Whispers in the Reading Room (34 page)

That forced her eyes open again. “Who has come calling?”

“Well, um, quite a few people actually.” In an apologetic voice, she continued. “Mr. Marks is here. As is Mr. Hunt.”

Surely her head must be in a fog. “Sorry?”

“Mr. Marks is determined to see you, miss. You know that he’s not a man to say no to. Please get up.”

Thinking about Sebastian in her house, about everything they’d gone through and what he must want to speak to her about, she shook away the cobwebs in her head, pulled back the covers, and jumped to her feet.

Bridget heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank you, miss. You were beginning to worry me, you were.”

“What about my mother? Is she aware of this?”
Please say no. Please say no.

“I’m afraid so. She is downstairs too.”

Lydia raced to her wardrobe, pulled out her blue-and-white striped shirtwaist.

Bridget neatly pulled it from her hands. “I think your lavender day dress will be more appropriate.”

Lydia shook her head. “It’s hopelessly out of fashion; I never had it updated. And there’s a tear in the hem. And, um, a stain on the bodice.”

“I cleaned the stain, mended the hem, removed the lace, and refashioned the sleeves, miss. It will be just fine for today.”

“You are a marvel. I would love to ask when you had time to see to that, but I think we had best hurry downstairs before my mother makes things worse than they already are.”

Bridget, as usual, was already two steps ahead of her. Holding up Lydia’s chemise, she said, “I think that’s a good idea, Miss Bancroft.”

Less than twenty minutes later, Lydia was walking into her small receiving room, Bridget on her heels. She was so nervous about the group assembled that she didn’t even ask why Bridget was coming downstairs as well.

The moment Sebastian saw her, he crossed the room and took her hands. “Lydia. How are you feeling this morning?”

“Confused. What are you doing here? And shouldn’t you be in bed? Sebastian, you look terrible.”

He brushed aside her concern. “I am perfectly fine.”

“But, Sebastian—”

“I am glad you didn’t keep me waiting long. Hunt and I have several matters to attend to.”

He was making it sound as if she were one item on his list of chores. “I see.” Glancing over at her mother, she said, “Good morning, Momma.”

“Lydia.” She didn’t sound especially happy. Or well.

“Sebastian, what is it?”

“I came to tell you that we mustn’t see each other anymore.”

She blinked. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.” His voice, like his expression, was devoid of emotion.

“You are doing this here? And now?” She wanted to add that the least he could do was speak to her privately and save her from embarrassment.

But then she remembered that Sebastian Marks did little without extreme forethought and care. “What kind of game are you playing?”

“It is for the best. I have realized that I’ve put you in grave danger. I have also been unpardonably selfish. I should have never tried to be your friend. It was wrong of me.”

“But we are engaged.” Terribly aware that Bridget, Mr. Hunt, and her mother were all listening, she said, “Can’t we discuss this later? Or at least someplace else?”

“There is no reason.” He backed up. “You may continue to have Bridget working here. I will be happy to pay her salary.”

She felt as if he’d taken his hand and slapped her across the face. She was so confused and hurt—and stunned.

“Of course I will not have Bridget here.” Feeling painfully awkward, she turned to the pretty maid. “Thank you for caring for me and my mother, but I will no longer have need of your services.”

“Yes, miss.” Bridget nodded, her face an impassive mask. “I will get some things together immediately. I may have to send for the rest.”

“Bridget, no,” Sebastian ordered.

“This is still my house,” Lydia countered. “Now, please leave.” Without a word to her, Bridget walked out of the room and up the stairs.

Turning back to him, dozens of questions burst forth, questions that she had hoped to keep tamped down and hidden. “Why are you doing this?”

“I have already answered. Surely you haven’t already forgotten?”

“I haven’t forgotten one thing. I haven’t forgotten how you wanted to be friends. How you begged me to marry you. How you single-handedly convinced me that everything was going to be all right, even in the midst of so many things going badly.”

“That is why it is best if we never see each other again.” He swallowed before settling his gaze on her again, pure ice in his expression. “This is for the best,” he stated, his voice clipped and eminently formal. “Perhaps one day you will understand.”

