The Address(41)

“You were a young girl. Innocent.”

“Mrs. Ainsworth was working on a gown for a countess.” Sara plucked at the fabric of her skirt. “This gown. When it was almost finished, she had me try it on, to check the length. He came in when I was wearing it.” She didn’t mention the look Mr. Ainsworth had given her, one of pleasure and longing. How she’d been pleased by her power. She didn’t tell Theo how the other girls had warned her about Mr. Ainsworth’s attentions that afternoon, and told her of the sick things he’d forced them to do. The bloom of her schoolgirl flirtation had rotted away, replaced by embarrassment and disgust. And rage.

“Late that night, she asked me to finish the trim and Mr. Ainsworth snuck in behind me. I didn’t hear him.”

Theo shook his head.

“He leaned over me, one hand on the table, and whispered awful things while pressing against my back. For a moment I froze, but then I did something horrible.” She took a deep breath, remembering the cold feel of steel under her fingers. “I picked up the scissors and stabbed his hand. Right through to the tabletop.”

“Then what happened?” Theo turned her to face him, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. She breathed in his scent of oranges and smoke.

“I ran upstairs, still holding the gown, packed up my things, and ran off to London. Took a job as a maid in a horrible place, a seedy inn, and worked my way up.”

“Goodness, Sara. What you’ve been through. What you’ve done.” He lifted her chin and stared down at her. “I understand completely, though. I would have done the same to my stepfather.”

“You would?”

“One year, for my mother’s birthday, I had made a book of sketches for her. Drawings of castles and manor houses, one of her in a fancy dress, similar to the one you’re wearing now, even though she’d never owned such a gown in her life. She lingered over each page, running her fingers over the lines like they were Braille. But it enraged my stepfather. He insisted that she toss the sketchbook in the fire. He knew doing so would kill her spirit, and mine. The triumph in his eyes as she placed it onto the flames made me wish I had a gun. I would have shot him in the face.” He rubbed his eyes, as if trying to erase the memory. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” She wanted him to keep talking, to extend the agony of being so close as long as possible.

“I can’t seem to stay away from you. If something ridiculous happens with one of the tenants or the construction workers, you are the person I want to share it with, right off. I worry I’ve overstepped, and I have tried at times to pull back.”

“I understand. You were doing the proper thing.”

“I’d never want you to think of me like Mr. Ainsworth, but, Sara . . . I don’t want to do the proper thing anymore.”

She, not he, initiated the kiss. The silk gown slipped from her shoulders like rose petals in the heat of summer, and with it went her troubled memories of Mr. Ainsworth. Then Theo took her, carefully and gently, in front of the fire.

Sara let herself go, lost herself in the shadows of the Dakota, within the thick walls that shut out all sounds and fears.



“Mrs. Camden is here!”

Daisy flew into Sara’s office, her cheeks a rosy red. Sara hadn’t gotten any sleep the previous night, slinking back to her room from Theo’s, peacock mask in hand, as dawn broke. Maybe she’d misheard. “I’m sorry?”

“Mr. Camden’s wife and children arrived; they’re heading up to their apartment now, and Mrs. Camden said she had to see you right away.”

“But she’s not due until next Thursday, isn’t she?” The question was a silly one, and didn’t alter the fact that the woman was in the Dakota already, but Sara needed to buy time to absorb this new information.

“I know, but she’s here now. The children are adorable, all dressed alike. I’m going to do just the same when I have children.”

“I’ll be there right away. In the meantime, call the maids for that floor to unpack their belongings.”

The unexpected strident note in her voice drew Daisy up short. “Yes, ma’am.”

After the girl had closed the door behind her, Sara rose and went to the window. What did she hope to see? Theo striding across the courtyard, ready to take her in his arms and tell her he loved her? Of course not. It had been a momentary dream, when they’d both escaped into another world, fueled by the ostentatious beauty of the people and surroundings at the ball. Now it was over.

She wished she could hide up in her room and sleep. Sleep until years had passed and Theo no longer lived here and she could go about her duties without hoping she’d run into him around every corner.

Theo’s apartment was a bustle of activity, porters heaving in trunks, and the maids scrambling around like a flock of white-capped geese. She hesitated in the foyer, one hand on the brass fireplace, listening. A woman’s voice, with a melodic English inflection, rose above the rest.

“Now, Emily, I’m sure your doll is here somewhere. You must be patient and she’ll turn up eventually.”

Sara moved forward. In the parlor stood the woman Sara recognized from the day at the Langham. Her hair was perfectly coiffed on her head in blond waves, and she wore a navy plaid traveling dress. The woman was beautiful, Sara had to admit. Her fairness of skin and hair would have washed her out completely except for her enormous green-gold eyes and those lashes, so black they looked like they came from someone else entirely. No doubt, Theo had been captivated the first time he’d laid eyes on her. She was an artist’s dream.