Chapter 14
The cottage is dusty and murky when Therese steps inside. Wood and red brick, quiet and still. Ample room. A luxury that startles her. What am I meant to do with all this space?
Jacob walked into the house without a word, save a single, brief nod. She watched him go, disappointment curled in her chest.
She hates to admit it, but his presence excites her. Their intelligent conversations, his dry wit—it all lingers in her thoughts.
He’s not like the others. Not like the nobles who scorn the poor. He sees them. He acts. At the docks, she hadn’t meant to draw attention to herself, but it had led to something good. John Allen now has a new start. Jacob confirmed it in the carriage, though he didn’t mention the nature of the employment. Still, it was enough.
Therese walks deeper into the room, dropping her valise with a soft thud. Her gaze sweeps the space. White linen sheets, dusty and forgotten, drape the furniture like ghosts of another life. She pulls them away one by one.
A small living room. A worn green sofa. Four wooden chairs around a dining table. In the corner, a modest kitchen—fireplace, cauldron, rudimentary stove, a few copper pots and pans. Even cupboards. She crosses to them and opens one.
Porcelain teacups. A matching teapot. Her lips curve into a smile.
The bedroom holds a wooden armoire and a framed bed, its linens also cloaked in dust. A bed fit for a princess, well, not quite. But it’s more than she ever expected. More than she’s had in two and a half years.
Two and a half years of agony. Of betrayal and horrors. And when it ended, it came at a cost: the life of someone dear. Someone who died saving her. A sacrifice that lives in every breath she now takes.
A knock at the door yanks her from the past.
She rises, realizing she’d sat on the bed. At the door stands a young woman, slight, fair-skinned, sun-blushed. She wears a servant’s dress. As the grandfather clock in the corner chimes one, both women startle.
Therese smiles gently and steps aside. “I’m sorry the place isn’t cleaned yet,” she says, closing the door behind them. “Please, sit.”
The girl shakes her head nervously. “Oh no, ma’am. His Grace said you were to be helped with the cleaning. I only came because he asked.”
Therese blinks, stunned. The Duke sent help?
“Does he ask this for every new servant?” she asks aloud.
The young woman shakes her head. “No, ma’am. It’s just… you’re a dressmaker. That makes you different.”
Therese laughs softly. “I’m no different. My heart beats the same as yours.”
She gestures for the girl to sit. “I’ve nothing to offer yet, but would you do me a favor?”
The girl, eyes wide with uncertainty, nods slowly.
“Let me call you by your given name. And please, call me Therese.”
A pause. Then a slow, surprised smile. “We thought you’d be a snob,” the girl admits. “Mrs. Josie told us His Grace hired a new dressmaker, and well… that’s what we expected.”
“I’m not really a dressmaker. I only assist Mrs. Fletcher. Embroidery and such.”
The girl relaxes. “Oh! I’m Louisa Whitters. But just Lou.”
“Lou it is.”
They laugh, and then they begin. Dusting. Sweeping. Cleaning. Soon Molly and Rosemary arrive to help. The four women work together, laughter and conversation easing into the air.
By four o’clock, the others leave. Therese, tired but content, is startled by a knock. A footman arrives, bearing four wooden crates and a letter sealed with the Duke’s crest.
She reads it at once.
"Miss Antonio,
By now, I trust you’ve settled in. These crates contain food and essentials, which I believe you may require at present. Until you are better acquainted with the grounds, footmen will deliver provisions from the larder each week.
Enjoy your day.
Sincerely,
His Grace,
Duke Orford.*
Therese stares at the letter, heart stirred.
She opens the crates. Cheese. Fresh loaves. Tea. Coffee beans. Her fingers hover over the tea—that’s for guests. The coffee? Hers.
Another crate holds dried fruits and nuts, which make her mouth water. The third contains an oil lamp, a tinderbox, and whale oil.
She smiles. She ought to refuse. But she won’t.
She heads around the cottage to fetch wood. The sun warms her arms, and as she bends to gather logs, her gaze drifts to the drive.
Jacob is mounting a sleek, grey stallion. He speaks briefly to a servant, then rides off down the gravel path. She watches, a strange warmth in her chest.
There will be time to thank him.
For now, food.
***
Jacob arrives at White’s and dismounts.
Inside, the familiar scent of polished wood, cigars, and brandy welcomes him. He nods at a few acquaintances, brushes past their tables, and heads upstairs.
Joseph is already there, lounging at their usual table with a brandy in hand. His clothes are immaculate, his dark hair tied back neatly.
Jacob drops into a velvet armchair. “Why call me here on such short notice?”
Joseph pours for them both, his smirk irritatingly smug.
“If I said this at the mansion, you’d have a fit.”
Jacob lifts an eyebrow. “Well?”
“It’s about Tim Allen.”
Jacob leans in, blood rushing faster. “What about him?”
Joseph downs a sip before answering. “He came to collect a shipment of women and children from the streets. To take back to his plantation.”
Jacob goes still. “What?”
“He has suppliers,” Joseph says grimly. “People in the underground. They pull children from orphanages, women from workhouses, and deliver them to him. For sugar.”
Jacob feels a chill creep into his bones.
“How do you know this?”
“I asked around before Bernard (John) and I left Dover. It’s not common knowledge here. But someone talked. Bernard confirmed it, they were picking up a fresh consignment. People, Jacob.”
Silence stretches between them.
Jacob finally speaks, voice low with fury. “We have to act. Question those involved. Get to the bottom of it.”
Joseph shakes his head. “That’s walking into the devil’s den. If we dig, we’ll stir up the dark.”
Jacob’s jaw tightens. “So? Let them stir.”
Joseph’s gaze darkens. “Are you prepared for what comes with that, brother?”
Jacob doesn’t answer. But the fire in his eyes says everything.