on her boots and looked up at Elizabeth. “Why would we want to do something like that? Why don’t we sell our share to Mr. Allen?”
“Mama and Papa spoke of owning a hotel for as long as I can remember, but they never had enough money to pursue the venture,” Elizabeth said. “We can’t give up on their dream now—especially when Papa wanted it this way.”
“Their dream?” Grace asked with sarcasm in her voice. “Or yours?”
“Of course it’s their dream. Don’t you care about their legacy?”
Grace scoffed. “I don’t give a fig about this hotel or Mama and Papa’s dreams. Papa abandoned us and I don’t owe him a thing.”
Elizabeth’s chest tightened and she wanted to cover Rose’s ears. It had been this way with Grace since their father left. Before Mama died, Grace had always been sweet and kind—a little mischievous, but never mean. The best thing for her would be to find a good husband, and the sooner the better. She needed to be settled in her own home and getting on with her life. She didn’t need to be saddled with their father’s hotel and a little sister. Those were Elizabeth’s responsibilities. She had forfeited her own happily-ever-after when she chose her family over James. What man would want her with all her responsibilities now? Isn’t that what James had said? She came with too many problems.
Her sisters deserved better, and she would do whatever she could to ensure their happiness. She would find Grace a good husband as soon as possible and provide for Rose to the best of her ability.
Elizabeth met Grace’s gaze and she knew her face revealed the depth of sadness she felt.
For a moment, it looked as if Grace might soften, but then she inhaled a breath and kicked off her second boot. “Do whatever you want. I don’t care.”
Rose looked up at Elizabeth, searching for reassurance. The unconditional love in her big brown eyes was the reminder Elizabeth needed to keep fighting for Grace, for her parents’ dream and for her own future.
Elizabeth winked at Rose and gave her a smile. “It’s time to sleep.”
“I forgot to say my prayers.” Rose climbed out of bed and knelt on the floor. She said her nightly prayers and then got back into bed.
Grace had put on her nightgown and sat beside Rose. “How will we raise enough money to buy Mr. Allen’s share? It could be thousands of dollars.”
“Maybe we can get a loan from the bank.” Elizabeth tucked the covers in around Rose. “Regardless, we’ll have to do extra work to pay for it. I’ll speak to Mr. Allen about all of that tomorrow. For now, get some sleep and don’t worry.”
Rose yawned. “I’m thirsty, Lizzie.”
Grace lifted the sheet and snuggled into the bed without looking at Elizabeth.
“I’ll get you something. But don’t leave this room,” Elizabeth said to Rose. “Stay here with Grace and I’ll come right back with something for you to drink.”
Rose nodded, a solemn promise in her trusting eyes.
Elizabeth kissed her forehead and left the bedroom through a door that led directly into the dark hallway. She stood for a moment, wondering where the kitchen might be. Martha had said it was at the back of the hotel.
She walked down the hall to where a swatch of light lit up the stairway at the end. The sound of laughter and music made her feet itch to dance. It had been years since she’d gone to a ball. James had not approved of dancing, and after he left, her name had become sullied by Mrs. Brown’s accusations, so no one had extended another invitation.
It would feel good to twist and twirl around a dance floor again, especially if she was in the arms of a competent dancer. For a fleeting moment, she thought of Mr. Allen’s strong form and graceful movements and wondered if he was any good at dancing, but the question soon faded when she remembered how much he irritated her.
Hopefully she could sneak in and out of the kitchen without being noticed.
She wasn’t in the mood to see him again tonight.
* * *
Jude stormed through the dining room and entered the kitchen. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee and warm cinnamon bread wafted up to meet him. But even that didn’t improve his mood.
“What am I going to do with them?” he asked Martha as soon as the swinging door closed.
“I don’t imagine there’s anything you can do with them.” Martha lifted a steaming pan of bread from the oven. “They’re here to stay.”
Jude pulled out a stool and took a seat—but he couldn’t stay still, so he stood and shoved it back under the worktable. “They can’t stay here.”
The door opened and Violet entered. Her bright-red hair would make her stand out in a room—but it was the worldly set of her shoulders and the hardened look in her eyes that made people take a second glance. “Is the coffee ready?” she asked.
Martha nodded to the pot on the stove. “Just now. Bring me the empty one from the ballroom when you come back and I’ll get more going.”
Violet moved to the stove without another word. Though Jude had rescued her six weeks ago and had been nothing but kind, she still didn’t meet his gaze. She skirted around him like he might reach out and grab her—but he didn’t take it to heart. It was the same with almost all the women he’d liberated these past two years. They knew almost nothing about compassion and decency. For many, their only experience of men was abuse and neglect. He was the first man who’d respected them and treated them with care. It would take her some time to trust him.
Violet left the kitchen with the coffee and the door swung closed again.
“The way I see it,” Martha said, setting the loaf of cinnamon bread on the cooling rack near the window, “Clarence’s daughters own half this hotel and there’s nothing you can do to change that fact. God knows what He’s doing. He doesn’t make mistakes. Though we don’t understand some of His choices, He’s still sovereign and much smarter than the rest of us.”
Jude rubbed the back of his neck. He usually appreciated Martha’s wisdom and perspective, but at the moment, he’d rather she keep them to herself. “There has to be a way to get rid of them.”
“Ack!” Martha clicked her tongue. “Go on with you. Those women are in need of a home and this is all they have. They’re not that much different than the women you rescue.”
“There’s a world of difference between them—besides, this hotel can’t support all the women living here!” They could barely support Martha and Violet. “I need to find a way to get them to leave. I’m going to see Roald Hall tomorrow and find out if that letter has any legal value.”
“And what if it does?”
He didn’t want to contemplate the validity of the letter. How could he hide his rescue work if they ended up staying? Surely, once they met Violet, they’d start asking questions. What would happen when he brought in the next lady? And the next?
Frustration made him pace faster. “I don’t know why such pretty women aren’t married.”
