Page 144 of A Modest Independence

“The particulars of several houses I looked at today. I haven’t let one for you. I wouldn’t presume to without your approval. But I’ve found three suitable options. Each are well within your budget, as well as being safe and—”

She gaped at him. “That’s where you’ve been today? Trying to find a house for me?”

“In large part, yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would have come with you.”

“For the same reason we haven’t been alone together since leaving India. It wouldn’t have been proper, the two of us perusing houses together.” He turned over another paper. “I won’t do any more harm to your reputation. You’ll need to be above reproach if you’re to remain in good stead with the other British residents of the city. If there’s a hint of scandal—”

“How does coming to my hotel room figure into this plan of yours?”

“No one saw me enter.”

She pushed a stray lock of curling hair back from her face. “I thought you were avoiding me. I’d just resolved to visit your room when you knocked.”

Tom’s brows lifted. “Dressed like that?”

“Why not? You’ve seen me in less.”

A faint blush crept up his neck. “Jenny, I—”

“I wish you would have told me where it was you were going today. It would have saved me a great deal of worry. You know I’m always prone to think the worst.”

“Even now? Even with me?”

“Especially with you. It’s odd really, given the circumstances, but I don’t think I could bear it if you thought ill of me.”

“You have nothing to worry about on that score. If you don’t realize that by now—”

“I realize it. I do. It’s only that…we haven’t been alone together since Darjeeling. I can feel the distance between us widening every day. Which is as it should be, I know, but…there are times when I find it rather hard.”

His gaze sharpened behind the lenses of his spectacles. “Are you having second thoughts about staying?”

“No, indeed. I’m just a little melancholy over saying goodbye to you. It will be easier once I’m settled.” She lifted one of the papers. Tom’s neat, even handwriting covered the page. The sight of it made her heart ache. “You’ve been very thorough.”

“I’ve tried to be.”

“How did you navigate the city? Ahmad can’t have helped. He doesn’t speak Arabic. Not that I’m aware.”

“I hired a dragoman—a native translator. There are dozens of them hanging about the lobby. I’ve taken the liberty of engaging one for you.” Tom drew her attention to another piece of paper. “His name is Achmet. An older chap. Reliable, as far as I can tell. I negotiated a rate of fifteen piastres a day, which equates to roughly five francs. Well within your budget. He’ll be at your disposal for as long as you need him.”

She looked up at him, tears stinging at the back of her eyes. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“I couldn’t very well leave you here without knowing you’d have a chance at suitable lodging and a decent interpreter.”

“Thank you, Tom. I’m in your debt.”

“Any solicitor would have done the same for his client.”

The impersonal nature of his words chilled her to the bone. If he’d meant them to be reassuring, he’d failed miserably. All she felt was diminished. As if what he’d done had been purely a matter of form. “I don’t know about that,” she said. “But I thank you for your efforts all the same.”

“Not at all.” He moved to rise. “Well, I think that’s everything.”

A jolt of alarm shot through her. “Not quite everything, surely.”

Tom went still. “No. Not quite.” After a long moment, he reached into the pocket of his trousers and withdrew a small wooden box. He set it on the inlaid table. “This is for you.”

An uncertain smile tugged at her mouth. “Something you found at the bazaar?”