Nine
Della was too excited to work on her book before Lord Ashton’s call the next morning, even though she knew she should. Today marked their third meeting, which meant she was nearly halfway through the two-month deadline he’d imposed for her first draft.
She wasn’t quite sure where the time had gone, but she wouldn’t despair yet. If she put everything else aside for a whole week and devoted herself to the task, she would have to catch up. That was exactly what she’d do, just as soon as Lord Ashton’s visit was over. Then she would feel better about everything.
But Miss Chatterjee called shortly before her rival-turned-mentor-turned-paramour could arrive.
“I’m so happy you came, but I must warn you I have an engagement at eleven,” Della explained as she showed her into the sunny drawing room. “I’m expecting a gentleman.”
Della must have been vibrating at a high frequency (probably owing to the four cups of tea she’d already drunk that morning to calm herself), for Reva was quick to jump to conclusions.
“A gentleman? I didn’t realize you had a new suitor!”
“I wouldn’t call him that,” Della added quickly. “We’re friends. He’s mentoring me for that guidebook I told you about.”
“Oh.” Reva looked watchful, gauging the situation before she replied. “Are you sure there’s no particular attachment there? You seemed excited just now.”
“I’m sure.” Della spoke firmly enough to hide the question in her heart. “I’ll admit that he intrigues me, but we wouldn’t suit. For many reasons.”
She didn’t know what stopped her from pouring the whole story out to Reva. Her friend would keep her secrets, and she’d been longing to confide in someone. But Della couldn’t shake the nagging suspicion that if she revealed Lord Ashton had an estranged wife out there somewhere and she’d kissed him anyway (in an alleyway, no less!), Reva’s opinion would be set against him. Jane would react the same way, no doubt. Which meant she couldn’t tell anyone about her budding affaire with Lord Ashton unless she wanted a concerned lecture on the subject, which she certainly did not.
I already have one Annabelle in my life.
“It’s been so long since you mentioned anyone who interested you. Have you given up on the season altogether?”
“No, no, of course not,” Della assured her. “I’m just focusing on the club these days. But forget about me. How are matters progressing with Mr. Bhattacharya? Have you received a proposal yet?”
Reva didn’t answer, but pursed her lips and dropped her eyes in a knowing manner.
“ Reva! ” Della shrieked.
“Shh, there’s nothing final yet. His family are going to call on my parents on Friday to settle the details and choose a wedding date. After that we can make an announcement.”
“I’m so happy for you!” Judging by her smile, Reva was happy too. Della swept her friend into a tight embrace. “Tell me all about him. Is he very handsome?”
“I find him handsome. He’s tall, with a kind smile. He loves poetry as much as I do, and he’s studying to become a barrister.” She was blushing as she spoke. “He’s very clever.”
Lord Ashton is clever too , Della couldn’t help but think. It was a good quality in a man. And Reva was the sort of lady to need a husband she could really talk to, not someone who would stick to his own sphere of interest and ignore her.
“I’m happy for you,” Della repeated. “I can’t wait for your wedding.”
Though her joy was quite real, she couldn’t help but wonder if this would mean that Reva would be busy with a baby of her own in a year or two, just like Jane. It seemed most of her friends had settled down now. She hadn’t noticed it happening; they just slid away one by one until before she knew it, she’d clipped out a wedding announcement for everyone except herself.
She was glad they were happy, of course—with the exception of a few who weren’t—but it made Della uneasy to see how her friends changed afterward. They retired to the countryside; they stopped coming by the club when they were in town; they started throwing dinner parties made up entirely of married couples to have a “balanced table.” By the time a baby came along, the gap between their lives and Della’s had often widened into a chasm. Even if she might follow them into matrimony one day, she would never abandon her old life that way.
Why were they all in such a hurry to stop having fun?
“You must promise you won’t be too busy for me once you’re a married woman.” Della squeezed Reva’s hands. “I shall still come and visit you, and you must do likewise. You’re staying in London, I trust?” If her future husband was to be a barrister, there was a good chance he would work in town.
“Yes,” Reva confirmed.
“Wonderful.” Della breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever else might come, at least her friend wasn’t disappearing to some forgotten corner of the countryside like so many others had. “Let’s make sure to have some fun together before you get too busy preparing for your wedding. I need to tour some attractions in London for my book soon, if you’d care to join me.”
“Oh, where are you going?”
“The shops, the botanical gardens, the theater, any place interesting we can think of, really. It’s been ages since I visited most of them, and I need to make sure my descriptions are up to date.”
