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Chapter Three
Acton Humphries, known to most in that part of Devonshire as Baron Wildeham, watched the scene unfold from his favourite position, recumbent on Lucas Harding’s divan, post-dinner brandy in hand. Across the room, Harding fiddled distractedly with the heavy paperweight on his desk. Harding could split the messenger’s head with the leaded-crystal ornament and he was mad enough to do it. The man’s colour was high and it wouldn’t be the first time rage had driven his actions. ‘You mean to tell me that my niece has managed to elude you and disappear entirely?’ Harding ground out when the messenger finished his report.
Acton sat up to join the proceedings. ‘Surely you must understand how improbable it seems. Miss Caulfield is a gently bred young lady who hasn’t been beyond Exeter in her entire life and you gentlemen are trained professionals,’ he drawled lazily, but only a stupid man would be drawn in by his apparent nonchalance. Acton was as angry over this latest development as Harding was. His long-standing relationship with Lucas Harding had developed a certain tension in the last week, ever since it became obvious Harding’s ungrateful niece had simply disappeared a coincidental four days before she was due to become his wife and Baroness Wildeham to boot.
‘I am sorry we don’t have better news.’ The messenger shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, sensing that anger was indeed boiling just beneath the surface in a barely disguised simmer.
‘Better news? You don’t have any news!’ Harding exploded. The explosion was justified, Acton mused. Maura’s disappearance had put her uncle in dire straits and she’d made him look the fool. She was contracted to marry him in exchange for erasing a gambling debt her uncle had rather rashly acquired. Harding had never believed his stallion, Captain, would lose to Acton’s Jupiter. Most fortunately, Acton was willing to take payment in the form of a bride as opposed to cash, especially when that bride was the delectable Maura Harding.
When he’d struck the deal, Harding had had a bride to offer. Now, he had neither bride nor money and the deadline was looming. If Harding didn’t retrieve Maura soon, he’d be destitute. Acton knew very well Harding was a mere knight and his property wasn’t entailed. If he took the house, Harding’s family would be left unsettled: his wife, the young twins and the two older sons. Maura was a fair trade for her uncle’s continued stability. The man had cared for Maura since she was sixteen and this was how she repaid him? Acton would never tolerate such disobedience. It was a woman’s lot in life to serve her family. Marrying him had become Maura’s duty, her service for the four years of living under her uncle’s roof.
‘Find her,’ Harding ground out, his temper cooling a bit. ‘Expand your search. Try the coaching inns again in case anyone remembers her.’ Acton privately disagreed. If she’d gone to a coaching inn, chances of finding her became slimmer. Hundreds of travellers passed through those inns and people’s memories could be dulled as time went on. The Runners could end up chasing false leads. But Acton knew Harding had honestly thought they’d find her in a nearby village or attempting to get work in Exeter. Harding had guessed wrong on that score and her trail was growing cold. Now it was time to do things his way.
‘What about London?’ Wildeham offered. ‘It seems a logical choice if someone wanted to hide and we haven’t tried there yet.’ It had only been a handful of days. By his calculations she would only just have arrived. A trail in London, if there was one, would still be very warm.
Harding shook his head in disagreement. ‘Unlikely, Wildeham. Maura has little to no money that I know of and no skills. Even if she could have afforded coach fare or begged a ride, she’s got nothing to live on once she reaches the city. She’s a gentleman’s daughter. She’s been raised to marry, not to labor.’
Wildeham saw the logic in Harding’s argument. If a girl like Maura thought to find employment in London, she’d be quickly disappointed. The town would devour a girl like her, and that worried him very much. He didn’t want Maura dead. He wanted her alive and penitent, very penitent.
Wildeham shifted in his seat to accommodate the early stirrings of arousal. Penitence conjured up all sorts of images of Maura on her knees before him. If anyone was doing any devouring, it was going to be him. He’d spent quite a few hours imagining the fantasies he’d play out with her once she was his. She would be sorry she’d run. There was nothing like the thrill of laying a rod across the smooth white expanse of untouched buttocks … But he digressed. Wildeham pulled his thoughts back to the situation at hand.
Maura Harding had run and he was more certain with each passing day she’d gone to London. Her uncle only saw a pretty, well-mannered girl. But he’d had the occasion to see much more. Harding and the Runner could talk all they wanted about searching the larger towns of Devonshire, but they’d never seen Maura with her temper up. They’d never seen her try to slap a man after he cornered her in the pantry for a little bit of slap and tickle. They’d never been on the receiving end of her tongue, and not in the French way he preferred. The little vixen had bit him when he’d tried to kiss her, nearly severing his tongue in two. That was all right with him. He liked it rough and he always hit them back. Nothing too hard, mind you, but enough to make his position on the matter clear. The more Maura fought, the more he wanted her, and he was going to have her. It was time to do things his way.
