Hetty waited in the café next door, pot of tea ready and waiting, as Stella locked up the classroom. She’d never been so nervous in her life – not even when she’d placed the bracelet around her wrist.
She’d sat with her back to the door in an attempt not to worry too much, but it seemed to have exacerbated her anticipation. She picked out one of every cake on the menu. She hadn’t realised they would come in quite such large slices, but it was far too late now. The table was covered in cake.
And then, a jangle of the bell at the door and the most beautiful woman in the world was sitting opposite her. Hetty could barely speak.
Stella seemed to have forgotten about the ‘Substack’ thing that she was meant to be explaining. Instead, she narrated her way through every cake on the table, noting the pros andcons of every slice, wondering and laughing good-naturedly at Hetty’s extravagance.
Hetty realised Stella was waiting for a reply, and blushed. ‘I’m so terribly sorry, but I was wool-gathering for a moment. What were you saying?’
Stella’s eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t worry, it’s pretty hard to offend me. I said, I’m sure they’ve got boxes so we can take some of this home with us. Or are you just dead hungry?’
‘I didn’t know what you’d like,’ she said, cheeks burning, ‘and I didn’t want to get it wrong.’
Stella laughed. ‘It’s cake – it’s hard to get it wrong when it comes to cake. C’mon, let’s try a bite of everything and you can tell me all about yourself.’
Hetty wasn’t sure how to start. ‘Well, I am newly arrived in town.’
Stella lit up even brighter at this news. Her enthusiasm was infectious. ‘Ohmygod, you have so much to look forward to! Let me be your guide!’
‘I would be terribly grateful if you would. I really have no idea how to go on.’
Stella looked quizzical. ‘Bit posh, aren’t you? In a nice way, I mean,’ she added quickly. ‘Been watching a lot ofDownton Abbey, maybe?’
‘What – what’s that?’
Stella’s eyes widened, and she reached across the table impulsively and grabbed Hetty’s hand. As quickly as she’d grabbed it, the touch was gone; they both stared at where they’d connected, where the crackle of electricity remained.
‘It’s … it’s really good. Um, you should watch it. It’s …’
Stella coughed, breaking eye contact; although the moment was over, Hetty found herself tucking it into a littlepocket that had formed in her heart. A heart that already felt so much bigger than it had been yesterday.
‘Well, it’s pretty heterosexual, really, but it’s got its moments.’
Heterosexual. A new word, but one Hetty felt she was expected to know. She had taken to writing words down on her phone for times like this, and made a mental note to add this one to the list.
‘I haven’t watched much television, really. I could do with some recommendations. I do feel a little like I’m … stuck in the past, you might say.’
Another person might have ridiculed her, Hetty thought, but not Stella. They laughed, they chatted, and laughed some more, and Hetty found herself opening up like – well, more like a book than a flower, she thought, marvelling at the pure wonder of it all. Stella was just constantly amazed – Hetty hadn’t tried sushi, hadn’t been to the cinema?! – but she didn’t laugh at her, no matter what.
Hetty felt new bookmarks being placed through her pages as Stella gleefully planned a host of activities. As Stella leaned across the table, planning dinner at a famous local pizza place that ‘has the best pepperoni you’ve ever tried, Hetts’, Hetty breathed in her heady mix of lemon, mint, and hope.
Chapter 20
1817
Etta didn’t think at all about Max while she was being told off for her trip to the shops, first by Bessie, and then half-heartedly by her mother. She didn’t think about him as she walked in the park the next morning, or the following day as she walked around checking flower arrangements for her ‘coming out’ ball. She didn’t think about him over lunch and she certainly didn’t wonder whether he would like her beautiful light-blue silk and lace dress.
But she really, actually, didn’t think about him as she stood by the door ready to meet her first guests a week later. For some reason, as the first carriages drew up and people started stepping down, reality hit her.
Until now, when meeting people in this age, she’d let her mind wander. She’d detached herself from reality, as though she were cosplaying at being a Regency lady. It had felt like being in a strange immersive play where everybody was just really, really great at method acting.
But now, as she watched a stunningly beautiful young brunette woman approach her up the steps, she found herselftaking an involuntary step to the side – as if her body simply didn’t want to get in the way of such elegance. This woman looked too immaculately put together not to be real, her silken yellow cloak shimmering in the candlelight as though made from spun gold.
Lady Bainbridge greeted the woman and her mother first. ‘Mrs Marley, Miss Marley. How lovely.’
Mrs Marley seemed very pleasant and ready to pass by, but Miss Marley’s face contorted into a rather false smile as she studied Etta.
‘Miss Bainbridge. How … surprising … to finally meet you,’ said Miss Marley. Not waiting for a response, she swept past into the ballroom, smelling faintly of roses and malice.
