“Oh, it’s you two. Anna was wondering why she hadn’t seen you this morning. She set aside the usual assortment of tarts for you so we wouldn’t sell out. Let me grab them.”
“Thank you. And thank Mrs. Ainsley for us. Is she with little Emma?”
“Yes, Em is cutting teeth and has no interest in anything except being bounced by one of us. My stomach has decided that there shall be no more bouncing for a bit.” I winced in sympathy.
I spent little time in the company of infants, but there had been nights when Adriane required constant stroking of her hair so she could sleep. That was probably somewhat easier on the stomach than the bouncing.
“These are perfect. We’re going to need one of those little cake things for Kit over here. He was a very good lad watching the office yesterday.”
Kit turned, glaring with indignation. “Did you not, just two minutes ago, ask me for a favor? Do you really want to press this?”
I turned back to Ainsley. “Right, one little cake thing. No irreverent commentary.”
Ainsley added one to the basket with a raised brow and grin. We usually ended up with four or five empty baskets before oneof us remembered to return them to the shop, but Mrs. Ainsley was overly indulgent with us.
With an exchange of thanks and well wishes, Kit and I set off once again. Having used my easy question for the walk to the shop, I was left with the more uncomfortable one.
“Kit?”
“Yes?” He answered, his mouth full of cake thing. Impatient, that one.
“I need your advice. Not because I think you’re the best person to offer it. But because, as it turns out, you’re my only friend.”
“I don’t know who should be more insulted by that statement, me or you?”
“Me, certainly.”
“All right, out with it.”
I kept my voice low. “How does one go about… pleasing a woman?” My efforts at subtlety were destroyed when he choked on his bite of cake thing. Great heaving coughs racked through his chest in an attempt to expel the crumbs from his lungs, drawing the gaze of everyone on the street. Were he not turning a purplish-red shade, I would think it purposeful.
At length, he righted himself and asked in a hoarse croak, “Come again?”
“You heard me the first time.” We continued down the street.
“I assume this has something to do with your call this afternoon with a certain stunning Frenchwoman of our acquaintance?”
“It does.”
“You know she’s a lady? She won’t want to be pleased without a ring on her finger.”
Well, that was certainly not the case with Celine. Now I was faced with the challenge of providing the necessary information without tarnishing her honor.
My lack of response must have caught his notice because he turned to look at me, catching my arm and pulling me to a stop. “Unless…. William! You did have a pleasant afternoon, didn’t you?”
“Do stop talking.” I turned back, hastening my strides toward the office.
“No, no. In all seriousness, Will, are you not five and thirty?”
“Six and thirty. What has that to do with anything? I was at war, in case you forgot. And Oxford. And there was… someone. But she was unwell, and we never…”
“And you didn’t… in France?”
“No.”
“Right…” We had reached the office. Fortunately none of the clerks had arrived in our absence. Once inside, Kit set the basket at the designated table and nodded toward his office. Shutting the door behind us, he gestured to the chair across from his. “So, obviously, this conversation never happened.”
“Obviously.”