‘Are you two still debating a local search?’ He interrupted Harding and the Runner. He was growing impatient with their theorising, although this ‘treasure hunt of sorts’ could be fun in a tantalising, torture-pleasure scheme of things.
‘It’s what makes the most sense.’ Harding sighed. ‘She can’t have gone far.’
Acton warmed to the game. ‘By all means, continue with your efforts. It’s your coin, after all. I’ve got my own man for odd jobs like this. I’ll send him to London at my expense and see what he turns up. We’ll make it a wager, fifty pounds on the side to whoever finds her first.’
Harding smiled tolerantly as if he wasn’t the one faced with losing something more substantial than fifty pounds if the girl wasn’t retrieved. ‘All right, fifty pounds it is.’
Acton rose from the divan. ‘I will call it an early night, then. I have plans to make. Do give my regards to your wife, Harding.’ It was still early enough to summon Paul Digby, a sturdy ox of a man. Acton had used Digby before for all sorts of dirty work. Digby was a thinker, an unusual quality for a man his size. Digby could find anyone when he set his mind to it. If Maura was in London, she was about to be found.
Maura embraced the morning with a positive attitude and a plan. She’d not expected to be working with children when she’d made her application, but she would adjust. Childhood wasn’t so far behind her that she’d forgotten what it was like to be seven or eight. With that in mind, she’d risen early, arranged for breakfast to be delivered to the nursery and written out an orderly schedule for the day. She ran through that schedule in her mind on the way to the nursery; there would be breakfast, morning lessons, an afternoon walk, she would review manners over tea, there would be play time before dinner. It was all very efficient.
And entirely inappropriate. At the sight of the nursery, all her plans went out the window. The place was a mess. Toys of every sort lay spread on the floor or tucked haphazardly into any available nook. Clothes lay draped over furniture, wrinkled. Maura picked up a discarded shirt and shook it out. She’d not expected this.
Yesterday afternoon, there’d been no time to see the children’s quarters. The children had been ready for her, neatly dressed and pressed. They’d gone walking in the park across the street. The ‘invitation’ to her most unusual dinner with Lord Chatham had been waiting on her return. But she hadn’t worried. She should have. Nothing had prepared her for this. This would demand a re-routing of her carefully laid plans.
‘Six!’ Cecilia poked her head out of her little bedchamber off the nursery’s main room. ‘You’re here early!’ She ran across the hall to William’s room. ‘Will, Will, Six is here!’
‘I thought I’d come up for breakfast and we could continue getting acquainted.’ Maura smiled. She and the children had got off to a decent start yesterday, even if William had been less enthusiastic than Cecilia. William had been very quiet, very reserved on the walk.
‘What are we going to do today?’ Cecilia asked, slipping a hand through hers and swinging her arm.
‘We are going to eat and then we’re going to play a game,’ Maura said cheerily. She tugged on William’s blanket. ‘Now, out of bed, sleepyhead. Breakfast will be here any minute.’
‘Up here?’ William questioned. ‘Uncle Ree just lets us eat in the breakfast room downstairs whenever we want. Breakfast is served until eleven o’clock.’
That was interesting and potentially full of problems. ‘Does your uncle eat with you?’
‘No,’ William said dejectedly. ‘He’s usually in bed until noon.’
‘You eat alone?’ Maura busied herself in the little chamber, straightening here and there so her questions didn’t seem like an interrogation. This was something she needed to know. She didn’t want to upset a family ritual of eating together.
‘Yes,’ Cecilia proclaimed proudly. ‘We fill our own plates and eat as much as we want of whatever we want. The chairs are big, though, and my feet don’t touch the ground.’
Children eating copious amounts of self-selected food unsupervised wasn’t a family ritual; it was a recipe for disaster. The breakfast trays arrived and Maura hurried to clear the round table in the centre of the nursery.
‘Mmm, it smells good.’ Cecilia scampered after her and Maura noticed even William didn’t have to be asked twice to the table as she set out the dishes and removed the covers.
‘What’s that?’ William pointed to the plates arranged with strips of toast alongside an egg cup.
