Chapter Seventeen
Evans Principle Theta: Kindness is not the same as weakness, even though others may try to interpret it as such. Be as kind to yourself as you are to everyone else.
After the visit from Withersby’s henchman, Alex furiously tried to figure out how to get Honoria out of this situation. He closed himself up in his study for over an hour trying to puzzle through scenarios: convince Honoria to stop investigating the company and publishing her findings, convince Withersby it wasn’t Honoria’s doing and have him call off his dogs, or perhaps simply guard Honoria around the clock and fend off whatever attackers were sent her way.
He was so preoccupied with these thoughts that he didn’t find out about her departure until lunchtime, when he went to find her.
The note she’d left for his mother simply said she felt she was needed back at the shop. But he couldn’t help doubting the coincidence that she left so soon after his unpleasant meeting with Withersby’s man. She’d left no note for him. Not a good sign. By now, she was miles away. He could only imagine what must be running through her mind. How much had she heard? He must look like the worst kind of villain. He needed to go after her, and he sped out the door unthinking.
Only the sight of the road managed to jolt him out of his tunnel vision. Their coach was taking her to London at that very moment. His best chance of catching her was . . . on horseback. A hollow pit formed in his gut as he looked in the direction of the stables, his mind doing calculations on speed and power. There was nothing for it. His mild Proserpine didn’t have the strength and stamina for this purpose. Even as he felt chills run down his spine and out to his extremities, he knew he not only had to ride like the devil but on the animal he now thought of as the devil incarnate: Andrew’s enormous stallion. Black as hell and just as fiery. Zeus. On Zeus, there was a chance he could catch up to the coach before it reached London. There was just as much chance he’d break his fool neck. But it was worth the risk. He had to get to Nora, had to face her wrath, and maybe, with God’s grace, convince her of the truth.
The stable master called undecipherable warnings to him as he rode away. Control was an illusion. He hadn’t been able to control Withersby . . . or the way the truth shot out in unruly directions. He couldn’t control what would come out about Andrew’s romantic relationships. Zeus wasn’t in his control; he felt it clearly in the horse’s muscles, in his own panicky but ineffectual grip on the reins. None of that mattered. All that mattered was getting to Nora.
She didn’t hear the swift hoofbeats until they sped right past the carriage. Alarm gripped her as the coach pulled up suddenly. She’d been told that highway bandits were rare on this stretch but not impossible. Then she heard his voice shouting for the carriage to halt. Heard a heavy thud, followed by the sound of something landing heavily on the ground. Followed by an awful groan. His.
She couldn’t get the door open fast enough. The driver was already on the ground by him. She gripped the doorjamb as she gingerly lowered herself to the ground and then ran to his side as fast as her skirts allowed. She grabbed his hand, finding it warm but slack.
“My God, Alex, what happened?! Alex!”
“I saw it all, miss,” said the driver. “ ’Twas Zeus, miss. Caught his foot in a hole and slammed into yonder tree. They were flying when they wheeled so it was a right brutal hit.”
She could see the beast, huge and intimidating as night itself, stomping nearby. Clearly, Zeus was still shaken by the accident himself. Fortunately, he didn’t appear to be limping. Such a stumble could easily lame the animal, which equaled a death sentence. The wild look in his eye suggested he might bolt at any second, but the rest of him showed remarkable restraint, as if he knew his place was here.
Focusing on the horse gave her a moment to brace herself before looking down at the rider, at Alex. During the carriage ride, she’d resolved never to see him again, damn his bloody hide. She’d never been more certain of anything in her life. He’d nearly destroyed her. Everything from him—every word, every moment, every sensation—everything had been a lie. And she would never let him near her again.
But when she heard those sickening thuds just as she realized it was him, all her rationality and anger and resolve disappeared. Her heart seized. Fear for him . . . and love for him . . . gripped her so hard she thought she might go mad. It was a long moment before she could bring herself to look at his face. Her hands shook as she ran them over his throat lightly, looking for a pulse. She found one, fast but steady, yet his eyes remained closed.
