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Miss Finch waved this aside. “There was no point. Nothing would have been done.”
“You could write to your school now and tell them,” said Teresa quietly.
The younger girl met her eyes. They exchanged a brief silent communication, and then Miss Finch nodded once.
“I know you are not serious about becoming opera dancers,” Teresa added. “But you cannot, you know.” She looked around the group.
“I wonder what my father would do if he found me there on one of his ‘visits,’” said Miss Grandison, who had been uncharacteristically silent.
“Have an apoplexy?” suggested Miss Finch.
Miss Grandison muttered something inaudible.
“I’ve been hanging about with the dancers and keeping my eyes open,” said Tom. “I’ll go on with that.” He gave Teresa a sidelong glance, as if suggesting she might join him.
The thought of frequenting the dancers’ retiring room, watching the gentlemen prey on them, most likely receiving unwanted attentions herself, filled Teresa with repulsion. Sad distaste welled up in her, turning the food sour in her stomach. But she still longed to help. “I will talk to each dancer again. I haven’t pressed as hard as I might.” Their situation set up rivalries. Many were reluctant to reveal good sources of income and so would not tell which gentlemen had been particularly attentive. Her impulsive “claiming” of Lord Macklin would help her there. If any girls had considered her to be competition, perhaps they wouldn’t now.
As if her thoughts had brought him to mind, Miss Deeping turned to her and said, “Are you expecting Macklin today?”
Here it was. They were not going to ignore her rash words as she had begun to hope. Teresa faced a circle of friendly, but inquisitive eyes. “No,” she said.
“We thought he was often here,” the angular girl said.
“No,” said Teresa again. “Often” was a vague designation. Who was to say what it signified?
There was a short silence. The ladies seemed to be searching for the right phrase. Tom looked brightly interested, and gave her no help at all.
“We don’t mean to pry,” said Miss Moran apologetically. “It’s just that we are rather protective of him.”
“Why should a nobleman with his wealth and position need your protection?” The earl clearly didn’t. He…oozed assurance.
“‘Protection’ isn’t quite the word,” said Miss Grandison. The other ladies all nodded. “More what he has given to us.”
“Interest and…encouragement,” said Miss Finch.
“An open mind,” said Miss Moran.
“Acknowledgment,” added Miss Deeping.
“Help when sorely needed,” said Miss Grandison.
They began to exchange anecdotes about Lord Macklin’s role in their autumn adventure. They made him sound like some sort of guardian angel, scattering happiness across the land. It occurred to Teresa that this description would utterly revolt him. She smiled at the thought of telling him. “And what right had he to step in?” she asked after a while.
“He worried about that,” said Miss Grandison. “Peter told me they discussed the matter.” She smiled. “He told me he’s learned a good deal from Macklin’s example.”
Had the earl asked the young ladies to come here and plead his case? Teresa didn’t think that was it. And it didn’t matter, because there was no case. He had none. But these were intelligent women. Their opinions were of value, even though they didn’t know what aristocratic men got up to when their wives and mothers were not present. Look at Miss Grandison’s father. Still, they had affirmed her changing opinion of the earl. She was oddly glad about that. “I need to return to my work.”
“You do like Macklin, don’t you?” asked Miss Moran.
Teresa stood. Part of her yearned to be one of their carefree group and exchange girlish confidences. Another knew she never would be. “We are pretending to be friends while we search for the missing girls. Nothing more.”
“Pretending?” repeated Miss Moran. The ladies all looked puzzled. They glanced at each other and then back at Teresa.
“But…why should it be a pretense?” asked Miss Deeping.
“That makes no sense,” said Miss Grandison.
She couldn’t have stated it better, Teresa thought.Senselesswas just the word to describe many recent occurrences. Her careful plan for her new life had not included an earl or any of these ladies—not even Tom, who had never been so quiet through a conversation in all the time she’d known him. As she had understood life, these young ladies should not be interested in the fate of a few poor dancers. They should ignore their existence. And hers. They should look through her, turn away as if she was invisible. All of this had happened to her not so very long ago. Yet now, here, it was not. No sense indeed. A quiver of emotion ran through Teresa. She turned away to hide her expression, and discovered the subject of their conversation standing in the doorway to the warehouse. How long had Lord Macklin been there? What had he heard?
