Page 105 of When We Touch

“Thanks to Charles, I have plenty,” Maggie said. “Of course, I’ll see to it that the sisters get plenty of money. And, of course, we can visit her. She’s part of Clayton’s family now.”

He nodded. “Funny, I thought that I’d perish on the spot when you stuffed her into my arms, and then . . . I just fell in love with that funny little face!” He sobered suddenly. “But you—were you all right? He didn’t see the baby, did he? Lord James, I mean. I take it he was rather harsh. And threatened you.”

“It didn’t matter,” Maggie said, waving a hand in the air. She hoped that her flush didn’t give anything away. “He brought me here, stayed a bit . . . and I haven’t seen him since. As soon as I could, of course, I went rushing home to Mayfair, talked to Clayton, and since . . . well, I’ve bided my time here, waiting.”

Waiting . . . with her own company. She’d had time alone. Way too much of it. Time to realize that when other things were really far more important, all she did was think about Jamie. And there had been time, of course, to realize that she had been falling in love with him, no matter what her temper, since he had first looked up, since she had seen his face from her window, when she had tricked herself, for only a second’s silly luxury, that he was the man she was to marry.

She’d had plenty of time as well to berate herself for the stupidity of her feeling. She was definitely not a foolish and dreaming young schoolgirl. His opinion of her was surely of the lowest. She had betrayed Charles—with him, of course, but sadly, it was a man’s world. He might have been angry with himself, but still . . . as he had said, he hadn’t been engaged to be married.

Then, of course, there was the very simple fact that he and Arianna were destined to be married. It was something Jamie would surely bring up to Arianna, when she’d had time to come to terms with her grief. When she reached her majority. And Arianna clearly adored her cousin. What could be more natural? Jamie, with all his knowledge of the property and estates—the male who had inherited the title—taking on the old lord’s daughter as his wife.

Arianna, whom he knew so well, an absolutely stunning beauty—as even Mireau had been quick to point out.

She was a fool, putting herself into position for greater pain and humiliation. And yet . . .

When he touched her, it was as if he did so because he had to, as if he had no other choice in the world, as if she were the greatest, most alluring treasure in existence . . .

“So! He forced you to be the well-behaved widow, eh?” Mireau demanded, slightly amused. “I must say, at least you were safe in my absence.”

“Safe, yes,” she murmured. Well behaved? Certainly not in the visions and memories that had so haunted her every moment since Jamie had walked out that night—apologizing.

“I—um, I guess I’ll have to stay out of Whitechapel for a while, I imagine. Until they catch that monster.”

“They may not catch him,” Mireau said unhappily. “And, quite frankly, Maggie, it’s never been safe. There’s so often something terrible happening there. Just not usually quite this awful.”

There was a tap at the door.

“Your tea, mum!” Mrs. Whitley called.

Maggie walked to the door and opened it. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Whitley. Oh! Mrs. Whitley, would you be so good as to go ask Arianna if she’d care to join us?”

The girl wouldn’t come down, Maggie knew it. But she wanted to make sure that her invitations were constant.

“As you wish, madam.”

Maggie closed the door on her. She walked to the tea service, preparing cups for the two of them. “My brother, so it seems, has taken an interest in politics.”

Mireau grinned. “So he has. He’s been listening in to many of the arguments going on. He is a baron, of course, and has a place, should he choose to take it.”

“I hope he does. How wonderful it would be to see Justin . . . happy.”

“I think he’s in love,” Mireau said.

“Oh?” Maggie was definitely surprised.

“Oh, don’t go getting too happy—he saw the girl once, so he told me. But she had the most beautiful face in the world, and he plans to make himself worthy, and then find her—whatever it takes.”

“Wonderful. My brother is finally in love—with a mystery woman.” She sighed, then looked at him. “Mireau, I’m going to go mad here, always afraid and . . . I can’t bear it. I’m supposed to be a guardian to a girl who despises me. I’m good at the work I do with the poor, but now, I’m banned from going where I’m needed.”

“Surely, once some time has passed and you’re not expected to be in deep mourning, you’ll be receiving all kinds of invitations.”

“I don’t want a bunch of social invitations, Mireau.”

“Then you can join me at more of the writers’ tables.”

“I haven’t the patience.”

“But you have the opinions!” he reminded her. He studied her. “My dear! You are restless. You have the strangest look about you.”