Ways to Be Wicked by Julie Anne Long

Author:Julie Anne Long [Long, Julie Ann]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780446616874
Published: 2006-09-30T23:00:00+00:00

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Chapter Eleven

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For Tom, days had always passed quickly, but with the addition of visits to Kent to his week as well as preparations for the Venus show—they now had a song, there was a dance for the girls to rehearse, and the oyster was nearly complete and required his opinion—the rest of the week was a bit of a blur.

He saw Sylvie Chapeau every day, stoically smiling and patting fannies, learning to be a water nymph. He kept a safe distance, at the foot of the aisle, considering what it meant to him to want and need.

Toward the end of the week as Tom was ensconced in his office, poring over expenditures for The Gentleman's Emporium and planning new ones, another message arrived.

He eyed it warily, but knew he had no choice but to open it He broke the seal.

Lord Cambry offered his apologies, but regretted he could no longer invest in The Gentleman's Emporium.

The words struck like an adder bite.

He'd scarcely had time to register them when he looked up and saw a woman dressed not as a fairy or a pirate or a water nymph, but in a walking dress, a rather nice one, and it took him a moment to recognize Molly. It wasn't the sort of dress one could afford to have made on her salary unless one saved for a good, long time. He wondered, briefly, if the bordering-on-demure, well-cut gown meant that yet another girl had acquired a wealthy protector or a willing husband and had decided to retire from the White lily.

The timing would be inconvenient regardless, given the role they planned for Molly in the Venus show. But Tom philosophically began considering alternatives— none of mem Daisy Jones—even before he spoke.

"You've arrived early today, Molly, haven't you?" he managed cheerily enough.

"Josephine needed 'elp wi' the sewing, an' so I offered to come in."

Molly had never struck Tom as the type to volunteer for extra work. He frowned a little, bemused. "She needs additional help? Isn't Sylvie helping her with the sewing? All the costumes have been sewn—it's only mending, is it not?"

"Well, that's just it, Mr. Shaughnessy. Sylvie ought to 'elp, but now she goes off to meet 'er lover midday of late, so Josephine asked fer me help."

Time stopped. Tom's breathing stopped as well.

"Sylvie goes off to meet her lover?" he managed to repeat levelly.

Molly fingered me corner of his desk. "Every day, middle o' th' day, Josephine says. Past few days." Molly was the very picture of innocence. "All of a sudden, like. She leaves early, and comes back mussed and red in the face, like, and she looks… 'appy. Real 'appy."

"Thank you, Molly." Tom breathed in, breathed out, to get his lungs, his heart moving again. He didn't want to hear any more. "This is interesting."

She looks 'appy.

"Yer own needs bein' met, Mr. Shaughnessy?" Molly asked frankly.

"Mr. Shaughnessy?" she repeated, when he didn't answer her.

He did manage to get his mouth to turn up, but the motion was painful, seemed as unnatural as bending in half backward.

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