Passion Wears Pearls (9 page)

I was just hoping for a bed. But this! This is …

“This room is perfect for a lady and very quiet at this end of the floor,” Mrs. Clay spoke, as if finishing Eleanor’s thought. “There’s just two apartments, and Mr. Rutherford is notoriously shy—don’t let the man’s size fool you! A
gentle giant, that bloke, and my favorite tenant, I must confess. When Tally accidentally dropped a can of fireplace ashes in his room and the bucket just about exploded a cloud of ruin over everything the man possessed, do you know he didn’t even fuss? Not one unkind word to my poor Tally! We bashed his cushions for weeks, and I swear every once in a while I still see little puffs of gray whenever I walk over those carpets.” Mrs. Clay sighed. “Bachelors are usually such trouble, but I’m just letting you know that Mr. Rutherford is no such man and my very own dear mystery, so please don’t pay him any mind.”

Eleanor nodded, trying to follow the wonderful patter of Mrs. Clay’s speeches. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Upstairs are my more temporary guest rooms, tourists and the like mainly, but they’ll use the west stairs off the common room, and as you saw, the stairs at this end of the inn are much better situated for you. And, of course, there’s the private parlor and receiving area there off the landing for your use if you have callers.”

“I’m not expecting any callers, Mrs. Clay.”

“You can eat dinner there if you’re shy of the common room below. But I don’t allow rough trade, so you’re more than welcome to come downstairs for your meals if you wish the company of others. You’ll be safe as a church mouse among my guests, or I’ll see to it and send them packing!” Mrs. Clay stepped back, beginning her retreat to allow Eleanor to settle in. “I’ll send up dinner for you tonight, as moving always has a bit of a draining effect, don’t you think?”

“That would be so kind of you, Mrs. Clay.”

“It’s nothing really.” Mrs. Clay started to put her hand on the door latch, but then turned back. “You’ll ring if you need anything? Just give that bellpull a healthy yank. Tally is always at the ready if you need more coal, and you mustn’t be shy about asking. I should tell you that Tally is as deaf as a stone and just as mute. He’s a sweet child of twelve, and despite the bit about his hearing, I swear he’s as smart as a whippet. I found him on the streets starving and
filthy when he was the tiniest little mite you’ve ever seen, and I confess, I took him home for my very own boy! I’ve no children, but Tally is … well, you’ll be kind when you meet him, I’m sure.”

“Of course! He sounds very dear!” Eleanor stood, wanting to be polite and hoping that Mrs. Clay didn’t think she was yet another stray to land on her doorstep. “I should pay—”

“Not until you’re sure it’ll suit! I couldn’t take a penny before you’d decided it would suit!” Mrs. Clay waved her hand in cheerful farewell, and before the obvious argument against the illogical suggestion that anyone could manage to be uncomfortable in such a room, she’d gone through the door and was bustling down the stairs.

Eleanor leaned against the closed door, amazed. After the brusque treatment from her last landlady, Mrs. Clay was like a large, benevolent fairy godmother. No doubt, this Tally thanked his Maker nightly for his good fortune to land in such a woman’s care.
I swear I don’t remember my own mother being that solicitous. She’s such a dear! But there is no possibility that I can afford these luxuries! The coal alone costs more than I have in my reticule.

Eleanor reached up to touch her cheeks, not completely surprised to find them wet with tears.

I’m a practical woman and I do not cry!

But nothing she’d expected had happened today. Once again, her world had changed in the blink of an eye, and apparently, this time she had changed with it.

Her vow to never trust her care to another person ever again had evaporated the instant Josiah had struck Mr. Perring in the face. Her campaign for dignified independence had been sabotaged by Fate.

So how is it that I’m relatively unscathed?

Angels had intervened, even though she’d lost faith in their very existence when her parents had died. Or was it that the Devil had taken on the guise of a very handsome painter?

Had Mr. Hastings deliberately put her in a position where
she would be in his debt? It didn’t seem likely. His every gesture had been extremely considerate and his insane offer of employment was still ringing in her ears.

