Whispers in the Reading Room

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  “I’m going to have a baby, Vincent,” she blurted.

  Everything in his world stopped. His feet, his mind, even the time. “Pardon?”

  She smiled. “I’m with child. I’m two months along. That is why I am feeling under the weather.”

  He sat down. “But you don’t have any children.”

  “I know that,” she said as she gingerly made room for him to take a seat beside her on the sofa. “Thomas and I thought I was barren.”

  “But you aren’t.”

  She shook her head. “It would seem I am not. For whatever reason, the Lord decided this was the time in my life to be a mother. We’re very happy about it, Vincent.”

  “I’m happy too.” Realizing how stilted his voice sounded, he laughed. “Sorry. I, well, I was so ready to fix your ailment that I now find myself caught off guard.”

  “So it would seem. Thomas is going to enjoy this tale. It’s so very rare to get the best of you these days.”

  “You got me good.” Now that he wasn’t worried she was going to become gravely ill, he noticed the look of satisfaction on her face. She was pleased.

  He was only concerned about her welfare. “Have you seen a doctor? Do you need to see one?”

  “Of course not. Nothing is happening to me that hasn’t happened to all the other mothers before me.”

  “I suppose that is true.”

  “So now that we have determined that I am merely nauseated and not deathly ill, I’m going to follow you into the kitchen and watch you make me a pot of tea. I’ve already put the kettle on. And then you are going to tell me what has put such a number of worry lines on your face.”

  “Nothing you need to be concerned about,” he said lightly as he walked with her to the kitchen.

  She followed. “What has your employer done now?”

  “No reason to sound like that, Janet. He is a good man.”

  “He deals in drink and gambling. Neither is appropriate for you to be working with.”

  “I don’t serve alcohol, and I don’t work at the tables,” he said as he checked the kettle. “I run Mr. Marks’ life.”

  “Sometimes I think you also sell your soul to him.”

  “My soul is very much alive, though I appreciate your concern.”

  “Maybe it’s time you looked for another job.”

  “That is not possible.”

  “No, that is inconvenient.”

  “It is both.” When she flinched at his harsh tone, he felt terrible. “Forgive me, Janet. I didn’t mean to speak like that with you.”

  Her expression softened. “Vincent, all I’m saying is that sometimes I fear you’ve forgotten how to be the man the Lord wanted you to be when you’re around Sebastian Marks. It’s like you’ve given up everything about yourself for his money.”

  She was such a woman. Thomas had probably made sure she never knew the things he did to keep her well fed and warm and snug with coal in the winter, all in their comfortable house. Men had to make sacrifices for their families. They also were expected not to complain about it. Or worry their spouses.

  Vincent knew he’d treated Irene that way, and he’d been proud of it too.

  When the kettle whistled, he prepared her tea, then brought it to the small table where she was sitting. Though he hadn’t intended to burden his sister with the events of the night before, he was more loyal to Sebastian Marks than determined to keep her in the dark.

  “There was a murder last night, right outside the club. The police were called in and they questioned several people.”

  “Even you?” she asked, alarm in her voice.

  “Even me.” She didn’t need to find out he was one of only four people they’d kept.

  “Did they discover who did it?”

  “Not yet. But it’s early still.” He shrugged. “I hope they will soon. The club will be closed for at least tonight.”

  “So you have some time off?”

  “More or less. But remember, I don’t work for the club. I work for Marks. Which means I need to make sure his assets are taken care of.”

  “Who died? Some poor gambler?”

  “Actually, it was someone rather well-known. Jason Avondale.”

  Her eyes widened. “You know him.”

  “I knew him,” he gently corrected.

  “Weren’t you working on his documents at Sheffield and Towne when Irene was so sick?”

  He might lie to the police, but he couldn’t to Janet. “Yes.”

  “And he was the reason you were fired.”

  “He wasn’t the only reason. I missed a lot of work.” He exhaled, forcing himself to tell the truth. “But yes, he was the real reason. I made some errors in his contracts and paperwork. The fault was my own.” He pushed himself to say the last, needing to remind himself that the partners in the firm had had no choice but to fire him. Jason Avondale had been rich and powerful. Vincent Hunt had been nothing. So very expendable.

  But of course, when he’d been fired, he’d had nothing. Irene had died, his money had been spent on her funeral, and his reputation had been damaged. He’d been bitter and worried and, for a time, had vowed to one day remind Jason Avondale that he was more formidable than he’d ever imagined.

  “I guess like a bad penny, he keeps turning up,” Janet cast him a sympathetic look.

  Thinking of how Mr. Marks had recently come in contact with him through Miss Bancroft, Vincent nodded. “He did. I just wish he would have turned up somewhere besides the front of the Silver Grotto.”

  She smiled softly. “Maybe the Lord wanted you to be good and sure you knew Avondale would never turn up again.”

  “I’ll take your word on that one.” He stood up. “Now, I’m going to go sit with Mary before I head to the club.”

  “Off you go. And don’t worry about a thing. No matter what happens in our future, we will prevail.”