The driver came up and handed her some salts he’d found in a traveling case. When she held them to his nose, he shook his head briefly and lethargically.
“Alex! Alex, can you hear me?” Desperately, she patted his cheek and brushed hair from his forehead. She wanted to shake him awake—rather violently, given her anxiety—but couldn’t risk causing him further injury.
He moaned as his hands reached for the one touching his face.
“It’s me, Alex, it’s Nora. Please, open your eyes.”
He mumbled something she couldn’t hear. She bent to his lips and whispered, “Say again, please. I’m here with you. What can I do?”
Then she heard it. No more than a breath.
“I’m sorry, my love,” he said.
She sank back on her heels and burst into tears. Between her sobs, she said haltingly, “You—you have to be all right. I—I can’t—I cannot bear to—lose you.”
He opened his eyes and smiled, actually smiled, at her.
“You cannot get rid of me that easily, love.”
She could not bring herself to smile in response, but the sight of him conscious eased her nerves tremendously.
After perhaps as much as an hour, she and the driver helped him to stand, and he seemed to suffer no serious injury. The driver assisted him matter-of-factly into the carriage and went to hitch Zeus to the back. Only after they were safely ensconced did she realize how much they must have revealed—she’d used his given name, for heaven’s sake. Her face burned with shame.
He rested his head back with a groan, wiping away all thoughts of external scrutiny.
“If it would make you feel better to lie down, don’t mind me.”
“No, being vertical is definitely better.” He shifted, though, and closed his eyes only to reopen them almost immediately. “Oh, mustn’t do that.”
“What happened?”
“When I close my eyes, I feel nausea. Not a good sign. A tutor at Eton always warned us during cricket that we should watch for nausea, dizziness, and blurred vision if we ever caught a good hard knock on the head. And we should avoid falling asleep if we do have those symptoms.” He groaned again, also not a good sign, considering the general British male’s “stiff upper lip.”
“I hate to sound uninformed, but what would that mean exactly?”
“It would mean I have a concussion, a brain injury.” He spoke flatly and stared at the ceiling of the compartment.
She gasped and made to move toward him. “That sounds serious. We must get you to a physician!”
“Not much a physician can do at the moment. There is no definitive treatment for it, except to immobilize the skull and give the brain time to heal. Some surgeons might even suggest drilling a hole in the skull, but I would prefer to avoid such a course. I am reassured by the fact that I have not lost consciousness.”
“But you did! When you first fell off Zeus, you were unconscious for several moments.” Several awful, awful moments.
He cursed and winced as the carriage hit a deep rut, jostling its occupants.
“We can’t continue on, Alex! We must get you out and give you time to recuperate.”
“Where? On the side of the open road? We will arrive in London soon enough; I shall rest at Devin House.” As she humphed loudly, he added with a wink, “You can nurse me there more comfortably than here.”
Suddenly, the painful facts that had been driven from her mind by concern for him rushed back with visceral clarity. She’d been so sure that the next time she saw him, if ever, she would not speak with him. So much for her resolve. She’d thought she couldn’t possibly bring herself to acknowledge his lying, deceptive existence. And yet none of it mattered when she saw him lying unconscious, when she feared the very real possibility of losing him. Her capacity for self-deception was apparently bottomless. She looked out the window at green fields and wildflowers as she considered a complex onslaught of emotions, guilt foremost among them. He had come after her. When she admitted the truth about her marriage, he had forgiven her unreservedly. He hadn’t made the truth public knowledge, which he easily could have done.
He’d said he loved her.
Yet she couldn’t trust any of it anymore, could she? How much of it had been faked? Was it all just a cruel and elaborate ruse?
When she finally looked back at him, she noticed his eyes were closed, his body slumped.
