safety. Although her chloroform bulb required some additional work. At the moment it was prone to self-detonation, with unfortunate results for all in its vicinity.
Heaven knew what devastation Nazim might cause in crowded Bombaytown. With its many wooden buildings, fire was a constant threat. People could die and he would only shrug. In his twisted mind, their lives would be the price paid for thwarting him.
Please God that Nazim never learns of Ayesha’s involvement. It was hard enough dealing with the knowledge that Jed remained his primary target.
Uncle Henry, Jane Bryant, her good friend, and Mrs. Neeson, her godmother—there were so many people whose suffering would hurt her.
Loving anyone made you vulnerable.
This morning, work was her attempt to avoid that fact and her thoughts.
With a flourish, she signed her name to a reasoned, powerfully argued letter to the governor, glancing over it a final time. Let him wriggle out of this indictment of the government’s lack of care for ex-convict women. Poor old souls. They’d suffered enough from what was usually a small crime of theft or opportunity—transported to the other side of the world, separated from friends and family—and now, decades after transportation ended, if they hadn’t rebuilt their lives, they were facing old age in lonely, desperate poverty.
Lonely, desperate poverty.
“I’m not lonely.” But she was. The gap resulting from her own panicked rejection of Jed’s courtship had shown her what a huge part of her life he was.
She stared at the conch shell hiding the speaking tube. She could contact Jed. He was so close, the thought tempted her. He’d said she was in charge of their courtship, that she should woo him.
Did she want to?
That’s not the issue right now. She stretched out her hand for the speaking tube. Jed had been underground for hours. He needed fresh air. She would invite him to stroll down to the post office with her. Her busy morning had left her with more letters than stamps.
“Jed.” She waited for his acknowledgement, a preoccupied Huh? “I need to go to the post office. Would you care to accompany me?”
Unaccustomed butterflies rioted in her stomach as she waited for his response. Was this nervous anticipation, this bracing for possible rejection, what men endured when they courted a woman?
“I would like that very much.” The speaking tube distorted his voice.
She couldn’t read emotion in it, so took the words at face value. The butterflies quieted a fraction. “In ten minutes? Perhaps we could stop for tea while we’re in town?”
“Fine with me.”
She set the speaking tube down and crossed over to the mirror above the fireplace. Her color was high, her eyes shining. She looked like a woman in love. She touched a finger to the smooth glass. “Am I?”
“Good afternoon, Esme.” Jed stood in the library doorway, a smile and something more lighting his eyes. His dark brown suit sat impeccably across his shoulders, with a honey-and-gold-colored silk waistcoat beneath. His boots gleamed with a high polish.
“Jed.” She hurried back to the desk, gathering up the stack of mail. “I’m sorry. The time got away from me.” She offered him a small smile.
“I’m early.” His answering smile was as intimate as a kiss, though his words were prosaic. “It’s cool out. You’ll need a coat.”
How could a man’s smile make her pulse quicken?“It’s in the hall. I went out this morning to the printer’s.”
“How is Angus?” He watched her walk toward him.
She was conscious of his admiration. She smoothed her hand over the fine wool of her suit. Its soft sage-green color and her own full curves were an enticing contrast to its masculine cut. She wondered now if she’d worn it to elicit that wanting look in his eyes. “Angus is a very proud papa. Paul, his eldest son, has won a scholarship to the grammar school.”
“Clever boy.” Beautiful woman, his eyes said. He touched her waist
Heaven knew what devastation Nazim might cause in crowded Bombaytown. With its many wooden buildings, fire was a constant threat. People could die and he would only shrug. In his twisted mind, their lives would be the price paid for thwarting him.
Please God that Nazim never learns of Ayesha’s involvement. It was hard enough dealing with the knowledge that Jed remained his primary target.
Uncle Henry, Jane Bryant, her good friend, and Mrs. Neeson, her godmother—there were so many people whose suffering would hurt her.
Loving anyone made you vulnerable.
This morning, work was her attempt to avoid that fact and her thoughts.
With a flourish, she signed her name to a reasoned, powerfully argued letter to the governor, glancing over it a final time. Let him wriggle out of this indictment of the government’s lack of care for ex-convict women. Poor old souls. They’d suffered enough from what was usually a small crime of theft or opportunity—transported to the other side of the world, separated from friends and family—and now, decades after transportation ended, if they hadn’t rebuilt their lives, they were facing old age in lonely, desperate poverty.
Lonely, desperate poverty.
“I’m not lonely.” But she was. The gap resulting from her own panicked rejection of Jed’s courtship had shown her what a huge part of her life he was.
She stared at the conch shell hiding the speaking tube. She could contact Jed. He was so close, the thought tempted her. He’d said she was in charge of their courtship, that she should woo him.
Did she want to?
That’s not the issue right now. She stretched out her hand for the speaking tube. Jed had been underground for hours. He needed fresh air. She would invite him to stroll down to the post office with her. Her busy morning had left her with more letters than stamps.
“Jed.” She waited for his acknowledgement, a preoccupied Huh? “I need to go to the post office. Would you care to accompany me?”
Unaccustomed butterflies rioted in her stomach as she waited for his response. Was this nervous anticipation, this bracing for possible rejection, what men endured when they courted a woman?
“I would like that very much.” The speaking tube distorted his voice.
She couldn’t read emotion in it, so took the words at face value. The butterflies quieted a fraction. “In ten minutes? Perhaps we could stop for tea while we’re in town?”
“Fine with me.”
She set the speaking tube down and crossed over to the mirror above the fireplace. Her color was high, her eyes shining. She looked like a woman in love. She touched a finger to the smooth glass. “Am I?”
“Good afternoon, Esme.” Jed stood in the library doorway, a smile and something more lighting his eyes. His dark brown suit sat impeccably across his shoulders, with a honey-and-gold-colored silk waistcoat beneath. His boots gleamed with a high polish.
“Jed.” She hurried back to the desk, gathering up the stack of mail. “I’m sorry. The time got away from me.” She offered him a small smile.
“I’m early.” His answering smile was as intimate as a kiss, though his words were prosaic. “It’s cool out. You’ll need a coat.”
How could a man’s smile make her pulse quicken?“It’s in the hall. I went out this morning to the printer’s.”
“How is Angus?” He watched her walk toward him.
She was conscious of his admiration. She smoothed her hand over the fine wool of her suit. Its soft sage-green color and her own full curves were an enticing contrast to its masculine cut. She wondered now if she’d worn it to elicit that wanting look in his eyes. “Angus is a very proud papa. Paul, his eldest son, has won a scholarship to the grammar school.”
“Clever boy.” Beautiful woman, his eyes said. He touched her waist
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