Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Morris took the roses from his hand and brought them to her nose as Arthur stared at her. Despite having a strong intellect, he could not comprehend what was happening or why the widow was being so very… Arthur wasn’t certain how to categorize her behavior, but it sent a shudder down his spine.
“That tonic you prescribed did the trick,” she said, her voice lowering as though revealing a secret as she reached for him. Mrs. Morris didn’t bother with a brief touch this time; she rested her hand upon his arm, her thumb rubbing it as she stared into his eyes.
“How…nice.” Arthur glanced about, though there were no other people about on this quiet stretch of road. Pulling from her reach, he tried to mumble an excuse whilst turning away, but the movement drew him in front of the gateway, and Mrs. Morris appeared there, stepping close enough for her skirts tangled with his legs.
“Might I entice you to enjoy a cup of tea with me?” she asked with a bat of her eyelashes. Motioning behind her to where a few garden chairs sat, Mrs. Morris added, “I purchased a lovely variety from India. Or I have several delicious tisanes if you prefer.”
Mrs. Morris gave him a bright smile, her eyes echoing the invitation as she gazed up at him, and her free hand reached up to ostensibly brush aside a bit of lint—though Arthur was certain there’d been nothing there.
“That—” This time his tongue wasn’t the trouble, for Arthur hadn’t the slightest notion how to complete that statement in any way that wasn’t outright rude. “My thanks…but I have business to attend to. Important business. That needs doing. At this exact moment. Now.”
That pout came out in full force once more, and Arthur blinked at it and the lady; the expression was hardly endearing on a child, let alone a woman.
“I suppose I understand,” she said with a heavy sigh before she met his gaze with a glint that was likely meant to be inviting but made Arthur’s throat knot. “Only if you promise to come again soon.”
Arthur’s mouth opened, but the only sound that came out was another undignified, “I…”
Giving the lady a quick bow, he turned away and hurried down the street with far more haste than grace, abandoning both Miss Templeton’s bouquet and his dignity. He didn’t dare look back because he felt Mrs. Morris’s attention on him as he fled.
Finch had warned him the ladies in the area were bound to be eager in welcoming a new bachelor to the area, but Arthur hadn’t anticipated such a brazen attempt. Something that seemed to be growing more commonplace of late as that attention grew more and more pointed. And discomforting.
Even if Miss Templeton hadn’t taken up residence in his heart, Arthur didn’t know what to do with a lady who draped herself about him like Mrs. Morris. Or Miss Lipman, who had fairly thrown herself in his path the day before. Or Miss Roper, who had followed him about after the concert, blocking him from speaking with Miss Templeton again.
A part of his heart couldn’t help but feel the slightest bit flattered by the attention. After having spent so many yearswatching from his brothers’ shadows, Arthur wouldn’t be human if he didn’t revel in it. Yet the larger part—the aspect that had him fleeing Mrs. Morris—didn’t know what to do with such overt affections. Or the fact that the ladies were indiscriminate in their pursuit; as Finch had warned, eligible bachelors weren’t plentiful in Oakham, and any husband with steady income was a prize.
“Dr. Vaughn!” called Mr. Bacon, pulling Arthur from his thoughts to see the gentleman approaching with a bright grin and a nod of the head. They smiled so very much in the country. “Well met, sir. I see you are enjoying the lovely day we’re having.”
“It is fine weather,” said Arthur with a nod. “Though I cannot say that I’ve been able to enjoy it much, as I’ve been occupied of late. Until this influenza runs its course, I will hardly have a moment to myself.”
Mr. Bacon nodded, though his expression dimmed a touch. “Then I suppose you will not have time to stop by Bradley Court soon.”
Arthur straightened. “Does your family require a doctor?”
“Not in the slightest. I wanted to discuss your intentions with my daughter, of course.”
Standing there like some harebrained statue made by an apprentice sculptor, Arthur stared at Mr. Bacon, attempting to take the seemingly random words and rearrange them to make sense.
“Pardon?” he asked, for it was the only thing his capricious tongue was willing to say.
“My daughter,” repeated the gentleman with a narrowed look. “Do not tell me you are trifling with her affections?”
“I—I—” Mind screaming for him to say something, Arthur struggled to form anything more coherent, but whatever eloquence he’d possessed in strained situations (which was to say none at all) fled him as he gaped like a carp.
Miss Bacon? He hardly knew the young lady. Beyond the carriage they’d shared into Oakham, Arthur had done littlemore than nod at her when they passed in the street, and he’d hardly said anything coherent during their journey. And she was pretty enough, but not nearly as appealing as Miss Templeton.
Despite those words streaming through his thoughts, Arthur couldn’t manage to form a single one of them whilst staring into her red-faced father—though it was likely for the best, as his tongue would mangle it into something insulting, no doubt.
Straightening, Mr. Bacon glared at Arthur. “I don’t know how things are handled in London, my boy, but in Oakham, we do not tolerate bounders who go about raising and dashing a lady’s expectations on a whim. In my day, a father would be well within his rights to call the cad out.”
Arthur held up his free hand in placation. “I apologize—this is so odd—I hardly—would never—”
The more he tried to force the words free, the more his tongue mangled them, fighting his every effort. And matters weren’t helped by the fact that with each attempt, Mr. Bacon’s complexion grew more florid. The gentleman’s eyes narrowed, and he turned on his heel, marching away with sharp steps.
Staring after the gentleman, Arthur considered his behavior, reviewing everything that had passed between him and Miss Bacon. His intention had never been to raise her expectations; had there been anything he’d done to misconstrue his interest? Or lack thereof?
His throat tightened, and his palms dampened, requiring him to wipe them thoroughly on his trousers as he considered the situation. But try as he might, Arthur couldn’t think of a single thing he’d done or said to have given the lady that impression.
Surely, it was a misunderstanding on her part. Yet…