‘These are eggs and soldiers.’ Maura placed a plate in front of each of them and sat down. ‘Have you ever seen it before?’ She’d rather thought they would have. She’d been raised on it.
They shook their heads. ‘Soldiers?’ William asked curiously, poking around at the egg.
‘The toast strips are the soldiers.’ Maura picked up a spoon and tapped the top of the soft-boiled egg. The top broke open, revealing the runny yolk inside. ‘Now, you take a soldier and dip it in the egg.’ She demonstrated and took a bite. ‘Yummy. Try it,’ she urged them.
After the first bite, eggs and soldiers was an immediate success. ‘This is better than the porridge we had with those other governesses.’ Cecilia made a face reflecting her distaste of the porridge. ‘But,’ she proclaimed with a mouth of toast, ‘this is as good as breakfasts with Papa Elliott.’ She paused long enough to swallow. ‘He was Uncle Ree’s brother, but he’s dead now, like our father. I hope Uncle Ree doesn’t die.’ It was said with a child’s innocent carelessness of the facts, but Maura’s heart went out to them. Three father figures in eight years was a lot of change.
‘Why is it called eggs and soldiers?’ William ate his last bite.
Maura leaned forwards. ‘My mother told me eggs and soldiers was the tale of Humpty Dumpty.’ She recited the nursery rhyme to them. ‘The toast strips are all the king’s men and the runny egg is poor old Humpty Dumpty who can’t be put back together again.’ They laughed and Maura gathered up the dishes. ‘Who’s ready for a game?’
‘None of the other governesses played games,’ William said sceptically.
‘Well, Six does and I like her,’ Cecilia put in emphatically, turning blue eyes Maura’s way, a sudden concern mirrored in her eyes. ‘You aren’t going to leave, are you?’
‘No, of course not,’ Maura reassured her. She couldn’t possibly leave, no matter what. Leaving would mean being homeless. It would mean having no way to support herself. The children could put frogs in her bed and she’d have to stay. ‘Who knows what lava is?’
Cecilia had no idea, but William did. ‘It’s the hot stuff that comes out of volcanoes. Papa Elliott told me about Mount Etna in Italy.’ He grinned. ‘It sounds exciting, all that noise and rumbling. I’d like to be an explorer and see one some day. Papa Elliott said the last time Mount Etna erupted a little village almost got destroyed.’
‘The village was called Bronte,’ Maura supplied. ‘We could pretend today that our nursery is that village and we are explorers who have come to rescue the people from the volcano.’ Maura bent over and swept up a rag doll. ‘I got her, she’s safe. Does anyone know this little girl’s name?’
‘That’s Polly,’ Cecilia supplied.
‘Can you take Polly to a safe place on a shelf away from the lava?’ Maura handed the doll over to her. ‘In fact, the whole carpet is lava and we have to pull everyone and everything out and get them to safety. Cecilia, can you be in charge of saving all the dollies? William, you can be in charge of saving the village’s things, like their games, and the soldiers. Step quickly so the lava doesn’t burn your feet, too! I’ll get the books.’
Off they went, all three of them hopping about, grabbing up the ‘villagers’ and getting them resettled. It was a noisy business. Sometimes the rescuers weren’t fast enough and got burnt. Cecilia squealed the most over her imaginary close calls with the lava. Even William got involved, telling them an elaborate story about how his soldiers had come to help, but been cut off by a sudden earthquake that left them stranded on the mountain’s left slope.
It took the better part of an hour, but when the last villager was rescued, the floor was empty and the nursery was tidy.
‘Whew.’ Maura plopped into a child-sized chair at the table. ‘That was hard work. Good job, rescuers. See how nice the nursery looks.’
‘You tricked us.’ William sulked, suddenly suspicious. ‘That wasn’t a game, it was a trick to make us pick up.’
‘Did you have fun?’ Maura challenged good-naturedly.
‘Well, yes, a little bit,’ William confessed. He’d had more than a little bit of fun.
‘Then it was a game,’ came a male voice from the doorway.
‘Uncle Ree!’ The children ran to him, pelting him with hugs. Maura rose, pushing at a loose strand of hair, conscious of her appearance after an energetic game of ‘Save the Villagers’. She looked rather mussed compared to Lord Chatham’s immaculate toilette. He was turned out for driving in tan breeches and boots and a dark-blue coat that emphasised his eyes.
‘I heard all the commotion and thought I’d come up to see what was going on.’ Lord Chatham looked a question over the children’s heads.
