Libba sighed, nodding. “Yes,” she agreed. “I know that.”
“I’ll call for your bath,” Ruby said, still glaring. “And a kettle. What do you want to eat?”
“Just toast,” said Libba, sighing. “No… Cheese?”
“I’ll decide,” Ruby said, flapping her hand. “You just focus on… reassembling yourself. D’you know something?”
“Hm?” said Libba, glancing over her shoulder at her foster sister.
Ruby was watching her, that little smile still hovering at the corners of her cheeks.
“What?” said Libba again, frowning.
“It is only,” said Ruby with a tiny sigh, “I think I am a little jealous. I’ve never been so thoroughly displaced by a night with a man before.”
“Well, you will be,” Libba threatened, straightening. “Someday soon, I think.”
Ruby laughed, turning and already pulling the door open. “How could you possibly know that?”
Libba didn’t answer.
She had money riding on it, after all.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jasper found thathe could not concentrate in his office this morning.
It wasn’t just that patch of wall behind him, whichdidkeep drawing his attention and sparking several creative thoughts in his mind, it was the desk chair too. And the desk itself. Hell, it was the windowsill and the file cabinet too.
All he could think about when looking at the geography of the room around him was how he could fit Libba onto it. And himself onto her.
After an hour and a half of this, he took up his folio and announced that he’d be working from the pub if anyone needed him.
The pub would be better. Less isolated. Less potential-filled, hopefully, though of course there were plenty of clever, little Libba-sized surfaces at the Coin and Cauldron too to drive him to distraction.
It made him laugh to himself more than once as he packed up his things. Some idiot, less than a day ago, had thought that quantity was the problem, and that further encounters would clear his mind.
Jasper didn’t know who the hell he’d even been back then.
“Oh, Mr. Townsend!” came a feminine voice, not four steps from the curb. “We were just coming to see you!”
Jasper froze, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up.
He had, genuinely and sincerely, forgotten that the Templeton-Raths existed this morning.
He turned slowly, his folio trembling under his elbow. “Ah,” he said, not at all awkwardly, “good morning to you!”
Mrs. and Miss Templeton-Rath were crossing the street to meet him, the daughter holding a covered dish in her hands and the mother twirling her white parasol.
“Good morning!” answered Mrs. Templeton-Rath, her face flushed with the effort of their little sprint. She turned slightly to the side, as if to present her family, and immediately frowned. “Oh, Pippa, where did your father get to?”
“There was a curiosity shop,” the heiress said with a shrug, her own face still drawn and sallow, despite the burst of activity, her thin, brown hair blowing over her brow. “He was unable to continue past it without considering the windows.”
“Oh, that man,” said Mrs. Templeton-Rath. “There he is. John! John! Over here!”
Jasper wondered briefly if he might escape unnoticed.
“We must go back there sometime,” Mr. Templeton-Rath announced as he puffed up alongside his family, nodding his head to Jasper. “Say, Mr. Townsend, have you seen that curiosity shop a few blocks down?”