“Alex! Alex, wake up!” She rushed to grab his hand and pat it. When her gentle ministrations didn’t work, she slapped his cheek hard enough to sting her hand but not to rock his head. He raised his head a fraction, and his eyelids fluttered. “Alex, it’s me. It’s Nora. Can you hear me?”
He opened his eyes—thank God!—and she held his head in her hands, forcing him to look her in the eye. “Stay awake, Alex. Stay with me. Do you hear me? Stay!”
He nodded slowly.
“I’m sorry, Nora. I never wanted to lie to you.”
“Leave that for now.” She brushed hair away from his face, her heart seizing when he laid his cheek in her palm. “We’ll discuss it later. Right now, we need to get you to London, and I need you to stay awake. Talk to me.”
“About what?” he said sluggishly.
“Anything.” She cast about for a subject, any subject that might keep him talking. “Tell me what possessed you to get on that demonic horse. You know better.”
“Zeus is the fastest horse in the stable, by far. He was the only one who could catch up with you. Under regular circumstances, I would not take him, but I did not have a choice.”
Didn’t have a choice. How often had he used that reasoning? she wondered. Surely, that’s the excuse he would give for deceiving her. And yet here he was, having braved an animal of which he was terrified and getting injured in the process. For her. What a difficult life, indeed, if he didn’t have free will over any of the events that got him here.
The drive to London seemed endless and the roads abominably maintained. As they turned onto a smoother avenue, she noticed homes built more closely together. She kept him talking about nearly anything and everything, from his next planned speech in Parliament to the building of the railways to the actual costs of tea in China. She also managed not to touch him again. As much as it hurt her not to, she still could not trust him one whit. She’d get him to Devin House and see him properly cared for, and then she would sever their connections completely.
“Hit me,” he said abruptly, interrupting her thoughts.
“What?”
“Hit me. As hard as you can.” He looked clear-eyed and somber. Those eyes she’d found irresistible were a hard jade green, and she so wanted to give in. “It won’t erase the awful things I’ve done to you, but it might make you feel better.”
“You’re certifiably insane.”
“Do it. I deserve it.”
“That is indisputable, but I cannot.” She tore her gaze from his and folded her arms tightly across her chest. “You are already seriously injured. In any case, it would solve nothing, and the notion of touching you, even in violence, is too disgusting for words.”
He closed his eyes, but she could not help feeling he wasn’t done. They couldn’t get to Devin House soon enough. And yet, she wasn’t sure what made her heart ache worse—his utter perfidy or the imminent loss of him—and she hated herself for her weakness.
“Please, Mrs. Duchamp, you have been most kind throughout this journey,” he said without a trace of irony and, he hoped, only a little begging, when they arrived at Devin House. “It would be a great favor if you could assist me in getting settled. I fear I am still unsteady, and you seem adept at handling emergencies.”
She nodded tightly, and his heart thrilled at the tiny victory. He could not let her leave without offering her an explanation. Despite the many servants available, including his very capable butler Johnson, he made clear she was his guide and helper, and the others acceded to her directions. Soon enough, he was comfortably arranged on a sofa in the library with a copious tea placed before him.
“You must stay, Mrs. Duchamp, at least for tea. You have done so much and cannot have eaten in hours. It is the least I can offer as your incapacitated host.” The footman left the library doors almost closed.
Again, she replied with a single, decisive nod, unsmiling. In all her attentiveness, she’d spoken directly to his staff and spared only minimal words for him. Perched on the edge of her chair, she served them both tea. She made both without sugar or milk and placed his tea and a biscuit within his reach; he struggled to remember when she might have learned his preferences—which she’d captured exactly—especially since he did not recall learning hers.
“Nora,” he began, but she flinched at his use of her name. He closed his eyes against the sight, damning himself for his dishonesty. There was no other way but to spit out the truth before she abandoned him.
“It is my brother, Honoria. Withersby is threatening to expose my brother for sodomy, which I am sure you know is punishable by death.” He said it in a rush, the words sounding strange even to him.