  As he walked upstairs, Vincent reflected that Janet had chosen an unusual choice of words.

  It almost felt as if she had been giving him a warning.

  He wondered what was in store for all of them now.

  CHAPTER 26

  Sebastian had sent word that he would arrive at two o’clock Friday afternoon to take her out. Though his missive had been only a few lines, he’d been clear that they would not be going to tea at the Hartman Hotel.

  Lydia had smiled when she’d read that. His thoughtfulness had surprised her. She would have never imagined that a man, most especially a man like him, would have even thought about how she would not want to revisit a place that had caused her so much distress—twice.

  As she carefully pulled on her gloves in preparation for his visit, she realized that she was going to need to rethink what she knew about men, and especially what she thought she’d known about Sebastian. Though she still did not know very much about him, she was learning that he was far more enigmatic than she’d previously imagined. Because of that, she wouldn’t have thought that he would ever think to take her sensibilities into consideration.

  After glancing out the front window and still seeing no sign of Sebastian, she sat down on the edge of a chair in their receiving room.

  “Pacing and fidgeting won’t make him arrive any faster, Lydia,” her mother proclaimed. “Please, sit still and attempt to relax.”

  “I am not pacing. And I am sitting still.”

  “You are certainly not relaxed though.”

  No, for some reason, she certainly wasn’t.

  But what was just as much of a surprise was her mother’s actions. Instead of reclining in bed in one of her many nightgowns, she was now dressed in a dove-gray day gown and sitting on the couch across from her. Her dark-blonde hair was neatly pinned up. Because Bridget was not expected until later that evening, Lydia had helped her with it soon after she’d awoken. She had color in her cheeks for the first time in ages too.

  She looked pretty and far younger than her age of fifty.

  It had made Lydia realize just how much her m
other had been affected by their financial difficulties and her worries about Lydia’s future.

  Lydia was also gratified to see that her mother was enjoying a plate of delicacies for her afternoon snack. With his note, Sebastian had sent over several prepared meals from the hotel. Not sure of his plans, Lydia had taken a bite or two as well. She could not be sure she was getting tea on this outing—whatever it was.

  Perhaps that was why she was a bit on edge. She still wasn’t used to the promise of adventure . . . and maybe a little danger.

  Even her mother knew now that Jason had been murdered near the Grotto. It had been in all the Thursday papers. Of course, Charlotte Williams could not wait to tell them Lydia may have been referenced in a Courier report about the murder that morning, but only with a vague description that could have been anyone. It was best not to think about that.

  Earlier, she and her mother had feasted on bowls of hearty vegetable beef soup, bread and cheese, and a plate of sliced meats. It had felt like a meal fit for royalty. It had also gone a long way toward making her mother feel as if all was right in the world.

  “Just think, Lydia, you will soon have your own staff to manage. And you will be eating like this at every meal.”

  “We shall see, Mother.” Her engagement to Sebastian Marks still felt like a hazy, discombobulated dream.

  In many ways, she could hardly remember all that had happened. She felt as if his visit yesterday morning had been in the middle of a terribly awkward and scary night—which, since they had not slept, in a way it was.

  After delicately wiping the corners of her mouth with a linen napkin, her mother said, “Tomorrow morning we will begin our wedding preparations. How big an occasion do you expect Mr. Marks will want it to be?” she mused. “Perhaps around three or four hundred people?”

  Lydia almost choked. “For what?”

  “For the reception, of course.”

  The idea of such a large reception made her cringe. “Mother, I don’t even know three hundred people.”

  “Of course you do. And don’t forget, people will be invited who are close friends of our family and Mr. Marks. He is such an important man that I have no doubt he might even have a bigger guest list than ours.”

  “I certainly don’t know three hundred with whom I want to celebrate my nuptials.”

  “I certainly do. And I’m sure Mr. Marks knows a great many more people than that.” Curling into the cushions of the couch, her mother sighed dreamily. “Maybe he’ll want it to be even bigger. Just think, Lydia, your picture will be on the society page of the Tribune.” She paused. “Or at least the Courier.”

  Lydia bit back a caustic retort. She knew such things were important to her mother, so important that she wasn’t above seeking the scandalous Courier in order to obtain her goals. And she knew such things were second nature to some girls her age. But neither had they the money for such things nor did her manner lend itself to large weddings.

  “You know we cannot afford to hold such a grand affair.”

  “Your fiancé can. That is all that matters.”

  “But that is not what I want to do. I have no intention of spending so much of his money for such a thing.”

  “It is hardly a ‘thing.’ It is your wedding. And of course you will be spending his money.” Brushing a stray crumb from her bodice, she said, “Men work so their wives can enjoy the finer things in life. That’s what your father always told me.”

  Lydia heard her mother’s words, but more than that, she heard a thick note of bitterness laced with heartbreak.

  Her father had probably said such things. Many times. However, he’d also borrowed money, made poor investment deals, and given them things it turned out he couldn’t actually afford.

  Long ago, she’d come to terms that he’d been living in his own make-believe world as much as she did in her books or her mother did by blatantly ignoring all signs that their way of life was slowly falling apart.