Before Reva could answer, a knock at the door indicated Lord Ashton had arrived. Reva cast a questioning look at Della as she rose to her feet. “You aren’t going to rush me off before I can even see the man, are you? I need to judge if you wouldn’t suit as much as you claim.”
Della smiled at her friend’s teasing. “Very well, but you must promise not to make a fuss. I meant it when I said he wasn’t a match for me.” She was trying to look stern, but as usual, it proved beyond the abilities of her face. Reva didn’t seem mollified in the least.
The butler showed Lord Ashton in, and he halted his step midstride when he saw them. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize you had company.”
“I was just leaving,” Reva explained.
“Miss Chatterjee, please allow me to present the Viscount Ashton, who’s been kind enough to help me with my book.”
Reva curtsied gracefully. “How do you do?”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Chatterjee,” Lord Ashton said as he bowed in return.
He looked particularly handsome today, dressed in a crisp fawn morning coat and a green silk cravat that brought out the color of his eyes. Or perhaps it was only that Della saw him in a new light now that they had breached the walls between them. Belatedly, she realized that she was smiling at him too warmly, her eyes lingering too long, and that Reva had probably noticed all of it.
She flushed, which did nothing to help matters.
“Miss Danby was just telling me about her plans to tour every attraction in London! I hope you aren’t keeping her too busy, my lord.”
Reva said the words with a friendly smile, but Della caught a flash of panic in Ashton’s eye. What was wrong? Oh, but he must think that she’d said something about their trip to Laurent’s Casino last night.
“The decision to see all the shops and theaters again was my own, not Lord Ashton’s,” Della cut in smoothly, hoping the words would convey her discretion. “You know I don’t like to do things in half measures.”
“True,” Reva agreed with a little laugh. “You’re nothing if not ambitious.” With another little curtsy to Lord Ashton, she said, “I won’t keep you from your work any longer. I’m sure you have lots to discuss.”
Della invited Ashton to make himself comfortable while she saw Reva to the door. Once they were in the foyer and safely out of earshot, Reva whispered excitedly, “You didn’t say he was a viscount !”
Della decided her best course was to feign innocence. “I thought you knew. Didn’t I tell you he was the author of that guidebook for gentlemen?”
“I’ve never read it,” Reva replied with an apologetic look. “Are you very sure you don’t suit? Just think, you could be the next Lady Ashton.”
Except that there’s already a Lady Ashton. The woman might have separated from her husband, but she would always retain her position in life. And if Reva should trouble herself to search through Debrett’s or ask after him, she would learn the truth quickly enough.
“Very sure.” Della managed to force a little smile, as though none of this troubled her. It really wasn’t her concern. She and Ashton were just having some harmless fun until they went their separate ways. There was nothing wrong with that, as long as they kept things quiet.
“What a pity.” Reva deflated a little. “We might have been married right after one another. Ah, well. I hope your writing goes smoothly.”
Once Reva was gone, Della took a deep breath.
It was only natural for Reva to have such hopes for her. Most ladies her age wished to marry as well as they could, and a viscount would be a fine catch for anyone of her station. More than fine.
But most ladies had neither the money nor the daring to live precisely as they liked, much less a profitable business to fall back on. Della was ambitious. And right now, her goal was to make the most of her present situation before the opportunity was gone.
She returned to the drawing room with a quick step. A maid had whisked away Miss Chatterjee’s tea and brought in a fresh cup for Lord Ashton in the brief time she’d been away, but there was no sign of her now. Della and her guest were quite alone. She shut the door softly behind her, wondering how long she had before Annabelle realized that she was late to her chaperoning duties. Not more than a few minutes, probably. She would use them well.
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” she murmured with a warm smile.
Ashton rose to his feet politely at her entrance. “It’s quite all right.”
They stared at each other for a long moment, neither one of them quite sure how to behave after the way they’d parted. Della made no move to sit, and the viscount was too well mannered to take his own seat first. He watched her expectantly. His expression was always so intense, but this time Della was finally sure she was the cause of the emotion there.
She relished the feel of his eyes on her body .
Della crossed the room and wrapped her hands around Ashton’s neck without a word. His swift intake of breath betrayed his surprise, but he didn’t resist as Della stood on her tiptoes and tugged his head down to meet her embrace. He kissed her hungrily, as if it had been far longer than a few hours since their last encounter. “Sit on the divan,” she breathed, giving his chest a firm nudge in the direction she wanted him.
