"Ms. Barreau, is there any special technique to opening this dresser?"

Genevieve was pulled away from thinking about how she was going to afford to fix that busted window before the next snowstorm. Glancing over her shoulder, she found Lyla tugging at the kitchen dresser in the corner with all her might, a jar of tea tucked beneath her arm.

"I swear, it opened for me yesterday," the girl growled as she gave another pull and nearly lost the tea.

Smiling, Genevieve approached and gently pushed her aside. "It's a tad temperamental," she said, slamming her shoulder into the dresser door and then lifting it up as she pulled. "Got it for cheap from a junk dealer. Not the best, but I can't be too picky considering my financial situation, particularly when I first started."

Lyla replaced the jar and carefully closed the door. "How do you manage to keep this place running? I imagine a boarding house is rather costly."

"It is if you're not clever and resourceful. I save money by not hiring a maid or cook and doing it on my own. And I know how to stretch my supplies."

"But you must be so exhausted all the time, cleaning everything on your own."

Genevieve shrugged and returned to the sink to wash the dishes from dinner. "It's not that big of a place, and most of my tenants don't expect a high level of luxury from a boarding house in the slums."

Fetching a wet rag, Lyla began scrubbing the table. "If you don't mind my asking, how did you even afford to open the house? You don't seem to come from much money."

Cocking an eyebrow, Genevieve gave the girl a sharp glare. "You might not want to insult the woman who's giving you a discount on your rent."

Her pale, freckled face turning paler, Lyla shook her head and waved her hands about frantically. "No, no, it wasn't meant as an insult. You just seem like the rest of us. You know, struggling to make ends meet. I'm sure I couldn't start up my own business, especially now that I have such a reputation."

Though she looked ashamed as she said it, the twinkle in the girl's eyes betrayed her relief at being free from her marital bonds. Genevieve wasn't certain she could sympathize, even after spending over a week working with her in the boarding house. Lyla's husband had been a good, decent man. It seemed that Lyla just wasn't the settling-down type. Not everyone was.

Softening her expression, Genevieve shrugged again. "I am like the rest of you. Getting this place was a combination of hard work and good fortune. My mother had a childless uncle who had a little money, and when he passed, he left it to her. Since she was bedridden at that point, she gave it to me. Told me to use it to keep myself an independent woman. I think she worried I'd have to resort to prostitution or a loveless marriage after she died. So with that tiny savings and the work ethic she'd instilled in me, I bought this run-down shack and worked my fingers to the bone to make it decent enough to rent out. And here we are now."

"You're quite amazing, Ms. Barreau," Lyla said, joining her at the sink and taking up a cloth to dry the dishes. "Really, I wish my ma had been half the woman you are. I'm afraid her solution to our problems was to tell me to marry the first man I found. Fat lotta good that did me."

Genevieve furrowed her brow. "I thought you and Roscoe were raised by your spinster aunt?"

Lyla's eyes went wide, and she quickly ducked her head down, concentrating on the plate in her hands. "Right, well, she was like our ma, so sometimes, not all the time, but sometimes I refer to her that way."

This girl was full of all sorts of lies. What a shame. She was absolutely lovely, with her thick, strawberry-blonde hair and petite but sturdy frame. And those soft blue eyes seemed so sweet and innocent. Her poor husband. The naïve book shop owner had been taken in by a pretty face and a silver tongue. How different Lyla was from her brother.

"So are you and Mr. James married?" asked Lyla, flashing a bright smile as she changed the subject.

Genevieve shook her head. "No, no we're not."

"Do you have plans?"

"It's never really come up."

"Probably for the best. Marriage is utterly boring and confining. Don't know what I was thinking, getting myself caught up in it."

"I'm certainly not opposed to the idea. But if I were to marry, it would have to be an equal partnership. I wouldn't stand for being bossed around or having a man take credit for my accomplishments."

"Would Mr. James do that?"

A soft smile crept across Genevieve's face. "We've been together for nearly a year, and thus far, he's given me no real reason to worry that he would."

Lyla leaned in conspiratorially. "Want me to get some of his men to put a bug in his ear? I know a few of them rather well. I could help you seal the deal if you'd like."

