Page 23 of Teach a Rogue New Tricks
“Ah. A country girl through and through.” Sarah patted Ada’s knee. “So, you do not like London, and you do not seem to like your suitor terribly much, either. You do have a serious situation. Who is Ada Cavendish now that she’s not Carer of Abandoned Children?”
“Precisely. I knew you’d understand.” Ada leaned her head onto Sarah’s shoulder, and Sarah’s arm stole around her, hugging her close. The embrace seemed to heal half a decade of hurt, stitching up old wounds with maternal warmth and a special sort of Sarah strength.
Sarah’s arm tightened, placing a few more restorative stitches. “You’ve noted quite clearly what you do not want to do, but what is it youwantto do?”
“I wanted to help someone. But I… I may not be enough to help him.”
Sarah straightened, her eyes widened, and she shook her head so har her curls bounced about. “You, Ada Cavendish, not enough? Ha! You’re the only one I’ve ever seen stand up to your lion of a father without batting an eyelash.”
“Youstand up to him, too.”
“But I bat my eyelashes considerably.” She grinned. “You know, I’ve always thought of your father as a lion, and I see you that way, too. You are a lioness, protecting those around you with tooth and claw.”
Tears sprang to Ada’s eyes once more. “That may be the nicest thing anyone has said to me.” Ada wrapped Sarah in a crushing hug. She’d protect this woman, too, if it became necessary.
Sarah wrapped warm, tight arms about Ada and held on as if they weathered a storm together. When she pulled away, she wrapped her hands around Ada’s upper arms and forced Ada to meet her gaze. “You’ll find yourself. I know—”
A crash on the lower floor of the townhouse made both women jump.
Ada raced for the door. “It’s likely one of the twins.”
Sarah beat her into the hallway. “I’ll take care of it. You do whatever it is carefree young ladies in London do.” She winked, then disappeared down the stairs in a flurry of skirts.
What did carefree ladies in London do?
Ada didn’t care. She knew whatshewanted to do.
Sarah had called her a lioness, a protector of the vulnerable, yet she’d run from her own lion. Though Lord Albee more resembled a… a panther. No matter the predatory identity, he’d snapped his teeth, and she’d fled.
She should have stood her ground, if only to protect him from himself.
She had approached him all wrong, a dreadful strategy to begin with. Her old tricks for taming wayward children simply would not work. He was a grown man, after all, quite as he’d reminded her yesterday.
And hadn’t Sarah just said she’d had to modify her own strategies to guide Ada’s father back to trust, to love?
She leaned forward and set her elbows on her knees then rested her chin in her hands. What would work for aman? What would work forLord Albee?
He clutched his past like a starving man clutched a hunk of bread. It had become his source of life, and even her own strategies emphasized his misdeeds.What have you done, she’d asked him.Tell me.
That had not helped. It had merely made him clutch tighter, convinced him he could not release it. They could no longer focus on his sins. They must look forward to the man he wished to become instead.
She launched to her feet, propelled by certainty, excitement.
Lord Albee required opportunities to do good. That was it, the key. Like with learning a new language, once the key was discovered and the rules applied, the words and meanings were unlocked, revealing so much truth, a new world, connections.
Ada excelled at unlocking languages, and she’d unlock Lord Albee, too.
She threw on her pelisse and bustled down the stairs and out the door before anyone could catch her, ignoring the sounds of the twins in the drawing room, running circles round Sarah. Ada knew the woman was more than capable of handling a bit of mischief.
And Ada was more than capable, too.
Of reforming a rogue.
Of course, he didn’t want her help anymore, but neither had Pansy wanted her help caring for her scraped knee. Ada had long since grown used to grumpy children shrugging off her ministrations. And she knew better than most unmarried twenty-six-year-old women that the shrugging meant very little and was usually followed by a grateful hug.
She didn’t want Lord Albee to hug her, of course, but she couldn’t stop herself from imagining it.
Chapter Eight