“Are you sure, then, that your brother is . . . has . . .”
“Fool that I was, I hired Withersby to keep track of my brother when he first left home. Andrew is so fragile and naïve, you see. My mother was beside herself with worry the first month he was gone. I just wanted to make sure he was safe and did not run into trouble. Three months gone, reports came in that Andrew had formed a very close relationship with one of his former school chums, that they went everywhere together, that they were inseparable, that they eschewed the company of women. Then came the reports of visits to bathhouses of nefarious reputation.”
Her brows drew together. “But that’s all still speculation.”
“Somehow, Withersby managed to obtain a few photographs of them together. I have not seen all of them, but what I have seen is suggestive enough to raise suspicion. And my brother cannot be subject to suspicion.”
Her breathing was slow and deliberate. He watched her mobile face as she considered.
“I fail to see,” she said finally, “what that has to do with me and Evans Books.”
He forced himself to look her in the eye as he admitted, “Withersby ordered me to discredit you or else he would make public my brother’s disgrace. Andrew could be arrested, imprisoned, even hanged, and the scandal would destroy my mother.”
“Does your brother know all you do to protect him?”
“Of course not. I would never presume to talk with him about this . . . proclivity. He is my brother, and it is my job to protect him. Without fanfare. Without acknowledgment.”
“If you were my brother, I’d want to know what you know about me. I’d want to be told what slander people sling about me.”
“Funny, you care so much about what other people think.”
“That’s not true! I don’t—” She caught herself in the midst of her instinctive reply. And she thought about it. She always said it didn’t matter what other people thought of her . . . but it did. So much so that she deliberately camouflaged herself in the middle ground, not sharing herself, not standing out in any way, good or bad. She realized she’d rather be one of the faceless crowd because she couldn’t bear to put her best face forward and be found wanting. If she presented banality, there was no harm in being perceived as banal. If she aspired to more, then she might be deemed a failure.
“Your devotion to your brother is admirable, my lord, but the fact remains that you lied to me.”
“Yes, but I swear to you, Honoria, that I had nothing to do with the break-in. I was not a decoy. I was not using you.”
“I would like to believe you, but now I can’t trust anything coming from your lips.”
“You must trust me, Nora. I did mean to investigate whether you were the source of these papers, and I was ordered to stop you if you were. But since the moment I met you, I knew I would not stop anything you wanted to do, even if I could. I would never deliberately harm you. I have to protect my brother, but I will find a way to protect you both. I can convince him to stay in Greece or some other welcoming nation for an indefinite period. He enjoys travel; I shall continue to fund him abroad and set him up in some honest work.”
“You lied to me,” she repeated.
“Yes.” That was all he said. No apology. No expression of remorse. In the ensuing silence, he could see by her shifting expression that she accurately interpreted his tacit accusation. He wasn’t the only one who’d lied.
“Yes, I lied too,” she said, pacing to the far shelves, putting a display case and armchair between them. “But my lies were for self-protection. They weren’t aimed at destroying you.”
“Ah, but you have destroyed me, my love. You have utterly devastated me. You drive me to distraction. You are a cancer in my brain, and you lied too.”
He walked to her and laid his palm on her soft cheek.
“And yet, once you gave me the truth,” he said, “I sealed it within and kept your secret as my own.”
She moved away, nodding, but then added, “So you say. So far. All this time, you’ve been spying on me, seducing me. You had me convinced that you wanted me. I knew . . . I knew it couldn’t be real. You are quite the master thespian. And I am a desperate, dried-up fool. I hope touching me wasn’t too much of a hardship.”
“Do not do that. Do not dare doubt my affection for you. Every kiss was sincere. Every touch was honest. I love you.” His frustration grew exponentially as he followed her, as the impossibility of his position sank in. There was no way she could trust him now.
