Page 4 of A Second Chance for Love

“Ah, I see.”

Oona was about to ask him just what it was he saw, but then she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer.

He glanced around and then stooped to pick up the spool. “Where does it go?”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

He sighed.

“Fine.” She pointed to the second to last dowel. “By the navy thread.”

He had to stand on his toes to slide it onto its holder, but it was done in a blink.

“Are you finished here?” he asked.

“Yes. I just need—” but he’d already bent to pick up her empty box and lamp.

“Come, I’ll walk you out.” His tone was peremptory—commanding. Certainly not the tone a groom would use. But then he wasn’t a groom anymore, was he?

When he opened the door, Oona gasped. “Oh, how lovely.” She stared up at the dark sky, the view a dizzying one as thousands of glinting flakes hurtled toward her.

When he said nothing she turned to find him staring at her from beneath heavy lids. “Yes, isn’t it?” he said, and then pulled the door shut with a sharp snap, his eyes never leaving hers.

“Um.” Oona reached a shaking hand into her coat pocket for the heavy key. “I need to—”

He held up a ring with a half-dozen keys. “I’ve already locked it.”

“Do you always—”

“Finish other people’s sentences?” His lips curved that same non-smile. “No, not always.” He gestured toward Cork Street, where she saw a luxurious black coach with four restless chestnuts. “May I offer you a ride anywhere, Miss Parker—is it still Miss Parker?”

“No—I mean, yes.” She shook her head at her bumbling. “Yes, it’s still Miss Parker. No, I don’t need a ride as I’ve not finished work for the evening.” She remembered her manners at the last moment. “But thank you.”

He handed her the box and lamp and then bowed. “I wish you a good evening, Miss Parker.”

Like a street urchin staring in a shop window, Oona watched as he made his way to the magnificent carriage, his booted feet muffled by the thin layer of snow. He opened the door and hopped in without steps, his greatcoat fluttering like a dark flag in the snow-dotted night.

Oona wondered if he’d look back before he closed his door.

But he didn’t and the carriage rolled away into the darkness.

Two

The beautiful, fluffy white snow from the night before had turned into a brownish-gray sludge that stained a good four inches of Oona’s hem. Fortunately she’d worn her oldest woolen gown, a tobacco-shade that had once been rich with golden undertones but was now the color of dirt. Or mud, would be more appropriate.

It took forty-five minutes to walk to Madam LeMonde’s but Oona had more time for walking than she had money for a hackney. Besides, she liked walking, even when the weather was cold and the streets filthy; it gave her time to think. She’d thought working as a dogsbody would give her time to think, but her mind merely focused on the tasks at hand during a day filled with tedious minutia and manual labor. It was nothing like teaching; when she taught, her thoughts had been as rich as a tapestry.

Spilt milk.

Indeed, she thought as she gave a farthing to the young boy who risked life and limb to sweep a path across the busy street. Yearning for the days when she’d been a governess was pointless. Oona usually did a good job of forgetting, but seeing Juss Taylor—Mr. Taylor to you—brought it all back with a painful ache.

Oona shivered and pulled her old gray coat tighter around her as she scurried through the early morning light, her mind returning yet again to last night—to Juss and the feel of his powerful arms around her body.

“Not today,” Oona said with regret as she hurried past a young girl holding a basket of oranges. She had no extra money—not even for an orange—and needed every penny to purchase a seat on the stage out of London in six days. She knew she should probably wait until she’d saved more money, but if she didn’t visit Katie now, it would be months before she’d have another two days off together, which is what she needed as it took half a day just to get to Katie’s school.

Madame LeMonde’s shop was sandwiched between the Greedy Vicar pub and Hungry Mind bookstore. The bookstore wasn’t open this early but Gabriel St. Aulyn, the handsome proprietor gave her a friendly wave as he unlocked the door to his shop.

Oona had to step around a huge wagon full of casks and crates already filling the mews behind the pub.