“I understand well right now,” she replied, her throat feeling as thick as if a jar of molasses had been poured down it. She continued, barely trusting her voice, but trusting herself to be completely honest with him at a later date even less. “Don’t forget, Mr. Marks, although I have many flaws, the Lord sought to provide me with an exceptionally good brain.”

“Did he? Because you seem to be deliberately misunderstanding the situation. You must agree that I am right.”

She didn’t agree with him at all. But she also knew him well enough not to try to change his mind. “Be sure that I understand everything you are saying.”

“Lydia, you cannot allow this to happen,” her mother said. “You are going to be ruined.”

“I know,” she replied softly, just as Bridget returned downstairs, her small valise in her hands. “But Mr. Marks no longer seems to care about my reputation.”

Without sparing Lydia a glance, Bridget said, “Mr. Marks, I’ll wait for you outside.”

Still not looking directly at Lydia, he said, “There is no need to wait. I am ready to take my leave now.” He turned on his heel and walked out to the door, opening it without a second’s pause. Or looking back at her.

It was as if he couldn’t wait to leave her side. It was as if everything that had occurred between them had never happened.

“Miss Bancroft, I almost forgot to give you this,” Mr. Hunt said as he handed her a thick envelope. “Please accept this with, uh, Mr. Marks’ regards.”

“What is it?”

Looking pained, Mr. Hunt said, “It’s several thousand dollars.”

She almost dropped the envelope. It was a princely sum. “Please say you jest.”

“Mr. Marks wanted to make sure you are taken care of. Open it, miss.”

Though she didn’t want to even hold the envelope, she did as Mr. Hunt asked. But when she lifted the envelope’s flap and looked inside, she wished she would have dropped it on the floor.

She hoped she never would know the exact amount it represented. Because its contents were merely proof that she had not only made a bad mistake to ever reach out to Sebastian Marks, she’d made a very terrible mistake to ever think she could trust him.

“I could never accept this,” she announced, practically shoving it back into Mr. Hunt’s hands.

“You should keep it, miss. He is determined to make sure you are compensated for your time.”

Her heart was crushed. “Absolutely not,” she replied, drawing
out the words so that every single syllable was enunciated with force. “Please inform him that I will never take his money.”

“This will not make Mr. Marks happy.”

“That is none of my concern.” Feeling remarkably brave, she added, “You may tell him that too.”

Mr. Hunt looked pained. “While it is none of your concern, I must tell you that I would rather do a great many things than relay that message.”

“Keep it,” Sebastian bit out from the doorway. “You need it.”

Despite his gruff tone, she thought perhaps he had returned to apologize for how badly he had treated her, but seeing the displeasure in his face, she shivered. No, he wanted to ensure she’d take the money from Hunt to make himself feel better. Then she reminded herself that she had not ended things between them. He had. He was the man who sought her friendship, led her to believe that she was worthy of his time, and then promptly tossed her to one side. “I do not.”

“Lydia, you have nothing.”

Oh, but his words stung.

He was right. Now that he’d left her alone, now that her reputation was ruined, she would soon have no job. The library board members would undoubtedly let her go. Her mother was upset with her, and why wouldn’t she be? Soon they would have no home.

Finally, most important, the one man she’d ever loved would soon be gone forever.

She did, indeed, have practically nothing. Except for one very important thing.

“I have my pride,” she uttered.

He laughed.

And because he laughed, and because she wished to hurt him
as much as she was bleeding inside, she added, “How dare you even think to give me such tainted bills?”

He stilled. “Tainted?”

“Tainted. It means spoiled. Ruined. Polluted.”

“Don’t you dare start defining words to me.”

“You don’t have the right to tell me anything anymore. But you should know that the very last thing I’ll ever want from you is money made from other men’s gambling and vices.”

His eyes lit. “What was the first thing you did want, Lydia?”

She had wanted him. “You are right, Mr. Marks,” she said quietly. “I was better off not knowing you. Please leave.”

His lips pursed as she felt his glare sear into her very soul before he at last turned and strode through the front door, his assistant on his heels.

