Page 11 of A Second Chance for Love

Juss could hold his laughter in check no longer: this was going to be the best damned country house party he’d ever attended.

Five

By the time Juss brought her back to the hovel where she lived it was after dark. He’d sent a message home from the modiste shop where he’d taken her, and his carriage had come to fetch them.

The carriage was full of boxes and packages—clothing she would need for the journey— but the bulk of the new clothing would be delivered by the end of the day tomorrow and transported to the house party in the traveling coach that held his valet and the maid he’d engaged for her.

“Give Charles your key and he will take up your packages,” Juss told her as they stood under the lamp glow cast by his carriage. She frowned, likely irked by his peremptory tone, but took the key from her reticule and handed it to the footman.

It had begun to snow again around three o’clock and the temperature had turned bitingly cold as the sun went down. Juss was glad he’d insisted on purchasing the big fur muffler and fur-lined cloak she was now wearing.

He waited until Charles disappeared inside the building before looking down at her. “I won’t see you again until I come to collect you in two days.” He could tell by her widening eyes that his words surprised—and probably pleased—her. “I want you to have tomorrow to reconsider your decision,” he said, not stopping when he heard her soft gasp. “If you are not here when I come for you, I will know your answer.”

Her lovely lips parted, but words seemed to be eluding her. Well, he was no less stunned by his offer. But several hours spent watching her today had given him qualms. Although she’d as good as claimed to be a fallen woman, she behaved with a dignity and modesty that told him she’d not fallen very far. While taking her on this journey would not hurt her—at least not physically—it would most certainly mortify her sensibilities. So, he’d give her this last chance.

Feeling a bit guilty, are you? The taunting voice in his head prodded. Because you’re all but pushing her away, old chap.

Was he feeling guilty about bringing her along under a false—or at least unstated—pretext?

The question made him uncomfortable—itself an unusual reaction for a man who never let any finer feelings concern him. Yes, she’d been the cause of his dismissal all those years ago, but did she really deserve what he had planned for her: embarrassment at best and humiliation at worst?

“But—all this,” she said, gesturing to her new apparel, and scattering his thoughts. “Won’t you—”

Juss gave an irritable shrug. “Keep it. What the devil would I do with it? Whatever you decide, it is yours,” he said shortly, suddenly so bloody tired he could hardly stand upright.

That would be your guilt talking, mate.

“But you spent—”

“That isn’t your concern,” he snapped, distracted by the annoying voice in his head, the way her teeth caught her pillowy lower lip, and the dark flush on her pale-as-snow cheeks.

“What about the m-money?”

Ah, the money. Her question—and the slight stutter over the word money—made him smile. It also made him respect her even more than he already did: she was willing to demand what she wanted, even when her bargaining position was less than powerful. He had stopped at his bank before commencing their orgy of shopping, procuring a bearer banknote for the entire amount—an action which had rendered her speechless.

“If you change your mind I trust you will dispose of the note, Miss Parker.”

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak the footman stepped out of her building. Good, Juss hardly wished to stand here and persuade her to come on a journey that would only end in embarrassment—even if it would earn her enough money to live for several years.

“Charles will see you to your door,” he said, giving her a brief bow before climbing back into the carriage and shutting the door, suddenly eager to put distance between them.

Juss didn’t want to, but he turned to look out the window—just one last look. Their eyes met, and then she turned and walked away.

Six

The twenty-four hours that followed the shopping expedition were both the longest and shortest of Oona’s life and she was grateful that she could spend them alone.

Without her job at Madam LeMonde’s to occupy her she had nothing but time.

The first thing she did was write two messages: one to Katie to tell her she wasn’t coming, and one to Mrs. Landers, the headmistress at the small school, to say that her plans had changed and request that she keep Katie over this coming weekend. Oona wouldn’t send the letters until tomorrow. If she decided not to go, then she could tear up the letters and nobody would be the wiser.

But then there was the issue of the clothing; Oona couldn’t keep such expensive items if she didn’t accept his offer. One way or another, she would make sure he received all the garments back if she changed her mind. The fur cloak alone was worth more than she made in five years, so he could either sell them or give them to his next mistress or set fire to them. But the one thing he could not do was force her to keep them.

Not that she didn’t covet them with a ferocity that left her weak and dizzy. Oona had never thought of herself as a materialistic woman—at least not for anything but books, which she treasured above all other possessions—but these clothes certainly brought out the covetousness in her.

As soon as he’d dropped her at home she laid everything out on her small pallet bed. It was good to have them out in the open—to remind her of what she would be giving away if she changed her mind. Oh, not just the clothing, but all the money that went along with it.

By eight o’clock she was so exhausted from thinking about the matter she put on every stitch of clothing she owned—not the new clothing, which lay on her bed as if they were honored guests—and slept wrapped in her blanket in front of her tiny cookstove.