Page 78 of Seductive Reprise
The chatter of the main room could still be heard back in the kitchen, a muffled din against the crackling fire and the shuffling of her father as he finished getting his stew together, humming as he went. It was also bloody hot. Rose shifted, using the tray to gently fan herself as her mind wandered, imagining something else for her life. Just as when she was a girl, and she’d imagined something beyond this kitchen, this inn.
Nothing felt the same as it used to, but perhaps things weren’t really so different. Perhaps everything she’d dreamed of for herself was within reach. Perhaps she could take what was offered in good faith.
Yusef, her heart murmured. She placed a hand atop it, suddenly awash in thoughts of him.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“What’re you doing here?”Rickard muttered gruffly, closing his office door behind them.
Yusef ignored the rough greeting and cast a critical eye over the room. Nothing in it spoke of Rickard, but then again, he fancied the man would rather not have an office altogether. Indeed, the tidiness of the place spoke to its lack of an occupant; Rickard had always been a man of action, and Yusef surmised he spent most of his time on his feet, making rounds. In fact, he’d had to wait a fair amount of time for him, having sent a boy off to the floor to find Mr. Rickard. God knows it pained him, having to wait for him to appear as if he were Rickard’s coachman. But Yusef could barely think straight, and he needed assistance.
Just last night he’d deposited Rose at her dwelling on horseback. Until then he’d assumed he could wait. After all, he usually counted patience among his few virtues.
But then she’d said those words. The same hateful words as before.
Do not write me.
And unlike before, he’d fallen to pieces. It’d taken everything he had in him to compose himself enough that Mann wouldn’t suspect anything. Though no doubt the valet knew anyhow. He was just too damn good at his job to say anything.
“Here to remind you to roll down your shirtsleeves and put on a jacket, apparently,” Yusef said disinterestedly. “It’s nearly evening, after all.” What he didn’t say was that he was in dire straits. Barely up and about—hell, barely alive, it felt. Of course, he couldn’t open with that.
Rickard muttered a good-natured curse, then set to tidying himself up.
“And how is Mrs. Rickard?”
“Well, thankfully.”
“Is she still cross with me?”
“She’s several months along. She’s cross with everyone.”
“Save you, I suppose.”
The corner of Rickard’s mouth quirked up in confirmation.
“Hmm. Care for a ride?” Yusef asked, suppressing his envy.
“How’d you know I didn’t take the carriage?”
“Of course you didn’t. You never do, if you can help it.” It dawned on Yusef that he had the terrible habit of associating with chronic pedestrians. As a horseman he found it dismaying.
Rickard put on his coat, smoothing out the front before reaching into a pocket to extract a gold watch.
Yusef raised an eyebrow.
“Alright, alright. It was a gift.” Rickard glanced at him, then looked away, repocketing it. If Yusef hadn’t known his friend for so many years he never would’ve caught the hint of embarrassment on his face.
“Fine then,” Rickard said, retrieving his hat from a stand near the door, “And if you care to dine—”
“No, thank you.” Yusef didn’t need anyone else to see him like this, a pathetic wreck of a man.
Rickard made a wordless sound somewhere between acknowledgment and grunt.
Everyone they passed on their exit from the factory took pains to address Rickard, who returned their goodbyes with a nod of his head or a brusque “Good evening.”
Outside, the putrid smoke stung Yusef’s eyes. He was glad when the carriage finally lurched forward, leaving the factory behind them. In that moment, part of him thought that Marcus Hartley wasn’t altogether off with respect to the Smoke Regulation Act.
“How do you like it?” he asked.
