Page 4 of Tempting Mr. Vincent

“It doesn’t have to be hot.” Truthfully, she’d eat just about anything right then. She knew she needed to keep up her strength for the baby, even if she hadn’t asked for the gift of life that was growing within her.

Mrs. Curry nodded. “I’ll bring it up directly. Breakfast will be served at eight o’clock, when the master gets up in the morning. If you’d like to sleep in a bit longer, I’m sure cook would fix you some eggs and toast when you come down.”

“Eight will be fine. I’ve always been an early riser.”

Mrs. Curry bustled further into the room, moving to the armoire in the corner. She opened the doors and pulled out a beautiful nightgown and laid it across the bed. Laurell noticed a few others hanging inside, along with a wrapper and a few dresses.

“Am I intruding in someone’s room? His wife, perhaps?” she asked.

Mrs. Curry laughed. “Oh goodness, dear. The mayor isn’t married, hasn’t been since he was just a boy. But that’s his story to tell. No one has ever slept in this room before, nor worn these things. He purchased them for his late wife but she died before she had the chance to wear them.”

Laurell fingered the soft material. “Are you sure he won’t mind me using them?”

“It was his idea, dear.” Mrs. Curry smiled brightly. “Now, I’ll go see to that bite of supper for you and be up directly. You make yourself at home. If you need help getting out of your dress, I can send a maid up to you.”

“A maid would be nice. I’m not used to dressing myself.” Laurell hated to even ask for a maid. After everything the mayor had done for her, she didn’t want to be more of a burden.

Mrs. Curry nodded. “I figured as much. You look like a girl what’s been brought up proper.”

“Thank you.” She didn’t feel much like a proper young lady right now, not at least four weeks pregnant. If anyone found out…she didn’t want to think what would happen to her. She knew there was no way anyone would ever marry her now, not unless she had the baby in secret and gave it away, but even hating the child’s father as much as she did, Laurell wasn’t certain she could give up a part of herself.

She watched as Mrs. Curry ducked out and closed the door behind her, leaving Laurell to collapse on the edge of the bed, her legs having given out. It had been the longest day of her life and she was ready for it to be over. Maybe a good night’s sleep would be enough to revive her, give her a fresh perspective on what had happened to her. And yet, even sleeping wouldn’t change the fact that she was now owned by the mayor.

Wait. Those papers he signed. They didn’t say he’d purchased Laurell. They said he’d purchased Rachel. Did that mean she was technically free? Or did the name really matter? For all she knew, her name wasn’t even on the document he’d signed, or rather Rachel’s wasn’t. She felt betrayed when she thought of her younger sister.

Rachel had stood by and watched as her father signed her away to Madam Giselle, there had even been a slight smile on her face. Laurell had always been kind to Rachel, but her younger sister had always been jealous of her. Laurell didn’t understand why, when it was Rachel the men flocked to at every event. Rachel of the long, golden curls and China blue eyes. Laurell was plain and frumpy next to her little sister, and she knew it, accepted it.

Family was supposed to be forever, but apparently when she’d been told that, what they really meant was that family was forever as long as you abided by their rules, did everything they said, and could be a commodity they could sell to the highest bidder once offers started coming in from young gentlemen. By getting pregnant, Laurell had broken the rules and become useless to her family, until Madam Giselle had come knocking, demanding her payment.

Laurell heaved a sigh as she waited for the maid to come assist her with getting out of her clothes. There was no point worrying about tomorrow, until she knew more about her situation, and more about the mayor. From what Mrs. Curry had said, he was a widower and not a bachelor in the strictest sense. It hadn’t escaped Laurell’s notice that there was a connecting door in her room, but she hadn’t been brave enough to open it yet. There was little doubt in her mind that it opened into the mayor’s suite of rooms. Why would he put her here if he had no intention of making her his mistress? A shiver raked her spine as she contemplated her fate. Tomorrow wouldn’t arrive soon enough.

CHAPTER TWO

Remy didn’t know what to do about Laurell. Putting her in the room next to his had been pure insanity. He didn’t need the temptation, and yet he’d felt the need to keep her close. There was something about her that called to him. It had been a long time since he’d been drawn to a woman. Since his wife passed, he’d gone into Storyville to ease the ache when needed, which seemed to be more frequently of late, but it wasn’t the same. He enjoyed his time with those women, but he missed having one in his home.

Even now, knowing that Laurell was here, there was almost a change in the air. His home felt lighter than it had before. He didn’t know what it was about having a genteel woman in the home that made things different. Despite Laurell’s current circumstances, she’d been brought up a proper lady, and would have made an excellent wife for someone of his standing. He was still curious if she’d gotten in the family way because of her own doing or because some cad had taken advantage.

She’d been quiet at breakfast, and he hadn’t known what to say in order to draw her out. When she’d risen from the table, he’d watched her leave. It had been on the tip of his tongue to call her back, to ask about her plans for the day, but he’d refrained. He hadn’t thought to tell her that the seamstress would arrive shortly to measure her for a new wardrobe. She couldn’t very well make-do with only the clothes on her back, and while the items he’d purchased for his late wife, all things she’d never had a chance to wear, would possibly fit Laurell, he wanted her to have things that belonged only to her.

Perhaps a small part was that he didn’t like the thought of his wife’s clothing on another woman. His sweet Mary had been dead and gone a long time. Over two decades. She’d never even set foot in this home, and yet he’d brought her things with him, placed them in the room that should have been hers. All these years, he’d carried her in his heart, but he was starting to realize that he needed to let her go. If he didn’t move on, then he’d never have a family, and would one day die alone with nothing to show for his life except his work ethic. While for some that might be enough, Remy had always dreamed of having children. He’d just always seen those kids as belonging to him and Mary. Perhaps that was the trouble. He’d spent twenty-one years waiting on a life that had already been buried in a churchyard in Baton Rouge. Meanwhile, a young woman with hazel eyes and a child growing beneath her heart slept in the room he’d furnished for a wife who had never seen it.

Remy pushed back from his desk and went in search of his housekeeper. He found Mrs. Curry in the dining room, directing a maid at the sideboard.

“Send word to Mrs. Stratmore,” he said. “Tell her I’ll pay double her usual fee if she comes today.”

Mrs. Curry’s brows rose. “A seamstress, sir?”

“An entire wardrobe. Day dresses, evening things, a coat. Whatever a lady requires.” He hesitated, feeling like a fool. “And tell her to allow for… alterations. Later on.”

The housekeeper’s expression softened in a way that made him distinctly uncomfortable. “Yes, sir. I’ll send Josie round straight away.” She paused at the door. “She hardly touched her breakfast, sir. She was watching you the whole while you read your paper, like she was waiting to be told what she owed for the eggs.”

“She owes nothing.”

“I know that, sir.” Mrs. Curry smiled. “She doesn’t.”

Remy stood alone in the dining room for a long moment after the housekeeper left, staring at the chair where Laurell had sat. He’d bought and paid for a good many things in his life. He’d never once had a purchase look at him with such careful, quiet fear.

LAURELL was in the library when the seamstress arrived, curled in a window seat with a book she wasn’t reading, watching a gray drizzle bead against the glass. She hadn’t dared explore much of the house. It seemed presumptuous, wandering through rooms that belonged to a man she barely knew, so she’d found the one place where a person could be still without being in anyone’s way.