Page 20 of Tempting the Bluestocking
Hugh raised his eyebrows, almost seeming surprised by this news. “Well, that’s certainly a bonus. You never know what you are going to get when introduced to a new keeper. All the better if you find you actually like her.”
“Has she given any indication that she’d like to extend her contract beyond the agreed-upon thirty days?” Benedict asked. “I’d like to know if I need to begin considering a new keeper for you.”
The thought of leaping straight from Clare’s bed into another woman’s left a bitter taste in his mouth. It wasn’t a problem he’d ever had in his past dealings with women, but then most of his previous experience with the fairer sex had never gone beyond the bedchamber. Acting as a courtesan required him to cater to Clare out of bed as well as in it, and he found he actually enjoyed that part of it. There was always some new facet of her personality to unearth, and she never ceased taking him by surprise.
However, as the head of the agency it made sense for Benedict to think of this in terms of pounds and pence. In truth, Edward couldn’t afford not to follow the other man’s lead. Should Clare decide she was finished with him two weeks from now, he’d need to consider the detriment of going without the additional income a new keeper could offer him. It could take months, or even a year, for him to feel comfortable supporting his family with the line as his only source of capital.
“Not yet,” he replied. “We haven’t really had time to discuss it.”
Really, the subject had never come up. If Clare hadn’t expressed interest in continuing on with him, perhaps that was because there was no interest. That proved a clear enough answer to the unspoken question. He didn’t want to dwell on why that made his heart sink and his stomach ache.
“Find out, and inform me of the answer,” Benedict said. “The sooner we know what to expect, the better.”
For lack of anything to say, Edward simply nodded his agreement. How the devil was he to ask Clare such a thing without seeming like an insensitive ass or a desperate beggar? He supposed that was his problem, so he would puzzle it out on his own time.
Retrieving his watch, Benedict flipped it open and frowned. “I’m sorry, but if I don’t leave now I’ll be late for an appointment. Edward, feel free to call on me if you need anything. I’ll be ready to make the proper arrangements when necessary.”
“Of course,” he said as Benedict rose and donned his hat once more. “And thank you for everything. This arrangement has solved a hell of a problem for my family and I am grateful.”
Tipping his hat, Benedict gave him a ghost of a smile. “All in the line of duty. Hugh, will you stay?”
Hugh waved Benedict off, seeming in no hurry to leave his seat. “Yes, you go on. I wouldn’t want to hold you up.”
A moment later, the door opened and then closed, leaving Edward and Hugh alone. Releasing a sigh, Edward slumped in his chair. He supposed he liked Benedict well enough, but didn’t know him as well as he did Hugh. Perhaps his longtime friend could offer him some insight on how to proceed.
“How do you do it?” he murmured, running a hand through his hair.
“Do what?” Hugh asked.
“Pass from one woman to the next without a look back. I thought it would be easy, but I’m finding the notion difficult to swallow. I like Clare quite a lot, and…well, what if the woman who comes after her doesn’t measure up? What if I can’t be good to her because I can’t get Clare out of my mind?”
Hugh frowned, sitting up a bit straighter in his chair. “How I do it is by reminding myself that none of these arrangements are meant to last forever, and failing to carry on would mean the difference between having a full belly and eventually going hungry for lack of funds. Your situation will improve with time dedicated to your business, but until I can gain recognition for my art there is nothing else.”
Of course, Hugh was right. It made perfect sense, which was how Edward knew he couldn’t be thinking with his head just now. It was the damn organ in his chest, which had developed a tender spot for a bespectacled bluestocking with a penchant for collecting things and experimenting with flowers.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t know what I could be thinking. I’ve been a bit out of sorts.”
“It sounds to me as if there’s a very simple explanation for why you feel so out of sorts,” Hugh said. “Her name is Clare.”
Edward braced his elbows on the desk and his head in his hands with a groan. “Damn it. How did I allow this to happen? I’ve developed an infatuation for my keeper. Has anything like this ever happened to you?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever felt anything other than affection for the women I’ve serviced. It is difficult to cater to someone in such a way without at least liking them. I never really felt as if I knew them, though, or that they knew me.”
And therein lay the problem. He’d opened himself up to her that first night, and probed into the details of her life with his idiotic questions. Instead of keeping things light and easy, he’d gone and fallen headlong into a complication.
“It will pass,” Hugh offered, though he didn’t sound anymore certain than Edward was. “She will eventually move on, and you’ll be forced to do the same. As well, you should know Benedict is never happy to learn that one of us might be developing tender feelings for a client. It isn’t good for business, and Benedict is nothing if not strictly business.”
With a slow nod, Edward sat up straight and began pulling himself together. There was nothing for him to do but carry on and take things as they came. At this juncture, it was the best he could do—at least until the other aspects of his life found their way to some sort of normality.
“I understand,” Edward replied. “It will not become a problem. I won’t let it.”
Chapter 8
That evening, Edward entered Clare’s study, where he found her standing over an open box on one of her desks. As she paused to glance up at him with a smile, he realized the chest contained her collection of watches. She seemed to be in the middle of adding a new timepiece, one which she lifted from a smaller box before holding it up to the light for him to see.
“I purchased this beauty this afternoon,” she said, her voice low and reverent. “Created in 1730 and made of solid gold, and look at this…there’s a littleetiuhere for snuff!”
She placed the heavy piece in his hands, and he held it up to the light, studying the delicate filigree scroll work adorning a chatelaine, which held the timepiece, several pearl charms, and the snuff container. He could imagine that amid the overblown wardrobe of a lady of 1730 such a piece would seem gaudy and excessive. But on its own it was quite exquisite.
