In that stretch of quiet, Loxley starts plotting what he'll say in the event of her turning down his offer. Something breezy, obviously, having no desire to burden her with a sense of his disappointment. The Gallows has a great many empty rooms, anyway. He might feel moved to pivot to asking if she'd like it more generally, you know, not a permanent sort of situation, but maybe days at a time—
But there, not quite.
"Inevitably," he says, instantly. His company is good for anyone. "Perhaps I could dabble in a little of both."
Which may not be her business, really. But Loxley cares for Richard, and Derrica respects him, wants him to find some measure of happiness here. She has some idea of what he lost, when Madame Fitcher fled. She had done so much damage, and Richard hadn't been exempt from it.
"I would like it though," she reassures, "if you were there when I finished my work and saw the woman they're sending to her room."
She can halve her time with Richard. Or accept whatever division of nights Loxley saw fit to allot her, really. (It is easier to think of the irregularity of the days, rather than some more permanent routine.)
no subject
But there, not quite.
"Inevitably," he says, instantly. His company is good for anyone. "Perhaps I could dabble in a little of both."
no subject
Which may not be her business, really. But Loxley cares for Richard, and Derrica respects him, wants him to find some measure of happiness here. She has some idea of what he lost, when Madame Fitcher fled. She had done so much damage, and Richard hadn't been exempt from it.
"I would like it though," she reassures, "if you were there when I finished my work and saw the woman they're sending to her room."
She can halve her time with Richard. Or accept whatever division of nights Loxley saw fit to allot her, really. (It is easier to think of the irregularity of the days, rather than some more permanent routine.)