Page 38 of Too Wanton to Wed
He shook a handful of sovereigns into her palm. When her hands automatically curled to cup the coins, he noticed the edges of her fingernails were tinged a subtle green.
He smiled despite himself. “An art lesson today?”
“No.” She frowned at the pile of coins as if able to determine the value of its contents by weight alone. “This is sixteen pounds.”
“Yes.”
“I earn two pounds per week.”
He shrugged lightly. “You’re worth two people.”
Her hand trembled. “You left plenty of coin the day that we... The last time you were in the schoolroom.”
“You’re worth every cent,” he interrupted, embarrassed anew. “I realize I am not the best employer and, quite possibly, among the worst of men. I cannot apologize enough for my inexcusable attempt to... compromise your integrity. I have sworn not to repeat the offense, and I have kept my promise. Will you not stay another month?” When she did not immediately respond, Alistair took a deep breath. Men did not beg. Yet for his child, he would do anything. “Not for me. Stay for Lillian. Please.”
Miss Smythe’s internal thoughts remained inscrutable. One edge of her mouth quirked briefly, as if tempted to smile, but her eyes looked more haunted than happy.
“Not for you,” she repeated softly. “For Lillian.”
Not sure how else to respond, he simply nodded.
After a moment, she lowered her gaze to the jumble of sovereigns in her hand. Slowly, she transferred them from the right hand to the left, as if not at all convinced sixteen pounds was worth the burden of Waldegrave Abbey.
Just when he was about to offer twenty or fifty or any quantity she might desire, she nodded her agreement. He swore he could hear angels singing.
“Thank you,” he said with a quick smile, his heart lighter than it had been in weeks. She would stay. Thank God, she would stay. “You won’t regret it.”
The fleeting arch to her brows indicated she already quite regretted it, but Miss Smythe blessedly tucked the coins in her pocket without further recrimination. “And the favor?”
“Right.” Alistair tapped the breast pocket containing the latest bit of correspondence. “A half-dozen scientists and surgeons are meeting to discuss potential cures for sunsickness. I admit to being very hopeful we all can finally step from the shadows.”
“But that’s wonderful!” This time, her smile was full and genuine.
“Thank you. In the meantime, I am trying to keep a clear head. Even if genius strikes, I am not certain how long it will be until Lillian is cured—”
“And you, of course.”
“Both of us.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Although not precisely what she meant, she was absolutely correct: the only thing thatwouldcure him was a cure for Lillian. “But I would like someone else present who has Lillian’s best interests in mind. Namely you, if you don’t mind. Just please recall that no one may know of my daughter’s existence, so it is important to always speak as if I alone am the sufferer of the sun allergy. And—”
“Me?” she interrupted with a nervous laugh. “I cannot possibly attend. No, it is much better I stay and take care of Miss Lillian while you are off at your meeting. How many days will you be gone?”
“One weekend. But I won’t be gone. I’ll be here.”
She frowned. “But you said—”
“The cabal ishere. I cannot leave Lillian.”
“Here?” she repeated in horror. She glanced over her shoulders as if half expecting the wall sconce to rain scientists upon them. “In Waldegrave Abbey?”
“I am aware it is no castle,” he rejoined stiffly. “But please understand my position. I cannot leave my daughter, nor can I—”
“I know, I know, you cannot withstand the sun,” she interrupted, her eyes closing briefly as if in pain. “I don’t know why I was thinking you’d be traveling to London or somesuch when you cannot even go to market... but dear God. A party? Cominghere?”
“Not a party. A meeting of England’s finest minds.”
“From... Town?”
“From all over.”
