Three Weeks With Lady X by Eloisa James Page B

afraid that Papa had very little money when he died; Mr. Pancras said that he was a spendthrift.”
    “Your father didn’t make enough money in the militia to permit extravagance,” Thorn told her, making a mental note to send another Bow Street Runner after Pancras and, when he’d been turned up, to send him on a boat to China, special delivery. “So you were sent along with the beer.”
    Rose nodded. “The journey look longer than Mr. Pancras had thought it would.”
    “What happened to your clothing?”
    “When we reached your house, the driver left quickly, and he forgot about my trunk. It was strapped under the barrels. He was quite unkind and wouldn’t bring it down at night. I had to sleep in my dress.”
    A second Runner to find Rose’s trunk. “How long was the journey?”
    “Three days.”
    Thorn felt fury smoldering in his gut. “ Three days ? Where did you sleep?”
    “The driver allowed me to sleep in the wagon,” she explained. “It wasn’t entirely proper, but I thought that Papa would tell me not to fuss. Did you know that when he was little, Papa occasionally slept outside, under the stars?”
    Occasionally? He and Will had spent a couple of years sleeping in a church graveyard because their bloody-minded master wouldn’t let them inside except in the dead of winter. “I did.”
    “He did not fuss, and neither did I,” said Rose, and up went that little nose again. “I don’t like to be unclean, and I didn’t care for the insects living in the straw. But I did not complain.”
    Thorn nodded.
    “Or cry. At least,” she added, “until I reached your house, when I succumbed to exhaustion.”
    “You succumbed?” Thorn took a deep breath. “When you first arrived this morning, you didn’t say a word. Do you know that I considered the idea that you might be unable to speak altogether?”
    That won the very first smile he’d seen on her face.
    “I talk too much,” she informed him. “That’s what Papa always says— said .” Her face crumpled, and smoothed over so quickly that he almost missed it.
    “You might feel better if you cry.”
    “I shall not, because it would make him feel sad, even in heaven.”
    Thorn frowned, not at all sure how to untangle that.
    “Besides, I needn’t cry. I am not alone and I don’t have to sleep under the stars. I have you in case of tribulation. I’m lucky,” she said stoutly. But a tear ran down her cheek.
    “You’d better come over here,” he said, holding out an arm.
    “Why?”
    “Because this is a time of tribulation.”
    They drove the rest of the way to a store called Noah’s Ark, Rose nestled under his arm. After a while, Thorn handed over his handkerchief.
    The shop turned out to be a wonderful place, crammed with not only dolls but also toy boats, toy carriages with real wheels, and whole regiments of tin soldiers.
    The owner, Mr. Hamley, surveyed the two of them and apparently recognized instantly that while Rose looked like a tattered little crow, Thorn planned to buy her whatever she wished. Consequently, he began treating Rose like one of the royal princesses.
    As Hamley introduced Rose to the very best dolls to be found in all England (according to him), Thorn wandered away and discovered the wooden balls meant for playing croquet. He picked one up, tested its weight, tossed it from hand to hand. It would be interesting to try to make a rubber ball. It might even be possible to make it bounce. . . .
    He was thinking about that when Rose came to fetch him. She had found the perfect doll, with real hair, bright blue eyes, and movable joints. “I shall call her Antigone,” Rose told him.
    It seemed like an odd name to Thorn, but what did he know? He distinctly remembered that his sister Phoebe had a girl doll she named Fergus.
    Twilight was falling by the time Rose selected an appropriate wardrobe for her new doll. Antigone had a morning dress for making calls, a velvet evening dress, and a riding habit with cunning