Page 104 of The Siren of Sussex

Moving to the sofa, she lifted the lid from the first box. “How quickly you’ve finished them.”

“Some designs are less time-consuming than others.” Less still with Mira’s and Becky’s assistance, and with the aid of the sewing machine at Doyle and Heppenstall’s. “The garments with more intricate trimmings and embroidery will take longer.”

She gave him a curious glance. “You don’t usually deliver them yourself.”

No, he didn’t. He hadn’t the time. Not when there was so much work to be done.

But today was different.

“I needed an excuse to see you,” he admitted.

She stilled. “You’ve had news of my sister?”

“I have. Finchley sent a note round less than an hour ago.” Ahmad withdrew the folded sheet of paper from the inner pocket of his coat.

She returned to his side in an anxious rustle of petticoats and poplin skirts. “What does it say?”

He handed it to her. “It’s an address near the docks. An inn.”

“And Fenny’s there? With Anthony?”

“It appears so.”

Evelyn pressed a hand to her midriff. “Oh, thank God.” She exhaled an unsteady breath. “I didn’t dare believe it.” Unfolding the paper, she read the address. “I must go to her.”

Ahmad steeled himself. This was the tricky part. The moment he must overstep his role. She wasn’t going to like it.

But there was nothing for it.

“You can’t go there,” he said.

“Of course I can,” she replied. “I must.”

“You can’t,” he said again. “It’s not a safe place for you.”

“Fenny’s there. Surely it’s safe enough.”

“I can’t speak for your sister’s security, but I know that part of London. It isn’t safe for a lady—not even in daylight. You run the risk of being murdered. Or worse.”

She huffed. “What could possibly be worse than being murdered?”

He gave her a hard look.

Her cheeks colored in sudden comprehension.

He was relieved he didn’t have to spell it out.

“I don’t intend to stay there long,” she said, a little defensively. “Only enough time to speak with Fenny. I shall be in and out in a flash.”

“Do you think that matters? There are people there. Desperate people. Men who would as soon slit your throat as look at you. It wouldn’t take above five minutes.”

“I’m not afraid.”

“You should be. And if you don’t fear for your life, you must consider your reputation. How do you imagine it would look to be caught wandering about the dockland slums? Your honor would be forfeit. Your hopes of making a prosperous marriage damaged beyond repair.”

Her lips compressed. Her features etched with a growing frustration. She slowly refolded the note. “What do you suggest?”

“Let me go. I’ll speak to her on your behalf.”