Lord Ashton obeyed—for a bossy aristocrat, he seemed willing enough to listen to her instructions when it mattered—and slid his hands lower to grip her waist as he sat down. Della followed quickly after him, hiking her skirts up to straddle his legs and rest her weight upon him.
“What if someone sees us like this?” His eyes were wide with shock at her boldness, their muddy green shade growing brighter in the light of the morning sun streaming through the windows. The shrubbery outside and the lace curtains obscured them from the view of anyone approaching the house, but their actions weren’t without some risk. Della judged the reward to be worth it. As she eased herself down to press against Ashton’s growing arousal, his protest died off in a low groan.
“They won’t.” Della reassured him, rocking her hips slowly as his breath grew quick. “We’ll stop in just a minute. I only wanted to greet you properly while I still had the chance.”
Unless you beg me not to stop.
Ashton’s hand clenched against her lower back, as if he were thinking the same thing.
It was far more comfortable to kiss him at this angle, where their difference in height was reduced. Della ran a hand through Ashton’s hair and down the back of his neck, pausing to anchor herself on the firm base of his shoulder as she pressed herself against him.
“Della.” He gasped her name like a plea. “You’re driving me mad.”
“Good.” She felt merciless. That was exactly what she wanted. After the way he’d left her last night without ever taking his own pleasure, Della wanted to know that she could break that self-control. That she could make him so desperate to have her he wouldn’t be able to resist. She bit his lower lip—half by accident in her haste to drink her fill of him before they were interrupted, half on purpose.
His hand slid lower to cup her rear and pull her tight against him. “We shouldn’t,” he murmured, even as his own actions betrayed him. “Anyone could walk in.”
As if summoned by this observation, a set of light footsteps sounded overhead, drawing toward them.
Annabelle.
Della leaned over to whisper into Lord Ashton’s ear. “I want you thinking of this all day, until you can come back to me this evening and finish what we’ve started.”
With that promise, she rose to her feet and smoothed down her skirts, selecting a seat several feet away. Ashton swayed forward as she retreated, as if he intended to pull her right back against him, but he slumped back against the divan a moment later, breathing deeply. His eyes bored into her with such heat that it took all her willpower to maintain a distance between them.
He adjusted himself to hide the obvious evidence of his arousal, but nothing could hide his tousled hair and flushed cheeks, a sharp contrast to his normally immaculate appearance. Della had no doubt she looked much the same, if the hammering of her heart was any indication.
Annabelle would guess what they’d been up to, no doubt. But she smoothed her hair into place all the same. It was important to keep up appearances.
***
If it were possible to die of sexual frustration, Lyman would already be six feet underground.
The woman behaved as though she’d been raised in a brothel rather than the drawing rooms of Mayfair. The way she’d spread her legs over him without a trace of hesitation! Yet somehow, she managed to look perfectly innocent and rosy-cheeked—not an ounce of shame in her body—when her sister entered the room a moment later.
It was infuriating.
It was extremely arousing.
He’d never known anyone like her. During his marriage to Ellen, Lyman had been entirely in the dark. Whether she was too demure to tell him what she wanted, or whether she truly wanted nothing at all, Lyman couldn’t have said. All he knew was that they’d been like two icebergs bobbing hopelessly around each other. Their only options were a collision course or complete indifference. When he’d finally allowed himself the satisfaction of a discreet affaire, long after Ellen had banished him from her life, it had been a shock to realize how different it could be. What mutual passion could look like between a man and a woman. But even then, he’d never met anyone quite so lively as Della. She was unmatched in that respect.
“When did Miss Chatterjee leave?” Annabelle asked in an accusatory tone. “You should have called me if you were alone.”
She was watching Lyman with an extra dose of suspicion this morning. This didn’t bode well for his plan to avoid any duels. He cleared his throat and tried to look unconcerned.
“Only a moment ago,” Della replied. “Honestly, there’s no need to fuss.”
He should say something. More specifically, he should say something ordinary and reassuring. A question about Della’s book, or even the weather—anything but the fact that she’d been straddling his lap five minutes ago.
I want you thinking of this all day , she had said, her breath hot in his ear. Well, she’d achieved what she set out to. He hoped she didn’t regret the loss of his opinion on whatever it was they were supposed to be talking about.
Lyman sipped his tea and tried to focus on the bitter heat washing over his tongue, rather than the very different sort of heat coiling low in his stomach.
