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uncle’s money, but the livelihood of the people he employed, not to mention Mr. Andrews’s employees and the people who manufactured the fabric Mr. Andrews wished to sell.
    He felt an unfamiliar exhaustion creeping over him, not just from his general fatigue but with always having to be responsible for so many people. His mother and his sisters, his workers, his tenants, more distant family like his uncle and others, and all the people who knew him to be responsible and thoughtful, so would come asking for his advice.
    Nobody but her had ever asked, with any sincerity, how he was feeling.
    T he earl let out one of those long-suffering sighs with which Annabelle was familiar; normally it was when people had spoken with her for more than ten minutes or so, but his expression was distant, not as though he were thinking of her at all. Which piqued her, but was also satisfying; she didn’t want him to be another person who was annoyed or irritated at having to speak with her.
    She knew full well that she could be both annoying and irritating. She’d tried to be circumspect, to behave as all those polite young ladies did. But whenever she tried, she felt as though something were being smothered inside of herself, and then she blurted out something worse than she would have if she had just been being herself.
    Maybe she should teach the How to Speak to Annabelle class, because then she could just say, “I am who I am, and I am fine being that way, thank you.”
    It would be a very short class, and likely not worth anyone’s time or money.
    “What is it?” she asked, setting the iron up on the surface she’d been ironing on and casting a critical gaze on the cravat. It was fine, but she wanted to prolong their time together, so she laid it out as though she had spotted a wrinkle and began to work again.
    A pause, and she wondered if he was going to reply or just sit there and sigh, not deeming his mere housekeeper worthy of a reply.
    “There’s a lady I am going to meet this evening.”
    Why did that make her stomach tighten? Oh, of course, because he was an attractive man, and she’d just met him, not to mention they’d very briefly shared a bed. But he was an earl, even if it was a Scottish title, whereas she, she was just Annabelle, partner in the Quality Employment Agency and a surrogate housekeeper.
    “I know my uncle means well. I’m just . . . I hadn’t planned on it.” He sounded genuinely perturbed, and she had the sense that surprises were generally not allowed to happen to him. No wonder he’d been so startled at finding her in the house when he hadn’t expected her until the following day. “I know I will wed, it is my right and my duty, but I came here with one purpose, not two.”
    “What about love?” She couldn’t help the words that spilled out of her, any more than she could help how her stomach tightened even more at the thought of marrying just for right and duty. “Love is the reason”— sometimes the only reason , she thought—“so many of us do things. They may not always be the right things, but they are the things that matter. Love matters.” She felt the burn of unshed tears and chided herself for being so emotional, especially in front of this man to whom emotion seemed like another annoyance.
    “I wish I felt as you do, Miss Tyne,” he answered. His tone wasn’t condemning, but wistful. As though he really did wish he felt that way.
    It had been a while since anybody had taken her seriously. And she didn’t think a man ever had. Long ago, before she’d known people could be deceptive, she’d thought a man had. And she’d fallen for him, fallen in love, and become a fallen woman.
    And he’d let her lie there rather than help her up. Other women might have turned their back on love permanently, but not Annabelle; she’d known men like Charles were out there and might try to take advantage of her again, but she wouldn’t forswear love just because of a few deceptive men.