Free Passion Wears Pearls by Renee Bernard Page B

to the warm grate. “Tomorrow, you will find less scandalous employment and be able to thank Mr. Hastings by paying him back for all of his generosity.”
    If not, I’m not sure what the future holds.
    For then I may have to actually consider the remarkable promise of fifteen thousand pounds and decide if I should redraft my vows about not accepting any help to make an exception for insane artists with beautiful brown eyes.

Chapter
6

    “Ah! There you are, Miss Beckett!” Mrs. Clay greeted her warmly as Eleanor tried to tap the worst of the snow from her boots before reentering the lodge. She had been out all day seeking employment and encountered only rejection and humiliation. She had no recent references, most glaringly none from her last employer. One agency had told her directly that she appeared to have no real skills when it came to domestic work and was too well mannered and too pretty for any woman to allow into her home. Unable to afford a carriage, Eleanor had walked the streets of London until the weather had finally turned her back toward the inn. She’d even begun to wonder if Mrs. Clay might let her work in her establishment to help pay for her room and board, or if a smaller room would suit.
    She couldn’t feel her toes and had to grip the wall to keep her balance. “Good day, Mrs. Clay. I shall do my best not to track in any water onto your floors.”
    “Don’t mind that! Mr. Hastings has come calling for youand is waiting in the upstairs parlor. There’s a fire blazing there and it’s nice and toasty.”
    “Mr. Hastings? Has he … been waiting long?” Eleanor wasn’t sure what to say. Mrs. Clay seemed perfectly content to see her have gentleman callers, and instead of knowing looks, the woman was cheerfully gesturing for her to hurry.
    “Awhile, I’d say,” Mrs. Clay replied. “But I’m forbidden to say exactly how long as Mr. Hastings said you were sure to ask and he didn’t want you to worry about it. Isn’t he dear?”
    “I don’t know him very well, Mrs. Clay, but he seems very considerate.” She glanced down at her cold, wet skirts and wondered if he were “dear” enough for her to keep him waiting until she’d changed. Eleanor sighed and decided to ignore her skirts. This wasn’t a social call, after all, and no matter how disturbingly handsome he might be, she didn’t actually possess the wardrobe to try to impress the man, so there was no point in trying. Nor was she willing to admit that she cared what the man thought about the state of her hem. “Thank you, Mrs. Clay.”
    “Shall I send up Tally to sit in the corner? As a sort of a chaperone, miss?” Mrs. Clay reached out to take her damp scarf and help with her coat. “He couldn’t eavesdrop,” she added with a smile, “but a good girl like yourself might be comforted to know he’s there.”
    “Thank you, Mrs. Clay. If he truly wouldn’t mind, I am so grateful for your thoughtfulness.” Eleanor stepped up into the hall and headed up the narrow staircase.
    The upstairs parlor was just off the stair landing and available for the monthly lodgers to use. It was a semiprivate space for conversation and even meals for anyone who preferred something more quiet than the bustling common dining room below.
    As she reached the landing, she saw him standing in front of the fireplace, silhouetted by the orange glow. Broad shouldered and lean, she was struck by the long lines of him and the latent power there. His light brown hair was far too long and tied back in a loose queue with a strip ofleather, but the old-world style suited him. It made him look more rugged and otherworldly, just as an artist should, she imagined.
    She cleared her throat to alert the man to her presence. “Mr. Hastings,” she said. “I’ve kept you waiting.”
    “You didn’t know I was coming so how is that possible?” he countered with a smile. “It was only a few minutes.”
    Eleanor allowed the lie, flattered that he would go to such