Page 79 of Love Wasn’t Built in a Day

“Is it enough?” Cilly asked as she carefully pressed the cork into another vial of powdered pigment. She had lined them up side by side: yellow and green, bright red, and a vivid blue.

Hetty picked up one of the small glass jars and gave it a little shake, inspecting the yellow powder inside. “I think so. You’ve done a marvellous job, Cilly. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Consider it a wedding gift,” she added with a smile.

Hetty laughed but could not quite shake off the lingering shadow of guilt that haunted her every time she considered what would happen to Cilly once she was married.

“Father will be incandescent with rage,” she said quietly, though they had deliberately not spoken about him since Gideon had proposed yesterday.

Cilly shrugged. “Which will mean he will not speak to you—a terrible blow, I’m sure. The worst you will get is a tirade via the post, enumerating all the ways in which you have let him down and destroyed the family honour. He will probably explain in arctic terms that he washes his hands of you. I suggest you put it in the fire without reading it.”

Hetty nodded, suspecting this was an accurate description. “But what of you?”

“Me?” Cilly’s lips quirked into a smile. “He has already devised the worst fate possible for me, what more can he do? I don’t doubt I would be hustled back to Ealdor and locked in my room if he had his way, but Grandmama will never allow that to happen. No, I shall have my summer here and then—” Cilly looked out of the window, her gaze suddenly far away.

“And then what?” Hetty asked, though she knew well enough. Cilly would marry that horrid old man. “You have Mama’s money now, Cilly. Could you not—”

“Hush.” Cilly turned, her expression remarkably fierce. “You have arranged your future, Hetty. I shall do likewise. I beg you will not interfere.”

“But—”

“Please.”

Hetty frowned, gazing at Cilly with concern. There was something steely in her unusual golden eyes that made Hetty wonder if Cilly did have plans of her own.

“Very well,” she said, for her sister was a grown woman. If she wanted Hetty’s help or support, she knew she only had to say the word.

Cilly moved to her, resting her hands lightly on her arms and giving a little squeeze. “Thank you, love. Don’t worry for me. I shall do well enough. Now then, don’t you have a thief to catch?”

The Grand Hotel Building Site, Little Valentine, East Sussex, 11th August 1816

“Jenkins, stop scowling.”

“I’m walking behind you, my lady,” Jenkins objected, though Hetty remarked the guilty note in her voice.

Hetty paused her long strides, allowing Jenkins to catch up. “I can feel you scowling. I suspect I have scorch marks between my shoulder blades,” she muttered.

“Well, it ain’t proper,” Jenkins said with a sniff, for her maid had very definite ideas upon what was and was not proper. “And just look what happened the last time you went to that nasty, dirty building site, I ask you?”

“We had not been invited that day,” Hetty said, though she had already explained this several times. “Not only do we have an invitation this time, but we also have a big, burly footman to ensure I don’t start a riot. Don’t we, Thomas?”

“Yes, my lady,” the man replied cheerfully as he strode several discreet steps behind them.

Jenkins looked around and glowered at the footman, who returned a bland smile. Hetty had suspicions that Jenkins actually rather liked Thomas, which was why she gave him such a hard time. Ah, young love, she thought with an indulgent smile, amused by her own silliness.

They made their way to the gates where they were met by Mr Ludlow, who had obviously been looking out for them.

“A pleasure to welcome you, my lady,” he said, swiping off his hat and giving a hasty bow. “Mr Bramwell is in the office, if you’d like to come this way.”

Hetty followed the man, ignoring the way Jenkins narrowed her eyes at every passing workman, as if suspecting them of nefarious intentions just by breathing the same air as her mistress.

Ludlow escorted them safely to the temporary office without incident and waited until Gideon appeared.

Hetty’s heart did a joyful little dance in her chest at the sight of him. He was dressed in his usual sombre dark grey with a matching waistcoat, but she noticed his cravat was tied with rather more care than usual. In short, he looked perfectly, wonderfully marvellous, and she was in a very bad way indeed.

“Good afternoon, my lady,” he said politely, nodding at Mr Ludlow, who looked relieved by the unspoken permission to make his escape. After her last visit, she hardly blamed him.

She turned to Thomas and smiled. “Would you like to come in, Thomas?” she asked, belatedly realising she had not explained her plan to him.