Owen searched her face. She never ceased to amaze him. “Does Lavinia give you her embroidery, too?”
Alex’s lips turned up in a half-smile. “Are you jesting? Lavinia would toss her embroidery in the fire if she thought the people here would even so much as touch it, let alone sell it. I collect her discarded bits and bring them with me. She doesn’t miss them.”
Owen stared at Alex as if seeing her for the first time. “It means that much to you to come here? To defy your mother? To risk your safety?”
Alex shrugged. “Mother isn’t always right about things. Neither is Father. I asked Mother’s permission once to come here and she said no. She left me no choice but to sneak out of the house.”
“You could send one of the footmen.”
“That’s cowardly. Besides, I’ve come to enjoy my outings here. Miss Magdalene is a dear.”
Owen glanced back at the poorhouse. Miss Magdalene was standing in the open door, watching them, concern etched on her brow. Wonderful. Now the woman thought Alex needed protection from him.
He took a step away from Alex to ease Miss Magdalene’s mind. “I never expected something like this of you, Alex.”
This time Alex advanced on him. “What? Charity work? Doing something more useful in life than sipping tea and wasting my pin money on fripperies? Rest assured, that’s how Lavinia prefers to spend her time. It’s not how I prefer to use mine. I want to be useful, Owen, to someone, for someone. You have that opportunity, too; you simply choose to squander it.”
He blinked at her. What in the devil was she talking about? It was on the tip of his tongue to ask what she meant, or to tell her that he sent some of his allowance to an orphanage, but he’d long ago given up trying to convince anyone to think kindly of him. He wasn’t about to start now.
“You do realize most of these people are probably buying gin with the money they get from your embroidery, don’t you?”
“You’re an ass.” She turned sharply around and allowed the coachman to help her into the carriage. Owen had a glimpse of her maid sitting inside the darkened interior.
The door to the coach slammed shut behind Alex, and the carriage pulled away, heading back toward Mayfair. Owen stood in the dirty street, watching it go.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Alex claimed a headache that night. She had good reason to. Mother was planning a dinner party. A dinner party that included Owen Monroe, and Alex simply didn’t have the fortitude to see him again. Not after her interaction with him at the poorhouse. It had been deplorable of him, following her there, but at least it proved that he cared what she was doing, didn’t it? Oh, the entire mess had gotten so convoluted, she didn’t know what made sense anymore. But she wasn’t about to allow him to follow her about and say rude things, no matter what Lucy and Cass said. He either needed to declare himself or leave her be.
To make matters worse, Alex had barely missed being discovered by Mother this afternoon. Apparently, the woman had come in search of her. One of the other maids, Hannah’s friend, had insisted that Alex was taking a nap. If the maid hadn’t been so adamant, Alex might well have been found out. As it was, Mother came back not long after Alex had returned from the poorhouse and insisted upon speaking with her. She’d barely had time to undress with Hannah’s help, toss on a night rail, and climb beneath the covers before Mother came gliding into the room.
“Alexandra,” Mother had said in a whisper loud enough to wake her had she truly been sleeping.
Thomas would have been proud of her acting skills. She’d rolled over, rubbed the pretend sleep from her eyes, and blinked at her mother. “Mother? Is that you?”
“Yes. I must speak with you.”
“What about?” Alexandra sat up slowly and plumped the pillow behind her back.
Her mother took a seat on the edge of the mattress. “I wanted to speak to you about what you said the other day … about Lord Owen.”
Dread filled Alex’s chest. She’d been waiting for this conversation. Had been surprised, actually, that her mother had not addressed it before now. “Yes?” Her voice shook.
“I’m certain you’ll agree that we’re all hoping for a wonderful match for your sister.”
Here it came, the why-Lavinia-should-be-put-first speech.
“I would love nothing more than for Lavinia to make a love match, Mama.” That much was true.
“Yes, well, as to that, your father is quite convinced that Lord Owen Monroe is the best match for Lavinia.”
Alex tugged the sheet up higher beneath her arms. “But, Mother, you know how Lavinia feels about it. She wants no part of him.”