The woman’s wool-ensconced arms were pressed tightly against her chest. “That Irish girl with Queenie. She said her sister has been trying to convince her to come here. Since you’ve taken in several other ladies, Mary said you might take me.”
Caroline surely hadn’t mentioned to anyone, even her sister, that he was involved with her taking in soiled doves. Had he said something to give himself away the night Henri had discovered Caroline’s sister was a prostitute?
Though why bother refuting it now? He pointed to the lady’s cape and gestured for her to take it off. “No need to hide. No one will mention seeing you here.”
Her arm moved unsteadily to the crown of her head. She dragged down the hood. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, and her gaze locked onto his feet.
He shut his eyes to block out the familiar sores on her face. The pox that crept up from her neck and wandered over her left eye was something he was intimately familiar with.
The same swirl of revulsion that had coursed through him when he’d found Gracie covered with sores on his doorstep returned to wreak havoc with his gut.
He swallowed hard and forced himself to open his eyes.
Gracie’s lesions had wounded her vanity on top of killing her slowly. He didn’t want to cringe at the sight of Bessie and wound her more than she already was. “Have you seen a doctor?”
She shrugged. “Madam Careless’s doctor made it pretty clear I’m hopeless. He’s seen me twice, and it wasn’t pleasant.”
“You’re not in the worst stage yet. Maybe Dr. Lindon can be of assistance.”
“Maybe.” She reached for the back of a nearby chair but stopped herself. The large sore on her hand looked painful. She tucked her hands back around her waist. “I know you probably don’t want to take me in, but Madam Careless kicked me out. The only options I have are to move down into a cribhouse for work . . . or something worse.” Her voice clamped off. “I’ve wanted to quit since the very first day, but I was just so desperate. And then it became impossible to leave.” She sniffled and rubbed at her eyes with the back of her sleeve. “I never should’ve left my husband, but . . .”
Nicholas sucked in a breath, a sharp pain piercing his chest.
“But he—”
“Don’t say any more, ma’am. It’s not for me to judge.” The old, familiar ache tightened his insides as if he were experiencing the same anguish Bessie’s husband felt over her unfaithfulness.
But what good was his mansion and all the speeches he’d given Lydia if he turned Bessie away just because she reminded him of the pain his late wife caused him?
Even so, he couldn’t look at her right now, so he slowly unwound his muffler and draped it on the coatrack, letting his hands travel down the length of it.
He would take her in, but he wouldn’t be her best attendant, considering how the echo of Gracie’s betrayal had slashed through him when Bessie admitted to adultery.
Knowing Grace had never loved him, he’d been too raw to offer much comfort to her before she died. The first and last time one of his wife’s acquaintances had stopped by, the woman had plainly told Gracie she’d gotten what she deserved—and he’d nodded in agreement.
He hadn’t bothered to have a doctor assess his wife since he’d practically reveled in what he saw as the vengeance of God on his behalf.
Only after the pox had taken over her brain and turned her into a miserable, raving lunatic did he regret his cruelty.
Unfortunately, he hadn’t repented in time to apologize, and the doctor had been called too late to do much good.
But who would nurse Bessie since he couldn’t? Caroline was spending much of her days at her sick sister’s bedside. Would one of his maids be willing to help? Would they believe a doctor if he told them they wouldn’t contract the disease by attending her? Effie would be the most likely maid willing to play nurse, for she seemed the most compassionate.
“Come.” His voice petered out, so he cleared his throat to try again. “You can stay upstairs in the green room. Someone will attend you until your symptoms subside or you’re cured. Then we can figure out what household duties you can take over.”
Bessie sank onto the ornate mahogany table behind her and dissolved into tears.
He fished out his handkerchief and handed it to her. Even if he didn’t feel like it, he’d give her what he hadn’t given his wife—mercy and the hope of forgiveness. “I’ll have Caroline show you to your room, and then you can come eat.”
