JAMES WAS SHOCKED TOhis core as he realized Miss Talbot was silently crying when he drew out her chair.
Not sure whether to remark upon her distress or to wait out the awkward deluge, he did neither but handed her a handkerchief from his pocket. Then he took his seat.
Almost surreptitiously, she wiped her cheeks. However, ruining the graceful effect, next she blew her nose, sounding like a honking goose.
He could remain quiet no longer.
“Are you in financial distress?”
At first, she simply froze, the handkerchief still covering her face. However, after a moment, she lowered it and nodded.
“It seems I am.”
Carefully placing his napkin upon his lap and wondering how much he should pry, he decided to speak forthrightly.
“May I ask how you came to be in this state?”
She sighed, and the sound nearly broke his heart. Yet he would have to wait to hear for the footman brought in the first course of bouillon. Before starting upon it, she stripped off her gloves and reached for a piece of bread, which to his amazement, she devoured, looking more like a street urchin than a lady.
When she’d swallowed all of it, every last crumb, she took another and this time, took the time to butter it before setting it on her plate. Then she fixed him with her glorious coffee-brown gaze.
“I thought it best I soak up the spirits before I continue,” she explained.
“Naturally.” Then he waited.
“In Bath, did you know it cost two guineas for a ticket to a ball?” she asked.
He hadn’t expected that tact. “No, I wasn’t aware.”
“And five shillings for concert tickets!” she continued.
“I had no idea.” He had no idea because he never gave it a thought. With a large income of over ten thousand pounds a year, James didn’t concern himself with shillings.
“And the cost of food has remained very high despite the end of the war. You know we were promised costs would go down. The market is stuffed with goods and high production. Everyone can see that. I have a cousin on the Continent who says their economy has revived.” She took a moment to take a bite of the buttered bread, relish it, and then swallow. He was mesmerized.
“But we British have to suffer the Corn Law keeping our food prices high.”
James was as amazed by her discussion as by her lovely mouth chewing bread. She stated her complaint as if women spoke every day about Parliamentary acts designed to appease the farmers and the noblemen who owned the largest tracts of agricultural land at the expense of the everyday folks.
“A shilling for a week’s worth of candles,” she continued.
“A week’s worth?” he asked, wondering how many that was. “Doesn’t that depend on the size of your household?”
“Yes, of course A shilling for a two-pound package of candles, and not the best either. The smoky kind. Can you imagine?”
“No,” James said. “I honestly cannot.” His candles definitely didn’t smoke.
“Coal costs three shillings a week, and a maid of all work—”
He waited for the dreaded pronouncement.
“She can cost as much as sixteen pounds a year!”
That didn’t sound high, but by her expression, he knew he was supposed to react.
“Well!” he said.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
