Etta felt a wave of relief. ‘Yes. Yes! Illustrations. Just like you. Because how could anyone like me have seen a tiger? I’d have to have been to a zoo, and I’ve only just got to London, right?’
Max’s mouth quirked. ‘Illustrations, Etta. The tiger at the Tower of London’s Menagerie died some years ago and was the only one in the country. You’re looking at him.’
‘This …?’
‘The very same. Although I can’t say I’m convinced that both of his ears were originally on that one side of his head. Most strange.’
He smiled at her stunned face, then turned and greeted Lady Bainbridge politely.
‘I do apologise, Lady Bainbridge, but I see Miss Marley has moved on. Since I agreed to escort her, I will go and join her and her companion – but I’m sure we will see one another again soon.’
‘I do hope so, Maximillian. You are always welcome at family dinners, you know,’ said Lady Bainbridge, smiling kindly.
And just like that, smiling charmingly back at them, he followed the odious Miss Marley and her cousin towards the antiquities section. And Etta was left standing with her mother, remembering when that delicious smile had been pressed against her lips.
‘He’s had to give up his rooms, you know, and move back in with his old man,’ said Charlie over breakfast, reading Etta’s mind. ‘Stanhope, I mean. Making him escort the likes of Maria Marley around town, too. I imagine the old tartar is worried about him getting leg-shackled to the likes ofyou.’ Charlie had eyed her nervously, seeming to weigh his next words unusually carefully. ‘Been mighty close with old Maximillian lately, haven’t you, sis? Been hearing whispers that you’re spending rather more time together than is proper, I understand?’
‘I think you’ll find you didn’t hear anything, brother dearest,’ said Etta nonchalantly.
Charlie looked as though he was taking the measure of her. ‘Don’t be concerned with what I heard. Just make sure Mama doesn’t hear, that’s all.’
She’d punched him on the arm and joined Clarissa for the morning.
As she followed Clarissa through the shopping thoroughfare, she couldn’t stop thinking about Max. It was hard to know where they stood with each other. She’d kissed Max’s face off in that carriage and here he was acting like it never happened. Mind you, she’d not exactly been all over him at the museum either, and it wasn’t as though he could just ask for her phone number so he could WhatsApp her. Romantic liaisons in 1817 were even more difficult to navigate than Tinder.
She needed to look interested, but not desperate. She trailed alongside Clarissa, tuning in and out to her constant stream of chatter, as she kept coming back to the question of how to engage Max again.
‘And of course, I can always embellish it with a monogram. That’ll make it a much nicer gift – it’ll take longer, but I could give it to her for Christmas, perhaps,’ Clarissa said.
She appeared to be waiting for Etta’s agreement. Listening to Clarissa tended to be a good idea – her kind and forgiving friend was always full of sage advice. If only Etta could bring herself to concentrate this morning.
‘A monogram? You mean, get her initials sewn on?’
‘Yes, Etta! Why, what else? But I shan’tget them sewn on. I will sew them on myself. It will make it more meaningful.’
Clarissa was holding a beautiful lace handkerchief. Sewing delicate, regulated needlepoint samplers wasn’t Etta’s strong point – a fact which continually seemed to disappoint her very forgiving mother. Etta still missed her Etsy store, for which she embroidered colourful and quirky woodland creatures. She thought she’d been very subtle in incorporating the odd badger into her neat floral whitework, but sadly her mother spotted them immediately every time. The worst thing was, her mother didn’t even make her remove them and start again. She just sort of smiled sadly, patted Etta’s shoulder and said, ‘So amusing, dear, but perhaps not one to show to visitors’ in a slightly deflated manner.
Etta had, however, caught Charlie eyeing up her work when he thought nobody else was watching. She was quite certain she’d caught him chuckling over it and liked him all the better for it.
Clarissa had moved on to a new pile of hankies, rubbing the fine fabric between her fingers thoughtfully. Etta hadn’t really thought about Christmas yet, but she supposed, given she had no plans to go anywhere anytime soon, it made sense to start thinking about presents.
‘Clarissa, about Christmas. How many people do you give presents to?’ she asked.
‘Oh, my mother and father of course. Then my younger sisters, and I always send something to my uncle, who lives alone.’
‘So it’s okay, then, to send presents to men?’
‘Oh … Oh-kay?’
‘Fine, I mean. All right. Is it all right to send presents to male friends?’
Clarissa gasped. ‘You mean, to send a gift to a man to whom one is not related?’
She sounded almost like her mother, Etta thought, and bit back a smile.
‘I’m assuming not, then.’
‘Absolutely not, Etta! Goodness, no. Surely you must know that?’
