She let out a breath. “I cannot leave The Hideaway. Robert went to London from here, Blake. He left and never returned.” She sniffed and glanced around the office. “I see nothing of him here. Why is that? Did he not keep files here on his cases?”
“We shared the office, Taylor. And the files.”
“Where did he stay? In one of the rooms abovestairs? Of course, in one of the rooms abovestairs. Where are his effects?”
“His things are in the room at the far end of the corridor. In the room beside mine.”
He could almost see her mind working and held up one hand. “I’ve been through his things, love. He traveled light, your brother. And he kept nothing from me. I’m sure of it.”
“I have nothing left but my brother, Blake. Father is gone and now you want me to leave? Where will I go?”
Her upset struck him and, instinctively, he reached for her. He wrapped his arms around her. “Hush,” he soothed, cradling her gently. “You won’t be put out, Taylor. You have a place here as long as you need it. And you have my word.”
She eased in his arms, settling against his body with a shuddering sigh. Ignoring the desire that pounded through him, Blake rocked her gently and stroked his hand over her silky hair. She stiffened and set herself away from him.
“Thank you,” she said, keeping her gaze on her feet. “Please don’t think I don’t appreciate all you’ve done for me.”
“I owe you much more,” he said.
Her head shot up. “Why, pray?”
Robert’s image swam before him, a friend as close as a brother. His regret for Robert was only increased by the tangled feelings he had for the man’s sister. He selfishly wanted her in his life despite everything he’d told Jason. Despite everything he knew himself to be true. Robert was missing. She was dependent on him to keep her safe. Even as he wanted to protect her, he also wanted her so badly he ached with it.
Blake offered Taylor a smile. “I’m your closest friend at present,” he shrugged. “Without your father or brother to see to your protection, I’ll gladly take over the responsibility. For now.”
Was that disappointment in her eyes? She gave him a jerky nod and ran her hands over her skirts.
“Thank you again,” she said quickly. “I pray we’ll soon learn Robert’s location, Blake. Then you’ll be free from any further responsibility.”
With that, she turned to the door and pulled it open.
“I’ll see you safe, Taylor,” he said.
She paused, then nodded without looking at him. She left and closed the door behind her. Blake rolled his eyes.
“That went well,” he grumbled.
She’d be safe at The Hideaway. At least he had that satisfaction. Keeping to her room, she’d be out of reach of men like Duggins. Jason would return in a fortnight, no doubt with a suitable governess position in hand. Would she take it? He doubted that. Hell, he really didn’t want her to. But there was little for him to do now but keep her out of harm’s way for that length of time. And after?
He wouldn’t think about her leaving, not now. He was afraid he’d find some way to keep her in his life, even if that meant making an offer he’d sworn he’d never make again.
He turned to one of the files on his desk and reviewed the particulars of the case within. He gladly lost himself in a mission that had nothing to do with his own problems. Or Robert’s.
* * *
Taylor arranged a large spray of flowers on the hall table set near the front door of the pub. There was a lovely garden just outside Mrs. Mott’s kitchen, and the late-spring blooms scented the entry, detracting from the dull wallpaper and darkened wood panels enclosing the space. Her mother passed away when Taylor was twelve years old, and Taylor had always assisted in the running of Shelby Manor. She had a flair for color and decoration as well, and she loved bringing the outdoors inside. Flowers were her favorite way to do so. She had loved decorating with flowers. Every room in the manor was warm and welcoming, just the way her mother had always loved it.
Taylor glanced into the alcove off the entryway. Maybe with the addition of a few upholstered benches it would serve as a small parlor. Perhaps patrons of The Hideaway would like some comfort away from the bustling dining room.
“Taylor, Mrs. Mott asked for ya’.”
Taylor turned to Annie. “Oh?”
Annie smiled. “Seems she wants your take on some new biscuits she’s tryin’.”
Taylor grinned. When not working on Blake’s ledgers, she enjoyed helping Mrs. Mott in the kitchen. At first the woman had balked but Taylor won her over. After giving the flowers one last pat and shuffle, she passed through the dining room and into the kitchen.
