Page 71 of The Lord Meets His Lady

Since coming here, what had passed between them had left a mark. Was it friendship? Was that the name for sitting comfortably with a man and reading with him? For negotiating chamber-pot cleaning with a smile? And the kisses… Was there a name for kissing a man senseless while riding his thigh?

The last part was hot lust. And the idea of leaving Lord Bowles left her cold.

She stared at the fire. “His name is Reinhard Wolf. He’s Prussian. Three years ago, he started coming to the Golden Goose. He’d meet other gentlemen of quality and some”—she huffed weakly—“clearly not.”

“He sought you out.”

“No. He wasn’t there for the women, milord, but he did watch me.” She smoothed her skirt. “It was a long time before he spoke to me.”

Mr. Beckworth turned a chair around and straddled the seat. “How’d you come to sign this?” He held up the damning contract, her copy with its torn indention notched in the corner.

Time slipped past, flashing pictures of her life in recent years. Working late nights behind the stage. Mopping ale-soaked floors in the early-morning hours. The dark, windowless garret she shared with her mother. The leaky roof. Bed ropes squeaking from her mother and her gentlemen callers in better days.

In time, the bed ropes creaked for other reasons. The putrid sores. The agony of pained joints.

“Reinhard knew about my mother. When she got sick.”

Mr. Beckworth folded his arms over the back of the chair. “I’m very sorry to hear that, but how does that connect with this indenture?”

She blinked, her eyelids heavy. “Because everything started with my mother’s illness. She had the French pox.”

Mr. Beckworth’s face was a stoic mask upon learning the woman he’d hired wasn’t the person she’d presented herself to be. Yet she saw no judgment in his eyes. Lord Bowles stood quietly by the fire. He knew parts of her lurid tale, but laying her life open all at once—as she was about to do—wasn’t the same as piecemeal conversations.

“There were costly liquid mercury treatments, but they helped my mother.”

“All paid for by a Prussian benefactor?” Lord Bowles bit out.

“No. Paid for by me.”

The lines around his mouth tightened.

“She died, and my money ran out,” Genevieve explained. “I’d been saving it to strike out on my own and find an apprenticeship with a clockmaker. I wanted a different life.”

“You’d be older than the typical apprentice.” Mr. Beckworth and his practicality.

“I’m a hard worker. I’d prove myself.”

“I’m sure you would,” he agreed quietly.

She linked her hands. Heat radiated from the fire, touching her ankles the same as other nights reading here with Lord Bowles. How could a woman of twenty years feel so worn out? For every step she took forward, life battered her, denied her the simple pleasure of a better future. But she refused to feel sorry for herself.

“Mr. Millburn, owner of the Golden Goose, knew my mother wanted me to have a better life. He said he had a way out for me.” She sucked in a deep breath. “I’d need references from respectable employment before seeking an apprenticeship.”

“And the indenture?” Mr. Beckworth prompted.

“Mr. Millburn brought me the contract. He told me it was the first step.”

“This Prussian… Did he force himself on you?” Lord Bowles asked.

She stared at the fire, bitter laughter spilling from her. “Reinhard Wolf never forced himself on any woman. He doesn’t have to. Believe me, many tried to get his attention at the Goose.”

Lord Bowles balled his hand on the mantel. “Then his attentions were well received.”

“At first. I was flattered.” She winced, bruised by the ugly admission. “I signed the indenture because I thought it was for one year.”

Mr. Beckworth coughed, shifting in his chair to deliver a gentle lesson. “I’ve never heard of that kind of arrangement. Most indentures go to the colonies for seven years’ service.”

Her mouth twisted bitterly. “I should’ve known when I was presented with something too good to be true. Reinhard promised employment as his housekeeper. It would be the beginning of a new life.” She stared into the fire, sad and lost. “All negotiated by Mr. Millburn.”