“You are a godsend,” sighed Mina. “I fear I owe my aunt a very large apology.”
“How so?”
Offering up a humorless chuckle, she shook her head. “Papa believes Aunt Matilda is an excellent chaperone, but I have reason to believe that she spread rumors to prevent my dowry from eclipsing my cousins’, leaving me with only my charms to entice a gentleman. However, I would rather be a spinster thanbe plagued by the likes of Mr. Winwood and Mr. Timothy Voss. I haven’t the disposition to manage mercenary men, and Aunt Matilda spared me their attentions.”
“You do not need a large dowry to attract a good man. Your charms are more than sufficient,” said Thea with a sharp nod. “You deserve better than—”
“Thea,” Mrs. Keats said, stepping neatly into their path with a gleam of purpose in her eyes. “I’ve been looking high and low for you. Come, there is someone you must speak to. You will never guess who has come for a visit.”
With far more eagerness than the dreary day deserved, Mama inserted herself between the pair and dragged them to the far side of the churchyard, chattering on about the mysterious person they must greet that very moment. Thea’s stomach sank, for that particular brightness in her mother’s voice boded ill: it meant schemes were afoot, and whatever awaited her at the end of their determined march, Thea doubted it would be pleasant.
“Mr. Downey,” called Mama as she stopped them before the gentleman in question.
The gentleman turned at the sound of his name, his expression brightening into the sort of polite, startled smile of a man suddenly thrust into the center of attention. Though he hadn’t altered much in his time away from Haverford, maturity had hardened the angles of his cheeks and jaw and lent a confidence to his gaze that the lad had lacked.
“Mrs. Keats, Miss Keats,” he said, his tone earnest if slightly bewildered. “What an unexpected pleasure.”
“How good to see you!” replied Mama with far more effusion than was warranted. “Your mother told me that you had returned for a visit, and Thea and I simply could not wait another moment to welcome you back to the neighborhood.”
Thea managed a strained smile, her mortification blooming as her mother beamed up at him.
Patting her daughter’s arm in a manner that implied far more than it ought, Mama added, “Indeed, Thea was just saying how long it has been since we’ve had the pleasure. We do hope you will be staying for some time.”
“I do not believe you are acquainted with our cousin,” interjected Thea, motioning toward Mina, but the interruption did nothing to divert Mama from her task, for once the introductions were made, the lady delved back into the previous conversation with all the dogged determination of a terrier scenting a rat.
“Dear me, there is Mrs. Haggerty,” said Mama, stretching as though to peer over the crowd, though Thea knew full well she couldn’t see the lady. “I am desperate to introduce Mina to her. Do excuse us.”
And before either Mina or Thea knew what the lady was about, Mama steered her niece away, leaving her daughter to face Mr. Downey alone. Heat crept up Thea’s neck, and for a long moment, she could only stand there, her hands clasped before her, wishing herself anywhere else on earth.
Mr. Downey cleared his throat, shifting in place.
“Your mother is… very kind,” he ventured, the corner of his mouth twitching as though uncertain whether to smile.
“Yes,” Thea managed, her voice thin. “In her own way.”
The hum of conversation filled the silence that followed, and Mr. Downey glanced toward the departing figure of Mrs. Keats as though half-tempted to escape himself, then glanced back at Thea, his mouth opening for a long, silent moment before he closed it again. Thea tried to summon some polite remark, but her mind remained stubbornly blank.
Deciding a direct approach was better than gaping at one another, she said, “I do apologize, Mr. Downey, if my mother made you uncomfortable.”
“That is her way,” replied the gentleman with a wry smile and a halting chuckle, his eyes gleaming as they met Thea’s. “She is as determined as I remember her. Though the last I heard, you and Mr. Frederick Voss were nigh on engaged.”
Could one expire from a blush? Thea knew that fevers were a dangerous thing, and her cheeks felt as hot as anything the mumps, measles, or pox could produce.
“I fear your gossip is out of date, sir.” Thea hadn’t the slightest notion how to navigate such an uncomfortable discussion, but she attempted to put him at ease with a smile. Unfortunately, it felt more like a wince.
And her cheeks were still blazing red.
“I didn’t realize… Truly? You and he have parted ways?” Brows shooting upward, Mr. Downey held up his hands in apology. “Not that I am happy to hear… I didn’t mean to imply… I only wished…”
“Mr. Downey, this is growing more agonizing by the moment. May we not simply ignore what has happened since my mother rushed us over here?” she asked, those words coming forth without thought, and it wasn’t until she spoke that she heard Frederick’s influence in them: it was just the sort of thing he would’ve said to set everyone at ease.
And the gentleman before her obliged, the strain in his expression easing as he tucked his hands behind him. “May I ask what you have been doing since I was here last?”
Thea gave a strangled chuckle and let out a heavy sigh. “That is a complicated question, and I am quite flustered at present. I fear I need some time to compose myself before I attempt an answer.”
“From what I recall, you’ve never needed much time to compose yourself, Miss Keats,” he said, his smile growing a touch bolder. “You have a talent for appearing perfectly at ease,no matter how flustered everyone else might be. I’ve always admired that about you.”
Thea’s brows rose, and the flush that had only just begun to abate returned in force. “Then my true talent is playacting, for I fear I am often discomposed.” Then, adding in a hurry (lest he decide to offer up another complimentary disagreement), she added, “But you must tell me about your work in Sheffield. I believe you’ve invested in steelworks.”