Raising her eyebrows, Genevieve looked her up and down, wondering just how many hearts this girl had weaseled her way into. "No, that's all right. I'm more than capable of twisting his arm myself. But I appreciate the offer. And I appreciate your assistance around here, too. It's certainly taken some of the load off of my shoulders."

"Oh, of course! I'm so thankful for all you've done for my brother. And now taking me in despite my shame. Really, you're amazing, Ms. Barreau. Mr. James would be a fool not to make an honest woman of you."

She was one to talk about honest women. "Yes, well, why don't you finish up with those dishes while I—"

A loud bang came from upstairs, eliciting a gasp from Lyla as she clutched the drying rag to her chest. Heavy footsteps and muffled cries followed. Genevieve grabbed a kitchen knife before slipping up the stairs.

"Ms. Barreau?" Lyla called after her.

"Stay there, Lyla," Genevieve said sharply.

By the time she entered the hallway, there was no one there. Glancing around the corner, the knife gripped tightly in her hand, she searched for any sign of life. One of the little Iredale boys peeked out of the parlour, his eyes round with fear. She put a finger to her lips and offered a reassuring smile, nodding for him to go back inside. As he disappeared behind the doorway, she turned to the stairs where she heard another loud bang. Taking a deep breath, she silently hurried up the steps.

A door closed. Wren's door. She approached with care, eyeing it warily. Despite how long they'd been together, Wren still had a room of his own, even though most of his nights were spent in hers. Something about needing it for meetings with his friends. She'd allowed it, but only after warning him of what would happen if she found out he was bringing his shady business into her home. His only reply had been a wolfish grin and a handsy kiss.

That cold, prickly feeling returned to her skin, the same one that came with talk of Wren's side work. Swallowing hard, she reached out for the doorknob, her knife at the ready. Before her fingers could even graze the tarnished metal, though, the door flew open, and Wren stormed out. His eyes widened when he found her standing there, and for an instant, she thought she saw a flash of fear in them. But then his gaze landed on the knife, and he smiled.

"Most men wouldn't be quite so aroused at seeing their girl holding a large kitchen knife," he said, leaning against the door. "Especially when they know how very skilled that girl is in wielding said knife."

"What's going on?" Genevieve asked, not loosening her grip on the weapon.

Wren made a face and gave a dismissive wave. "One of the boys got jagged while we were enjoying an ale or two after work, and his wife says she'll beat him with the skillet next time he comes home all mops and brooms. So we figured we'd stash him here 'til he sobers up."

Genevieve stared at him. Everything about his manner seemed light and unconcerned. That easy smile, his casual stance, the way he kept looking at her knife and chuckling softly. And she was well aware that he and his friends rather enjoyed indulging in drink, much like herself. Still, she couldn't shake that odd sensation running through her body. And that flash of fear that had been in Wren's eyes. She'd never seen him look like that before.

Nonetheless, she lowered the knife and let out a slow breath. Her gaze darted to the door once more before returning to Wren. "Better make sure he doesn't make a mess on my rug or linens or else I'll have you lot doing the laundry."

With a loud, boisterous laugh, he snaked his arm around her waist and pulled her close. "I'll make him sleep hanging over a chamber pot," he said as he caught her lips.

Giving her a tight squeeze, he flashed her another smile and slipped back into his room. She lingered for a moment longer, and as she heard the lock turn, every hair on her body stood up on end. Still, she forced herself to head back down the stairs. With each step, a heavy pit sank deeper and deeper into her gut. She fiddled with the knife, trying to reassure herself that Wren would never disregard her rule about bringing his business here. He respected her too much to do that. And he knew she wouldn't hesitate to severely hurt him if he ever tried.

The Iredale boy was still in the parlour, peeking out again as she reached the last step. Smiling, she beckoned to him, nodding towards the kitchen. "Come on, I think I might have some licorice stashed away. Why don't you have a bite and help me and Lyla finish the night chores? Then I'll bring you up to your room."

Scampering to her side, the young boy clung to her skirt, and together, they walked down the hallway. Ushering him into the kitchen, she peered back at the stairs one last time and took a sharp breath.

Wren loved her. He'd never go against her wishes.

All the same, her heart pounded anxiously as she slipped down after the boy, locking the door behind her.