LITMIR.BIZ

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of hanging a used name on him.”

      “Or her.” I smiled.

      “Yes.” He yawned. “Of course…Would you mind awfully if I ran down to McGivney’s? Some of the brothers are meeting for a game of darts.”

      “Oh, that sounds like fun,” I said as I put my knitting aside. “Let me get my shawl. I’d like to get out.”

      He rose and came to my side, placing his hand on my shoulder. “It’s dreadfully loud and smoky down there, my muse. And odds are that the brothers will have been drinking and you know how they get. You can barely stomach their antics when they’re sober.” He laughed and kissed the top of my head. “I won’t be long, but you needn’t wait up. You need your rest.”

      “Then I guess we’re through with discussing names?” I asked, watching as he put on his heavy jacket to walk the few blocks down the street. He plopped his hat atop his head and smiled over his shoulder.

      “I have no doubt you will find the perfect name for the child.” With that, he hurried down the steps and out the front door.

      I glanced at the book he’d left behind and prayed that Annie was not working tonight.

      Chapter Seven

      I COULD NOT TELL IF THOMAS WAS CONTINUING to grow more distant, or if I was growing distant from him. He was once again ecstatic about painting. However, when I asked him to tell me about his new project, he refused, saying only that it was going to set those bastards at the academy on their ears.

      He would rise early, summon a carriage and would often be gone until after dark. When I’d offer to fix him dinner, he’d respond by saying he’d “gotten a bite at the gardens,” or “run into an old friend who owed him a meal.” I had no viable reason to mistrust what he told me. Nevertheless, I grew more despondent, knowing that my figure was not what it once was. My concern was furthered when Thomas, claiming the bed was no longer big enough for us both, resorted to sleeping in the guest room.

      I was grateful for the days when the cold London rain would keep him captive at home. On those days, it seemed there was nothing amiss between us. We would chat as we sat near the fire—him with his book and me with my knitting. And I would scold myself for my needless worry.

      “Helen, my dear, what would you think of hiring a housekeeper? Someone who could help tidy up the studio, maybe do the cooking? They wouldn’t live here, unless you wanted them to, of course.” He glanced at me over his book. We’d never had a servant in the house; Thomas thought it to be a sign of the blasé wealthy.

      With him having not sold a painting in a while and with a child on the way, I wondered how we would afford it.

      An idea popped into my head. “I could send for one of my sisters. I’m sure that Mama could talk sense into Papa, once they learned of my condition. Her compensation could be room and board,” I offered, quite enthusiastic over the idea of having a sibling to keep me company while Thomas was away.

      Thomas nodded and then shut his book soundly. “Good, I’m glad you’re receptive to the idea. However, that won’t be necessary. I have already acquired a suitable candidate. She is a fine woman. I’ve known her for some time. She’s a good friend to the brotherhood and familiar with the studio. I won’t have to teach her what not to touch, how to clean brushes.”

      My heart sank. “I see that you’ve put much thought into this. Are you planning to tell me who this woman is that you’ve decided on?”

      “Of course. Her name is Grace Farmer.”

      “From the Cremorne?” I gaped at him in surprise. He looked at me.

      “You’ve met her?”

      “Not really. Your brother ran into her one night at the gardens. He told me about her.”

      “William took you to the gardens, did he?” Thomas smiled and raised his eyebrows.

      “That was when he was trying to convince me to model for you, and that’s not really the point of this conversation, is it?”

      He shrugged. “What did he tell you about Grace?”

      “That she was a friend to the brotherhood, misjudged by people because of her profession,” I said.

      “And what do you think of her?” he pressed.

      “She’s a prostitute.”

      “People have to eat, Helen. I’m quite certain Grace has the protocol not to bring her clients here.” He chuckled.

      I felt he was mocking me. “I’m glad you feel comfortable enough to trust her, Thomas. And how exactly did you happen to find that Miss Farmer was available for this position?” I turned the small baby blanket I was knitting between my hands, trying to stay calm.

      “Well, strange as it seems, it was William who suggested it when I told him I was looking for someone to help out around the house.”

      “Oh, really, William? How thoughtful.” I sighed, averting my eyes from his.

      “Is there a problem between you and Will?” Thomas asked.

      I swung my gaze back to his. “I haven’t seen William in ages. I haven’t seen anyone. If you remember, I have been confined to this house like a bird in a cage,” I cried.

      He wore the expression of a man at his wit’s end with what to do with his pregnant wife.

      “I’m sorry, Thomas, I have these episodes.” I sounded foolish, perhaps petty, but I did not care. I was over four months with child and feeling bloated as a sick cow. “Tell me that you aren’t the least bit attracted to her.”

      He smiled. “Is that what this is about?”

      He set aside his book, knelt at my feet and rested his hands on mine.

      “Your concerns are unnecessary, Helen. I have hired her to clean the studio because she knows what to do and I trust her implicitly with the task.”

      I stared at him, realizing that he had never asked me to clean the studio. I shoved aside my concerns, reminding myself that he was doing this to help me.

      “I thought,” he said, “that perhaps it would be good to have someone here to help you as your time draws near.”

      I looked down at our interlaced fingers and realized that it had been ages since he’d shown me any sort of intimacy. “I miss you, Thomas,” I said, quietly brushing my hand through his unkempt hair that I so loved. He raised my hands to his lips, placing there a lingering kiss.

      “It won’t be much longer, my muse, and we can be together again.” He patted my hand and rose to go back to his chair.

      “When does she start?” I asked, trying to snatch him back from the distance I already felt.

      “Tomorrow,” he replied, opening his book and settling into his chair. “I thought it best not to wait.”

      Part of me wanted to strangle William for his suggestion. What in blazes was he thinking sending that harlot into my home?

      How could Thomas not notice her? She was breathtakingly beautiful and wore her vivid golden hair secured loose, so that wispy tendrils lay against her swanlike neck. Her clothing was far more refined than I would have thought for a woman of her profession. Instead of plain clothes, she wore brightly colored skirts with matching waistcoats. Each day she wore a different hat, nothing as mundane as a bonnet, but expensive traveling hats like those that I once sold at the shop to the private and wealthy clientele.

      Three days a week, Grace would arrive in a black polished hansom carriage, and her driver would wait until she was finished with her duties to sweep her away. I had no idea of where she lived, or how she acquired such luxuries. And selfishly, I admit that I was just as happy that Thomas was gone on his research trips when she was around.

      Grace found me

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