She sighed, and the sound, soft and barely heard, turned his head.
He met her eyes, his gaze unwavering, and waited, unmoving, for her to take the next step. She hovered in the doorway, unable to look away.
And then she stepped into the room, and closed the door behind her.
He straightened as she approached, removing his spectacles and placing them on the pedestal of a large black statue nearby, before he leaned against the base and folded his arms across his wide chest, waiting for her.
Show interest in his interests.
She could do that.
She stopped mere inches from him, looking up at the statue. “This is a fine marble. Have you identified it yet?”
He did not follow her gaze. “It is Apollo.”
“Oh?” The high-pitched squeak grated on her ears. She cleared her throat delicately. “How do you know that? ”
“Because I am an expert in antiquities.”
He was not going to make this easy.
“I see. I suppose I owe you the answer to a question now.”
He turned back to his notebook. “I find I’ve grown tired of that game.”
“Nick.” The sound of his name on her lips surprised them both. He turned back to her. Waited. She stared for a long minute at the place where his collar met the tanned skin of his throat. She spoke to the spot. “I am sorry.”
The only sound in the room was his breathing, slow and steady in the wake of her words, and there was something in its evenness that spurred her on. “I have never told anyone about Minerva House—” She met his curious gaze. “That’s what we call it. The house. The girls.”
She paused, waiting for him to ask questions. When he didn’t, she began speaking—always to the notch in his throat—unwilling to meet his gaze, unwilling to look away entirely. “We had nothing. My father had left and my mother had gone into a … decline. She took to her bed and would go days without eating—without seeing us. And when she did—” She swallowed. No. She couldn’t tell him that. “The servants were not being paid. I’m fairly certain that they were stealing from us. And then, one day, they were gone.”
“How old were you? ”
“Seventeen.” She shook her head, lost in her thoughts. “Jane was the first to arrive. She needed work. Shelter. And I needed someone to help keep the estate running. She was intelligent. Strong. Willing. And she had friends who were in similar straits. Within months, there were half a dozen girls here. All looking to escape something—poverty, family, men; I suppose I was trying to escape something, too.
“If they were willing to work, I was willing to have them. They kept the estate afloat. They tended goats and mucked stalls and tilled land. They worked as hard as the men we’d had before. Harder, even.”
“And you kept them a secret.”
She met his eyes then. “It wasn’t hard. My father was never here. He paid for his life with his winnings when he was flush, with the contents of the house in town—ultimately the house itself—when he was down on his luck.” She stopped, then laughed bitterly.
“And your mother?”
She shook her head, pressing her lips into a straight, thin line as she remembered. “She was never the same after he left. She died soon after Jane arrived.”
He reached for her then.
She did not resist, even as she knew it was wrong—that she should not allow him to hold her. But how could she resist his warm strength and the way it enveloped her? How long had it been since she had been the one held? Since she had been the one to be comforted?
“Why do you do it?”
She turned her head, placing her ear against the crisp wool of his jacket. She did not pretend to misunderstand. “They need me.”
And … as long as they need me, it’s easier to forget that I am alone.
He made an encouraging noise deep in his chest, and it spurred her on. “There are a dozen of them out there—seamstresses and governesses, mothers and wives. One owns a pie shop in Bath. They had nothing when they came to me.”
“You gave them something.”
She was silent for a long while, ultimately pulling out of his arms. When he let her go, she felt a small pang of remorse that he did not resist. “It is all I have ever done well.” She looked up at the statue of Apollo. “I couldn’t keep my father from leaving—and taking my mother with him. Couldn’t keep the estate afloat. But I could help these girls.”
He understood. She could see it in his clear, open gaze.
“I am scared,” she added softly.
“I know.”
“I cannot expect Densmore to support us. I cannot expect him to keep our secrets.”
“Isabel—” He stopped, and she could see that he was choosing his next words carefully. “Who are these girls that you live in fear of their discovery? ”
She stayed quiet.
“Are they married? ”
“Some of them,” she whispered. “They’ve broken the law to come here.” “And you break the law to hide them.”
“Yes.”
“You know you risk James’s reputation. He’s got enough of a scandal to overcome.”
Frustration flared. She did not like to think that it was James who would ultimately suffer for her choices. “Yes.”
“Isabel,” he said, his tone a mix of exasperation and concern, “you cannot shoulder this burden by yourself. It is too much.”
“What do you suggest I do?” She wrapped her arms around herself, defensive. “I will not abandon them.” “You do not have to.”