interrupt the psychic’s slumber. That
particular spirit was beginning to annoy Madame Lou in a way that none had
since she’d first been contacted by the specters.
Ford woke from a dream that seemed so real, he half expected
his little sister to be sitting on his bed drinking a steaming cup of
chocolate. Piper had enjoyed watching her older brother sleep. She had said he
looked like an angel at those times and it was good to remember that when he
was awake and acting like the devil. Ford shook his head at the memory. He
missed his little sister more than he could say. She would be a young woman now
if she had lived through the epidemic. He would have enjoyed squiring her to
all the balls and parties of London’s social whirl, discouraging young swains
from breaking her young heart. Pulling himself upright, Ford got out of bed and
looked around for his clothes. His mother had moved him to the master suite
years ago, insisting that he was now the master of the family. And she’d redone
it recently to be as modern as any newer house in Town. It was a pleasant room
with soothing blue and green colors covering the walls, windows and furniture. Sometimes
his valet laid out freshly pressed garments, but only when Ford managed to move
about at normal hours, which was almost never these days. He splashed his face
with tepid water in the old fashioned basin that sat at his dressing table, before
putting on his glasses and running a brush through his hair. It was too long,
he mused wondering where his valet was again. Freddy would give him a trim if
he could just find the time to sit still for the young man. But there just never
seemed to be a spare moment in Ford’s day. Not when he spent every available
second searching for a cure.
Leaving his rooms and heading for the laboratory again, Ford
stopped mid-stride and turned back toward the library. He had a meeting with
the lovely Mrs. Tremaine to attend. Having slept the whole day away, it was
early evening and time for their second, official meeting. Ford couldn’t help
the smile of anticipation that tugged at his lips. Sabrina Tremaine was a
delectable female. Any man would consider himself lucky to be in her company.
It was a shame that he was practically engaged to another woman, and a blessing
to be sure. Otherwise having Mrs. Tremaine in his employ would be impossible.
If she had some means of her own, she would probably be the most sought after
widow in London. Frankly, she could have her pick of men who only wanted a
mistress, and then money wouldn’t be a problem either.
It suddenly occurred to Ford that it was very odd that she
wasn’t doing just that. Sabrina was far too beautiful to be toiling away for a
modest salary, when she could be living the life of a pampered courtesan for
someone like the Duke of Marlborough or the Earl of Gloucester. Ridiculous,
actually. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why she was here. Unless
there was something she was hiding—or someone she was hiding from. Of course,
she may have had a lover and made him angry, perhaps demanding marriage. Or
maybe she wasn’t who she claimed to be at all. That was most likely the case.
Sabrina Tremaine was probably a fraud. She had no doubt been a ladies maid in
some prestigious household and had a peccadillo with one of the young lords. Of
course she would have been dismissed without a reference and subsequently found
herself adrift with no prospects. The agency itself might, in fact, be a facade
for a deceptive little baggage who could act at being a lady. That must be the
story, Ford convinced himself entering the library at last. It was still empty,
but a nice fire crackled in the hearth. He poured himself a scotch and made
himself comfortable on one of the overstuffed chairs near the mantle, casually
glancing around at the familiar room with its two stories of books and various
nooks and crannies where one could sit and lose themselves in a tome. Now that
he had figured out
particular spirit was beginning to annoy Madame Lou in a way that none had
since she’d first been contacted by the specters.
Ford woke from a dream that seemed so real, he half expected
his little sister to be sitting on his bed drinking a steaming cup of
chocolate. Piper had enjoyed watching her older brother sleep. She had said he
looked like an angel at those times and it was good to remember that when he
was awake and acting like the devil. Ford shook his head at the memory. He
missed his little sister more than he could say. She would be a young woman now
if she had lived through the epidemic. He would have enjoyed squiring her to
all the balls and parties of London’s social whirl, discouraging young swains
from breaking her young heart. Pulling himself upright, Ford got out of bed and
looked around for his clothes. His mother had moved him to the master suite
years ago, insisting that he was now the master of the family. And she’d redone
it recently to be as modern as any newer house in Town. It was a pleasant room
with soothing blue and green colors covering the walls, windows and furniture. Sometimes
his valet laid out freshly pressed garments, but only when Ford managed to move
about at normal hours, which was almost never these days. He splashed his face
with tepid water in the old fashioned basin that sat at his dressing table, before
putting on his glasses and running a brush through his hair. It was too long,
he mused wondering where his valet was again. Freddy would give him a trim if
he could just find the time to sit still for the young man. But there just never
seemed to be a spare moment in Ford’s day. Not when he spent every available
second searching for a cure.
Leaving his rooms and heading for the laboratory again, Ford
stopped mid-stride and turned back toward the library. He had a meeting with
the lovely Mrs. Tremaine to attend. Having slept the whole day away, it was
early evening and time for their second, official meeting. Ford couldn’t help
the smile of anticipation that tugged at his lips. Sabrina Tremaine was a
delectable female. Any man would consider himself lucky to be in her company.
It was a shame that he was practically engaged to another woman, and a blessing
to be sure. Otherwise having Mrs. Tremaine in his employ would be impossible.
If she had some means of her own, she would probably be the most sought after
widow in London. Frankly, she could have her pick of men who only wanted a
mistress, and then money wouldn’t be a problem either.
It suddenly occurred to Ford that it was very odd that she
wasn’t doing just that. Sabrina was far too beautiful to be toiling away for a
modest salary, when she could be living the life of a pampered courtesan for
someone like the Duke of Marlborough or the Earl of Gloucester. Ridiculous,
actually. For the life of him, he couldn’t imagine why she was here. Unless
there was something she was hiding—or someone she was hiding from. Of course,
she may have had a lover and made him angry, perhaps demanding marriage. Or
maybe she wasn’t who she claimed to be at all. That was most likely the case.
Sabrina Tremaine was probably a fraud. She had no doubt been a ladies maid in
some prestigious household and had a peccadillo with one of the young lords. Of
course she would have been dismissed without a reference and subsequently found
herself adrift with no prospects. The agency itself might, in fact, be a facade
for a deceptive little baggage who could act at being a lady. That must be the
story, Ford convinced himself entering the library at last. It was still empty,
but a nice fire crackled in the hearth. He poured himself a scotch and made
himself comfortable on one of the overstuffed chairs near the mantle, casually
glancing around at the familiar room with its two stories of books and various
nooks and crannies where one could sit and lose themselves in a tome. Now that
he had figured out
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