“Sincerity? Honesty? Love? What do you know of any of that?”
“I know that one cannot possibly simulate this.” He pulled her to him for a hard, frantic kiss. He focused all of his energy into this one kiss, hoping to communicate all his longing, all his regret, all his love from his body to hers. He desperately hoped her body would recognize the truth her brain wouldn’t. She leaned into him, her arms around his neck pulling him closer. She opened to his kiss, and their tongues thrust and parried. His hands roamed her body with abandon, and he relished the sighs and moans coming from her throat.
But then, he felt her unmistakable rejection. She didn’t pull away from him, didn’t push against his chest to force him away. She didn’t make a single sound of protest. She simply stopped. First her hands stopped moving, stopped clinging. Then, inch by inch, her body shut down. The tension he’d felt in her back and shoulders as she’d strained to embrace him tighter and tighter—all of that energy slowly dissipated until the fine muscles were again masked by soft flesh. Finally, her mouth, that unbearably sweet and mobile mouth, went slack too. It wasn’t like holding a statue, which would be rigid and unyielding and defiant. It was rather like holding a dead quail, limp and lifeless and empty. He released her slowly, reluctantly. Even her face was devoid of life. At that moment, he’d have much preferred her eyes flashing fire bolts at him and her face contorted by fury. What he saw in her eyes instead was something horribly close to despair.
She backed away from him yet again, looking like a frightened doe. When she looked toward the large windows, he suspected she was trying to gauge whether she could safely drop to the ground if she went through one of them. When he reached his hand out to touch her face, he caught the faintest twitch of a grimace and stopped. She looked sad and worn. And he had done this to her.
“Every word, every touch, every—” Her voice broke. “It’s all corrupted. Every memory is tainted with betrayal—mine as much as yours. It’s all ruined, and I can’t bear it. I believe it would be best for me to leave now,” she said quietly, barely above a whisper.
“But, Nora—”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Lord Devin.” Then he heard it. The barely controlled quavering in her voice. She was broken, and she didn’t want him to see how severely.
“Listen to me—” he tried again.
She brought her eyes to meet his.
“Please,” she said. “I beg of you. Just leave me be.” He couldn’t ignore how much it cost her. The Nora he had come to know never begged, not even in jest. And he had done this to her.
He bowed to her and said, “I am deeply sorry.” He kissed her hand and released it. When she reached the door, she looked back, and his heart stopped.
“You deserve more than this,” he said.
She nodded one last time and walked out, shutting the library doors firmly behind her.
When she was back in the Devin carriage on her way home, her body gave way and she sank to the floor. She sobbed uncontrollably. From the very beginning, she told herself not to trust him. She’d known that his pretty words were empty tools of seduction. She’d known that every smile and flirtation and piercing comment was likely well rehearsed and as substantial as sugar floss. But then he’d really talked to her. And then he’d kissed her as if that were his whole reason for being on this earth. And then he’d declared that he loved her. And her instincts went awry. How could she trust herself now? Her judgment, so unfailing in business, utterly failed.
Even as she pulled up to Evans Books, she could not purge her thoughts of him. She relived his now-bittersweet kisses, relived what she’d let him do to her, what she’d so enthusiastically done with him. The vivid images in her mind made her want to—! She felt her gorge rising and made it out of the carriage just in time to cast her accounts into the gutter. The bile-filled effluvium was a bitter symbol of the sullied affection she’d been so stupid to indulge in the first place. When the spasms in her gut finally ceased, she stood, tears slipping down her cheeks.
“Honoria! Is that you? We weren’t expecting you for at least a fortnight!” Oh, no. Marissa. She swiped her face with her sleeve in the hope that she could right herself before facing her friend. No such luck. The ever-ebullient Marissa wasn’t one to stand on ceremony. No, Marissa came right around for a hug and peck on the cheek but froze at the sight of her face.
“Are you ill, Honoria? Let’s get you inside, dear.”
