What the Hart Wants - Fiona Davenport Page 0,69
man’s idea is already bearing fruit. I feel so blessed.”
“His idea?”
“Did he not tell you?” Mrs. Forbes asked. “He suggested that for each woman I place in employment, if her new employer is satisfied with the appointment, they should pledge to give me a small portion of their wages. I’ve had one already agree to it—a Mr. O’Reilly in Hammersmith has taken on two girls as chambermaids and will be sending me sixpence each month. And your young man himself took young Rose and her children to Scotland with him to live and work on his estate.
“He took them to Scotland?”
“Two months ago. Rose will work in his factory, and young Will is going to attend school while a nursemaid tends to the baby.”
Mrs. Forbes took Lilah’s hand. “I have you to thank, Miss Hart. You persuaded him to visit us and to see our work. I owe it all to you.”
“You have nothing to thank me for, Mrs. Forbes,” Lilah said. “It was all his doing.”
Mrs. Forbes smiled. “If I were twenty years younger, I’d be smitten with the man. That is, of course, if he were not so smitten with you. He is indeed a most excellent creature. It’s rare to see a man of such high honor these days.”
Mrs. Forbes’s words only served to increase the pain in Lilah’s heart. He had every reason to be bitter and resentful. He faced bankruptcy, yet he still thought of others! To think that such a man had once placed her in high regard.
Would she ever be able to come to terms with what she had lost?
Chapter Twenty-Seven
When Lilah returned home, Thea was waiting for her in the parlor, together with Sir Thomas.
“Ah, Delilah, dear, we’ve been waiting for you. Do join us.”
Lilah looked from one to the other. “This looks serious,” she said.
Thea and Sir Thomas exchanged glances.
“Should we ask Dexter to join us?” Lilah asked.
“Our brother has seen fit to go to the country,” Thea replied. “It seems as if he has a prospective bride lined up and is planning to rent a property in which to keep her.”
“You make it sound like a prison, Dorothea,” Lilah said, “with Dex as the jailer.”
Sir Thomas frowned, then he turned to Thea. “Miss Hart,” he said. “Perhaps I should address Miss Delilah on her own.”
“I’m rather tired,” Lilah said. “Perhaps another time.”
Thea stood, and Sir Thomas followed suit. “Delilah, I insist you speak with him,” she said.
“Oh, very well.” Lilah dropped her reticule on the chaise longue and sat beside it.
Thea curtseyed to Sir Thomas. “Please excuse me.”
After the door closed behind her, Sir Thomas crossed the floor and sat beside Lilah.
“I’ve been anxious for the opportunity to speak to you alone,” he said, “ever since your disappointment.”
“My disappointment?”
“Molineux,” Sir Thomas said, his tone hard. “He’s a cad for abandoning you. There was nothing wrong with your articles, yet he judges you as if you ransacked Clayton House yourself!”
“How do you know about Clayton House?”
His glance shifted sideways before he resumed his focus on her. “Everyone’s talking about it.”
“And the articles,” she said. “How did you know I wrote them?”
“I’m an avid reader of the City Chronicle,” he said. “When I stumbled across a scrap of paper in the drawing room, I read it out of curiosity and recognized the words.”
“You’ve been reading my papers?”
“I applaud your talent. Your writing—the articles, the poems—they’re worthy of the highest praise.”
His gaze shifted as if he had something to hide. Was he the mysterious benefactor who’d passed her poems to Sandton?
“You deserve every success, my beloved Delilah. That cad deserved to be ruined.”
Her heart jumped in defense of Fraser.
“What sins has he committed to deserve such a fate?”
Sir Thomas took her hand, then knelt beside her.
“He’s made you unhappy,” he said. “And I won’t have anyone making my beloved girl unhappy.”
She tried to free her hand, but he tightened his grip.
“He’s a fool for believing you were responsible for those leaflets.”
“How do you know about the leaflets?”
His eyes narrowed, and he stiffened.
“I…” he hesitated. “I must have overheard someone mention it at Whites.”
He lifted her hand to his lips. “Don’t you realize how deeply I feel for you, Miss Hart?” he asked. “Or, perhaps, I may be permitted at last to call you Delilah?”
“Sir Thomas…”
“Call me Tommie,” he said. “Or, better still, ‘my love.’”
He caressed the back of her hand with his thumb, but rather than the crackle of need which she had experienced at the hands of another, she felt nothing but