Mother Hughes arranged a bonnet over her flaxen curls and sent Marietta a look at once so very welcome and so very stifling. Finally, the woman’s eyes held no veiled animosity, but in the past forty-three hours, she had scarcely let Marietta out of her sight. “Are you certain you do not mind me visiting with Bulah this afternoon, dear? I hate to leave you alone.”
Please, please leave me alone. She felt ungracious even thinking the thoughts, but they wouldn’t go away. All she could do was sweeten her smile and pray her heart would match it. “I am hardly alone.” She motioned to her mother and Barbara. And beyond them, to the corner in which Slade had taken up residence. She had fully expected him to disappear when the hordes of women arrived, but instead he had become a shadow.
Smart of him, which she realized when an acquaintance who had seen them at the theater looked his way with arched brows, obviously recognizing him. And just as obviously recognizing the stance he now took. Guard, employee. Servant.
The women paid him no more heed, other than an occasional stolen glance. Those, no doubt, were merely because he looked as alluring as ever, scowling at his current book in that way he always did.
Not that Marietta stole any glances.
“If you’re certain.” Mother Hughes gave her a careful embrace, as if she feared hurting her. “Can I fetch you anything on my way home?”
Some of the resentment faded. “Thank you, but I have all I need. Enjoy your afternoon, Mother Hughes.”
Barbara came to her side the moment Mother Hughes left it. “What shall we do this afternoon, Mari? I can set up a game, or read to you, or—”
“Nonsense.” Mama, bless her, put her hands to Barbara’s elbows and pointed her toward the door. “It is your afternoon at the hospital, and I am accompanying you.”
Barbara’s horrified expression would have been amusing had it not been so sincere. “But Mari—”
“Needs some quiet.” Mama shot her a knowing grin. “She likes coddling for exactly a day after injury or illness, after which she may just bite the hand trying to spoil her. Right, dearest?”
Why had the Lord blessed her with such a family? A father who adored her and a mother who understood her so well, though they were nothing alike. She leaned over to kiss her matron’s cheek. “Thank you. For everything.”
“I only wish I could take it from you entirely.” Mama’s arms came around her and held her tight for just long enough. Then she pulled away with a smile and cast a glance over her shoulder. “I daresay I shan’t convince Mr. Osborne to leave, though.”
“Not a chance,” he said without even looking up.
Though Marietta chuckled, the realization that his presence didn’t bother her in the least, that she wanted him to stay when she wanted no one else to, made the good humor fade quickly. “I hardly notice him.”
Her mother gave her a look that said she didn’t believe her for a moment, but she merely wove her arm through Barbara’s and headed for the door. “I will see you both at dinner tomorrow.”
When they disappeared into the hallway, she breathed in blessed silence with gratitude. It wouldn’t last long—she was due at the carriage house within the half hour for Elsie’s sign lesson—but she would savor it while it lasted.
Which was all of five seconds before she heard familiar footsteps in the hall and Dev’s rumble of greeting. “Mrs. Arnaud, good day.”
Mama made a polite reply. And since he, as usual, spared no greeting for the other Mrs. Arnaud, his tread soon sounded again.
The irritation, soothed by Mama’s understanding, flared up again as he strode into the room. And blazed into outright anger when he caught Slade’s gaze and jerked his head toward the door.
Slade, happy to play the lackey, got up without a word. She knew by now he wouldn’t go far, but that wasn’t the point.
“Close the door behind you.”
His gait hitched, but he obeyed. Marietta sank back to her seat rather than holding out a hand to greet Dev.
He would notice the slight. The edges of his smile strained as he sat beside her. “How was your aid meeting, darling?”
“Inconsequential. You needn’t check on me, Dev.”
His blue eyes snapped, but he banked the flame. “I want to.” He took her hand in his and held it tight despite her keeping it limp. “And I wanted to see if you had remembered anything more about the scoundrel who did this to you. I have questioned all the usual petty thieves, but I do not think any of them our culprit.”
For a moment she studied his face. Was it love that made him pursue this so relentlessly when she had given him so little to go on? Or did he merely hate the thought of another daring to mark what he considered his? Finding no answer in his gaze, she shook her head. “I told you all I could.” She certainly wouldn’t mention that Slade and Walker and Granddad had delivered the goods she sent, and that Granddad had offered the man employment at his warehouse in addition. Doyle, they assured her, would haunt the streets no more. And his nine children, now motherless, would have food on their table.