“But if they get your books dirty—”
“I’d rather they look at them with dirty fingers than not look at them at all.”
He couldn’t imagine his own mother having that attitude. As a lad, he’d been bathed and placed in fresh clothes anytime he came in from outside or just before he was presented to her in the afternoon, so she could ask him how he’d occupied his time. He suspected Miss Trewlove would give her children more than half an hour a day, that she wouldn’t have to ask how they’d spent their day because she would be involved in their play, their studies, their lives. She would embrace them, never causing them to doubt they were loved.
“Then I’ll have this order filled and delivered to you before noon on Friday. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Think I’ll just have a look.” She eased over until she was standing near enough that he could smell the fragrance of oranges. “Have you a sweet tooth, Mr. Sommersby?”
“On occasion. I’m not really certain what I’m in the mood for, however.”
“I favor toffee myself.”
“Hmm. I haven’t had that since I was lad. I’ll take a dozen toffees, Mrs. Flowers.”
“Very good, sir.”
“I’ll have the same,” Miss Trewlove said.
“Put them on my tab, Mrs. Flowers.”
“Please don’t. You’re going to start rumors flying about.”
Rumors that perhaps he had an interest in her. Based on the way Mrs. Flowers was watching them, he doubted a penny purchase was going to make any difference. She was going to tattle one way or the other. As he’d long been fodder for gossip, he wasn’t bothered by the notion of a bit more, especially when it would be harmless nattering. “It’s a small way to thank you for welcoming me into the area. Besides, when you have your coming out, you’re going to discover nothing prevents the spread of sensationalized tales. You might as well embrace it.”
After he paid for the purchases, he handed her the sack and followed her out onto the pavement. She immediately popped a toffee into her mouth. He watched the twisting of her lips as she stroked her tongue over the hard candy. He didn’t know if anything had ever been more sensual than the movements he couldn’t see, could only imagine as he envisioned her sucking, stroking, working her tongue over another hard surface. Christ, he needed to regain control of his errant thoughts.
She stood there as though reluctant to leave him as much as he was to bid her farewell. “Have you plans for your last evening before your Season officially begins?”
A bit of wickedness sparked in her eyes. “I hear the Fire King will be performing in Whitechapel. I intend to go see him. I’m rather certain there will be room in the hansom if you’ve a mind to spend your night enjoying street entertainments.”
“Did you grow up in Whitechapel?” he asked her several hours later as they strolled along the crowded street where people jostled each other to get a view of the tumblers or the jugglers or the men walking about on stilts.
“No, but near here.”
Matthew had been to fetes, fairs, carnivals, even a circus. What he was observing now reminded him of a carnival, but it was in the city, in the streets, rather than in the country, on a lawn with lots of space around it. He suspected a good many of these people hadn’t the means to take the railway out into the country, and so the performers had brought their talents here and created a festival with a joyous atmosphere.
But in spite of all the frivolity and the attention-seekers, his gaze kept drifting over to Miss Trewlove, her enthusiasm and excitement intoxicating. She appreciated her surroundings in a way few did. She understood the need for the poor to escape into fantasy, the need for the performers to be valued. She took in everything with the same intensity that he imagined she took in the pages of a novel, wondrously transported into another realm. She didn’t judge, found no fault. She merely immersed herself in the ambiance.
He couldn’t imagine any woman of his acquaintance walking boldly among those who appeared they’d not bathed in a while or whose clothing was frayed and tattered while smiling at them, greeting them as though they were long-lost friends.
“Do you know these people?” he finally asked.
“I’ve never seen them before, but they aren’t so different from all the people I do know. Struggling to make ends meet, doing the best they can with what they have, hoping for something better for their children, enjoying a night without cares.” Earlier, she’d entwined her arm around his to ensure they weren’t separated, and now she gave it a squeeze. “Don’t you love how much fun everyone is having?”
He loved how much fun she seemed to be having, completely free of cares, giving no thought to what she might be facing tomorrow night. As the wife of a lord, she would host affairs, and he couldn’t imagine that anything under her command would be staid or dull. She would find a way to make everything interesting and exciting.
“Oh, look, there he is! Come on!” She grabbed his hand, and while they both wore gloves, it seemed far more intimate a joining than her arm intertwined with his.
He found himself closing his much larger hand around her smaller one. So tiny. He was beginning to understand why her family was taking such extreme measures to see her well situated—whether within the nobility or not. They felt a need to protect her, to ensure no harm ever came to her. Yet, he wasn’t certain she was deserving of their worry. Here she was wending her way between people, causing others to step aside as though the Queen were barreling through them. No one took offense, no one reacted in anger. She had the ability to be soothing even as she made people feel guilty for being a barrier to her destination.
With a great deal of poise and confidence, she worked her way to the front, tugging him along behind her. It was packed here, people scrunched up together, stretching their necks, striving to get a better view of what was happening within the circle they’d created. He slid in behind her, putting his arms around her, much as he had when they’d flown the kite, but there was no spindle to hold so he simply folded his hands over her stomach. He had little doubt that if she objected, she’d have elbowed him in the gut or stomped on his foot. Instead, she merely settled against him as though she belonged there.
And damn if he didn’t feel that she did.
Turning her head slightly, she fairly yelled in order to be heard above the cacophony. “Isn’t he marvelous?”
Finally, he turned his attention to the reason they’d undertaken this adventure. The gentleman strutting around the empty space that had been made available to him was well over six feet, possibly falling just shy of six and half. He was broad, muscle upon muscle visible because he wore naught but breeches and boots. His dark skin glistened in the light of the flaming torch he held.