She nodded, still weeping, his handkerchief pressed against her mouth, as if that would stop her breaths from rattling. With any other woman sobbing so hard, he’d be inclined to put a hand on her shoulder to reassure her, but he couldn’t.
He knew he was in no danger of contracting her disease, but it would take a while before he could offer her real comfort, to see her as Jesus saw her, not as an echo of his regrets. She’d see through anything less than true compassion, just as Gracie had.
And, in truth, Christ was this woman’s only real hope of comfort.
He could certainly tell her about God, but what if a man wasn’t the best person to tell her about forgiveness and hope?
Though doubting they’d be willing to come, he decided to ask the moral-society ladies to visit Bessie once she was ready for visitors.
They could decide whether to let God use them or not.
36
Lydia knocked on Nicholas’s door a second time, then stepped back to take in the mansion. Standing in front of the grandest structure in Teaville always made her inner romantic sigh, but when it was decorated for Christmas . . . Surely no palace could be prettier. The ivy with red velvet bows spiraling around the portico’s grand columns and draping the large wooden door, the candles flickering in the windows, and the cold wind blowing through her hair and numbing her nose made her wish she was in the Christmas spirit. But she couldn’t be.
She’d thought she was saving Nicholas from being exposed at Sunday’s evening service, but perhaps she’d done the opposite. Her father had come home the next night, drunk and rambling about how Lowe’s mansion would make a great hotel, saloon, and dance hall, all in one—especially since he already had the women.
Her heart had frozen in her chest. She’d never, ever heard such a rumor before, and no matter how much she questioned her father, he couldn’t tell her any more than that he’d only just heard about it from some chap.
If her father had wind of such a rumor, someone connected to Nicholas likely had too. Had Nicholas heard about what happened Sunday and believed she’d exposed him? Was that why she’d not seen him anywhere around town since she’d stood up to the congregation three days ago? Was he avoiding her?
He was a stickler for keeping his word. If he believed she’d broken hers, the cold shoulder was likely one of the nicer ways Nicholas would show his disapproval.
Her hands shook and her head ached, but not from cold. She’d not slept for two days worrying that he might scorn her, which was half crazy, considering she should be more upset over how the church had treated her. Yet here she stood on his porch instead of meeting with Pastor Wisely or trying to reconcile with Mrs. Little, and she was going to be ill if she didn’t find out exactly where she stood with Nicholas.
The housekeeper with the steady eyes and firm jaw opened the door. Miss O’Conner’s brow lifted slightly. “Miss King?”
“May I come in?” Her chattering teeth were reason enough to invite herself in, weren’t they?
Miss O’Conner backed up, swinging the door wider. “Can I help you?”
She couldn’t tell the woman she’d simply come to see what Nicholas thought of her. Especially if he narrowed his eyes and turned his back on her, causing her to melt into a puddle the housekeeper would have to sop up.
But she did have another reason for coming. She walked in and pulled off her gloves. “I came to check on Sadie.”
A huge pine tree in the middle of the foyer, alight with what appeared to be hundreds of candles ins
ide little glass lanterns, made her jaw drop. Lydia stepped into the hall, mesmerized by the brilliance.
“Let me help you off with your things.” Miss O’Conner took her cloak and hung it on the hall tree draped haphazardly with dark winter accessories.
The smell of the popcorn garland warmed by the tiny fires mingled with the smell of crisp pine needles. Lydia fingered a long red velvet bow trailing down the tree. “It’s beautiful.”
“You’ll need to tell Sadie that,” Nicholas’s voice rumbled nearby.
Lydia startled and turned to see him nonchalantly leaning against a doorjamb of the entrance to what appeared to be a music room.
“She worked hours to pop and string all that corn.” His shoulder rested against the doorframe, his hands in his pockets, and his eyes on her as if she were more mesmerizing than his ten-foot, no, maybe twelve-foot tree. He definitely wasn’t looking at her with narrowed eyes or a hardened jaw. So why were her insides fluttering so much?