Della, in contrast, didn’t seem the least bit distracted. Her smile was so dazzling that Lyman was certain it threw a reflection on his spectacles as she addressed him. “I hoped we could talk about some ideas I had last night.”
Lyman swallowed hard, his mind flooding with images of their evening, until she continued.
“There are some important subjects missing from your book, and I wanted your thoughts on whether I should add them to mine.”
“Oh.” Of course she meant her book. He should be grateful she was focusing on the business at hand, for once. Although Lyman bristled a little at the suggestion he’d left anything out. “I endeavored to be quite thorough.”
“I’ve no doubt you did,” she replied with a knowing smile. Next to her, Miss Annabelle rolled her eyes, killing any thought he’d had of forming a flirtatious reply.
This was damnably awkward.
“I wanted to add a section on views,” Della continued.
“Views?” He struggled to follow her proposal through the host of other thoughts swimming around his brain.
“Yes! Think of it—the people who come to London from the countryside for the first time want to see the whole city laid out before them.” Della grew more animated as she spoke, spreading her hands wide as if to paint him an image of the Tower and Westminster and all the other landmarks looming above the water. “I think you likened it to ancient Babylon somewhere in your guidebook, didn’t you?” He had, in the opening chapter. He was pleased that she remembered. “I wouldn’t want to see Babylon and never look at the whole thing from a nice hillside somewhere. So, which vantage point do you think is best to take in the city?”
She’d conjured a notebook and pencil from somewhere, but Lyman had nothing to help her fill it. “I’ve never given it much thought,” he admitted.
“Never?” Della set her pencil down, looking at him incredulously. “When you come back to town after a long absence, aren’t you ever struck by the vastness of it?”
“I live in town year-round.”
“You don’t return to your country house?”
“Not in years.”
“Oh, of course. Forgive me.” Della blushed. Her assumption was evident—that he must have left his country house to the use of his estranged wife and taken up the town house as his residence. He should correct her, but he didn’t.
She’s going to find out eventually, a hateful voice whispered in his mind. And once she does, she’ll never look at you the same way again.
“I felt the purpose of my guide was to enable people to seek out establishments of quality and avoid those that would fleece them and offer little in return,” he said, ignoring the oppressive feeling that weighed on him. They were having a lovely morning. He wouldn’t ruin it. “I hadn’t considered the views important.”
“Do you think it would be silly of me to include them?” Della’s rich brown eyes were wide and earnest, her lips parting slightly as she drew a breath. Lyman was all too conscious that he might crush her enthusiasm with a careless word, though she should never have given him that kind of power.
He’d been dismissive of her at the beginning, he knew. He’d refused to put her club in his book, then scoffed at her plans to write one of her own. But it wasn’t too late to remedy that.
“I don’t think it would be silly in the least.” Lyman offered her a faint smile. “I only wish I’d thought of it first.”
The burst of joy upon Della’s face was more gratifying than he’d expected. Like the sun breaking through a patch of rain to dispel a chill.
“Shall we go and search for the best ones, then?”
“Now?” Lyman was knocked off his feet once more, struggling to keep up with her changeable impulses.
He couldn’t afford to spend the day gallivanting around London with her on a whim. He’d already lost the time he normally allotted to his writing this morning by rising late, and then there was tonight’s rendezvous to think of. He couldn’t seem to tear himself away from Della, despite his better judgment.
“Why not?” Her bright smile promised that it would be a great adventure, as all things in her life were, it seemed. “I need to determine which vantage points to include, and you could stand to have your sense of wonder renewed.”
“My sense of wonder.” Surprise tugged a laugh from Lyman’s chest. “Isn’t that normally reserved for children?”
“Why should it be?”
He had no answer for her, and Della took his silence for assent. Perhaps it was. “Where shall we start? We might try Fleet Street, looking toward St. Paul’s.”
Lyman took a moment to consider. “That’s not bad. You can see St. Martin Ludgate from there as well, and the architecture contrasts nicely.”
“It’s settled then. I’ll ask the footman to ready a carriage for us.”
“I’m coming too,” Annabelle immediately proclaimed.
“You are not .”
“You can’t be alone in a closed carriage.” She wore a smug little smile as she spoke. “And Peter already took the phaeton.”
Della made a noise of supreme frustration. “Why can’t you find a hobby?”
“You should be grateful I’m helping you! Besides, I know all sorts of spots with lovely views, if you’d bothered to ask me.”
“Thank you, Miss Annabelle.” Lyman intervened before Della could vent her spleen any further. “We’d love to hear your ideas.”
