Whispers in the Reading Room (14 page)

He looked nonplussed. “I’ll be paying her salary, of course. Don’t worry about that.”

“That is not exactly—”

Completely ignoring her, he motioned to a box of items on the kitchen counter. “Bridget never had cause to do much cooking for me, but she says she does know how to make a few things until we decide about a cook.”

Lydia glanced from Bridget to Mr. Marks to Bridget again. Though the maid was sitting quietly, there was a look in her eyes that told Lydia she knew exactly how Lydia was feeling.

Seeing that helped embolden her.

“Ah, no. Mr. Marks, you may not simply begin managing me.”

“You said we were friends, didn’t you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. But not the kind who would—”

“Then I am doing this for you in friendship. That’s the conclusion I have come to, and the least you can do is tell me thank you.”

“Sir. Forgive me, but I fear you are misunderstanding the definition of friendship.”

“I understand the meaning of the word well. Friendship is the mutual affectionate relationship between two or more people.”

“I was referring to our actual relationship, not the definition found in Webster’s dictionary.”

His statement stung because it reminded her of how much she hadn’t actually been making friends, instead memorizing definitions and reading about characters.

However, even though she might not have had much actual experience in making friends, even she knew his high-handedness was beyond the pale. “We need to talk, Mr. Marks.”

He looked her over, seemed to contemplate that for a moment, then turned to the maid. “Bridget, go upstairs and check on Lydia’s mother.”

After standing and giving him a brief curtsey, she asked, “Will there be anything else?”

“I imagine Mrs. Bancroft will let you know what she would like done.”

“Very well.”

“But, please do inform Hunt if you have need of anything else. He should be stopping by in three hours or so.”

After nodding to Mr. Marks, Bridget sent a sympathetic smile Lydia’s way before heading up the stairs.

The moment they were alone, Lydia glared at her new, unsolicited benefactor, who was far exceeding the kind of help she had thought to accept when she imagined he might have returned the night before. “Mr. Marks, I must point out that your heavy-handed ways are particularly inappropriate.”

“It’s Sebastian, remember?”

“Fine. Sebastian, this is most irregular. I simply cannot accept this kind of help.”

“Lydia, now that your engagement is over, you need to have a plan. At least as much of one as you can afford to have. You made it clear the other night that you did not want my assistance, but I am sure you are over that by now. Let me help.”

“I will formulate a plan of action,” she countered, hardly caring that she sounded particularly supercilious. “But in my own time. Not yours.”

“The way I see it, you don’t have that kind of time. You need to work at the library, pay your bills, not lose any more of your mother’s possessions—”

“I know all that. Of course I know that.”

“Your mother expects things to be like they used to be. And how much more can you afford to pawn or sell without your walls being completely bare?”

She felt herself pale at his words. Perhaps it was because they were so brutally honest. Perhaps it was the process of actually hearing her circumstances uttered in the bright light of day.

Whatever the reason, she felt dizzy.

He patted her on the back. Rather forcefully too. “For goodness’ sake, breathe.”

Obediently, she inhaled. It helped her flow of air, but not the way she felt about the conversation.

With his eyes focused intently on her, Sebastian waited for her to gain her bearings.

Only then did he bark a question. “Am I right, Lydia? Did I surmise your circumstances correctly?”

She ached to throw him out again. To tell him that he was absolutely wrong. But more than either of those things, she ached for her life to get easier.

And, it seemed, the only way that was going to happen was if she decided to accept his help. After all, no one else had been running forward to do that. And she had felt so alone.

“What is this Bridget like?”

“Like?” He blinked. “She’s a good woman and hard worker. Intensely loyal.”

“I hope my mother finds her satisfactory.”

“You had best make sure your mother minds her tongue. I won’t have her hurting my favorite maid’s feelings.”

He sounded so protective. “You sound as if you know her well.” She wondered what, exactly, Bridget was to him. Did she even want to know?

“She has been my personal maid for two years now. I value her judgment and her discretion.”

“If she is so valued, why are you asking her to work for me?”

