‘You won’t forget about the tombola this Sunday?’
His mouth curled a little at the edge. ‘I remember you inviting me,’ he said. ‘Although you never told me where it was. Nor when.’
‘It’s at Mr Jane’s teahouse,’ she said. ‘Near the police station, on—’
‘I know where it is,’ he said, his expression stuttering slightly. ‘Do you … are you acquainted with Mr Jane?’
‘He’s part of the club,’ she said. ‘The Widows’ and Widowers’ Club. It’s their tombola, you see. A fundraiser. There’ll be tea and scones, and I’ve agreed to help. My brother will be there, my father, too – and …’
And suddenly she realized how unattractive this prospect must seem.
‘Anyway, I’m sure it’ll be dreadfully dull.’
Damien huffed a half-laugh through his lips. ‘Are you inviting me, Miss Adams? Or not inviting me?’
‘I …’ She opened her mouth, and then closed it again. ‘I suppose that very much depends on whether you would like to come.’
‘How about we make a rule, you and I?’ Damien said, reaching to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, fingertips lingering against her cheek. ‘How about I promise to always say what I mean,most precisely, and you do the same?’
Ava looked up at him, frowning. ‘I … ?’
‘For example,’ continued Damien. ‘Yes, I would like to come to the tombola. Although the thought of it makes me a little nervous, I would still like to come.’
His gaze steadied upon her.
‘Nervous?’ Ava asked. ‘Why should you feel nervous?’
‘Because I cannot remember the last time I was invited to spend time with someone’s family,’ said Damien. ‘And because it means I will get to spend more time with you.’
‘And those things make you nervous?’
Damien tilted his head. ‘One more than the other,’ he said. ‘You most of all.’
There was something in his gaze that she wanted to reach for, wanted to grasp.
‘Then perhaps it shall be less dull than I thought,’ said Ava.
‘Perhaps it shall,’ said Damien, a half-smile on his lips.
Chapter Forty
Come Sunday, Ava stood in front of the looking glass in her room, wearing one of her mother’s tea dresses, turning left and right to watch the blue material shimmer in the sunlight. It was too fine a dress for a tombola, too fine perhaps for even a dinner, but she was sure no one but Mrs Moss would notice. She pinned a brooch to her lapel – silver, and wrought in the shape of a butterfly – before turning for the stairs.
Her father, who had been fiddling with his neck-tie in front of the hallway mirror, glanced up at her. ‘A letter arrived for you yesterday,’ he said, nodding towards the small table. ‘I left it there.’
Ava frowned, for she didn’t recognize the small, scratched scrawl on the front of it. Inside was a note from Miss Fairchild.You know, it seems you were right again, it said.Perhaps I do have to make something of my very own.
‘Can you help me with this?’
‘Of course,’ she said, frowning a little as she turned to knot her father’s tie and remove some lint from the shoulders of his suit. He looked at her dress, and she took in his suit, and both met the other’s eye with a curious smile.
‘Is that for Mrs Moss?’ Ava asked.
‘Is that for Jem?’
Ava felt the air rush from her lungs. ‘Jem?’
‘Yes. Oliver said you’d invited him. Didn’t you?’