Much as he would have relished the chance to get Della alone again, it wasn’t likely to happen. And they would do better not to cross anyone who knew as much about them as Annabelle did.
His encouragement took the girl by surprise, but she quickly recovered. “The Waterloo Bridge,” she said matter-of-factly. “Toward the Surrey side. You can see everything from there. It’s a lovely place to take anyone who’s new to town that you might want to impress.”
Lyman managed not to raise an eyebrow at this, though it cost him some effort. It was none of his business whom Miss Annabelle was impressing. Turning to her sister (who suffered no such compunction about making a dubious face), Lyman asked, “Shall we start with the bridge then?”
“Very well.” Della rang for a servant and relayed her instructions. After the ladies had gathered their things, their party was off.
***
True to Miss Annabelle’s word, the view from the Waterloo Bridge was a pretty sight. At this hour of the morning, the sun was high in the sky and cast silver reflections across the curve of the Thames below. Any direction they turned offered something interesting to look at. With the South Bank at their backs, the pristine white facade of Somerset House stood before them. To the east, church spires broke through the skyline between the array of town houses and theaters and parks. The familiar dome of St. Paul’s Cathedral was among them. To the west, a little further off, they could glimpse Westminster. At this distance, the people walking on the streets before it were featureless silhouettes. As anonymous as only London could make them.
Della had been right. He should have thought to put this in his book.
“You see?” Annabelle watched her sister expectantly.
“I suppose it is quite pretty,” Della admitted. “Thank you for the suggestion.”
Annabelle beamed at this praise.
Della turned to Lyman, her face full of the sense of wonder she’d promised him. “It really is something to see the whole town laid out at once. To think how many people built all this and keep the cogs turning each day.”
“One point nine million, at the last census,” Lyman offered helpfully.
Della laughed, the sound high and clear. “Of course you would know that.”
“I could hardly expect people to buy my guidebook if I didn’t,” he explained. “If I’m holding myself out as an authority, the least I can do is provide accurate information.”
“I quite agree. That’s exactly why I want to see all the sights I intend to write about.”
Yes, her friend Miss Chatterjee had said something like that back at the house.
“You’ve set yourself quite the task if you intend to visit everything in the time we have,” he said. “Shall we head back to the carriage and start on something else?”
Her coachman was waiting for them just past the entrance to the bridge, as they’d wanted to take the pedestrian path to examine the view at their leisure.
You should turn back home and tend to your own work. The warning crept into Lyman’s thoughts, but he couldn’t seem to summon the willpower to cut their interlude short.
Della paused for a moment and turned to look out over the water again. Her lips parted slightly, animated by an almost imperceptible movement, as if she were whispering her thoughts to herself as she struggled to memorize the skyline. The sight was so unguarded it felt almost too intimate, but Lyman didn’t turn away. Perhaps he, too, was trying to memorize the sight of something bright and lovely.
“Very well. Let’s head over to Fleet Street next. Then I can try to write up the chapter on views later today. As you say, I need to work quickly if I’m to manage everything.”
He offered an arm to each sister as they turned back toward the carriage, though Miss Annabelle declined, preferring to stride a few paces ahead of them than to walk demurely at his side. He was beginning to see what Della had meant when she’d claimed that her younger sibling wasn’t as innocent as she seemed.
They’d come some distance to reach the archway she’d identified as having the best angle on the whole city, so retracing their footsteps took several minutes. Della was uncharacteristically silent. When Lyman glanced down, he found her watching him so intently that he grew uneasy.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
“Only that you’re proving much more fun than I expected,” she replied with a smile.
He inclined his head. “In that case, I hope I don’t disappoint you again.”
“I realized last night that I feel as though I’ve met two of you: the strict and proper Lord Ashton who looked down his nose at me when I wanted to put my club in his book and the fun-loving Lord Ashton who can appreciate life’s pleasures.”
“I didn’t look down my nose at you,” he protested. Her assessment made him more uncomfortable than he cared to let on. “And the strict and proper Lord Ashton sounds more like my father than myself. He used to consider me rather irresponsible.”
Della raised an eyebrow, as if she might have challenged this, but she only said, “You were young when you inherited the title, weren’t you?”
He nearly missed his step.
“Have you been asking others about me?”
“We looked you up in Debrett’s,” Annabelle volunteered helpfully. Even four paces ahead, she appeared to be listening to their every word. How lovely.
