Page 30 of Rakes & Reticules
Somehow, she thought the newest Westbrook bride wouldn’t condemn her but, instead, applaud her boldness and resourcefulness.
Did Fletcher think to use her siblings against her?
“Oooh.” Growling in frustration, Siobhan fisted her hands. Moreover, therouéendearing himself to the children with gifts and attention could only lead to heartbreak for them later. Had he considered that at all?
On the one hand, while she’d been ill, Siobhan’s siblings had fared well. On the other hand, she expected Fletcher to boot them all to the curb as soon as Doctor Philbourne declared her fit.
However, she would not pretend to be ill and frail to postpone the inevitable.
She would need to find another position.
Dismay bubbled behind her breastbone.
It would not be easy.
Not in a city whose streets teemed with beggars.
Neither could Siobhan take the children and return to Ireland.
Besides having no funds for the journey or relatives to rely upon once they arrived in their homeland, her gentle farmer father had confided that it wouldn’t be safe. Something had happened to cause Da and Maura to pack their essential belongings, leave Ireland in the dead of night without looking back, and journey to London.
What that was, Siobhan did not know for certain.
She suspected it had something to do with the unsavory man who’d shown up on their doorstep several times. Da always refused him entry and ordered him from the property.
Fletcher also made a point of dropping in daily—supposedly to check on her wellbeing.
She snorted.
As if he truly cared.
Each time, he questioned her as if she were a notorious villain. No matter what she said, she could see the doubt shadowing his green eyes. His distrust distressed Siobhan, and she despised herself for caring about what he thought of her.
Until a week ago, she had admired Fletcher Westbrook.
He treated his employees with respect, paid fair wages, and worked hard. She’d never heard him raise his voice, he didn’t drink to excess, and he enforced strict ethical protocols at his club. His one glaring fault was his reputation as a rake—one she’d come to suspect might be exaggerated.
Truth be told, she had wrongly believed him an honorable man.
However, after a week of being treated like London’s most nefarious criminal, her estimation of him had dropped to somewhere between maggot and manure.
No, maggotsinmanure.
The imagery caused the merest upward sweep of her mouth.
Yesterday, desperate for a change of scenery, Siobhan had draped a blanket around her shoulders—her boy’s clothing hadmysteriouslygone missing—and opened the door intending to see her brother and sister and perhaps borrow a book from Fletcher’s library. Not that skulking around in nothing but a nightgown and blanket was the height of propriety, but on this side ofDe la Chance, midday, she mightn’t even encounter another employee.
Fletcher had driven her to take dire actions.
However, Saul, the kindly guard assigned to ensure she remained inside her chamber, took his duties seriously. Compassion etched his face, but he’d shaken his head.
“Mr. Westbrook says you’re not to leave your bedchamber, Miss Kenney.”
It had been all Siobhan could do not to give into her pique and slam the door in his sympathetic face. She hadn’t even tried to leave her chamber today.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true.
She’d considered escaping out the window, but up three stories and without a balcony or anything to hang onto, she’d likely fall to her death.
