M'Lady by Hannah Morse

Author:Hannah Morse [Hannah Morse]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dos Chihuahuas
Published: 2022-02-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

The tired-looking dried apple on Jane’s plate was the perfect accompaniment to the bit of stale bread she’d attempted to toast into an edible breakfast. It was so tempting to dip into the funds she’d been squirreling away to buy a decent breakfast, but she was trying not to in case things turned sour for her over the winter.

So there wasn’t much coal to heat the small flat or a terrible lot in the larder.

“I’ll come home with better,” Phoebe said, shaking out her long blonde hair as she sat at the table. “Can you braid for me?”

“Where are you off to?” Jane abandoned her pitiful meal and took the comb Phoebe handed her. The worn wood of the comb was smooth with age and use.

Phoebe sighed and dropped her head forward. “This time I don’t have a case. I’m tired of the damn … men I work with throwing a paltry few pounds at me after I do most of the work for them.”

The comb slid easily through Phoebe’s hair, and Jane quickly separated it into strands for braiding. “Then that plain dress isn’t for show?” It was a dowdy gray with a high collar, not Phoebe’s usual, though when working with the men of Bow Street she often had to wear costumes that rivaled anything Jane paraded around in on stage.

“I’m afraid not, I’m thinking to go into service.”

Jane nearly dropped the comb. “What?” Phoebe might as well said she was planning to dance a jig with a manticore. In that situation, Jane would feel sorry for the manticore. Phoebe was a little scary.

“I’ve been watching you stash away money to live on once you can’t sell your stage talents or any other talents, and it hit me that I need to be doing the same. Those of us who aren’t married need a way to survive when the rest of the world turns their backs on us.”

The venom in Phoebe’s voice plucked at every one of Jane’s fears. She concentrated on neatly finishing the braid. “It’s bloody terrifying,” she whispered. “Would you cart me off to Bedlam if I say that I want … oh Phoebe.” Jane looped the braid into a bun and pinned it before she dropped back into her chair.

Phoebe took her hand, the warmth welcome. “What is it? What could you possibly want that I’d not believe?”

A grimace stretched Jane’s lips. “I want a husband,” she said. “A husband and children.”

“I’m not your mother.” Phoebe squeezed Jane’s hand. “I’m not sure I don’t either. As much as I complain about men, I also sometimes dream of finding the one who’d be mine and I’d be his. He wouldn’t think I’m not fetching because I can throw a punch.” Her shoulders drooped. “But I don’t think a fellow like that exists.”

Jane had gotten turned right around by the mention of finding a one because after the last few weeks she’d spent with Ian, which amounted to only six nights together, she couldn’t imagine finding someone else as brilliant, handsome, funny, or that desired her as he did.

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