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“And how do you know that, princess?”
“Because you built me those shelves and you arranged that writing desk for me to use.” She gave a little shrug of her shoulders. “It’s quite easy to interpret.”
“You think you know everything, do you?”
“My mother’s always telling me not to be a know-it-all, but I just can’t help myself. A Wallflower Princess can always tell when a highwayman loves her.”
There was no use denying it. She’d stolen his heart.
He squeezed her hand. “You’re right.” There, he’d admitted it... in a way.
“I know that you don’t want some socially acceptable version of me. With you I’m joyously myself—or not joyously—I won’t pretend anymore. I don’t have to be the perfect daughter my mother wants me to be. You helped me see that, Ford.”
Her smile was light shimmering on the ocean.
A stone temple built to the gods, where he could shelter from every storm.
“Beatrice,” he whispered, like a prayer. Like a poem.
A line from a song that stayed with you, that came to mind when you saw the sun set orange and fierce over a turbulent sea.
They were building something here, something good and strong.
But was it strong enough to weather the storms ahead?
The waltz ended, and Thorndon arrived to claim his sister for the next dance. He threw a look at Ford that could only be described as thoroughly suspicious.
Ford backed away. He’d had his one dance. It was time to leave.
He’d vowed to go speak with his grandfather, to find a way to convince him to allow Beatrice to keep the shop. He had no idea how he would find the leverage to make the old snake crawl back to his hole, but he’d damn well do it, or die trying.
He was going to make this right. Perhaps if Beatrice had her clubhouse, if what they’d created together was hers to keep, they could find a way to build a life together.
He was about to leave the duke’s house when a footman approached him. “Mr. Wright?”
“Yes?”
“The dowager duchess would like a word with you. In her chambers.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I should have known.” The dowager duchess paced in the center of her pink-and-white boudoir. “I should have known when my daughter showed such an interest in that dusty old bookshop. Ever since your appearance in her life she’s become a completely different person. You’ve been corrupting her. Who do you think you are, Wright? You’re nothing. You’re no one.”
Ford bore the onslaught of her contempt in silence.
Life was always attempting to bring him to his knees, but he always landed on his feet.
He clenched his jaw. The dowager just kept talking, spewing forth insults and hurling abuse, so finally he broke into the tirade. “I love your daughter.”
When the words left his lips, he knew them to be true. He loved her and he didn’t care who knew it.
“Love. What do you know about love? My son said that you have a reputation as a rogue. You’re nothing but a common fortune hunter with delusional aspirations.”
Thorndon must be in on the campaign to be rid of him, then.
The duke had warned him away from his sister,and introduced him to the admiral as a method of ensuring that Ford left England.
His mother’s method of driving Ford away was far less subtle.
