I didn’t need the time it took to drive to Promise Hospice to consider why I’d felt so betrayed by Ham—by Mr. Wyndham. It had seemed as if I were about to get my heart’s desire: someone who wanted me for myself. That foolish fantasy was torn from me; my only use was as a pawn in Sir’s business plans.
“We’re here, Mr. Llewellyn.” The driver sounded nervous. Because he was afraid I’d refuse to have him drive me again? No one had ever been afraid of me before. I didn’t particularly care for the hollow feeling it gave me.
After paying the fare and tipping him, I had forty-five dollars left. I’d have to find an ATM once my visit with Granddad was done. I’d also have to find a place to stay. I didn’t bother considering the Saratoga Trunk. It was the most exclusive—for exclusive, read “expensiv
