‘Then, there you go.’
‘That is not the same thing.’
‘Fine. You have a small mole there, under your left eye, but you do not have one under your right. If anything, having one in exactly the same place on each side would look odd.’
His fingers were tracing all over his face now and she couldn’t help the giggle that escaped. ‘I do not understand why you are discomposed by this. I told you it was pleasing.’
He dropped his hands. ‘You have a way of making me feel wrong-footed.’
‘Oh dear. I do apologise.’
‘It is not a bad thing.’
‘It does not sound like a compliment.’
‘Ah, well.’ He dropped his hands from his face, his long fingers now resting on the tablecloth. ‘If you would like one of those, I should tell you that the dress you are wearing is most fetching.’
‘That is kind of you to say, but you do not need to tell an untruth. I am quite aware that it is too small for me. I was planning on changing before you arrived, but time ran away with me.’
‘I am not lying. You look very fine.’ His voice dropped, sounding deeper, more intimate, as if there was more to his words than the obvious. Heat spread across her skin, spilling across her cheeks. She ran her fingers over her neck, hoping to try and cool it or hide it or something. She’d received more fanciful compliments but somehow this one felt real. Or at least it was the first one that made her feel something in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t a sensation she wanted to experience with the man sitting opposite her. For the next six weeks, she wanted them to be friendly but nothing more. Never had she been so grateful for the arrival of a waiter, who practically bent himself in half, bowing so deeply to Christopher.
‘What are you having?’ Christopher asked her.
‘Cherry. It is my favourite. What are you going to pick?’
‘Vanilla,’ he said eventually.
‘Really?’ she asked, as the waiter went to fetch their order. ‘I would have had you for a more daring choice than that.’
‘What is wrong with it?’
‘Nothing at all. Only it is the least flavoursome of all the ices on offer. I thought you might try something more adventuresome, like bergamot.’
His nose wrinkled. ‘Is that not something added to soap to make it smell nice?’
‘When you put it like that, it does not sound appetising, but vanilla just sounds so… bland for a man such as yourself.’
‘Very well. I accept your challenge. After trying the vanilla, we shall both have another serving, but this time, you cannot choose cherry.’
‘I should like that very much.’ She had never allowed herself that indulgence before. Whenever they came, she had the same flavour because she knew that she loved it so much, but she would like to try something different, perhaps chocolate or elderflower.
He leaned his forearms on the table, and she waited for him to begin the conversation. He opened his mouth a few times, but nothing came out. Sensing he was struggling to come up with a topic of conversation, she racked her brain for something to say, but her mind was astonishingly blank.
His gaze flicked to the left and then the right as hot tingles ran over her skin. What was she even doing here with this man?
When she thought she might die from the embarrassment of the complete silence, he asked, ‘What was it that had you running late? Or is that too impolite a question?’
She was so grateful that he had spoken that she would have told him anything. ‘Not at all. I was trying to write a letter to Robert.’ She waited for him to exclaim about the impropriety of it, but he didn’t. She supposed a man who raced pigs wasn’t too much of a stickler. ‘I wanted him to hear the news from me before he hears the rumours.’
‘I still think you should not tell him. No, I can see you are about to protest and obviously I find your honesty admirable, but you should trust me on this. A man wants what he cannot have. As soon as your Robert hears that you have been swept up and by a Dashworth brother no less—’ Christopher waggled his eyebrows ‘—he will come running. I will probably get challenged to a duel, but I shall decline. Despite my broken heart, I know Robert will make you a more worthy husband than myself. After my noble relinquishing of your hand, I will take myself off to the country in a flood of tears where my spirits can only be recovered by a house party put on by one of my dear friends.’
A waiter placed a pot of tea with the most delicate porcelain cups in front of them, pouring them both a cup before fetching their ices and adding them to the table. Sophia ran her fingers along the glass dish, leaving a trail in the condensation.
‘And you accuse me of being dramatic,’ she said when they were alone again. ‘I take it your friend is already hosting a party that you are keen to go to.’
‘He is and as I do not get much time away from my family commitments, it would be helpful if this Robert of yours could make his move before June.’
‘It needs to be much earlier than June. Our wedding is to take place then, unless you had forgotten.’
