wandered toward the nearest bookshelf, his slender fingers skating over leather-bound spines. “You are familiar with the expedition I’m planning to Pylos Bay in April?”
“Yes.”
He turned and looked at her poignantly. “I’m in need of an assistant to prepare the excursion.”
There was a disapproving little huff from the direction of Mrs. Forsyth.
Annabelle blinked.
“Miss Archer?” He mouthed her name carefully, as if addressing a person hard of hearing. “What say you? Is that a position you would find interesting? It would cover a range of tasks: letter writing, coordinating the logistics—an utter nightmare, I grant you, since Mediterranean people are involved, chaotic lot—but also translations and archive work.”
Her hands curled around the chair’s armrests. She couldn’t imagine a better position if she tried, but why ask her? He must have more qualified candidates to pick from.
“I believe it’s a very interesting position, sir.”
“Well, of course it is,” he said. “That leaves the matter of compensation—how much do you think your work would cost the faculty?”
Her thoughts fell over each other. Instinct urged her to set the sum low, to make sure that he would hire her. But if she worked for Jenkins, there wouldn’t be time for anything else, and Gilbert would still demand his two pounds in full every month.
“Two pounds a month,” she said.
Jenkins tilted his head. “Reasonable. So that’s settled.”
He wandered back to the desk, pulled open a drawer, and picked something up.
“Excuse me for a couple of minutes,” he said.
He strode toward the door, but in passing he put something in front of her.
An apple. A bit shriveled from hibernating in a dark basement since autumn; still, her mouth began to water, and she could practically taste the tart, crisp flavor.
The thud of the heavy door falling shut sounded behind her. It wasn’t a stretch to assume that Jenkins was giving her some privacy to eat.
“Be careful, gal,” came Mrs. Forsyth’s quiet voice.
Annabelle turned on her chair. “It’s just an apple,” she said.
Caesar was staring at her, too, his stony countenance radiating disapproval.
Her stomach cramped, from an emotion much more powerful than hunger.
To defy, or to cry. She kept her eyes on the emperor as she reached for the apple and sank her teeth into it.
Chapter 20
The Scottish chapters have agreed to come down to London for the demonstration.”
Save the sound of rain tapping softly against the windows, a cautious silence greeted Lucie’s announcement. The suffragists had gathered in Hattie’s plush sitting room. The embers were fading on the grate and steam rose from a dozen dainty cups. It wasn’t an atmosphere that lent itself to discussing illicit demonstrations.
“Well, that’s exciting,” Hattie finally said.
Lucie shot her a wry glance.
Catriona took off her glasses. “Do you think it will make a difference, Lucie?”
“With the other chapters we have mobilized, we currently have around fifteen hundred women marching on Westminster during a Tory pre-election meeting,” Lucie said. “So yes, I believe we are going to be in every newspaper of the country.”
“But the northern chapters held such events before,” Catriona said. “It only seems to agitate people.”
Lucie threw up her hands. “Well, sitting prettily certainly doesn’t seem to make a difference at all. If it did, why do we still turn into property the day a man puts his ring on our finger? I say let us try making noise for a change.”
There was a rustle of silk as the ladies shifted in their seats. Making noise sounded ominous when, from the cradle, one had been taught to be quiet.
“Now,” Lucie continued, “on to the next point. I have taken the liberty to set up your schedules for the personal petitioning sessions with our MPs.”
She pulled out a slim file from her ever-present leather satchel and began distributing sheets.
Annabelle’s stomach gave a queasy twist when Lucie halted before her.
“Annabelle. I have reassigned the Duke of Montgomery to you.”
Every hair on Annabelle’s body stood on end. “But you said I was only to research him.”
“Indeed, but that was before he took a shine to you.”
She froze. “Whatever do you mean?”
“I understand he invited you on walks, to a Christmas dinner, and to his house party,” Lucie enumerated on dainty fingers. “You clearly must have had his ear, so you are our best woman for the task.”
Well. There was no arguing with that logic.
Her heart thrummed unsteadily against her ribs. It had been ten days since she left Claremont, and yet the mention of his name still put her on shaky ground.
“If I didn’t manage to convince him then, I won’t