There were trays of biscuits spread out on the wide wooden table, and the cook had her hands on her hips as she shook her head.
“Good morning, Mrs. Mott.”
“Morning.” The woman clicked her tongue. “I was thinking about adding lemon to the biscuits but they just don’t taste right. Here, give this one a try.”
She held out a biscuit, which looked a little bit dense. That was strange in itself, as the woman’s biscuits were normally flaky, light and delectable. Taylor took the biscuit and it felt as heavy as it looked. One bite and she pursed her lips at the sour taste.
“They’re certainly lemony.”
The cook nodded. “Aye. And so tart they’ll starch your petticoats.”
Taylor laughed and set the rest of the heavy cookie down on the table. “I take it you added lemon juice?”
Mrs. Mott nodded again. “In place of the milk.”
“Ah.” Taylor washed her hands at the sink and grabbed up a lemon from the crate beside it. “That explains the density.”
“The what?”
“How heavy the cookie is, Mrs. Mott. And that also is why they’re so tart.”
“Tell me what to do.”
Taylor couldn’t help but grin. “Now I think you should keep the milk in the recipe. Add just a few tablespoons of juice from the lemons and add zest.”
“Zest?”
“Lemon peel has a delightful smell, doesn’t it?”
“Aye.”
“Well, it has flavor as well.”
Mrs. Mott scoffed. “You can’t be eatin’ lemons with the peel, Miss Shelby.”
“We won’t.” She took the grater the cook used to make crumbs out of day-old bread and gave it a good rinse. “Just run the lemon over this grater very lightly.” She did so, making certain to scrape just the yellow skin and none of the bitter pith. “There you have the zest.” She picked up the grater and showed her the little pile of bright yellow peel beneath.
The cook’s mouth dropped open. “Zest, is it?” She lowered her face to the tabletop and gave a sniff. “Smells good.”
“And with the small amount of juice and the addition of a few tablespoons of zest, you’ll have some lovely lemon biscuits.”
Mrs. Mott beamed at her. “Just how you be knowin’ these tricks, anyway?”
“My mother.” Her throat tightened a bit. “She was an excellent baker.”
“Well, I thank ya’. Your mother raised a lovely lass. I’ll have a batch of biscuits for you to sample soon.”
Taylor smiled at her. “I’ll look forward to it.”
As she left the kitchen, she thought again about her mother. The woman had loved to bake and Taylor’s fondest memories were of working side by side with her mother in the kitchen. They baked biscuits, lemon among others, which Robert and Blake would steal and eat still scorching hot from the oven. So many memories. Tears stung her eyes. She’d missed her mother for too long and now her father was gone as well. As for Robert? She wiped away her tears with the heel of one hand. She wouldn’t think of him as gone forever. She couldn’t. Oh, she was melancholy today.
As it now seemed that she was no longer destined to be a gentleman’s wife, she’d use her domestic skills to improve the atmosphere at The Hideaway.
“Lord knows the place could use it,” she murmured to herself
as she returned to the entry.
“What’s that, girl?” Polly called from a few feet away.
Taylor offered her a smile. In the few days since Jason had taken his leave Polly no longer shared any intimacy with Blake, at least that Taylor could tell. And Polly had been almost friendly toward Taylor the past several days. Perhaps the ruddy country gentleman who’d been coming to the pub every night this week had something to do with the change in Polly’s mood.
“What say you, Polly, to linens on the tables?” Taylor asked.
Polly tilted her head to one side as she glanced into the dining room. “They’d cover the scratches.”
Taylor smiled inwardly. “Yes,” she returned. “I’ll speak to Mrs. Mott and see what can be found.”
“Ya’ might want to visit the village, Taylor,” Polly said. “There be a few nice shops here in Homerton.”
Taylor nodded her thanks to the girl and returned her attention to the flowers on the small table in the entry. The sounds of chatter and the crunch of carriage wheels on the cobblestones drew her interest to the window beside the front door. She brushed a lock of hair from her eyes and peered out. The bustling street beckoned and she clasped her hands, suddenly intent on seeing this tiny bit of Middlesex that had been her refuge for the past fortnight.