“Because you are in need, Lydia. Young ladies of your station should not be venturing about without a proper escort or, at the very least, a maid.”

“But still—”

“Lydia, don’t be so stubborn. Accept Bridget’s help. At least temporarily.”

“What will you do? Do you have another woman in your employ whom you can trust?”

Something flickered in his eyes. “You truly care about that, don’t you?”

She dared not contemplate as to why she was so intrigued by his feelings. “Yes, I think I do.”

He smiled. “Because we are friends.”

“Yes. Because, I suppose, we are friends.” It was becoming terribly apparent that arguing any further about Bridget’s employ was neither going to make anything change nor change her circumstances. He was right. Most ladies of her station did employ at least one housemaid.

She might as well accept Bridget’s presence with grace.

“Then, well, I suppose I should accept your offer. Thank you. I will do my best to see that Bridget is treated kindly.”

“Thank you.” He smiled. “Now, please tell me. When are you going to the library today?”

“Um, I wasn’t. This is Sunday, remember? The library isn’t open. I was about to make a pot of tea . . .” She didn’t want to admit her mother no longer attended church services, too embarrassed to go without new clothes. Lydia’s wardrobe had been kept updated, but she did not care to face any stares given her broken engagement.

“I’ll make you some tea. Go tell your mother good-bye. Then we’ll go for a walk. Fresh air will do you good.”

He was bossy. And too forward. And too, well, everything. Except what Jason had said he was—trouble. Surely her ex-fiancé could not have been more wrong. And she certainly wasn’t going to tell Sebastian about Jason’s bizarre visit last night.

Besides, she’d given up wondering why this man was in her life. Too much had happened to look a gift horse in the mouth.

And, well, Mr. Sebastian Marks was growing on her. If she were
to be honest with herself, he’d been growing on her for quite some time. They were much alike, and few people were much like her. It was time to let down her guard and accept his friendship. To do anything else would be a mistake.

And with that, she went upstairs to check on her mother, introduce herself more fully to Bridget, and get ready for a walk on the arm of her handsome benefactor.

CHICAGO TIMES-COURIER

From Mid-January 1894

Reported by Benson Gage

This reporter has become aware of more than one gentleman who has been seen leaving Camp Creek Alley with roughed-up clothing and visible bruises. Either the area is even more unsafe than previously thought, or the clubs that abound have become even more dangerous than previously suspected. Perhaps it is both.

S
he was charming,” Lydia proclaimed with a laugh. “Charming and inventive.”

“She was a busybody and inappropriate,” Sebastian countered as they walked out of the library three days later. The cloudy day hinted of snow, and the temperatures, combined with the wind, made Lydia long to stay inside with vats of hot tea and a down quilt. “Jane Austen’s Emma was not a woman of character.”

“Of course she was,” she countered, just as a burst of wind rushed through the buildings and practically pulled off her hat. “Oh!” She reached up and planted one hand on the back of it, hoping to keep it in place.

“Has your hat pin become loose?” He glanced around. Perhaps he could pull her back into the library and help her resituate it.

As if she could read his mind, she shook her head. “My bonnet is secure.”

“I think that is wishful thinking in this wind.”

“I’ll be fine and my hat will be too.” A teasing glint appeared in her eyes. “I find the wind refreshing.”

“Indeed. Much like Emma,” he said sarcastically.

“She wasn’t that bad.”

Sebastian noticed that her lips twitched. “You may say that, but we both know you are giving her qualities she didn’t possess.” He raised his eyebrows. “You know I’m right. Simply agree with me so that we may end this conversation.”

“Very well. I agree.” As usual, she looked put upon.

He stood by her side as she carefully locked the library’s door before placing the keys securely back into her purse. “Sebastian, do you still want to have supper together?”

Tender feelings he hadn’t known he possessed filtered through him as he stepped forward to fasten the top two buttons of her cloak. As he felt the material, he wished it were of better quality and thicker.

He wished that she would accept a gift of a cloak even more. But of course she would not.

He was going to have to feel hopeful about what she had given him over the past three days. Her smiles, her time. And, little by little, her trust. Since he was a man who usually trusted no one, earning her trust felt like a wondrous gift.