“I’m fine, dear. I will be fine.” She clung to Marissa, now quite embarrassed by the show of weakness. “I couldn’t stay away, but then the sight of the shop brought back such terrible memories of how I left it.”
Her friend squeezed her hand and pulled her toward the shop.
“I remember it well. You’ll be amazed at the progress we have made. Devin’s workers are an efficient bunch, and I must say we ladies have acquitted ourselves rather nicely. Even Mr. Clarke got to employ his woodworking skills and now has grand plans for carving new accents for the shelves.”
Honoria allowed herself to be guided into the building. When she saw the showroom, she slowly released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. It was indeed an astounding improvement. The floorboards were clean of debris, although covered in sawdust and shoeprints. The counter had been moved to a more logical spot in the room and completely rebuilt. She could tell they’d tried to restore as much of the original shelving as possible. Best yet, the room smelled of fresh pine.
She tried to blink away the stinging in her eyelids, tried to rein in the fresh tears. The workers tipped their heads in greeting but continued their diligence. The Needlework ladies swarmed around her to welcome her back. “We’ve missed you!” “You’d be so proud!” “You can always count on us!”
As usual, Marissa took charge.
“There will be plenty of time for chatter. Honoria’s just had a long journey. She’ll be wanting tea and quiet, I’m sure. In any case, it’s about time for us to shut down the operation for today.” She raised her voice a bit. “That goes for everyone. Let’s pack up and get home to rest. We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”
Like Marissa, the sisters Helena and Elizabeth lingered after everyone else departed.
“I’ll go make some tea,” Helena said, just before she disappeared into the back. That was a bit of a surprise. Where was Minnie?
The other two ladies led Honoria up the stairs to her sitting room. She noticed they’d quickened their steps past her office downstairs. She had so many questions, but at the moment she dreaded the answers too much to ask. So instead she sank into a plush chair that she didn’t recognize but found immediately comforting.
“Everyone has been so kind,” she said as her eyes welled yet again. “I can’t thank you all enough for doing so much for me.”
Marissa perched on the arm of the chair and put a hand on her shoulder.
“We would do anything for you, Honoria. You know that.”
Yet she didn’t, or at least she hadn’t. How could she have misjudged such good friends? She’d thought herself fundamentally alone in this world, and yet so many people now lavished her with care. So many people had put countless hours into repairs, not just downstairs in the shop but up here as well. Stripped of unnecessary decor—she would wait until later to ask what had been destroyed—the room seemed larger. The walls had been repainted in a soothing mint shade. It was humbling, all this effort just for her, while she’d been cavorting irresponsibly at a country house.
Before she could speak, Marissa added, “And don’t you start on about how you should have been here, how we shouldn’t have, how you’ve neglected your responsibilities, and all that nonsense. You always expect too much of yourself, and you never accept help! It was past time that you allow people to start taking care of you for a spell.”
Helena entered with a loaded tray. “Here, here! Well said, Marissa! It’s been quite fun, too, to have such a physical project. And those workmen are so amusing. One youngster keeps flirting with Elizabeth, teasing her about how well she wields a paintbrush, how masterful her stroke is.”
To her astonishment, the matronly Mrs. Elizabeth Addison, five years a widow and the mother of seven, actually blushed, all the way from the edge where her blond coiffure met her forehead down to the lace at her collar.
“Oh, these whippersnappers are so outrageous,” Elizabeth responded, “but they seem good at heart. I’m thinking of bringing my Vanessa to help us next week.”
“Oh, no, sister. Vanessa would set these boys spinning!” Helena voiced what they all thought as everyone laughed. Even as a child, Elizabeth’s youngest daughter had had a preternatural gift for wrapping men around her little finger. Now, at fifteen, she was learning the art of subtlety. “Let’s save her powers for some future crisis,” the girl’s aunt added with a wink. “We have this well in hand and wouldn’t want to cause any undue distractions.”