Some time spent outside could only do her good. Maybe she could learn something about Robert’s time here in the process? She hurried up the stairs to retrieve the bonnet that sat beside her valise since her flight from Sussex. Happy to have direction for the next few hours, she hummed to herself as she got ready. Blake had paid her for her work. A small amount he’d left in her room, along with a note reminding her to lock her door. She could afford a few whimsies along with decorations for The Hideaway. She hurried down the stairs toward the kitchen to ask Mrs. Mott what she thought the pub needed.
Mrs. Mott gave Taylor a large basket for her purchases and told her Blake had accounts at all the businesses in town. Taylor didn’t miss the twinkle in the cook’s eye and smiled her thanks.
Taylor stepped out into the May sunshine, a smile curving her lips. She set down her basket and donned her straw bonnet, tying the wide blue ribbon in a bow beneath her chin. Even her dress—another plain gray muslin—couldn’t dim the excitement she felt at the prospect of a walk on such a lovely morning. It felt like before her troubles began, when her father was still alive and Robert was still coming home every few weeks for visits and to help with the estate. Normal. Happy. Content.
Most of the villagers ignored her as they went about their own business, much to her relief. The place itself—while nothing compared to Arundel in Sussex, with its pretty little buildings and wide streets—was not without its charm. The buildings needed repair and the walkways were narrow and dirty, but the air was cleaner than she expected so close to the smoke and fog of London.
Smells assailed her, and not all of them unpleasant. Loud clanging and the scent of smoke escaped the blacksmith’s across the street. The bakery close to her right sent out enticing scents that rivaled Mrs. Mott’s sweet rolls. Just beyond the bakery she glimpsed a dressmaker’s shop. As she neared the window, she saw dresses displayed, tea gowns and day dresses in bright fabrics bedecked with sprigs of flowers and leaves. Lovely reticules and fans rounded out the collection.
Unable to resist, she went inside the cramped, but tidy little shop. Why not buy some ribbons and lace to adorn her simple dresses? And a new bonnet from the milliner’s shop next door wouldn’t take all her money.
Several ladies exited the shop as Taylor entered, smiling as they went on their way. The shopkeeper, a plump woman near thirty, blinked at Taylor in surprise. She stepped from behind a counter laden with bolts of fabric and spools of ribbon and lace, a welcoming expression on her face.
“Good morning, Miss,” the shopkeeper said.
Taylor smiled at the mop-capped woman. “Good morning.”
The lady’s gaze ran shrewdly over Taylor’s form. She clicked her tongue and shook her head. “I’m Mrs. Smythe. Forgive me for sayin’ so, but you need color, Miss . . .”
“Shelby,” Taylor finished for her. “And I know. My dresses are all quite plain, I admit. Perhaps you could recommend a few—”
“New gowns?” the lady piped in with excitement. “Oh yes, Miss Shelby! We have the prettiest tea gown in a pale blue, with little green leaves winding about in a charming pattern. It would be perfect for you, to be sure.”
Taylor felt a flicker of yearning but tamped it down. “No, thank you,” she said. “I’m afraid I can only afford a few adornments. There must be something you could recommend? Your shop boasts the prettiest dresses and trimmings I’ve encountered in a long time.”
“Shelby.” The storekeeper beamed at the honest praise and bustled over to the counter laden with a froth of lace. “You must be poor Mr. Shelby’s relation, then.”
Taylor swallowed and nodded her head. “I’m his sister.”
Mrs. Smythe studied her for a moment and Taylor felt like pouring out all her frustrations on the kindly woman. She would use the opportunity the lady’s openness might afford, however. “Did you know my brother?”
The lady shook her head. “No, save for seeing him in the village now and again. His work kept him occupied, I imagine. His and Mr. Thompson’s.”
Taylor came closer. “What do you know of his work?”
Mrs. Smythe rounded her eyes. “Nothing. He was as mysterious as Mr. Thompson about it, though people talk.”
Taylor looked about the shop and saw no one paid them much attention. “Do people talk of his last case, Mrs. Smythe?”