“Of course I still want to have supper with you,” he said as he held out his arm for her to take. “Why else would I be here?”

“For the last two days, you simply escorted me home.”

“It was on my way.”

“I think not.”

“I wanted to check on Bridget,” he said as he took care to be on the outside of the sidewalk, near the worst of the ice and grime that was piled on the streets.

“Really?” One eyebrow arched. “You barely spoke with her five minutes.”

“Bridget and I are not in the habit of entering into lengthy conversations.”

“Your conversation still seemed particularly short.”

He was tired of trying to think of reasons that made no sense. “Didn’t you say you were pleased with her work?”

“Of course I did. She is wonderful. So organized and pleasant, and she is even able to keep my mother in line.”

“Perhaps I should give her a raise. It sounds as if she deserves one.”

She laughed before quickly covering her mouth. “Don’t make me smile at such things. It isn’t right.”

“I will try not to.” He was prevented from teasing her further when they passed Sergio Vlas. Grinning at Sebastian, he stepped closer. Sebastian tensed, wondering what he was doing in this neighborhood, ready to intervene if the other man dared to speak to Lydia.

However, Sergio only inclined his head and walked by.

Sebastian relaxed. He didn’t think Sergio would ever be disrespectful to a lady of quality, but he did fear that he might let slip something about the Silver Grotto. He wasn’t ready for Lydia to know anything beyond what he’d told her—that he was in business downtown.

After they entered the Hartman, he escorted Lydia to the dining
room. With much fanfare, the staff seated them at the best table, causing several of the other diners to turn their way.

Usually Sebastian simply had a tray delivered to his room. He didn’t like to feel eyes on him while he ate, and he rarely wanted to take the time to enjoy a leisurely meal.

For that matter, until lately—very lately—he hadn’t even been in the hotel at this time of the early evening. Usually he was working hard at the club and eagerly waiting for the sun to set so business would begin.

Therefore, he was of a mind to savor the rare, leisurely meal in public. He enjoyed seeing the twin spots of color appear on Lydia’s cheeks as the maître d’ placed a napkin in her lap and the assistant servers filled their glasses with water.

After he ordered beef filets for the both of them, accompanied by a course of soup and fish, Lydia looked more relaxed and was smiling at him in a direct way.

“You spoil me.”

“Hardly.” She had no idea the things he wished to do for her.

She dimpled. “I’m not going to argue with you because I’ve learned that it is a futile exercise.”

“It seems I am making progress in our relationship.”

“I’ve learned that it’s easier to simply let you have your way.”

“That’s what I said,” he replied, unable to keep from smiling smugly. “We have made progress.”

“May I simply tell you thank you?”

He inclined his head as their waiter brought them delicate bowls filled with French onion soup laced with sherry. As far as he was concerned, seeing her smile was all the thanks he needed.

“Eat, Lydia. The chef’s soup is usually delicious.”

He watched her delicately spoon a small portion, blow on it, then
taste. When she closed her eyes in appreciation, he picked up his own spoon. He wasn’t especially hungry, but it wouldn’t do to simply stare while she ate.

“Excuse me, Marks. We need to have a word.”

Sebastian stilled as he turned to the voice. It was Jeffrey Galvin, and Vincent had obviously delivered the message Sebastian had become too distracted by Lydia to deliver himself. “I think not.”

“It won’t take but a moment.”

“This is neither the time nor the place,” Sebastian warned.

“I have no choice but to speak with you here and now. You won’t let me back into your club.”

As he felt Lydia’s attention move from her soup to Galvin’s words, a slow pain pierced his chest. It seemed no matter how hard he tried, his life was always, always going to infringe upon his wants.

He forced himself to answer Galvin as quietly and concisely as possible. “You have been refused admittance because you now owe a substantial amount of money, one over any limit I allow. I am sure my man Hunt told you that on my behalf. When your debt is paid, you will be welcomed again,” he lied. Galvin would never be welcomed back to the Grotto after daring to speak to him in front of Lydia.