together, Elsie considered. “That does not move Newcastle upon Tyne closer to London.”
“No, but he’s visiting family in Ipswich.” He said each word carefully, his green eyes locked on hers. Goodness, he had remarkable eyelashes.
“Ipswich,” Elsie repeated, focusing. “That’s still a three-day journey.”
“We can do it in two.”
“I may not be gently bred, but I don’t think it’s a wise idea to be trapped in a carriage with a bachelor for two—no—four, days.”
He rolled his eyes. “You make it sound like a chore.”
Folding her arms, she countered, “Not that your dry disposition isn’t pleasing, Almost-Master Kelsey, but I do have a reputation.”
“We’ll take separate carriages.”
Elsie paused. That might work if he could arrange it, but—
“And how do I explain such a long absence to Mr. Ogden? No one in this house knows about me.”
“Tell him you’re visiting fam—” He stopped himself, but not before the suggestion stabbed her already sore heart. Today was destined to be terrible, she could feel it. “Do you have any distant relatives, friends, something to use as cover?”
“I used all my cover on Kent.”
Mr. Kelsey rubbed his beard, considering. “I will make something work.”
She dropped her arms. “And how will you do that?”
“Trust me.”
Two simple words, but they made Elsie pause. Trust me. Could she? Bacchus Kelsey had been a thorn in her side, but he had kept his word to her before. She owed him nothing now. He was pleading for help.
She wanted to give it.
She studied his face. The new lines of stress there. The nice set of his nose—
Oh, stop it.
“Very well.” The relief was notable on his features. “If you can make it happen, then I will go. But you’ll have to be very convincing. Now leave, before I have to explain why there’s a duke’s carriage outside the masonry shop.”
“Thank you, Elsie. Thank you.”
She waved a dismissive hand, and as directed, Mr. Kelsey departed. Elsie stayed behind the house until she heard the horses pull forward. Then she peeked around the corner and watched the carriage disappear down the road.
Four days with Bacchus—two there, two back. She quite liked the way her Christian name sounded on his lips, though she’d rather hear it in his native dialect. She tried to imagine how it would sound. Elsie. El-sie.
“Oh, hush,” she whispered to herself. Though there was no denying the pain in her chest had dissipated. Now it was time to wait and see what sort of plan an advanced physical aspector could hatch to steal her away.
She certainly hoped he was successful.
Ogden had a habit of making his shelves look like mayhem.
He placed things haphazardly when he put them away, sometimes on the shelf easiest to reach, sometimes on the highest one. She would have understood the habit better had he simply put things away in the most convenient spot, but the highest shelves were quite high. One had to try to stow something there. It made no sense. Elsie occasionally tried to talk to Ogden about his organizational habits, and he always nodded as if he were listening, but her encouragement made no difference. He still put his paint away in three different places, chisels here and there, and sometimes his lunch pail would even find a place near the floor. It was no wonder he struggled to remember where his tools were.
Retrieving a ladder, Elsie began her reorganization project by tackling the topmost shelves, pulling things down to sort them. It wouldn’t hurt to dust the entire wall; lint bits stuck under her fingernails.
It was as she stretched on her toes to grab a book from the shelf that the culprit walked in. “Elsie, I’ve just gotten the most interesting letter.”
She snatched the book and set it on a lower shelf, one she could reach from the ground. “And what is that?”
“There’s a new women’s school in Ipswich—”
Elsie tottered and grabbed the ladder to steady herself.
“—for accounting and secretarial training. I’m surprised they even know who I am, but they’re offering a week-long course for my employees for a rather inexpensive sum.”
Elsie cleared her throat of incredulity. “Really?” Clever, Bacchus. Dusting off her hands, she climbed down the ladder and crossed the room. Ogden handed her the letter.
“Accounting. I already know my figures.” She looked over the smooth penmanship. Had he written this himself? How many confidantes did he have? “Oh, but it’s advanced . . . hmmm. That is inexpensive. I could pay for it myself.”
Ogden stuck his hands on his hips the same way he did when