‘I’m sorry if we were too loud,’ Maura apologised hastily.
‘Not too loud, just too early.’ He did look a bit pale and there were traces of bags under his very blue eyes.
‘Uncle Ree stays up late and sleeps in,’ William said. ‘I want to be like him. That’s why I stay in bed,’ he announced proudly. Maura could think of better behaviours to emulate. She could well imagine what had kept Lord Chatham out until all hours of the morning. After drawing circles on her hand at dinner, he’d likely moved on to actresses and courtesans.
‘We were rescuing villagers from the volcano.’ Cecilia hopped up and down on one foot. ‘We saved Polly first. And we had eggs and soldiers for breakfast.’
Lord Chatham grinned at her, looking entirely irresistible. ‘It sounds like a very productive morning.’ He glanced out the window. ‘The sun is out and since I’m up, who wants to go to the park? Will, get your boat, the new one I got you, and we’ll try it out. Cecilia, get your hoops and the little kite. There should be enough of a breeze to fly it.’ The children went wild with excitement and scurried about the room, gathering their things.
She was coming to hate when he did that. How dare he be likeable after just reminding her how unlikeable he should be. He’d been out carousing all night, a behaviour that boded ill, and now he was offering to play the doting father figure and take the children to the park. With hardly a care for your own plans, her defences reminded. Are you going to let him walk in here and disrupt your day?
Maura stepped forward. An outing to the park wasn’t quite what she had in mind. ‘Lord Chatham, the offer is most generous and I’m sure well meant. However, I must politely protest. We haven’t done our lessons yet.’ She kept her voice low. ‘Yesterday, you and I talked of the necessity for a schedule.’
Lord Chatham shrugged, unconcerned. ‘Lessons can wait. A day of good English sunshine cannot. One never knows when we’ll see the sun again. We must take advantage of such days when they present themselves.’ He gave her a wink. ‘You should hurry along, too, Miss Caulfield. You’re not ready to go.’ Then added conspiratorially, ‘Lessons will take care of themselves, you’ll see.’
She understood implicitly there was to be no further discussion. Maura knew how to argue. Her uncle was famous for his blusters and tirades. She could stand her ground in the face of such debate. But Lord Chatham’s tactics were nothing like her uncle’s and she’d been ill prepared for them this first time. Unlike her uncle, Chatham was not a man who shouted to get what he wanted. He simply charmed. He might have put off discussion of the children’s schedule for the moment, but discussion would have to come. Children needed a schedule.
There would be little she could do about it if he made a habit of impromptu excursions whenever he happened to wake up early. Having a schedule ensured her safety, too. She couldn’t make a habit of being about town too much, at least for a while. If anyone was looking for her, she didn’t want to be caught unawares. Today could be the exception. It was too early for anyone to have tracked her this far. She was counting on her uncle’s limited thinking to keep his search rooted to the area closer to home.
It was immediately clear this was to be no usual sojourn. Maura had thought they’d go to the park in the square across the street with the other neighbours. She’d walked there yesterday with the children. But the sight of Lord Chatham’s open barouche with two matched greys champing at the bit in front of the town house soon disabused her of the notion.
‘William, come sit beside me,’ Lord Chatham instructed, getting them all settled with his ever-present charm. ‘A gentleman always sits with his back to the driver and the ladies always sit facing forwards.’
Maura experienced some relief over that arrangement. She far preferred sitting next to Cecilia. There would be no accidental jostling of thighs or other contact when the carriage hit a bump in the road. She’d feared for a moment she’d have to sit next to him. Not because he repulsed her—quite the opposite, and the attraction was unseemly for one in her position. He was her employer and a rogue of a fellow, too, if Mrs Pendergast was to be believed. His behaviour at dinner had proved as much. He was not averse to flirting with the hired governess and whatever else he could get away with.
She took her seat next to Cecilia and realised this was worse. Sitting across from him ensured she had to look at him, at his blue eyes, at his broad shoulders, at his long legs, which were booted and crossed at the ankles and dangerously close to hers when they stretched out across the carriage as they were doing now. So much for avoiding any casual contact.
‘Where are we going?’ The carriage pulled out into the traffic and Maura couldn’t deny she wasn’t just a little bit excited. This would be her first trip about London. Yesterday in the hired hackney, her mind had been too occupied to look around and the window had been too small to see much of the view even if she had been inclined.
