With This Curse: A Novel of Victorian Romantic Suspense Read Online Free Page B

more work for me. I shall grow fat and lazy and contented, and be ‘that nice Mrs. Lammle,’ and Alcott can spoil me to his heart’s delight. I shall host society ladies at tea and throw the dullest dinner parties imaginable. And I shall revel in it!”
    “And the troupe?” It felt churlish to question her decision, so elated was she, but I could not help but be anxious about the fate of those of us she would be leaving behind.
    Such anxieties were clearly far from her mind, however. “Oh, Clement can take over quite easily. He can find some other leading lady—Narcissa Holm might suffice. The company will scarcely notice I’m gone.”
    This was unaccustomed modesty, and misplaced at that. But my most urgent thought was not, I admit, for the company. “And what of me?” I asked.
    That finally brought her out of her fantasy. She looked at me with a little moue of dismay. “Oh. Graves, I am sorry, but I cannot take you with me.”
    “Cannot?”
    “It is Alcott. He is quite determined that I leave all vestiges of my life in England behind once we are married. I believe it’s a point of pride with him—he tells me that he has already hired a dressmaker who is quite in demand in New York.” When I did not answer, she added, “Truly, if it were my decision, naturally I’d want you with me. But I shall need to dress in the style of the American ladies of Alcott’s circle, and my dear, you’re far too original for such drab work!”
    I could not help but smile at her attempt to cushion the blow. “I fear that leaves me at a loose end,” I said. “The fact is, the company won’t need to keep me on. I’ve always worked for you rather than the troupe. They did for themselves before I arrived, and without you to pay my wages they’ll not want the expense of a resident seamstress.”
    She bit her lip in the gesture she adopted on stage for vexation of thought. “You are right, of course. How too exasperating. What shall you do?”
    What indeed? I could return to the factory. The thought of it made my stomach curdle. The long hours, from dark to dark, with only one day in every week to call one’s own; the noise that seemed to batter at one’s skull; the weariness that one wore like a heavy garment; and all for so little pay that a shared shabby room and three meager meals were all it would afford. And without another patron like Sybil Ingram, I would be likely to spend the rest of my life in such servitude. My very soul seemed to cringe. Not that. Anything but that.
    But what else was there for an unattached female? I knew that the established modistes had no desire to take on a seamstress of my age; they preferred tractable younger women who were easily cowed and presented a prettier appearance to customers. Nor was I fit for work as a governess. My education had been a scanty, slapdash affair, doled out to me by my mother during her rare moments of leisure. Thanks to her, I had some fragments of learning beyond what was vouchsafed to many of my class, but it was far from the body of knowledge I would need in order to become a governess. Nor did I have the amiable disposition for such work—or for work in a shop, as I had proven. Was there no other course open to me?
    Yes, one: become Atlas’s wife.
    I shrank from the thought. He was the worst match I could possibly have chosen. His face and form reminded me so strongly of Richard that I could scarcely bear his presence. It made my scarred heart feel the pain of breaking as keenly as if it had been only yesterday instead of more than eighteen years before. And this same man was the one Richard had seemed to despise above all others—the only person, in fact, who animated anything like hostility in him. It would be betraying the memory of the man I had loved to wed the very man he had held in contempt.
    What other choice did I have, though? My thoughts flailed wildly. Miss Ingram was not unkind but completely engrossed in her good fortune. Even if I could