  “I’ll speak to Mr. Marks, Momma, about his expectations. Don’t you say a word.”

  “Lydia, he is smitten with you. He will do whatever you desire. I’m sure of it.”

  “That is not how things are between us.”

  “That’s how he made it sound to me.”

  “Regardless, please let me handle my wedding. At least this next conversation.”

  “All right.” Her words were grudgingly said. “Now, where is that maid?”

  “I told you, Bridget isn’t coming until this evening.”

  “Really? I daresay she is already taking advantage of you, Lydia. Maids need to be taught that they work for you, not the other way around.”

  Lydia frowned and glared out the window, wishing she could will Sebastian to arrive that very minute.

  Then, as if she had done that very thing, he appeared on the sidewalk.

  “Mr. Marks is here,” she said as she grabbed her coat and hat. “I’m going to go outside to meet him.”

  “Absolutely not. You need to sit down and wait for him to come to the door. Whatever will he think of your manners, Lydia?”

  Her mother was giving her directives just as if they were living in their old house and they had a butler to answer the door and a parlor maid to stand prettily in the corner and serve Sebastian tea. But of course Lydia couldn’t remind her of that. She couldn’t say that her mother was asking for things that didn’t really matter anymore.

  To put so much out in the open would prove devastating. And, consequently, unintentionally cruel. “It hardly matters, given the fact that we are engaged. He must think my manners are good enough.”

  Walking toward the foyer, she glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t forget to lock the front door after me, Momma.”

  “We don’t need to lock the doors at every turn.”

  “Of course we do.” She’d recently learned that one could never guess what the future would bring. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  Sebastian was just a few feet away when she appeared on her steps.

  His pace slowed as he caught sight of her. And then his smile faltered. “Lydia, whatever are you doing, coming out to greet me like this?”

  “I saw you on the sidewalk and wanted to save you the trouble of coming to my door.”

  He frowned. “Don’t do that again.”

  “Why ever not?” She couldn’t even begin to understand why he seemed upset by her eagerness to be off with him.

  “It isn’t proper. Or safe,” he muttered.

  She hated that he was reminding her of her manners—just as her mother had been. “Sebastian, if you don’t feel that I am proper enough for you, please don’t feel compelled to keep our engagement.”

  “Why would you make a pronouncement like that?” His gaze hardened as he examined her. “Where did this come from? Are you having second thoughts?”

  “I simply don’t wish to be reminded of what is proper by my fiancé.”

  His dark eyes searched her face. “No, it is more than that. What is wrong?”

  Unbidden, tears sprang to her eyes, tears that she’d neither wanted nor expected. “Nothing. It’s simply nerves. And worries.”

  “But you have nothing to worry about. I will see to your needs now, Lydia. And your mother’s. I promise you that.”

  She caught the new thread of heat in his expression. And his words. It caused her to take a step away from him. She was as struck by what she saw in his eyes as much as the way she felt by his attention.

  “Mr. Marks.”

  “It is Sebastian. We are engaged now, and no matter what you might think or decide, that fact is not going to change. I will not be breaking off our engagement. I have no wish to do so.”

  “I don’t wish to do that either.”

  “Then keep that in mind.” His voice was clipped. Offended. “And don’t call me Mr. Marks again.”

  His voice was controlled and concise. His expression hard. He seemed to resonate with a dangerous aura. So much so, she was having trouble loca
ting the gentleman she’d known at the library. “Sebastian, are you all right? You seem a bit on edge today. Are you still distressed about Jason’s murder occurring outside your club?”

  “Not at all.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Forgive my lackluster manners. Now, shall we go?” he asked as he raised his arm for her to take.

  She rested her gloved hand on it. “Of course. Where are we off to?”

  “It’s a surprise.”

  “A surprise?”

  “Don’t act like you don’t like surprises. Everyone does.”

  “I don’t.” And that was true. Lydia liked knowing what was expected and planning for any variation of that plan. She enjoyed thinking about what was going to happen and analyzing most everything she imagined would occur. It allowed her to feel less at risk and more in control.

  Which was why she was still mystified that she had gone to the Silver Grotto without first knowing exactly what she was getting into. “Tell me.”

  The corners of his lips lifted. “No.”

  “Sebastian.”

  He chuckled, humor now lighting his face. “You are piqued.”

  “No, I am affronted,” she countered, trying her best to look unaffected by his relaxed, happy expression.

  His light chuckle turned to outright laughter. “That’s basically the same thing.”

  “Not essentially.” Though, of course, he was right.

  “Good manners prevent me from continuing our verbal disagreement. I won’t risk offending you.”

  He had done nothing of the sort. Instead, she’d felt as if he’d given her something far sweeter—an insight to a portion of him that she was sure he rarely shared. “I’d say it was more of a small contretemps.”

  “Of course, Miss Bancroft.”

  She arched a brow, knowing he’d referred to her that way just to get a reaction. Therefore, she only smiled sweetly at him. “I am very much looking forward to our afternoon together.”

  “At the risk of sounding as if I am begging for compliments, I’ll ask why.”