She pressed a hand over it, only to realize the movement had caught Thomas’s notice. Her cheeks heated with embarrassment, and she quickly dropped her hand.
“I’m so pleased you mentioned the Christmas ball, Miss Melbourne,” he said. “I would very much like to attend if tickets are still available.”
“How nice.” Her mother looked at Frances. “Isn’t that nice, dear?”
“Y-yes. Yes, it is.” Her view shifted to the floor, a sure sign her shyness was threatening to end further conversation. As did the tightness in her throat. She cleared it and forced her gaze up to Thomas. “I’m certain tickets are still available. In fact, I do believe we have a few.”
“If there is somewhere else I should go to purchase them—” Thomas began.
Frances jerked to her feet. “Not at all.” She ignored her mother’s questioning look as she walked to her desk in the corner of the room. Never mind that she’d told her mother that she intended to keep the tickets in case of an urgent need. This was urgent. She shuffled through the papers until she found them.
Yet she paused, wondering how many to offer. Did she provide two so he could bring a guest? The thought was thoroughly depressing.
“I’m honored that you offered for me to come as your guest,” Thomas said.
Frances’ thoughts raced as she tried to determine of what he was speaking. Oh, good heavens. She had suggested that in her nervousness when they were talking at the bookshop. The realization had her face prickling with heat. What had she been thinking?
She pulled out a single ticket, hoping that was all he wanted.
“But I insist on paying for it. The cause is a worthy one.”
Frances returned with the ticket and offered it to him, trying to make sure her hand didn’t tremble. “Yes, the workhouse is in need of all the help we can provide.”
He stared at the ticket in her hand then looked at her. “Workhouse?”
“Yes.” She’d spoken the words so many times that they rolled off her tongue with ease. “My literary league is raising funds for a plan at the Whitechapel Workhouse to teach those interested in learning a new skill that will hopefully aid them in securing a position and allow them to leave the establishment.”
“How interesting. What sort of skills?” Thomas asked.
“Everything from sewing and other needlework for the women to carpentry for boys and men.”
“That is an ambitious undertaking.”
“Indeed. That is why funds are needed.”
“How admirable of your group to initiate such a plan.”
“Oh, we didn’t come up with the idea. Another lady had already started the training. We are merely aiding her efforts by spreading the word and raising funds. Much of the lessons will be done using volunteers.” She hesitated to say more, having already been told by her mother that she tended to say more than she should on the topic. Yet she couldn’t halt a burst of happiness that she’d managed to say all that without muttering once.
“This is being done at the Whitechapel Workhouse, you said?”
“Yes. Of course, this isn’t the only program they have to aid the inmates from what I learned during my visit there.”
“You visited the place?”
Frances felt her cheeks heat yet again under his close regard. “Yes. With the ladies of my literary league. We have always incorporated charitable activities into our agenda, but this is the first true fundraiser we’ve undertaken.”
Thomas nodded, seeming deep in thought.
Frances glanced at her mother who gave an encouraging nod. “I’m s-so pleased you’ll be able to attend.” She bit her lip, uncertain what else to say.
“As am I.” He held her gaze and smiled once again. “I do hope you will save me a dance.”
Frances’ breath caught. “I would be delighted to.”
Soon afterward, Thomas took his leave, and Frances was nearly dancing on air, her entire body humming with excitement.
“Frances, I can’t begin to say how proud I am of you for speaking to Mr. Sinclair,” her mother said. “Dare I hope something might be possible between the two of you?”
