“It’s not a bribe,” he assured her. “More like a trade. You’d be doing me a service, and I’d be compensating you for your time. I wouldn’t ask you if I wasn’t…” He couldn’t bring himself to say it—to reveal the depths of his desperation. “I wouldn’t ask if I thought I had another option,” he amended.
She paced in front of him, the emerald silk swishing around her feet like waves churning along the shore. He could almost see her weighing her desire to use the tailor’s shop against her resolve to avoid trouble.
“No,” she said at last. “As much as I’d like to help, I can’t. Do you imagine for one second that my parents would permit me to spend the night alone with a bachelor? And if anyone learned of our little arrangement—innocent or not—my name would be trampled in the mud like primroses after a foxhunt.”
“You were wandering the streets alone on the night we met,” he countered. “If you managed to escape your house once, surely you could do it again.”
“That’s different,” she said. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
He arched a brow at that. She may not have been breaking any laws, but she clearly had a few secrets of her own. “I’m not asking you to do anything wrong either.”
She held out her palms helplessly. “I’m sorry, Reese. I know you’re convinced that I can help, but I can’t. And I can’t risk my whole future and my family’s good name just to prove that to you.” She shook her head regretfully. “I must go.”
Despair hovered, threatening to smother him like a shroud. He couldn’t—and wouldn’t—force Miss Kendall to spend a night with him.
But he couldn’t let her leave without playing his very last card, which wasn’t a card at all. “Wait,” he said. He reached behind the base of the birch tree and picked up the single rose he’d cut from his garden that morning. The yellow blossom, large as a saucer, had reminded him of her—bold and open, but soft, too. And the petals, brilliant gold with hints of orange at the edges, were as fresh as the sunrise. As warm as her smile.
He said none of those things, of course, as he gave her the flower, opting instead for, “This is for you.”
Her eyes grew wide and her lips parted. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, holding it up in the moonlight. “I’ve never seen a rose quite like this. Did you find it in Lady Rufflebum’s garden?”
He shook his head. “It’s from Warshire Manor.”
“You have a garden?” she asked, as if he’d piqued her curiosity.
“I’m not certain you could call it a garden. More like a wasteland. A colorless collection of dead bushes and shriveled flowers.”
“But this rose,” she said, twirling the stem between her fingertips.
“It was the only blossom on the bush. Probably the one living thing in the whole damned place.”
“Truly?” she asked, intrigued.
He took a step closer, determined to memorize the gentle slope of her nose and the bowed shape of her lips. He didn’t blame her for refusing to help him. But if he wasn’t ever going to see her again, he might as well leave her with the truth. “In a sea of decay and death, that rose was a stubborn spot of sunshine—and it reminded me of you.”
He shoved his hands deep in his pockets and swallowed a mouthful of despair and loneliness. Tried not to think about the endless days and torturous nights that stretched out before him. He inclined his head and said, “Enjoy the rest of your evening,” before turning on his heel and striding away.
He’d almost reached Lady Rufflebum’s back gate when he heard Miss Kendall call out behind him. “Reese. Wait.”
He froze, wondering if he’d wished her voice into his ears. But when he slowly spun around, she was standing there, her chest rising and falling with each breath.
“I still don’t believe that I can help you sleep,” she said, “but I’m willing to try.”
A tiny seed of hope took root inside him. “Thank you,” he said, his voice ragged to his own ears.
Her deep sigh said she was already regretting her decision. “Meet me at the shop on Friday. The same time as last week,” she said smoothly. “We’ll discuss the terms of our … arrangement then.”
“Very well. I look forward to seeing you. On Friday.” He was already counting the hours. “Good night, Miss Kendall.”
She looked down at the yellow rose she held and smiled in spite of herself. “Good night.” He remained standing there, watching as she gracefully turned and walked toward the house. When she glanced back at him, it felt like the sun had peeked through the clouds. “Oh, and Reese?” she said, as if she’d almost forgotten something. Something important.
His heart hammered. “Yes?”
“You may call me Sophie.” She shot him a dazzling smile before she disappeared into the night like a nymph leaving the mortal world for her mystical realm.
Chapter 6
On Friday evening, at the conclusion of the Debutante Underground meeting, Sophie presented to Madam Laurent a pot of bright periwinkle asters nestled in a thick bunch of deep green leaves. Smiling at the dress-shop owner, she said, “On behalf of all our members, I’d like to thank you for allowing us to meet here for the last several weeks. You’ve been so generous.”
The ladies sitting around the long table in the back room of the dress shop nodded and clapped appreciatively.
“But we’ve imposed on you for far too long,” Sophie continued, “and I’m pleased to announce that starting next week, we’ll be meeting in a vacant building just down the block. It’s the old tailor’s shop, and I’ve arranged for us to use it on Friday evenings. So, enjoy your week, and I look forward to welcoming you to our new location next time.”
Everyone murmured excitedly as they filed out. Sophie quickly set the room to rights and called good night to Madam Laurent and Ivy before slipping out the door and heading down the alley toward the tailor’s—and her rendezvous with Reese.
Each time she thought about seeing him again, her nerves stretched tight and her skin prickled. Partly because she had no idea what he expected of her. It wasn’t that she feared him. If he’d wanted to harm her or take advantage of her, he could have done so the first night they’d met or shortly after, on the night of the ball. But he’d been a gentleman. A grumpy gentleman, to be sure, but always respectful of boundaries—and of her.
The truth was that much of her nervousness was born out of anticipation. She wanted to see him again, even though she knew she shouldn’t feel that way.
That was why she’d been determined to resist his pleas, his bribes, and his silver tongue. She’d been unyielding as an oak, in fact, right up to the moment when he’d given her the rose. Then her resolve had blown away like dandelion seeds in the wind. In that moment, she’d caught the briefest glimpse of the man underneath all the despair and pain. He’d been honest and kind—almost poetic.
But she’d seen something else in him too—an appreciation for nature’s power and beauty. Anyone who could see the world that way was not beyond saving.