with his to tease his tongue against hers. The passion between them was undeniable. It was enough to make her believe she could do wild, risky, utterly mad things.
“I’m overwrought,” she said, stepping back and pressing a hand to her chest. “I miss home. I really should go to bed.”
The twitch of his kiss-reddened lips told her he wanted to joke about her going to bed with him, but the sound of the girls helping his father to bed in the parlor and that of Hazel marching into the kitchen, presumably after taking care of the horses and wagon, meant they wouldn’t be able to get away with anything inappropriate.
“I’ll show you up to Gladys’s room,” he said instead, nodding toward the stairs.
Lenore followed him, knowing full well she would never be able to sleep, as full of turmoil as she was. But underneath the despair and heartbreak, a new urge had filled her. It was an urge to be brave, to do something that would either get her killed or start her life anew. Bart was in England now, after all. And though she was certain he was after blood of one sort or another, maybe, just maybe, circumstances had changed enough that, instead of being content merely to stay away from him, she would have the courage to ask him for a divorce.
Chapter 10
Phin was up with the dawn, in spite of his body and mind being so weary he could have stayed in bed for another week. There was something bittersweet about being home. His childhood had been a happy one, in spite of the difficulties of his family’s circumstances and his mother’s death when Amaryllis was born, so the house held more happy memories for him than painful ones. It was the present that gnawed at him the most. Between the strain of his father’s decline and the burning flame of hope, desire, and love he had within him for Lenore, he couldn’t have slept past sunrise even if he’d tried.
“What are you doing up so early?” Hazel asked when he strode into the kitchen, intent on making a strong pot of tea and assessing what needed to be done around the house.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he said, pausing briefly in the kitchen doorway to reevaluate his plans.
Hazel already had tea made and was in the process of shaping scones out of the dough on the counter in front of her. She wore a contraption affixed to her arm and shoulder that looked like some sort of macabre cage of metal and wood that she’d had the village blacksmith build for her. It came with various interchangeable attachments that Hazel had designed herself, though currently she wore one that looked like a blunt club that enabled her to knead dough. His talents were of a literary sort, Lionel’s were for knowing everyone in London and half of the rest of the people in England at large, but Hazel’s talents were of a mechanical bent.
“Someone has to keep this place running,” Hazel answered, nodding to the pot of tea on the stove. “Especially since we have a guest.”
Phin smiled in spite of himself as he crossed to the stove to pour himself a cup. He added cream and sugar from