Her heart beat so far up into her throat, she wasn’t sure her tongue had room to produce sound. “Is she here?”
“She’s helping Cook with dinner.” He walked toward her and stopped close enough to touch her, yet didn’t. Nor did he say a thing, just stared at her with eyes much softer than she’d anticipated.
She took a step back toward the tree and fingered one of the red glass balls tucked in between the boughs. “I always wanted glass ornaments for our tree.” She tipped her head back, noting that he had far more than one box of glass bulbs dispersed throughout the branches. “And you have so many of them. I’ve never seen anything more beautiful.”
“I have.” His velvety smooth baritone made her shiver.
She swallowed and chanced to look at him. Candlelight flickered in his eyes, and he gave her half a smile.
He was right. She had too. No matter how many ornaments or candles Sadie could pack into a tree, it wouldn’t make the tree more handsome than the man standing in front of her.
She turned back to the pine and tapped a little bell, producing a dull clack. “Well, yes, a man who lives in a three-story mansion with a garden the town women can’t stop talking about in the summer and likely wall-to-wall bookshelves in his library is surrounded by beauty.”
He laughed.
At least he didn’t seem disappointed in her.
Actually, he seemed rather . . . undisappointed.
She moved away from the tree—the candles’ heat was making her uncomfortably warm.
“I should’ve known you’d think the best part of the house would be the library—even though you’ve never seen it.”
“Roses do pale in comparison to walls of books.” She shrugged and smiled. “Are you out in your garden often?”
“No.” He pulled a pinecone off the Christmas tree and tossed it carelessly in one hand. “But I’m sure you didn’t come here to talk to me about my garden.”
She pressed her hand against her fluttering heart. “No, but I think I have the answer I came for.”
“Which was what?”
“To find out whether or not you were mad at me.”
His eyes narrowed. “Did you do something I should be angry about?”
“No, but you hadn’t come to see me.” She could have clawed her tongue out. How forward, how silly. She pressed her hand to her cheek, but since it was gloved, it did nothing to cool her face. “I mean, I hadn’t seen you lately, and I’d gotten used to seeing you.” That wasn’t much better. She clenched her teeth before she said anything more.
“I’ve been busy with work.” He tucked the pinecone back into the tree and kept his gaze fixed upon it. “And I’m sure you’ve been occupied with the Littles as they try to suppress the damage you caused to their political goals with your words last Sunday.”
So had he been there, or had he just heard about it? “No, I haven’t helped them cover up what I said. I stand by every word.”
He looked at her, head cocked. “Surely your speech strained your relationship with them. I doubt Sebastian appreciated you telling his mother you could no longer support his political ambitions.”
“I no longer worry about what he thinks.”
He moved his hand as if he would take hers but let it drop to his side. “If I learned anything in my short years of marriage, it’s that you need to learn to compromise. If you and your spouse’s goals conflict, the cement of a wedding ceremony will quickly feel the pull and break apart.”
“I’m sure that’s true. So next time, I’ll set my cap for someone who believes the way that I do.” She moved over to the window, where he couldn’t see her eyes. He might notice she’d already set her cap, far higher than she ought. “Sebastian and I are no longer together, and I wanted to thank you for the library position once again. Though it doesn’t calm my mother’s fears for me after she’s gone, it has mine. I’m thankful my salary will be enough for us to let a room—”
“Dinner is ready.” Miss O’Conner’s heels clacked on the wooden floor. “Should I put out another place setting?”
“Oh, no, I hadn’t meant—”
Nicholas cut her off with a swipe of his hand. “Sadie’d love to see you.”
“You let Sadie eat with you?”
“They’re all eating with me now. Since your former intended paid me a visit this morning, there’s no reason for them not to.” He held out his arm, but she could tell his smile was a bit pained. “Join us?”
Her heart bucked in her chest. She believed Nicholas had no evil interest in the women, but to sup with them? Could she add more scandal to herself? “Whatever could Sebastian have wanted that would make you change your dinner arrangements?”
