Page 73 of Cocky August Rake

Reginald didn’t mind at all. In fact, he found he rather liked following Rose.

She moved with purpose, never lingering or pretending uncertainty. She knew what she wanted and went directly toward it.

There was something deeply appealing about that.

At the towering shelves along the back wall, she ran her fingers over a row of spines before pulling out the second volume of Ivanhoe.

“You’ve already read the first?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Are you surprised that I can read?”

“Not at all. But I have the entire set aboard the ship. We could fetch them, if you like.”

She blinked, then gave a small nod as she returned the volume to its place. “I’d like that.”

For a few minutes, she was unusually quiet. But then, she let out a soft sigh.

“I’ve nearly exhausted the library at The Domus,” she said. “And now I find myself with rather more time in the evenings than I’m accustomed to.”

For a moment, he didn’t understand.

Then it struck him.

She was no longer receiving clients.

Because of him.

Yet he knew she’d hardly been idle. Nell had kept him informed. Miss Darling had helped dress the other women, mended gowns, soothed nerves, and stepped in wherever the house required her.

But she herself had not been… working.

Rose glanced at him from beneath her lashes, and something in her expression made him wonder whether she meant for him to hear an invitation in her words or whether his own imagination had conjured it.

He would go to her readily enough if it were what she wanted. If his presence pleased her.

But not there.

Not at The Domus, where no amount of civility could make him forget what the place was.

Rose withdrew a different novel and studied its cover.

“Did you ever return to school?” he asked, before he said something he oughtn’t.

Her hand slid the book back onto the shelf, and her smile faltered a little.

“Not in the usual sense.” She returned the book to its place. “But I continued learning after I came to The Domus. History, literature, music, French. Even a little philosophy.”

Reginald watched her choose another volume.

She pulled down a slim volume and opened it carefully. “I was fortunate to attend school for as long as I did. I could read and write. I knew my sums, some history.” Her mouth curved faintly. “I’d just turned twelve when I stopped attending.”

Twelve.

A haunting image of her came to him suddenly: A younger Rose carrying parcels through wet streets, bargaining for wages, trying to disappear if a man looked too closely.

Reginald hated it.

“At The Domus,” she continued, “we’re encouraged to learn. You know about the tutors, and there’s the library besides. Nell always said, if a woman doesn’t know enough to mind her own affairs, there’s always someone ready to cheat her.”