“Let us change the subject.” Felicity noticed she was clenching her jaws so hard that they ached.I must relax and calm down. We probably won’t even see him.She eased in a deep, calming breath and allowed it to drift back out. “It is a lovely day.”
“A perfect day for a promenade,” Merry said with unmistakable slyness.
“Shops first.”
“You are no fun.”
“If we are not too weary after the shops, perhaps there will be time for an abbreviated promenade.” Felicity couldn’t help but relent. All the sisters did when it came to Merry. After all, she was the baby of the family.
“Agreed.” Merry swung her reticule at her side. “Mettlestone’s first, then Creary’s Bookshop, then promenade.”
“No treats from Caruthers?” Not that Felicity was hungry, but she adored chatting about recipes with Mrs. Caruthers.
“If we go in there, it will be well past teatime before we leave.”Merry gave her a pointed glare. “You do not know when to stop when it comes to talking about recipes.”
Felicity couldn’t deny the truth in that. “Fine. Only Mettlestone’s and Creary’s, then.”
“Tell me more about this ode to a fair maiden.” Merry’s craftiness knew no boundaries.
“‘Ode to a Fair Maiden’s Coddled Eggs,’” Felicity corrected her.
“Did he expound upon the fair maiden part?”
Felicity sighed, knowing Merry would not cease until she had pulled every shred of information about the poem. “A little. The last two stanzas were quite nice.”
“Recite them.”
“I cannot say that I remember them word for word,” Felicity lied.
“Felicity.”
“What?”
“Did you know that you wrinkle your nose whenever you tell an untruth?”
“I do not.”
Merry bobbed her head. “Yes, you do, and all of us know it. How do you think Chance and Seri always ferret out the truth from you?”
“Well, blast,” Felicity muttered. She must remember that and strive to undo that telltale habit. “If I repeat the stanzas, you mustn’t read too much into them. Understood?”
“Understood.”
After a deep breath and a hard swallow, Felicity recited,
“For not alone thy eggs arewarm—
Thy smile too holds a softenedcharm;
Thy kitchen is a hallowedspace
Where hunger yields to art andgrace.
So here I sit, with hearto’erthrown,
Beside thy dish, my lovefull-blown.
Not for the eggs—though rich,divine—