Still, the explanation brought Lyman a measure of relief. Debrett’s recorded essential facts, not rumor. “I was twenty-four. My father’s health had begun to decline the previous year, and before I knew it, he was gone and I was the new viscount.”
“I’m sorry.” Della seemed to mull over his words for a moment before she continued. “So you were a carefree youth when you went to all the places in your book, but then you inherited the title and you felt an obligation to become serious and respectable. Is that it?” She wrinkled her nose, her opinion of respectability plain.
Lyman shivered. It felt as if someone had walked over his grave.
“Something like that,” he murmured.
“It needn’t be one or the other, you know,” Della continued, oblivious to the sense of foreboding that had come over him. “You can fulfill your responsibilities and still enjoy yourself from time to time.”
“You seem to manage it very well,” he replied with a tip of his hat, “but I’m not certain I can follow your example. I find a strict prohibition easier to maintain than moderation.”
Lyman was pointedly ignoring the fact that his time with Della didn’t fit neatly in either category. He’d broken his own rules for himself when he kissed her last night, and she didn’t seem to be the sort of woman he might confine into “moderation.” She threw herself into everything with full abandon.
“To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I manage it as well as it seems,” Della said with a self-conscious laugh. “Though my fault is in the opposite direction from yours. I try to do everything I wish, both in business and pleasure, but there never seems to be enough time in a day to meet all my obligations.”
“Why did you set yourself the task of writing this book then?” Lyman tried to ask the question without any judgment.
“The book isn’t the problem. I’m enjoying seeing all the sights of London again. Why, if it weren’t for the book, I would never have thought to sneak into Laurent’s with you last night or come here to take in the view this morning.” Her bright smile was all the evidence he needed that she was grateful for both. “The club is what takes most of my time,” she continued, “I feel I can scarcely keep up lately.”
“I thought you said you were a co-owner,” Lyman said, recalling their first meeting. “Who are your partners?”
“My friend, Mrs. Williams. She used to do most of the work, but she’s in her confinement, even though she still stops by as often as she can to handle our bookkeeping. Her husband handles a great deal of the finances as well, as we needed a man to open our bank account, and he places orders with those of our suppliers who prefer not to deal with a woman.”
Lyman frowned to himself. “Why don’t you hire someone for any of those things?”
“We haven’t been in business very long. This is our third year of operation, but the profits were rather unsteady for the first two. I think Mrs. Williams is wary of bringing on more staff in case we run low on funds again.” Della bit her lip. Lyman’s eyes fixated on the sight, though he’d been listening attentively until then.
He’d never given much thought to the hazards of running a business, particularly a gaming hell. He would have assumed they were flush with cash. But then, perhaps their female clientele didn’t have the same access to funds that the men of White’s and Brooks’s did.
He would have liked to turn the subject away from gambling clubs, but he couldn’t think how to go about it without wounding Della. If she felt easy enough in his company to share her troubles, he didn’t want to rebuff the opening.
Miss Annabelle proved happy to fill the gap in their conversation. “The problem is that you and Mrs. Williams don’t trust anyone but yourselves,” she called over her shoulder. “I’d be willing to help you for a pinch of your profits.”
“You’re nineteen,” Della said flatly. “Get one glass of champagne into you and you’re liable to forget how to count.”
“You see?” Miss Annabelle cast a pointed look to Lyman. “She doesn’t trust her own sister.”
Perhaps it was time to jump back into this discussion. “Regardless of whom you might select, it sounds like you do need some assistance. You told me earlier you attend every night except Monday?”
“Sunday and Monday,” Della amended. “We’re closed both evenings, although we often use those nights to restock and make other adjustments that can’t be done with our members around.”
“So you attend nearly every night, and you’ve also set yourself the goal of touring the whole town for your book in the next few weeks.” Lyman recalled how only last night she’d reluctantly admitted that she had precious little time to keep up with the social calls that were expected of most ladies of her station. “You’ll wear yourself out if you continue on this way.”
“Oh no!” Della protested. “I’ve given you the wrong idea. I’m happy to do it, really. I don’t want you thinking that my friends have put too much on me.”
That was exactly what Lyman was thinking, but it was plain that Della wouldn’t want to hear it.
“Anyway, it’s for me to manage my own life, isn’t it?” Della asked. “I like to keep myself busy. I know it might look a bit like chaos from the outside, but I always manage to get everything done.”
Though Lyman had his doubts, this seemed to mark an end to the conversation. They’d arrived at her carriage.