Pinching herself to remain present, she nodded to him. “Good day, Mr. Kelsey.” He is only kind because you’re helping him. Because he’s forcing you to help him. Bah!
“You’re early.” He fell in step beside her. He held two old-looking books in his hands, but Elsie didn’t try to read the titles. Not today. With Emmeline taken care of, her mind turned elsewhere, sitting on some forgotten easel, waiting for the artist to remember her.
“I don’t believe we set a time,” she countered, watching the cobblestones pass underfoot.
He thought a moment. “I don’t believe we did.”
She nodded. It wasn’t a long walk to the duke’s estate, though she wouldn’t have minded a long walk. They were good for the body and the mind. A walk after a rainstorm, especially, but it hadn’t rained yesterday or last night.
“Are you well?”
She glanced up at him, and the cylinder of her thoughts spun a moment before firing. “I believe we’ve only been chatting for a few seconds, Mr. Kelsey. I doubt you’ve had enough time to gauge my health. But yes, I am well.”
“Hmm.” It was a sound of disbelief.
The market street bent near the end, almost like a river, and they took the turn together. On another day Elsie might worry someone would eye them and wonder after her, a young woman strolling with a man, but no one paid her any mind, other than the occasional nod. They didn’t even notice Mr. Kelsey, but perhaps they were used to him by now.
Once they cleared the market street and reached the road that stretched to the estate, Mr. Kelsey asked, “Are you in trouble with your employer?”
Which one? she almost asked, but instead said, “No.”
“He’s treating you well?”
She blinked a couple of times, feeling the need to wake up. “Mr. Ogden treats me very well. Like a daughter.” Daughter.
The word sat like a lead ball in her chest.
“I believe you are lying to me.”
She glared at him. “Mr. Ogden—”
He raised his free hand. “About your state of mind, not your employer.”
Elsie raised her chin. “You never asked about my state of mind, Mr. Kelsey. One generally perceives the question of wellness in relation to the body.”
“Now you are being more yourself.”
She folded her arms. “Am I?”
“Yes. You’re being difficult.” He said it with a sliver of humor.
Her arms dropped back to her sides as quickly as she had lifted them. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be.”
“And now you’re apologizing, which truly alarms me.”
She sighed. She could see the top of the duke’s estate through the trees.
The lead ball in her chest was maddening.
“Since you already think me a criminal,” she tried, focusing again on the road, “I don’t suppose it does any harm to tell you.” She’d like to tell someone about Mr. Hall’s letter, about the death knell of her foolish hopes, and she’d already worried Emmeline and Ogden enough over her drama with Alfred.
Mr. Kelsey was silent. Listening.
She straightened her back, as though that would add dignity to her situation. She had already begun to regret her offer of information, but it would do her good to let it out. And what was Bacchus Kelsey to her? He already knew her biggest secret.
“I came to work with Mr. Ogden”—she left out her time with the squire—“from a workhouse.”
Mr. Kelsey hesitated. “That . . . is not uncommon. Unless changes have been made to the system concerning the impoverished.”
Elsie shrugged. “I was in a workhouse because I lost my family. Or they lost me. On purpose, I suppose.” She rolled her lips together. She never spoke about this to anyone, not in detail. Ogden knew some of the particulars, but she’d told him only because she had to prove she had as much experience as many of his older candidates. It was strange speaking about it now, like reciting poetry in German. “I mean, we stayed with a family in a small town west of here one night, and only I remained in the morning. And so I write to that family every now and then, to see if they’ve received any word of my parents or siblings. And yesterday they wrote me back telling me to stop wasting their postage.”
When Mr. Kelsey didn’t respond, she took her eyes off the cobblestones and looked up at him. His gaze was unfocused, like he was thinking.
“I suppose that’s why I’m such a vagabond,” she tried, but the humor fell flat. “And I would appreciate you keeping it to yourself. I have a good standing in Brookley, you know.”
Mr. Kelsey shook his head. “No, I . . . I mean to express my sympathies. I am . . . not sure how to do it.”
“I appreciate the attempt.”
“If it is any consolation, I myself am a bastard.” When she gaped at the confession, he dismissed it with a wave. “My father did not treat me any differently for it, but he never married my mother. She was of a common background and hailed from the Algarve; my grandparents didn’t approve. But your story is not one I’ve heard before. And I’ve heard many.”
She regarded him for a moment, but his words were genuine. “Is Barbados so exciting?”
“I suppose that depends on your definition of excitement.” It was not a jest. “But I do offer them. My sympathies, that is. I’m sorry the family is not more understanding.”
She pinched the seam of her left glove. “They had little enough coin, and it’s been fifteen years! I can hardly blame them.” She thought she did a good job of making her voice sound light.
They reached the duke’s stone wall, the one that still made Elsie’s wrists itch when she looked at it.
Mr. Kelsey stopped abruptly.
“Miss Camden,” he began, very serious and suddenly rather tall. “I have decided your debt is repaid. Twice over, considering. You have no more need to drag yourself here to ensure my silence. Your secret is forgotten.”
Elsie stared at him for a second. Just like that? “Well, if pity is all it takes, I should have told you my life story sooner!”
He held up a hand. “It is not pity.”
She paused, regarding him. Something stupid and hopeful fluttered in her chest.
“I’d already decided as much before I saw you this morning,” he said. “There is little more I need your services for, besides.”
She flinched at the words before biting the inside of her cheek and forcing her expression to relax. Doesn’t need me. She tried not to dwell on it. She barely knew the man, and yet her chest had grown heavier at the declaration. Frustration—thank the Lord, she could work with frustration—steamed under her skin. Not frustration at Mr. Kelsey, but at herself for feeling hurt, of all things, by his dismissal! She should be glad. She was glad. No more sneaking away to Kent, no more late nights finishing her work, no more shillings spent on cabs. In fact, she’d been mistaken. It wasn’t disappointment that feathered beneath her ribs, just surprise. Surprise and relief. Most definitely.
“All right, then.” She paused to give him a chance to recant. Not that she wanted him to. Blessed freedom! “I don’t suppose you’ll reimburse my expenses to journey here this morning.”
She expected him to refuse, but to her surprise, he reached into his wallet and handed her a few shillings. Plenty to see her back to Brookley.
Elsie felt awkward accepting the money, but it would be more embarrassing to suddenly change her mind, so she put it in her reticule. She found herself at a loss for words at their unexpected parting. She couldn’t thank him—he had blackmailed her, for goodness’ sake! But he’d also been true to his word. But she wouldn’t thank him for that. That was expected of a gentleman.
“I suppose I’ll head home.” She pinched her chatelaine in her hands. “Good day, Mr. Kelsey.”
He nodded. She started down the road, brushing the tangle of her feelings aside. But a new thought rose to mind, and she paused. Turned around.