Eleanor unpacked her things, drawing out the chore to give herself time to think and to try to make her dreamlike surroundings seem more real. The red dress was the last to go into the wardrobe, and she hung her coat over it to hide it just in case Mrs. Clay took a peek into her things and drew the wrong conclusions.

She closed the wardrobe doors and went back to the fireplace, feeling more like her old self with her things in order and her jewelry box on the table by the bed. “Home, sweet home.”

The urge to cry had finally passed and she dried her eyes.

“Tomorrow, Eleanor Beckett,” she told herself as she moved her feet closer to the warm grate. “Tomorrow, you will find less scandalous employment and be able to thank Mr. Hastings by paying him back for all of his generosity.”

If not, I’m not sure what the future holds.

For then I may have to actually consider the remarkable promise of fifteen thousand pounds and decide if I should redraft my vows about not accepting any help to make an exception for insane artists with beautiful brown eyes.

“Ah! There you are, Miss Beckett!” Mrs. Clay greeted her warmly as Eleanor tried to tap the worst of the snow from her boots before reentering the lodge. She had been out all day seeking employment and encountered only rejection and humiliation. She had no recent references, most glaringly none from her last employer. One agency had told her directly that she appeared to have no real skills when it came to domestic work and was too well mannered and too pretty for any woman to allow into her home. Unable to afford a carriage, Eleanor had walked the streets of London until the weather had finally turned her back toward the inn. She’d even begun to wonder if Mrs. Clay might let her work in her establishment to help pay for her room and board, or if a smaller room would suit.

She couldn’t feel her toes and had to grip the wall to keep her balance. “Good day, Mrs. Clay. I shall do my best not to track in any water onto your floors.”

“Don’t mind that! Mr. Hastings has come calling for you
and is waiting in the upstairs parlor. There’s a fire blazing there and it’s nice and toasty.”

“Mr. Hastings? Has he … been waiting long?” Eleanor wasn’t sure what to say. Mrs. Clay seemed perfectly content to see her have gentleman callers, and instead of knowing looks, the woman was cheerfully gesturing for her to hurry.

“Awhile, I’d say,” Mrs. Clay replied. “But I’m forbidden to say exactly how long as Mr. Hastings said you were sure to ask and he didn’t want you to worry about it. Isn’t he dear?”

“I don’t know him very well, Mrs. Clay, but he seems very considerate.” She glanced down at her cold, wet skirts and wondered if he were “dear” enough for her to keep him waiting until she’d changed. Eleanor sighed and decided to ignore her skirts. This wasn’t a social call, after all, and no matter how disturbingly handsome he might be, she didn’t actually possess the wardrobe to try to impress the man, so there was no point in trying. Nor was she willing to admit that she cared what the man thought about the state of her hem. “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.”

“Shall I send up Tally to sit in the corner? As a sort of a chaperone, miss?” Mrs. Clay reached out to take her damp scarf and help with her coat. “He couldn’t eavesdrop,” she added with a smile, “but a good girl like yourself might be comforted to know he’s there.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Clay. If he truly wouldn’t mind, I am so grateful for your thoughtfulness.” Eleanor stepped up into the hall and headed up the narrow staircase.

The upstairs parlor was just off the stair landing and available for the monthly lodgers to use. It was a semiprivate space for conversation and even meals for anyone who preferred something more quiet than the bustling common dining room below.

As she reached the landing, she saw him standing in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the orange glow. Broad shouldered and lean, she was struck by the long lines of him and the latent power there. His light brown hair was far too long and tied back in a loose queue with a strip of
leather, but the old-world style suited him. It made him look more rugged and otherworldly, just as an artist should, she imagined.

She cleared her throat to alert the man to her presence. “Mr. Hastings,” she said. “I’ve kept you waiting.”

“You didn’t know I was coming so how is that possible?” he countered with a smile. “It was only a few minutes.”

Eleanor allowed the lie, flattered that he would go to such trouble. “I’m pleased to see you again, Mr. Hastings. If only to thank you once more for your kindness, but also to see if there is some way to rectify the arrangements.”