He jiggled his arm a bit. “I can tell you over dinner.”
She glanced sideways at his inviting arm. What wouldn’t she do to take that arm? Hadn’t she already dressed in rags and reexamined her soul just to stay in his presence?
Hoping he wouldn’t notice she trembled, she looped her arm around his.
One day she’d not be able to savor the feel of his arm against hers anymore. For only in fairy tales did princes marry paupers, and someday, a rich young lady would catch Nicholas’s eye, discern his true character, and they’d be married faster than Lydia’s father could lay out a royal flush.
Nicholas pulled out the chair beside Sadie for Lydia, then moved to the head of the table, close enough to monopolize Lydia’s conversation if he desired. Caroline and Cook shuffled around the sideboard since they’d refused to join them for dinner, insisting someone had to serve.
Bessie was too ill to come down, but Josephine and Effie sat stiffly to his right. They’d fussed about eating with him too but caved when he’d used his lumberyard-boss voice.
He tried not to laugh at the world under his roof, where a lady sat across from a prostitute at a gentleman’s table, but a chuckle escaped anyway. It wasn’t a laughing matter, but surely, where had anything more strange occurred?
“We shouldn’t be here,” Josephine said out of the side of her mouth to Effie. Why did she bother whispering when everyone could hear?
He picked up the opened envelope at the side of his plate and flourished it. “Since I pay for you to be here, Miss Michaels, I will enjoy your company.”
Effie hunched in her seat, whereas Josephine sat up straighter and gave him a look.
Oh, that sounded bad. He cleared his throat and rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I just meant there’s no reason for us not to enjoy dinner together now.”
“Why’s that?” Lydia’s gaze fastened on the envelope he was tapping against the table. She’d likely seen Sebastian’s name across the top.
“This.” The letter had blindsided him this morning, but now he better understood why he’d received it. Which almost made him want to kiss the letter—about as much as he wanted to kiss the woman to his left.
And he could now, if he wanted to . . .
Lydia’s eyebrows tilted in confusion, making her look more appealing than normal. He m
ight just try to confuse the daylights out of her the next time he saw her to get another glimpse of that endearing expression.
He pulled his gaze off her and extracted the letter. His heart needed to slow down. She’d only just broken things off with Sebastian. He didn’t even know if she liked him much, for he had practically ruined her life over the past two months.
And if she attached herself to him, he’d likely ruin what was left of it.
Besides, if she could turn from one man to another so quickly, could she be trusted not to do so later in life?
He slowly unfolded the pages and flattened them. He needed to stop thinking along those lines. The poison of past relationships shouldn’t control any possible future ones.
Not that any woman would want to attach herself to him at the moment, not unless she found the center of scandal exhilarating.
“Sebastian delivered this to me today.” He pushed the note toward Lydia so she could read it. “Seems I owe the city fines for running an illegal parlor house.”
37
“What?” Lydia grabbed the letter from his hands. She’d thought her father had only been spreading rumors about Nicholas having prostitutes in his house. She’d not figured anyone in power would believe it to be true.
Her eyes widened at the amount of money the town expected Nicholas to pay. How had Sebastian come up with so many fines? Did he believe the court would enforce these?
Of course he did. Sebastian had no doubt cackled over every word of legal mumbo jumbo he’d penned. This reeked of jealousy.
The day she’d called things off, Sebastian had implied improper relations with Nicholas had gotten her the librarian job. Had he noticed her feelings for Nicholas and jumped to the wrong conclusions, or was he simply lashing out at the man who’d given her the means to leave him?
“He seems to think if Miss Nance”—he nodded toward Effie—“and Miss Michaels live here, they automatically make my place a house of prostitution.” He leaned over and pointed at a line halfway down the page. “And he goes on to indicate that I’m required by law to pay numerous fines for keeping the women on my property. He indicates I shall continue to do so monthly until I throw them out. Also—”
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