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Think as hard as she could, she couldn’t remember a single time when she’d been her own rescuer. Just as Angus had said, she sat in one place and waited for a man to come and fix whatever was wrong in her life.
Since she’d been asleep for days, she didn’t want to waste more of her life unaware of what was going on. It was still night when she got up and went downstairs to Harriet’s big secretary desk in the parlor.
First, she needed to take care of Angus. When she thought of the night he’d climbed into her bedroom—if she could put her mind away from the touching and the kissing and the way she’d humiliated herself—she remembered that she’d sensed there was something wrong with him. For one thing, he’d lost weight. For another, his clothes were worn around the sleeves. The diamonds had been enough for him to buy new clothes, but he hadn’t. Why? Was he too cheap to shell out the money? For all that she knew him, she really didn’t know how he handled money.
She spent hours thinking while drawing a pen and ink sketch of a face she knew as well as her own.
When the sun came up, Edilean went upstairs to dress. She quietly knocked on her bedroom door, and Harriet answered. She was already dressed for the day. “Are you still angry at me?” Edilean asked.
“I don’t like the destruction of property, and I truly hate feeling sorry for one’s self.”
“Not me,” Edilean said. “In fact, I’ve thoroughly mastered self-pity.”
Harriet couldn’t help but smile.
“But I’m going to stop it,” Edilean said. “As of today, I’m no longer going to sit in one place and wait for some man to come rescue me.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I have no idea in the least,” Edilean said brightly. “But I do know that I don’t want to end up old and alone. Oh!”
“It’s all right, it wasn’t what I wanted either.”
Edilean’s face turned red at her faux pas, but she smiled. “When I get what I need to do done, I’m going to find you a husband.”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” Harriet said. “And how will you do that? Conjure him from a bottle?”
“If I have to, I’ll buy him.”
Harriet blinked at her for a moment. “With a farm?” she asked softly. “Not a large one, but something nice with big trees. A widower with children would be all I want in life.”
Edilean stared at Harriet, unable to say anything. They hadn’t been together for long, but during that time she’d never once thought that maybe Harriet would like something more in her life than taking care of Edilean and listening to her bellyache all day about how boring her suitors were. “Widower with a farm and children,” she said. “I’ll do it if I have to buy all of Boston.”
“Your belief that you can do anything and that you deserve everything is what I like best about you—and what drives me mad.” Harriet picked up a stack of clean linen and left the room, but she was smiling.
Edilean looked about her bedroom and saw the aftermath of the destruction she’d done. The little tables had been taken away to be repaired—or thrown into the fire, she didn’t know which. The bed had huge gashes in it where she’d attacked the wood with the knife, and there were more cuts in the big chest of drawers.
When she looked inside, she saw that there were only two dresses. It looked like she’d ruined the rest of them.
She put on one of her remaining gowns and made a mental note to go to the local dressmaker. But first, she had some other things that had to be taken care of.
An hour later, she called the footman, Cuddy, into the parlor. She sat while he stood. He was a man of medium height and medium looks, a person you’d never remember ten minutes after you met him—which is why she wanted him for the job.
“Feelin’ better now?” he asked in an insolent way, but she was already used to the way of the Americans. They didn’t believe they were anyone’s servants, and they let their employers know it.
“I’m feeling fine,” Edilean said, “and I have a j
ob for you to do.”
“Anything I can do to help,” he said with a bit of a smile.
“For one thing, you can take that look off your face,” Edilean said. “If you want to remain here, then I suggest that you act like you want the job.”
“Yes, Miss,” he said, straightening up.
“I want you to find this man.” She handed him the picture of Angus, which had taken her hours to draw. It was a good likeness of the way he looked now, without his beard and wild hair.
“What’s his name?”
