for Temperance opening his eyes to it.
Shoulders slightly slumped, the other man started for the door.
“Avery?” Dare called, and his former partner wheeled about. “It was a trap, wasn’t it? Bolingbroke?”
For a long while he thought Avery wouldn’t comment or respond, but then he nodded ever so slightly.
“You were pushing it too hard,” Dare explained, answering the unspoken question. “Get out,” he said quietly . . . and the other man, his partner in crime, left.
There should be bitterness and pain and hurt that came from that betrayal. And yet, he felt nothing where Avery Bryant was concerned. There had only ever really been one person whom Dare had trusted. One person whom he’d wanted in his life. And yet, he’d been so very afraid of having her there.
No, it was as he’d said to the other man: only one person had ever mattered, and now Dare had just one thing left to do—give her everything she wanted.
Chapter 26
Temperance’s fingers ached.
And her back and her neck. Those, along with parts of her arms she didn’t even know the names for.
In her short time in London, she’d somehow forgotten the degree of toil and strife that came with a seamstress’s job.
No, it was just that she’d let herself forget those miseries.
But then perhaps this was to be her penance for having failed Gwynn. For having dragged the other woman all the way to London, bringing her so very close to the grandest hope she carried in her heart, only to then dash it with the truth of Temperance’s own selfishness. Either way, her friend had said nothing about their having to return and beg for their work back.
Even as they’d not been replaced. Even as there were no finer seamstresses in the Cotswolds.
Gwynn, who’d been more loyal than Temperance deserved, and who’d been only understanding that the hopes she’d carried for them to be their own women had died with Temperance’s decision.
Except, was it really disloyal? The terms the duke and duchess had presented Dare had ultimately taken the decision away from Temperance . . . even if she’d wanted to give him a babe.
And I wanted that . . . I wanted that so very much. To be a mother to the very manner of child Dare had envisioned for them, strong and witty and spirited. And the pain of that would never, ever go away. Not just to have that child . . . but to have her or him with Dare.
Dare, who had cradled little Rose and—
“Hullooo . . . Miss Swiiiift, I’m looking for more of that pretty pink fabric.”
No, she’d been wrong. This was to be her penance.
“Yes, Mrs. Marmlebury,” she said, hurrying to fetch the garish satin in question.
Her friend caught her gaze across the shop.
“Pink?” Gwynn mouthed, and then from behind the old widow’s back, she pulled a face as if retching, and Temperance managed that which she’d never thought to accomplish again—she laughed.
A slew of horrified stares went to Temperance.
Oh, bloody hell.
Madame Amelie swept over.
Oh, bloody, bloody hell.
“Is there something funny, Mrs. Grey?”
Actually, there had been. “No, madame.”
“Do you find your work here amusing?”
Absolutely not and never. “No.”
The woman’s eyebrows snapped together. “Yes?”
Why don’t you tell me what the damned answer is? she silently raged.
Her employer leaned in. “Then I suggest you have a care with your laughter. I will see to Mrs. Marmlebury.”
So Temperance was to be punished . . . for laughing.
Temperance hurried into the back and sat at her tiny little station. She grabbed the partially completed day dress and her needle, and resumed sewing. This was fine. She’d prefer the physical misery of putting her body through this work to having to suffer through the likes of Mrs. Marmlebury. It was only a brief reprieve. After all, this was to be her future . . . But she would take those breaks from horrific clients when and where she could. From out on the shop floor, the bell jingled, announcing the arrival of some other unkind harpy.
Temperance jabbed her needle into the fabric and let the rote motions take over as she saw to the dress.
She’d forgotten what it was to be free in any way, capable of even just laughing without censure and condemnation. Just like she’d not been able to have an opinion on colors of fabrics or types or cuts or . . . anything. Only Dare had ever encouraged her to live freely, without constraint, and without apologies. He’d never expected her to answer for