Page 32 of A Stranger’s Kiss

“Good night, my child.”

He was asleep before she left his room.

She paused to inspect the kitchen shutters. She’d have to replace them soon. The hinges had nearly rusted through. Olivia expelled a long breath. The townhouse was falling down around her. She scowled. Why did everything require so much money to repair? Shoving the worries of the day aside, she tiredly padded up the stairs to her tiny room and with a sigh, quickly undressed and slipped into bed.

Ten minutes passed before she finally noticed.

The rain still drummed against the windows, rattling the shutters and pinging on the cobblestones, but the pots in her room were oddly silent.

Curious, she rose from bed and held out her palms.

Nothing.

Her roof had been repaired.

* * *

“Paid,” the roofer, Mr. Tisdale, said.

“Paid?” Olivia asked for the third time, still unable to believe her ears.

“His lordship paid for the entire roof. Now, if you have opinions, you will have to speak with Lord Blair, Miss Mackenzie. I have work to do.” The wizened man nodded firmly, his patience at an end. He always reminded Olivia of an elvish sprite, slight, spry and with twinkling blue eyes, yet the fingers he lifted to the corners of his mouth were calloused from years of hard work. He let out a shrill whistle.

Three heads poked over the rim of the roof above.

“Aye?” three voices chorused.

“Step down, lads. The tiles have arrived.” Mr. Tisdale nodded his pointed chin toward the front of the townhouse, then turned back to Olivia. “Now, if you will kindly stay out of the way. I am not one to have womenfolk underfoot. These stone tiles can be dangerous. Wouldn’t do to have you hurt, now.”

Olivia suppressed a snort from her perch on the back stoop. She could hardly harass the man simply because Nicholas had decided to barge into her affairs.

“Very well, then,” she muttered, and closed the door behind her with a bang.

“What a surprise.” Mrs. Lambert looked up from the kitchen stove. “And a nice one, after…”

Olivia scowled, hardly needing a reminder of the theft. Would the problems never end? Nicholas had no business paying for her roof—especially an entirely new one. Of course, a man of his wealth wouldn’t understand the hardship she’d incur in repaying him. Lord knew, she couldn’t afford even a handful of tiles with the contents of her box lost.

“Are you sucking on a lemon, lass?” Mrs. Lambert chuckled.

Olivia shot her a sour look and reached for her gloves draped on the back of a kitchen chair. “I cannot accept such charity, but I have Lady Winthrop’s event to attend. Perhaps, Lord Blair will be there.”

“Best of luck to you. I will mind the shop while you’re gone.”

Olivia smiled her thanks and swept down the narrow hall.

She could only spare Nicholas so much thought. If he was at Lady Winthrop’s, she’d take up the roof matter, at once. If he wasn’t…well…even though she hadn’t a clue where he was staying, no doubt, he would show up soon enough as Deborah’s plight was, as yet, still unresolved.

Right now, she had far more pressing matters. She had to find Louisa. Desperately. The aspiring young soprano, Elena Goodman, had contracted to sing Softly, My Heart at Lady Winthrop’s charity event. Perhaps she knew of Louisa’s whereabouts. They were, after all, the closest of friends.

Olivia collected her hat from the shop counter and left the shop. The day was bright; all traces of last night’s storm had vanished. A pleasant breeze played with the ends of her long hat ribbons as she hurried down the cobblestone street, nodding greetings to each passerby.

Gaily dressed folk strolled the paths of Glasgow Green as she entered the park. She’d gone no more than ten yards before she spied Mr. Pitt with his wife on his arm. Olivia altered course at once, but spared a quick glance at the dowdy woman at his side. As usual, she walked with her chin high, but with a perpetual look of disappointment on her face—but then, with Mr. Pitt as a husband, such feelings were entirely understandable.

“Move along, Mrs. Pitt,” Mr. Pitt said, his voice carrying across the green. “Move along, right quick.”

Olivia rolled her eyes and hurried down the woodland path. Lady Winthrop’s house wasn’t far, just down the lane that bordered the eastern side of Glasgow Green, overlooking the river. Though newly built, the tidy establishment still held an older-world charm with its arched doorways, diamond-paned windows, and rough-hewn beams.

Carriages lined the drive, horses stamped lazily in their harnesses under the tall, nearby oaks. The coachmen laughed and played a game of battledore and shuttlecock. They waved as Olivia passed and ducked inside the servant’s entrance at the back of the house.