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“What?” David, who’d dropped to his knees to glance under a table for some unknown reason, shot up so fast he nicked his head. He rubbed the spot, his full lips a stern pout.
Meg didn’t flinch and sashayed further into the room. “No, ma’am. I’m not married to anyone. I’ve never been. Seems like a waste of money and time.”
Amalia’s cheeks heated. Score one for the female Pinkerton in the worn gray, bustle-less gown.
“She’s Will’s partner and a friend of your brother’s. A professional. You’re in good hands. They’ve both been Pinkertons for years. I’m the only newcomer.” David stuck his hands in his pockets and cocked his head. Another almost abashed smile played on his lips, tickling her memories once more.
The good ones. The memories that made her heart ache. If only she could go back and do it all over again. She’d make such different choices. Smarter ones. Ones that didn’t trick her into believing she was pretty or clever or more than ordinary, when her family’s money was the only extraordinary thing about her. Amalia sighed.
She smoothed her own taffeta skirts and pushed herself back into the present. “Well, is this really necessary? All three of you... I mean...it’s just words, idle threats. And sent to Indianapolis, where I no longer live.”
Or ever will again. Hopefully.
“Words sent to you, specifically. Using your real, unmarried name.” Grimness enveloped Will’s tone.
The letter couldn’t be a real threat. Her family was probably trying to teach her a “lesson,” or find another way to control her. It all had to be part of some elaborate plot. Truitts excelled at those. Still, a slight chill ran down Amalia’s neck making the hairs stand at attention.
“We aren’t leaving until you’re safe in Centerville. After that, we’ll apprehend whoever sent the letters. Even if he wasn’t paying us, we owe Thad.” David knit his hands, his eyes serious and sad, churning the echoes of their shared past once more.
“David can describe the progress on that front. He’s coordinating, kind of an audition for him. If we catch our men, he gets to be a Pinkerton.” Will shifted so he was next to Meg once more. “Come along, Meg, we’ll do a sweep of the train, fetch everyone’s dinner, and return for the night.”
The night? She was going to be stuck with Meg for the night? Well, to be fair, it wasn’t as if she could undo her corset herself, but still the woman made her position on the accuracy of the letters clear...and...oh no. A pounding drummed in Amalia’s skull. “You’re all sleeping here?”
A three-way smirk.
No.
Not possible.
Or proper.
Ugh, all for a prank. And even if the letters weren’t a prank, how much danger could she really be in? Not enough to need nannies. Especially one she’d kissed—well, more than kissed, before ending the relationship with a lie. Amalia flinched and clutched at her own hands. Or two. And a few unkind words.
Well, she’d paid her penance for those, and then some.
David slapped his hand on the doorframe leading to her temporary bedchamber. “You have multiple rooms. Full servants’ quarters and a sitting area. I don’t believe you need that much privacy. A closed door should suffice.”
Will held up a palm. “You won’t know we’re here. Except Meg. Who’ll be helpful.”
“Doubtful. Especially without the requisite knowledge of fashion.” Amalia glowered in the face of the other woman’s glare. A pang of guilt rippled in her stomach. Fine, that was a bit much, but after being threatened and needled, she was in no mood to counter discourteousness with civility. Especially as feigned manners were kind of required to play the part of a lady’s maid.
“It isn’t that hard,” Meg called over her shoulder as she rejoined Will.
Amalia blinked. What choice did she have? Besides, it’d only be for a few days. What could possibly go wrong? Sinking back into her chair, she filled her lungs as deep as she could in her corset, banishing the nagging fear that the journey with these three would take all her stamina to survive.
