“I plan to send him hot cross buns.” Her voice was so matter-of-fact that I almost laughed.
“How brilliant. That will surely win him over.”
She shook her head, amusement filling her gaze. “Mr. Clodwick is not just any man. He is quite particular about his breakfast. He only eats bread from this bakery and only if it is fresh.”
“That does sound unusual. And will he propose to you over a bun?”
She laughed, the sound rather musical. “This is no simple children’s story. No, my plan must be more extensive.” She tilted her head. “Might you offer any advice? What would you say brings a man to propose marriage?”
“What a question.” I cleared my throat, thinking of my bet—of my promise. As this topic was not my strong suit, it was difficult to offer any sound advice. “Have you considered a well-rehearsed speech?”
“I cannot begin to know what to say.”
“You need a catchy first line, just like at the beginning of a thrilling novel. Such as: I know this might come as a great shock, but I want to marry you.”
Miss Page’s maid leaned forward with a look of disapproval. I shifted uncomfortably. “Then you add your reasons: family duty, security, connections, etcetera.”
Miss Page snickered. “You cannot be serious. One cannot say such things in a proposal. It sounds so mercenary—so unfeeling.”
I squirmed once more. It was the formula I often employed when writing my reviews. “It does get the point across.”
“I suppose.”
I half-jokingly added, “I suppose if that doesn’t work, there’s always bribery.”
“Bribery?” she repeated.
If it had sounded poorly coming from my mouth, it sounded utterly ridiculous coming from hers. “It was a joke. A bad one, I can see. But I suppose there might be something to it. You are desperate, aren’t you?”
“Well, yes.”
“Then why not find out what this manreallywants—aside from fresh bread—and perhaps you will have your answer.”
Her smile widened, and it did strange things to my middle. “I believe you are right. Thank you, Mr. Prologue, for imparting your wisdom on a mere First Page.”
I chuckled sheepishly. “Happy to assist.” I had helped her, but what on earth was I supposed to do for my own proposal?
The baker brought out our hot cross buns. Miss Page stepped to the counter and praised the baker’s service as well as complimented the display in the window.
The baker was all smiles and blushes as she handed over our goods. How remarkably kind Miss Page was to someone not of her station. I held the door open for her and her maid as they exited the bakery.
“Good day, Miss Page.” I dipped my head and barely resisted looking back as we parted ways. Digging out a bun instead to distract me, I sampled it. The warm bread melted in my mouth. No wonder Miss Page’s soon-to-be fiancé was so particular about it. The next time I passed by Quillsbury, I might stop on purpose. This town was full of delights: including one Miss Page. Thoughts of her kindness, warm smile, and celestial blue eyes made my steps light as I made my way back to the inn.
For her sake, I hoped she received her proposal of marriage straightaway. She was a delightful woman and deserved all the happiness in the world.
Chapter 4
Arabella
Thanks to Mr. Prologue’s advice and my sister Tabitha’s invitation for tea, I had Mr. Clodwick right where I wanted him. His black jacket, unbuttoned, displayed a nondescript green waistcoat and a cravat knot so high on his neck it appeared to choke him. I inched to the edge of the floral sofa in Tabitha’s pink-papered sitting room to hand Mr. Clodwick his black tea. “I am so happy you could join us today, Mr. Clodwick.”
“Mmm,” was his only reply as he took his cup and saucer.
I shot Tabitha a private glance, hoping to convey my frustrations. After all, I had spent all of yesterday mimicking the role of Emily St. Aubert, fromThe Mysteries of Udolpho, by piecing together clues about the man in front of me. I wore his favorite shade of green and had his favorite tea cakes prepared. The least he could do is meet my gaze and form a proper word. I straightened and tried again, this time employing what I hoped was Mr. Clodwick’s greatest weakness.
“Mr. Clodwick, I have heard that you are a great collector of art.”
Mr. Clodwick’s gaze shot up as if I had uttered a spell capable of ensnaring his full attention. “You are correct. I am especially fond of paintings. Are you an admirer of the arts as well?”
