A Little Bit Scandalous Page 0,27
to shoot.
She’d be a fool if she didn’t admit that moving back here, with all the memories, would be so difficult. It would bring back all of the pain and grief she’d experienced when each member of her family had died. But moving back here was her only choice, and she had the opportunity to do something wonderful, to transform all those feelings of sorrow into something more meaningful. She could bring hope and laughter back to this house.
Living in Roe’s house, even if it was a country estate he never visited, felt as if she were waiting for a love that would never come. Waiting for him to notice her. She couldn’t do that anymore. She wouldn’t do that anymore. Even if one day Roe did love her, it wouldn’t last forever. Hadn’t she learned that again and again?
That kind of love—the romantic fantasy of love—it didn’t last. It burned hot, bright, and fast. When it burned out, it left you scarred and raw. She would never again get close enough to let that kind of love burn her a second time.
Tomorrow, she would come back, make a list of all of the things that needed repaired, and have an architect give her estimates on what said repairs would cost. At the moment, however, she was almost late for the board meeting.
As she walked through the front door, she nearly slammed it in the face of a man standing on her front stoop. She started, kept her hand on the door. “May I help you with something?”
“Miss Jellico?” the man asked. He stood about her height, perhaps a bit shorter, but he was older by at least a decade, possibly two. “I’m Peter Murdock, Mrs. Murdock’s son.”
“Oh yes, of course. My apologies. Did you leave something here you need to retrieve?”
“Not precisely. I’m afraid we’re going to need to make good on that lease. We’ll need to retain the house for the designated length of time.”
“What? But we agreed—”
“Yes, well, things change. And a legal document is binding. It would seem that I will need to move into this address myself.”
This couldn’t be happening. They’d agreed. She took a deep breath. There was no need to panic. She probably had a way out of this; she merely had to speak to a solicitor. “Mr. Murdock, I’m afraid I can’t discuss this at the moment, I’m late for a meeting. And I’ve already scheduled repairs for the house, so you’ll have to wait until those are completed.” Perhaps that would provide her enough time to figure out how to get rid of the Murdocks for good.
…
Caroline stood on Dover Street, looking up at the building that took up nearly a block of space. It was four stories high and constructed of white limestone. A small staircase led up to a shiny black door. To the right of the door was a small carved sign that read “Dover Street Girl’s Asylum.” Caroline tapped the knocker into the door.
“I’m here for the board meeting,” she said when a woman answered.
The woman curtsied and stood aside. Caroline stepped into the asylum and was immediately struck by the stringent smell of lemon, indicating the building was clean. That was good; she’d hate to think the girls who resided here lived in filth.
“I’m Mrs. Hancock,” the woman said as she led her down the corridor. “I’m the housekeeper here at Dover House, and anything else they need me to be.”
“Caroline Jellico,” Caroline said, her voice coming out thinner than usual. She cleared her throat and tried again. “I’m new to the board. Do you live here with the girls?”
“Oh yes, ma’am.” The woman’s shoes clicked against the wood floor as they walked. “The meeting is right over here.” She opened the door and allowed her entrance. “It hasn’t yet begun, though I believe everyone else is already here. All except Mr. Lamb, and he’ll be along directly.”
Caroline gingerly entered the sizable room. It could have been a dining room in a standard home, but hopefully, they had a much larger dining hall where the girls would gather for meals. This room had a smaller table, one that would seat probably twelve guests. The other people in the room milled about, speaking quietly to one another. Two men stood by the windows, dressed in gentlemen’s finest, right down to their expertly tied cravats.
Two elderly women stood by the tea service stirring their cups and eyeing the other woman in the room. Their object of interest was