Page 20 of Indecently Employed
Charlotte gave a little half-shrug, then wandered over to the fireplace. She deliberately avoided making eye contact, opting instead to reach for the poker.
Ajax sighed. “Let me remind you, he’s not—” he corrected himself, “hewasn’ta decent sort of fellow.”
“I’m aware.” She made a desultory prod into the fire.
Ajax frowned, disliking the implication of her tone. “I’m not sure his letters contain appropriate content for your eyes.” He swallowed, glancing down at the (thankfully) bland missive in his hand. Titus, the middle brother between him and Tiberius, had possessed an even more voracious than usual appetite for the typical Sedley vices. He only hoped his daughter would instead take after Tiberius, a serious, nose-to-the-grindstone type. He’d taken the one small shoe polish factory their father had established and turned it, along with the family, into what they were today. Amazing what one could accomplish when one was not burdened with a heart.
“Why not?” Charlotte asked, drawing lines in the ash with the poker.
He avoided that trap, changing the subject instead. “Your governess will begin instruction with you this afternoon.”
She made a noncommittal sound of disinterest, continuing to draw little circles and lines just below the fire that still burned and popped.
“Charlotte, dear, don’t play in the fire.” He tried to keep his tone metered, but his frustration and worry seeped in. Ajax cursed himself, knowing he’d lost this first volley.
Charlotte looked over her shoulder, her eyes dancing. “I thought I was a serving girl. Cleaning out the hearth.”
“Fine. Fine. You want to speak of Titus, let us speak of Titus. What, does his ghost roam the halls, or something else equally asinine?” Well, damn it. He’d lost not just the volley; he’d surrendered the whole bloody hill.
“No,” she said blandly, setting the poker back in its rack, then taking care to examine her hands for smudges. She dusted them off and added, “I’d rather speak of my governess.”
Ajax cleared his throat and looked back at the stack of his dead brother’s papers. “You’re sure you two will get on?” He dropped the letter in his hand back on top of the pile. He’d certainly gotten on with Miss Abbotts yesterday evening. A bit too well. And after a night of castigating himself for his lack of control, he somehow didn’t feel any better; in fact, he felt quite worse. Funny, that.
“Yes. Her aura reveals an untarnished soul. A pure heart. She will do.”
Ajax grimaced. “What tripe have you been reading?” He prayed it wasn’t anything he’d written. His first story forThe Monthly Revelhad prominently featured a comely young medium possessed by the spirit of a Roman centurion. Quite titillating, if he were to say so himself.
Charlotte said nothing.
“It sounds like you intend to sacrifice her to some pagan gods.”
She cocked her head, as if seriously considering it. “No. I do like her.”
“Right,” Ajax uncrossed his legs and sat up. “We’ll be leaving the day after Harmonia’s wedding. I wanted to make sure you had all… everything you’ll need, anything you want. Leeds is a decent-sized city, to be sure, but we shan’t return to London for a time.”
Charlotte glanced about her room, appraising her possessions. “Anything I want?”
Hope flickered in his chest. For seemingly the first time since she had come into his care, he had her interest.
“Anything,” he chuckled. “Why, what good is it being part of this sorry lot if we don’t spend the silly shoe polish money?” He stood, smoothing the front of his incredibly expensive, expertlytailored coat. “They made me wait until I was of an age for my full allowance, but fear not, daughter, the same suffering will not be visited upon you.”
Charlotte grinned. A shy, rare expression, one that warmed Ajax’s heart.
Perhaps he could do this after all.
Chapter Seven
Was he doing this?Was he truly going to spend a small fortune on—he turned, looking back at the occult oddities lining the walls of the cramped, overstuffed shop—psychic paraphernalia?
“And will that be everything, sir?” The owner, a small woman swathed in black, complete with crepe weeping veil, had a disconcertingly raspy voice. Her tiny, gloved hands arranged the jumble on the counter before them: three odd packs of cards, a glass orb the size of a cricket ball, several ornate bottles containing God knows what, some tapestry sort of thing, and a stack of books that towered over the tiny shop keep.
“Charlotte, darling, anything else?” Ajax said. He turned to see her near the back, examining what she’d called a “dowsing crystal.” It hung from a string, which she held high above her head so that the crystal swung about like a pendulum, mere inches from her face.
She suddenly snatched it out of the air with her other hand, then slowly opened her fingers to inspect it once more withintense concentration. “This as well,” she finally murmured, turning the rock over in her palm.
“Wonderful,” he lied.
He sorted the transaction with the ghoulish proprietor, impressing upon her that everything must be delivered the following day. These types of folk might regard time as some mutable, shifting thing, but Ajax had a train to catch.