“Is your apartment not comfortable enough? Mrs. Clay has a reputation for being accommodating, but if you’re not happy here, I can look for something else.”

“No, you misunderstand. It’s very comfortable and far too luxurious for what I can afford.”

“It costs you nothing. Surely that isn’t too taxing for your purse?”

“Mr. Hastings, I cannot allow you to pay for my lodgings. It isn’t proper.”

His look was pure innocence, as if the concept was new. “Mrs. Clay is simply repaying me for a favor by offering you a room until you’re on your feet.”

“I do not like to feel cornered, Mr. Hastings.”

All playful pretense fell away, and he squared his shoulders like a man facing sentence. “You aren’t.”

As if on cue, a small pixie of a boy appeared quietly on the stairs and came into the parlor to take a seat on a footstool by the fireplace with a shy smile. The small storm brewing between them lessened, and Josiah returned the boy’s smile with one of his own. “I see our chaperone has arrived.”

“Mrs. Clay suggested that she send her son along.” Eleanor instantly recognized the humor of her diminutive guardian’s presence but did her best to maintain what decorum she could. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”

“I don’t. I don’t mind it at all, Miss Beckett.” He sighed and turned his attention back to her, and Eleanor had the
odd fleeting notion that a woman needed a fire screen when standing this close to a man like Josiah Hastings. Even with cold, wet shoes and stockings, she had the urge to fan herself to keep a flush from her cheeks.

Eleanor took a deep breath to steady her nerves. “Let me be frank. I am at my wit’s end, sir. My reserves are … if I described them as dwindling, it would be kind. I’m not ungrateful for what you’ve done, for what you’re doing for me, but …”

“Say it, Miss Beckett.”

“I need to know why. Is this some scheme to ensnare me? Have you an ulterior motive for your generosity?”

“I’ve kept nothing from you. I’ve never lied about my interests.” Josiah sighed. “I only want to paint you, that desire is unchanged. But honestly, after getting to know you and seeing how determined you are to protect your reputation—I’m not sure if I’ve done you a disservice already. A thousand chaperones wouldn’t protect you from the wicked imaginations and cruel tongues of people who will hear only that you modeled for me.”

Eleanor couldn’t hide her shock at his confession. “You’re withdrawing your offer?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I’m letting you know that I’m aware of the price you’ll pay for agreeing. I’m letting you know that I’m not oblivious to the dilemma I’ve presented. But if anything, I’m renewing that offer, Miss Beckett. I am more determined than ever not to lose this chance. And as for the cost of your room and board …”

“Yes?” she asked.

“If you agree to sit for me, then if you wish, like your previous employer, I can deduct the cost of a room from your wages.”

“And if I don’t agree to sit for you?”

“I’ll stubbornly insist on helping you. You can attribute it to a guilty conscience, since I’m the villain who lured you into a carriage and potentially compromised your reputation.”

“You are hardly a villain! But I don’t want to be in anyone’s debt.”

“Then don’t be. You can simply repay me whenever it’s possible. If you want, you can find something you like better and live wherever you wish. …”

There was a long pause as she nervously reached up to try to smooth down a cold, wet curl that had strayed onto her cheek. “I like it here.”

“Then you should have your tea while it’s still hot, and we can see about a satisfying dinner for us both.”

“Dinner? I have never eaten dinner alone with a man, Mr. Hastings. I’m not sure if it’s …”

“Proper?” he completed her sentence. “You have to eat, Miss Beckett. After all, we have a chaperone, so we’re hardly alone. If you’d like, we can add to the party and see if Rutherford is home. Michael hates surprises, but I’m sure he won’t mind this one.”

“I fail to see how eating with two men I am unrelated to would improve things, Mr. Hastings.” She shook her head slowly but started to smile at his obvious efforts to accommodate her sensibilities. “No, that was foolish of me. You’ve already saved my life and I can’t keep insisting that it isn’t proper to trust you.”