very thought of Caleb seeing her in nothing but the chemise made her throat go dry. She wouldn’t decide now. It was still afternoon. She had plenty of time to decide. Instead, she crossed to her bed and pulled out a box from underneath. She opened the box and lifted out several sheets of paper. They were torn and stained from all the times she’d looked at them, all the times they’d been exposed to the elements in Fleet Prison. This was the only possession, other than the clothes on her back, she’d kept in prison.
She lifted the top sheet of paper and stared into the face she’d drawn there. The charcoal sketch depicted a baby smiling sweetly in repose. She remembered watching James sleep and sketching him in the morning light. She’d wondered what he dreamed about when his little brow furrowed or his pink bow of a mouth pursed. He’d been such a beautiful child with his wispy blond hair and large blue eyes, though as an infant, as he was in this sketch, he’d been bald and rosy-cheeked.
The next portrait captured those curls and the eyes. This one was watercolor, and looking at it now, she still didn’t think she’d captured the eye color correctly. She’d looked into those same eyes all morning, and paints could hardly do it justice. In the painting, the little boy was reaching for an apple and smiling. His stance was a bit ungainly, as though he might lose his balance and plop onto his bottom at any moment. She traced a hand over the plump cheeks and the dimple in his chin.
The last picture had been difficult to draw and still hurt to look at. She’d drawn it in prison with pencil. It depicted James’s head and shoulders as he was carried away from her. One hand reached back as though to grasp her. His face was the picture of misery and terror. Her heart ached when she thought of that day, to know that she’d failed him. Her choices had failed him. She’d thought marrying Robbie would give James a better life. Instead, it had doomed her to prison and sent James to an orphanage.
The room had grown dark, and she put the pictures back into the box and slid them under the bed. She could hear the scrape and click-clacking of silver against china below. Those who had paid for meals were eating downstairs.
Bridget retrieved the bread and cheese Mrs. White had wrapped up for her and ate it slowly, trying to make it last.
When she was done, she lit a candle and read for a while by the flickering light. The house had grown quiet by then. If she was going to go to Caleb’s room, now was the time to do it.
She didn’t have to go. He would help her regardless. But if she didn’t go, she wouldn’t know what surprise he had for her. And she’d never know if he still wanted to kiss her, and if she still liked it.
Rising, Bridget took a deep breath and unwrapped her fine chemise.
Five
Caleb opened the door at the first knock. He’d been waiting and wasn’t too proud to let Bridget know it. He pulled her inside and quickly shut the door, then stepped back so he wasn’t tempted to take her into his arms. That wasn’t why she’d come.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly. The walls were thin, and the house was quiet now.
“I thought about not coming.”
“I know. If you hadn’t, I would have given you this tomorrow.” He lifted a small package from the table and presented it to her.
She took it gingerly and opened the top. “Oh!” The sound came out on a breath. She looked up at him, her brown eyes shining. “I haven’t had these since I was a child.”
“I thought the same thing when I saw them in the confectioner’s. But they’re too sweet for me now. They’re yours.”
“The whole bag?”
“If you can stomach them, yes.”
She withdrew a little white piece of sugar fashioned into the shape of a pig and popped it into her mouth. Her eyes closed as she sucked on the sugar. When Caleb’s breeches began to feel tight, he had to look away.
“They’re just as I remember them,” she said. “I could eat the whole bag, but I’ll save them for James. It will make a lovely treat when I have him back.”
Of course she would save them for James. She never thought of herself. “You eat