She shook her head. “No. No one in the village knows what sent Mr. Shelby to London that night.”
Then he had gone to London on some case, perhaps separate from anything Blake was working on. Mrs. Smythe furrowed her brow and Taylor sought to ease her discomfort. “Now what of those trimmings?”
Thankfully, Mrs. Smythe set the subject aside and smiled. “I daresay we’ll find something to make that dress of yours more appropriate,” she nodded vigorously. “With your golden hair and fair skin, you need some color.”
Taylor let go of her worry for Robert for a blissful moment and bent to the lady’s expertise, choosing ribbons and laces to bring some life to the drab gowns that were her lot in life for the foreseeable future.
After paying for her selections, Taylor thanked the shopkeeper.
“A pleasure to serve you, Miss Shelby. I’m sorry I couldn’t give you more information about your brother. Aside from some gossip—”
“Gossip?” Taylor cut in. “Pray, not gossip about my brother?”
“Gossip might be the wrong word,” Mrs. Smythe said. “Mr. Shelby weren’t one to keep his affairs public but he was a very friendly gentleman.”
The ladies then, Taylor realized. Her brother was a charmer. “Thank you, Mrs. Smythe.”
She bade the shopkeeper farewell and stepped once more out onto the busy street. Blake stood across the street, near what appeared to be a butcher’s shop, speaking to a woman. The woman was dressed simply and seemed agitated. Blake looked every inch the titled gentleman in his tan breeches and brown jacket, although he held himself stiffly. Another mysterious ‘mission?’ No. His business was none of her concern. Surely the woman wouldn’t know anything about Robert.
She forced her attention away from the pair in the distance and browsed through the window of the milliner’s shop. Her gaze fell on an adorable straw bonnet decorated with a cap of rose-colored fabric. Should she make such a frivolous purchase? Blake drew her attention again. Silly chit. Lifting her chin, she stared at the hats displayed in the multi-paned window.
Chapter 9
Blake tried to calm the woman standing before him. Her condition was evident. With every passing breeze her simple dress pressed against her swollen middle, giving him another reason for finding her worthless sod of a husband other than the small fee he’d earn for the task.
“He don’t
have connections in Town, Mr. Thompson,” she hiccupped, wringing her hands. “He’s got in trouble, that’s for certain. My Tim would be home by now otherwise.”
Not bloody likely. From what he knew of the butcher’s wastrel of a son-in-law, Timmy Grassam would no sooner see to his obligations to his wife than sprout wings and fly back from London. But this woman didn’t need to have that truth paraded before her, not in her delicate state.
“I’ll do my best to find him, Mrs. Grassam,” he said. “Please give my regards to your father.”
Distracted, the woman nodded vigorously and returned to the shop. Blake let out a breath and thought about the mischief Timmy had gotten himself into. A grim smile curved his lips as he anticipated the pleasure he’d take in dragging the ne’er-do-well back to his responsibilities.
But he’d have to leave The Hideaway. He’d yet to learn the identity of the man named Martin whom Reggie mentioned. Leaving The Hideaway would mean leaving Taylor to follow his rules in his absence. He couldn’t find fault with her behavior in the past few days. Aside from bustling about the kitchen with Mrs. Mott, she’d kept out of the dining room. How she passed her days he didn’t know, though his ledgers were straight and balanced.
Jason’s offer to find her a position still rankled. While Blake made a point to avoid her as much as possible, he didn’t want to think about her leaving for good.
“Bloody fool,” he grumbled.
He glanced down the street and saw a simply-clad female figure turned toward the window of the milliner’s shop. Lovely little figure, graceful stance . . . Well, hell. He crossed over to her.
“What are you doing out here, Taylor?” he asked, keeping his tone even.
She turned to face him, her eyes huge beneath the wide brim of her bonnet. Her features smoothed and she favored him with a cool smile. “Hello, Blake,” she said with a nod of her head. “I saw you speaking with that woman. Is this about a case?”
“Taylor—”
“I assumed that woman knows nothing of Robert.” Her brow furrowed. “Does she? Mrs. Smythe said that several of the women in Homerton were . . . familiar with my brother.”
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