Five in the afternoon
Robert kissed Eloise’stemple, marveling at how lovely and young she looked with the short red-shaded curls haloing her face. She slept, his arms wrapped around her, like the mentally, emotionally, and physically exhausted woman he knew she was. Her breath rose and fell so heavily, he half expected her to snore. The thought made him smile, and he kissed her again.
Whatever had happened at White’s had pushed her into the emotional collapse he had been expecting from her for a couple of days. Her strength, her persistence astonished him, but he had known it could not last. She still could not put her emotions into words, but she did not have to. Robert had seen it before—had felt it himself after Bill’s death—that moment when even the strongest person in the world cannot maintain that endurance one more moment. Eloise had been pressured hard in the last five days—Timothy’s disappearance, her attempts to find him and remain ladylike in the wake of it, her desperate impersonations of a man, her break with her father, the realization of what kind of future she faced after this—too much too soon. She had sought refuge in his arms, and he had been privileged to provide it.
Robert had given the hackney driver instructions to bring them here, to the emporium, to the private entrance, even before Eloise had fallen against him. She needed asylum, solace, and most of all, rest. With the secure locks on both doors of the private bedchamber, they could hide from the world, at least for a few hours.
Their lovemaking had been frantic, desperate, but Eloise had seemed to find precisely what she needed beneath him. Her open passion had made it difficult for him to withdraw in time, and Robert now craved a day when he would not have to. A day when he could spend himself inside her, linger there as they both calmed from their peaks, her softness cradling him.
A moment which, would, of course, require that he marry her.
The thought made his chest ache, and he pushed it away. That wish was too precious—and impossible—to dwell on without going mad. Their lives, which had crashed together in an unexpected and explosive manner, would soon diverge again, drawing them in vastly different directions. It would be best to cherish what they had while they had it, with no regrets.
And for the rest of his life, Robert Ashton would never regret holding this woman in his arms. The unique and remarkable woman that was Eloise Surrey would be indelibly cast on his soul.
Robert eased away from her, watching closely as she stirred but settled again when he eased from the bed. His desire—as well as his erection—was growing again, so he needed to get up if he planned to let her sleep. The emporium would also be gearing up fully in the next hour or so, and he needed to check in on the business side of his life. He slipped on his shirt and trousers, unlocked the door to the office, then pulled it shut behind him.
The empty office lay before him, exactly as he had left it before lunch. He crossed to the window to find that the cleaned and re-candled chandeliers blazed over the floor below. Gamblers, dealers, and a few of the women gathered around the tables with the early evening crowd, everyone relatively calm and full of good humor. At the entrance, Gilley conferred with several of the guards, obviously checking with them about their duties for the evening. One guard stood, feet spread, near the entrance to the women’s side, his eyes scanning even this placid crowd for signs of trouble.
No wonder Bill had been solaissez-faireabout his management. With few exceptions, the emporium almost ran itself. Its clientele knew what was expected, as did the dealers and the staff. One day rolled into the next. All that was truly needed was a sound oversight, a troubleshooter should the need arise.
Although the last thunder of trouble had left Bill dead on the floor. Damnit.
Robert returned to the desk, his gaze wandering over the neat organization that Eloise had left for him. He focused once again on the last stack, the one she had been working on when she had drifted off to sleep. The estate Bill had confiscated in exchange for an enormous debt had belonged to the Broxley family and held by the younger son, now deceased. That man had neglected the estate and seldom visited, and the records Bill had gathered on it, according to Eloise’s notes, indicated a need for extensive repairs and restitution. The house no longer even held servants on site. Her final words raised the need for a hefty investment.
Blood money
Should be redeemed
Do not sell—Find new purpose—a haven?
Tenants are suffering
Reform house—Refurbish—Preserve tenancies
“A haven? For whom? All right, little mouse. What did you have in mind?” He began to scan through the pages, appalled—as probably Eloise and Bill had been—by what he found there. The younger Broxley had been a cad and a villain, but also a bloody fool from what these papers indicated. In the current economy, even normally profitable estates like the Kennet and Makendon country homes struggled but could survive with proper management and appropriate investments. Broxley had attempted neither. Tenant complaints had overwhelmed the last steward, who had left a scathing resignation.
In the margin of that angry missive, a left-slanted note in small, precise letters read, “Rehire. Knows/loves everything.” Similar notes dotted two lists of servants, one upper and one lower. On an inventory of assets, she had marked each with an S or a K, which Robert finally determined stood for “Sell” or “Keep.” Oddly, all the items from the nursery were marked S, while the ones in the schoolroom had aK beside them.How could you have a schoolroom with no nursery to fill it?She also had begun a list of items to purchase, primarily staples in huge amounts—flour, sugar, lard, barley, honey, dried fruits, and oats—and animals. The list ended abruptly in the middle of a word Robert assumed would have been “chickens” had she not fallen asleep, her quill trailing a line down the page.
Robert glanced again at the door to the bedchamber, wondering what inspiration had been circling in Eloise’s head for the Maidstone home.
A sharp rap on the door drew his attention to the other side of the room. “Enter.”
Gilley ducked as he entered and held out a cluster of folded papers. “Messages.”
Robert accepted them, nodded toward the window. “How are they doing?”
Gilley shrugged one shoulder. “’Bout like ya’d expect. Women takin’ it harder. A lot are scared. All of ’em waitin’ to see what ya gonna do.”
Robert flipped through the messages, recognizing four as bills, which he set aside. Two more were addressed to Robbie Green. One to Bill Campion. And three to Lord Robert Ashton.Ah, so word has spread.
“Just tell them that there are no decisions other than what I have already said. As soon as I know something, no matter how minor, I will pass along word.”
Gilley nodded and left.
Robert pulled a paper knife from one of the desk drawers and broke the seals. One of the notes addressed to Robbie contained banknotes, with a request to apply them to a debt, along with a notice that the debtor had departed the previous Saturday for the Ivory Coast. The second one was a request for an increased credit line on the floor. He set both aside.
The one to Bill had obviously been posted the week prior and was from a woman requesting “additional funds for the students who will be staying over the summer, having no other place to go.” It went on to mention that “we still use buckets to catch the rain in the northwest schoolroom, as the clay tiles continue to cascade from the roof.”