‘Regent’s Park. It’s open to the public today, Miss Caulfield. We couldn’t waste the sunshine and the park, especially when it’s only open two days a week. It’s far too great of a treat to pass up, isn’t it?’ Lord Chatham’s blue eyes were twinkling. He knew, drat him. He knew this was as big of a treat for her as it was for the children.
Chapter Four
‘You’re very good with a kite, Miss Caulfield,’ Riordan called out from the boat pond where he and William were sailing the boy’s new model schooner. Miss Caulfield and Cecilia had opted to take advantage of the breezes and it did his heart good to see the little girl running on the green, hoisting the kite into the air on command. He’d half-expected the kite to break, as much else did that Cecilia touched. Riordan supposed it was the nature of being seven and inquisitive. If it had, he’d have bought her a new one, but to his pleasant surprise, the kite had stayed up, ably piloted by Miss Caulfield.
Riordan smiled, watching Miss Caulfield manoeuvre the kite away from a grove of trees. She’d been a pleasant surprise herself this morning, romping with the children in the nursery. She’d not assigned the task and then stood idly by, ordering the children about like governess Number Three. From the look of her, she’d joined in the game whole-heartedly. She’d been delightfully mussed with her hair coming down and the faintest of smudges on her cheek. It had made him wonder what she’d look like more thoroughly mussed and by a man who knew how—a most arousing mental exercise, to be sure.
She was certainly a lot prettier than Number Four, Old Pruneface. She was wearing green again, this time an apple-green walking dress with a wide-brimmed hat to match—a hat, he noted, that had been discarded since their arrival. Ah, Miss Caulfield, Riordan thought with a smile, you are more impetuous than you let on.
The wind changed and the kite took a dive. Cecilia squealed a warning. Miss Caulfield tugged on the twine, but the kite continued to fall. Riordan gauged its trajectory. It was headed for the boating lake. Riordan sprinted towards Miss Caulfield, who was losing the battle. Beside her, Cecilia jumped up and down, frantic.
‘Allow me, Miss Caulfield.’ He took over the string and reeled it in, tugging every so often until the kite stabilised. ‘There, Cecilia,’ he assured the little girl, ‘everything’s fine now.’ But he was reluctant to turn the kite over. It had been ages since he’d flown one. He and Elliott had flown plenty of kites, built plenty of kites in their childhood. Miss Caulfield was eyeing him with barely disguised impatience. Apparently she, too, was something of a secret kite aficionado.
Riordan couldn’t resist showing off, just a little. He waited until he had the kite in a controlled stall before he let the line go slack, then he tugged, turning the kite on its belly in a flat rotation: a smooth, graceful move that mimicked the gentle glide of a bird.
Cecilia clapped and William was impressed enough to come up from the pond with his boat. ‘Do it again, Uncle Ree!’ He did it several more times, casually lecturing William and Cecilia on the aerodynamics of lift until their interest was satisfied and they ran back to the pond.
Riordan continued to fly the kite, aware of Miss Caulfield’s eyes on him, studying, wondering. ‘How do you do that?’ Miss Caulfield asked at last. ‘Will you tell me how?’
Riordan grinned. ‘Better than that, I’ll show you.’ He passed her the spindle of twine and sat down on the grass. ‘All right, here’s lesson number one. Do exactly as I tell you. The first step to an axel turn is a controlled stall. Let the kite hover in the air. Good.’ He leaned back on his elbows, watching the sun turn her hair the colour of burnished copper. The faintest hints of freckles were making an appearance on the bridge of her nose, a small penance for going without her hat.
His new governess was pretty, slightly mysterious with a dash of impetuosity thrown in—three traits he appreciated in his women. The question was how far could he pursue this? She was in his employ but did that mean he couldn’t flirt a little, especially if she was amenable? She might be. There’d been times at dinner when she’d forgotten she shouldn’t be interested in him. Coaxing her to forget a little more could be fun.
‘Now, pull at the twine to turn the nose away from you. Let the line go slack. Wait until one wing drops a little lower than the other and then tug. No.’ Riordan winced as the kite dipped dangerously low in an out-of-control dive. She tried again with no better results.
Riordan levered himself up off the ground. It was time to intervene. He came up behind her, sliding his hands over hers on the spindle. ‘It’s more of an intuition. You have to feel the moment when the one wing dips.’ She smelled wonderful, light and fresh like honeysuckle and lilac in the spring, but her body was tense. Such close proximity made her self-conscious, as it had in the barouche. If he had to guess, it was because it excited her. ‘Relax, Miss Caulfield. I can hardly ravish you in a public park,’ he whispered playfully against her ear. It wasn’t entirely true. He and Mrs Lennox had proven that claim decidedly false in Green Park last summer. He and Lady Granville had confirmed those findings just a couple of weeks ago, but Miss Caulfield didn’t need to know that.