It felt calming just to sit with these women, these friends. How had she been so blind to the camaraderie that surrounded her?
When Marissa asked how she wanted her tea, however, she straightened up and said, “Now, now, I’m fully capable of fixing my own tea. Comfort is one thing. Coddling is quite another. In fact, I am the hostess here. Sugar but no milk for you, correct?”
Marissa nodded, smiling, and graciously took the proffered cup and saucer. Her mouth quirked, a sure sign she was about to stir up the conversation.
“So, Honoria, when he visited to check on his crew’s progress last week, your young Lord Devin said you’d be staying out in the country until the end of the month. What happened to cut your trip so short?” All three women seemed to crowd in upon her. Her young Lord Devin.
“Nothing happened, ladies.” She avoided looking anyone in the eye. “I simply couldn’t stay away. As lovely as Sharling Worth is, idleness doesn’t suit me. Neither does running away from my problems.” Well, most of the statement was true, anyhow.
Ever tenacious, Marissa continued with a grin. “I’m rather surprised Lord Devin let you leave. He seems quite . . . protective of you.”
“Oh, yes,” Helena interjected. “Why, just last week he had lots of questions about you—”
“What sort of questions?” Honoria interrupted. Of course, not satisfied with the damage he’d wrought thus far, he had to interrogate her closest associates. What had he let slip in reply? “What did he want to know? What did you tell him?”
Helena looked from Marissa to Elizabeth. For a long moment, none of the women spoke. She simply waited.
“Dear, it’s nothing to get worked up about.” Marissa spoke as if to a child, even going so far as to pat her hand. “For one thing, he asked about the pamphlets. I think he means to help you replace the press.”
Elizabeth chimed in, “We talked a bit about the Needlework for the Needy activities. It seems his mother, Lady Devin, may wish to drum up support among her circle. How fancy would our little club be then!”
“Don’t get your hopes up, ladies,” she replied. “We should not be a nuisance to the Devins. In fact, I’m not comfortable accepting so much of their charity. They’ve done too much already.”
“What happened at Sharling Worth, Honoria?” As always, Marissa went right to the heart of the matter.
She shook her head, unable to speak.
“You need to rest,” Marissa decided. “But this discussion is deferred, not ended. You’ve been through a great deal of upheaval. And, obviously, Lord Devin is intimately involved.” Oh, Marissa, truer words and all that. Intimately involved didn’t begin to describe it. Still, she couldn’t possibly admit to them how completely and humiliatingly she’d been fooled by him.
“This is my shop, Marissa, my home. Do not speak to me as if I’m a petulant child in need of a nap. I will decide how best to manage my business.”
The sisters gaped at her before hurriedly gathering up the empty cups.
“We should be going,” Elizabeth said quickly. “The children will be wondering what’s kept me so late today. Come, Helena, we can share a hack.” Elizabeth gave her a quick embrace and added, “Get some sleep, Honoria. We’ll see you first thing tomorrow.” Helena likewise gave her a quick peck on the cheek before sweeping out after her sister. The look Helena shot to Marissa just before she disappeared was not particularly subtle.
“Just one last thing, dear, and I’ll leave you in peace for the night,” Marissa finally said. “This business has gotten dangerous. There are more factors at play now than in a royal court intrigue. Do not allow yourself to be distracted from what—or who—is important.”
For the first time, she noticed how worn Marissa looked. Her friend was always such a whirlwind of energy and opinions. Yet even her resources were getting stretched to their limit.
“What is important? That is the question of the moment, isn’t it, Marissa? As you said, nothing will be decided tonight. Rest assured, there will be a reckoning, and soon.”
“Take care of yourself, my friend. I have left a small welcoming gift in your closet. Keep it safe and close. I pray you never need it.”
“Thank you.” She kissed Marissa’s cheek and saw her out. She had no answers, and she was barely holding together what little she actually had. But she saw now that she didn’t have to do it alone.