the vast city could give her his direction.
If she could not locate Sir Malcolm, however, Hope would not be precisely heartbroken, although she had found the baronet’s countenance, company, and com pliments everything pleasing. The decision to accept his hand had less to do with her heart and more to do with her head, and her father, telling Hope that she was nearing her twentieth birthday, and she’d already turned down every gentleman in the north of England, by her father’s reckoning. She wanted to be married, to have a home of her own, and babies. She did not want those babies to be little Lord Ormsbys, covered in snuff and ugly orange hair, patrons of blood sports. So she had to find Sir Malcolm Fredenham, or find some way to meet other eligible partis before her funds and her father’s patience wore out.
The new wardrobe Nancy was helping the maids unpack was a start. Au courant and elegantly copied straight from the latest fashion journals under Lady Mildred’s supervision, the gowns were a showcase for Miss Hope Thurstfield’s wealth and beauty and ladylike bearing.
Mrs. Storke dropped a pair of matching slippers and rushed to Hope’s side near the window. “Oh, my lands and larks! You’ll never believe what one of the girls just told me, my dear. There have been robberies, right here in the hotel! Valuables have been stolen right out of guests’ rooms.”
Hope scooped up her dog, ready to stuff Trumpet back in his satchel.
“Not that kind of valuable,” Nancy chided. “Jewels and watches and cash!”
Hope glanced at the carved wood jewel box sitting in plain sight on the dressing table in her new bedroom. She planned on selling the contents if she could not find Sir Malcolm, to finance a fall Season in Town. Surely one of her mother’s old friends would be willing to sponsor her, if Lady Mildred did not recover in time. With the jewels, Hope could take time to select a husband of her own, someone she could respect, if not love. With the jewels, she would not come empty-handed to her marriage even if her father disowned her or denied her dowry if he did not like her choice. She could not, under any conditions, afford to lose those jewels.
“The hotel must have a safe,” she declared, stuffing her rings and necklaces and brooches into an empty embroidered reticule. She left out the pearls she intended to wear for dinner and a simple gold locket for the next day, before going to seek out that nice Mr. Arthur. No, Nancy did not need to run up and down all those stairs with her. What could happen in the halls of this magnificent establishment?
Captain Hunter called “Enter” when he heard the light tap on his door. Supposing his visitor to be Simmons, needing to use his desk, or his batman Browne returned from his errands at the haberdashers, Arthur did not bother putting down the bottle he was currently emptying. Still holding the bottle, he jumped to his feet when he saw Miss Thurstfield at the door instead. He winced, that she should see him like this, and from the pain the sudden movement caused his leg. “Yes, miss? What can I do for you?” he asked more brusquely than he intended.
Hope was staring at the bottle, rather than the tousled blond waves of his hair or the sleepy look to his blue eyes. “You’re drinking, on duty?”
“My leg was hurting me.” Now it hurt worse, thanks to this beautiful, bespoken female.
“But such a thing could cost you your job.” No one she knew would keep on a servitor who imbibed, especially not in a position of such authority.
“No chance of my being dismissed, I assure you.” He did put the bottle down and straighten his waistcoat.
She was still uncertain. “Your employers must be very understanding.”
“What, to hire a cripple?” he bristled.
“No, to permit drinking on the job.”
“I am not in my cups, dash it, so you can remove that scowl and the sermon. Ah, your pardon for speak ing familiarily, miss.” Damn, now he was
If she could not locate Sir Malcolm, however, Hope would not be precisely heartbroken, although she had found the baronet’s countenance, company, and com pliments everything pleasing. The decision to accept his hand had less to do with her heart and more to do with her head, and her father, telling Hope that she was nearing her twentieth birthday, and she’d already turned down every gentleman in the north of England, by her father’s reckoning. She wanted to be married, to have a home of her own, and babies. She did not want those babies to be little Lord Ormsbys, covered in snuff and ugly orange hair, patrons of blood sports. So she had to find Sir Malcolm Fredenham, or find some way to meet other eligible partis before her funds and her father’s patience wore out.
The new wardrobe Nancy was helping the maids unpack was a start. Au courant and elegantly copied straight from the latest fashion journals under Lady Mildred’s supervision, the gowns were a showcase for Miss Hope Thurstfield’s wealth and beauty and ladylike bearing.
Mrs. Storke dropped a pair of matching slippers and rushed to Hope’s side near the window. “Oh, my lands and larks! You’ll never believe what one of the girls just told me, my dear. There have been robberies, right here in the hotel! Valuables have been stolen right out of guests’ rooms.”
Hope scooped up her dog, ready to stuff Trumpet back in his satchel.
“Not that kind of valuable,” Nancy chided. “Jewels and watches and cash!”
Hope glanced at the carved wood jewel box sitting in plain sight on the dressing table in her new bedroom. She planned on selling the contents if she could not find Sir Malcolm, to finance a fall Season in Town. Surely one of her mother’s old friends would be willing to sponsor her, if Lady Mildred did not recover in time. With the jewels, Hope could take time to select a husband of her own, someone she could respect, if not love. With the jewels, she would not come empty-handed to her marriage even if her father disowned her or denied her dowry if he did not like her choice. She could not, under any conditions, afford to lose those jewels.
“The hotel must have a safe,” she declared, stuffing her rings and necklaces and brooches into an empty embroidered reticule. She left out the pearls she intended to wear for dinner and a simple gold locket for the next day, before going to seek out that nice Mr. Arthur. No, Nancy did not need to run up and down all those stairs with her. What could happen in the halls of this magnificent establishment?
Captain Hunter called “Enter” when he heard the light tap on his door. Supposing his visitor to be Simmons, needing to use his desk, or his batman Browne returned from his errands at the haberdashers, Arthur did not bother putting down the bottle he was currently emptying. Still holding the bottle, he jumped to his feet when he saw Miss Thurstfield at the door instead. He winced, that she should see him like this, and from the pain the sudden movement caused his leg. “Yes, miss? What can I do for you?” he asked more brusquely than he intended.
Hope was staring at the bottle, rather than the tousled blond waves of his hair or the sleepy look to his blue eyes. “You’re drinking, on duty?”
“My leg was hurting me.” Now it hurt worse, thanks to this beautiful, bespoken female.
“But such a thing could cost you your job.” No one she knew would keep on a servitor who imbibed, especially not in a position of such authority.
“No chance of my being dismissed, I assure you.” He did put the bottle down and straighten his waistcoat.
She was still uncertain. “Your employers must be very understanding.”
“What, to hire a cripple?” he bristled.
“No, to permit drinking on the job.”
“I am not in my cups, dash it, so you can remove that scowl and the sermon. Ah, your pardon for speak ing familiarily, miss.” Damn, now he was
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