Riordan steadied the kite, feeling Miss Caulfield’s tension ease as the kite trick demanded more of her attention. He kept his voice low. ‘Do you feel the slack? Now, wait for it—no, don’t go too soon.’ His hands tightened over hers. ‘Wait for the last possible moment … and … now!’ They tugged together and the kite flat-turned effortlessly.
‘It’s like a bird in flight,’ Miss Caulfield breathed.
‘Is that the best you can do?’ Riordan teased her. The description seemed far too tame for such a smooth, elegant move. Surely the woman who recklessly took off her hat in the park and imagined a nursery to be the burning town of Bronte just to get it tidied up could do better than that?
‘It’s apt,’ Miss Caulfield replied, taking umbrage. ‘What do you think it’s like?’
He stepped closer to her, his hands tightening gently over hers as he guided the kite into another graceful flat turn. ‘I think it’s like making love to a woman.’ He put his mouth close to her ear, breathing in the freshness of her. ‘A good lover cultivates patience; a good lover knows how to wait until the most final of moments to …’
‘Lord Chatham, that is quite enough.’ Miss Caulfield dipped and slipped under the circle of his arms. ‘You are really a most audacious man.’ Her face was flushed, but it wasn’t all from embarrassment.
Riordan laughed good-naturedly at the return of her self-consciousness. ‘Maybe I am, a little.’ He executed a few more tricks he remembered from childhood while Miss Caulfield watched, one hand shading her eyes as she looked into the sky, a very convenient alternative to looking at him.
‘Growing up, my brother and I would spend winters in the attics building kites.’ Riordan did a back spin with the kite. ‘Come spring, we’d fly them every chance we got. We had fabulous competitions.’ He hadn’t thought of those days for a long time. ‘We started when we weren’t much older than William.’ Their fascination with kites had lasted quite a while. Even when Elliott had gone away to school, they’d flown kites when he came home on holiday.
‘You miss your brother,’ Miss Caulfield said softly. ‘You were close. His death must be a terrible blow for you.’
‘Yes, Miss Caulfield. It is,’ he said tersely, thankful she wasn’t looking at him. He gave all his attention and then some to the kite, willing the moment of vulnerability to pass. He had not missed the present-tense reference. Everyone said his brother’s death had been a terrible blow, as if it was something he’d got over and relegated to the past. But it wasn’t like that. He missed Elliott every day. He missed knowing that Elliott was out there, somewhere, keeping order and doing good.
Miss Caufield allowed him to fly in silence, standing quietly beside him. It was a smart woman who knew when to give a man his space. After a while, Riordan began reeling the kite in. ‘Why don’t you get the children and we’ll go to Gunter’s for ices?’ He watched her pick up her hat and head down to the boat pond. He wasn’t sure why he’d told that story about building kites. She was a virtual stranger. Maybe he’d told her in apology for his inappropriate comment about making love to a woman. Maybe he’d told her because he didn’t want her to think he was an entirely graceless cad.
‘Is it always this busy?’ Maura looked about her in delighted amazement from the barouche. They were parked across the street from Gunter’s Confectionary with other carriages of the fashionable who’d come to take advantage of the good weather. Busy waiters ran from the store to the carriages, delivering ices and other treats. She marvelled at the waiters managed to stay clear of horses. Any moment, Maura expected there to be an accident.
‘It’s always this busy. Do you know why?’ Lord Chatham leaned forwards with a smile. He was going to tease her. Maura was fast coming to recognise that smile. She braced herself.
‘It’s the one place a young woman may be seen alone with a man without the presence of a chaperon.’
‘Of course. It has nothing to do with the quality of the merchandise,’ Maura replied drily, but she did look around to test his hypothesis. Young men lounged against carriage doors sharing ices with young ladies. ‘It looks fairly harmless.’ Not nearly as wicked as Lord Chatham’s low tones had implied.
Lord Chatham shrugged as if he found her comment debatable. ‘I suppose it depends on who you’re eating ices with.’
A waiter came to take their orders and Maura knew a second’s panic. What to choose? There’d been ices occasionally at her uncle’s home, but never this array of flavours to pick from. The children chose strawberry. Lord Chatham chose burnt filbert. Maura hesitated a fraction too long.