The moment the front door slammed, her mother stood up.

“I hope you are happy,” she announced, her voice filled with barely suppressed rage. “You have now embarrassed me to no end. Not only have you been dropped by not one but two men, you have left us destitute. We are going to lose our home. I am going to lose my home.” With shaking hands, she pressed them to her face. “How can you be so cavalier? How could you do such a thing to me?”

“You don’t understand what is happening.”

“I understand enough.”

Lydia rushed to her side. “Mother, please. Let me tell you what Sebastian Marks is really like. Then you’ll understand. Then you’ll understand why—”

“Does it matter, Lydia? Does casting your airs and judgments really give you that much satisfaction?” As each word sliced into all the places where Sebastian’s hadn’t yet reached, Lydia clenched her fists at her side. “You have given up my maid and any hope we had of paying
our bills. You have ruined your reputation. You have cost us everything. Everything. And yes, our pride too. You are fooling yourself even more than you usually do if you imagine that we have that. So what, then, do we have now? What in the world do we have left now?”

Before Lydia could fathom an answer, she turned and gingerly climbed the stairs, each step bringing her to the safety of her bedroom.

Each step serving to make Lydia feel that she had never been more alone.

Or maybe, now that so many people had left her side, she realized for the first time that for most of her life, she had always been that way.

She had always been alone.

I
am certainly glad that is over,” Mr. Marks bit out as he practically pounded each step with the point of his umbrella as they descended the Bancrofts’ front steps. His expression was hard while his dark eyes looked almost black.

Vincent glanced warily at Bridget. He was worried about her safety. Their employer was looking as rough and dangerous as any of the dockworkers on the river. Though he’d never treated his workers with anything but cool respect, Vincent also realized that Sebastian Marks had also never received such a letdown before.

Well, at least not in Vincent’s hearing.

“Bridget, are you all right?” he murmured.

Before she could reply, Mr. Marks seemed to catch sight of her suitcase. “Take Bridget’s valise, Hunt.”

Vincent took it. “Where to now?” he asked as Mr. Marks started walking down the street. “The club or the hotel?” That was about the only safe thing he could think to ask.

Everything else running through his head was either inappropriate or would reveal too much about himself and his feelings. All he did know was that he didn’t feel good about what had just happened.

Miss Bancroft had looked crushed. And his employer? Well, his employer was no doubt crushed on the inside.

“I am going to take a walk.”

“Yes, sir.” Vincent glanced warily at Bridget. She looked just as taken aback.

“Hunt, you will see Bridget back to the hotel.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mr. Marks? Shall I return to my duties, sir?” Bridget asked hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Mr. Marks stopped and turned to face her. His expression was completely blank.

“At the hotel, sir,” Bridget explained. “Would you like me to return to my duties there?”

“Yes, I suppose.”

“All right. I’ll do that.” She tried to smile, but anyone on the street could have guessed that her heart was neither happy nor at ease.

In fact, Bridget looked as uncomfortable as Vincent was starting to feel. Not only was Mr. Marks behaving badly, he was also behaving oddly. The combination caused a foreboding knot to form in his insides.

Therefore, he did the only thing he could think to do. Offer to be of service. “I’ll go to the club after I drop her off.”

“The club?” Mr. Marks stared at him vacantly. “There’s no need for that.” His throat worked as if he was trying hard to speak. “You might as well simply head home.”

“Home?” This was beyond irregular.

Marks looked at him inquisitively. “Don’t you ever miss your child, Vincent?” he asked. “Her name is Mary, yes?”

“Yes, sir. I mean, yes, that’s her name.” And because he sounded so flustered, he added, “Yes, I do miss her.”

Mr. Marks made his usual impatient, waving motion with his hands. “Then go on with you. I’ll see you on Monday.”

“But it’s Friday. You mean tomorrow, yes? So we will be open for the weekend?”

He shook his head. “No, I mean Monday. With the murder and the police around, we need to keep the club closed. The police have always known there was gambling, but something tells me that it wouldn’t be wise to push it in their faces right now.” He smiled weakly. “Spend some time with your daughter.”