Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,7
Temperance marched forward. She reached the doorway that led to Madame Amelie’s workroom. Struggling with her burden, she gave her brother a look. “If it isn’t too much trouble?”
“It isn’t,” Gwynn murmured.
Chance smiled down at Gwynn. “Not at all.”
Oh, bloody hell. To be young and stupid for love again.
“I meant the door,” Temperance muttered, sinking under the weight of the packaged textiles.
Her brother blinked several times and looked over at Temperance. And then the door.
She gave a little nod.
His cheeks flushing red, Chance grabbed the crates from her. “Forgive me.”
He needn’t have apologized. Temperance well knew how limited their time together was. She knew every moment he shared with Gwynn was fleeting because of their work. Because of where he lived and where Gwynn lived. And Temperance would see they had the opportunity to be together when they could.
The moment they entered Madame Amelie’s workroom, Chance set the crates down atop the tidy, organized table. And while her brother and Gwynn became lost in one another once more, Temperance began removing the items he’d brought.
“Orange taffeta?” she asked, cringing. “That’s nearly as bad as pink on Mrs. Marmlebury.”
“Hmm?” Gwynn said distractedly, not so much as taking her eyes from Chance.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” Temperance said and began pulling out the remainder of the bolts.
Simply put, when they were together, Temperance and the world ceased to exist for the couple.
Yet for her earlier envy, the truth remained—love was a luxury for those of their station. It was why she allowed them whatever time they had together. It was why she didn’t mind being forgotten, because they were deserving of happiness.
Temperance paused in her sorting and stared absently at the cheerful yellow satin in her hands.
Happiness wasn’t for their lot. And certainly not happily-ever-afters. She knew that firsthand, but it did not mean she wouldn’t help her brother and her best—and only—friend steal joy where they could.
A short while later, all the bolts having been removed, laid out, and organized according to color as Madame Amelie preferred, Gwynn glanced over.
The dazed happiness had gone from her friend’s eyes, to be replaced with the sadness that always came when it neared time for Chance to return to his work in London.
“Hey, none of this,” he murmured, touching a finger to Gwynn’s chin. “I’ll have more deliveries soon, and I’ve every reason to believe Mr. Buxton intends to one day soon promote me to supervisor of the floors. Then there’ll be funds.” He cupped Gwynn’s chin. “Just until then . . .”
The other woman’s voice shook when she spoke. “London is too far.”
It wasn’t too far. It was, however, far enough, and that was the reason Temperance had fled to this sliver of country years earlier.
Tears slipped down Gwynn’s cheeks, and Chance looked hopelessly at Temperance.
“He’ll return soon enough,” she said, unable to offer any more assurances than that. And she looked away as her brother placed a kiss on Gwynn’s lips.
Chance lingered there a moment, his eyes upon Gwynn. “Someday, we’ll be together. Forever.” And with that, he was gone.
Gwynn stared after him.
“I am so sorry, Gwynn,” Temperance said softly. “Someday . . .” Except she could not make herself finish. Because she knew better than anyone else that, in matters of the heart, “somedays” did not exist.
Her friend swiped the tears from her cheeks. “There won’t be . . . and there isn’t. Not when there aren’t funds to be together. Not with each of us reliant upon the work we do on altogether different sides of England.” Gwynn stared at the door where Chance had taken his leave moments ago. “This is as good as it will ever get,” she whispered to herself. And with that, she left.
This is as good as it will ever get . . .
And how Temperance hated it. For her brother. For her friend.
She’d long ago accepted the disappointments in her own life, of what she’d lost, of what had never been meant to be. But as she removed the now empty crates and stacked them at the back of Madame Amelie’s workroom, she wished she could see Gwynn and Chance, with their rare kind of love, find the happiness she’d never managed.
Chapter 3
It had taken seven days.
Seven miserable days of Dare living in Mayfair and being waited on by servants he didn’t want, and receiving visits from family he didn’t consider family, to at last have the sole meeting he cared about.
Seated amongst the same gathering who’d fetched him from the gallows, Dare listened on