“Of course.”
She allowed herself to be drawn into the ritual of selection, trying on gloves of varying shades, considering the fall of a brim and discussing the arrangement of ribbon.
All the while she was aware of another presence.
If Kendall had followed them, he would see her as she had always been seen.
When at last they stepped back into the street, Francesca drew a slow breath.
“Nelly,” she said.
“Yes, miss.”
“I need you to find Major Manners.”
Nelly blinked once. “That may prove… a delicate matter.”
“I am aware of that.”
“Should I call at his residence?”
“No, that would be too direct.” Francesca paused, considering. “Send a boy. Someone quick and unobtrusive. He is to deliver a message only.”
“What is the message?”
Francesca glanced briefly along the street behind them, although she did not turn her head.
“That I require his assistance,” she said, “and that he is to meet me at once.”
Nelly inclined her head. “Very good, miss.”
They continued walking until they reached a small tea-shop tucked between a baker’s premises and those of a stationer. It was modest but respectable—precisely the sort of place where one might pause without attracting attention.
“Here,” Francesca said.
Nelly opened the door, and the bell above it chimed. The interior was warm, the air scented faintly with tea and baked goods. A few tables were occupied, but none were too closely placed.
They chose a table towards the back, which Francesca hoped was hidden from the street.
“Send the boy,” she said quietly.
Nelly nodded and slipped out again, leaving Francesca alone.
For the first time since leaving the iron-works, she allowed herself to be still. She took a seat and requested tea with—she hoped—the calm composure of a woman who had nothing at all to conceal.
Her hands rested lightly upon the table. Her thoughts did not.
Thomas was watching her.
The knowledge settled into her thoughts with a clarity that banished all remaining doubt. Whatever lay beneath his careful explanations, it was no longer harmless.
She folded her gloves neatly upon the table. Very well, she mused, if he watched, then she would be seen.
Nelly returned to the table and they sipped on their tea while they waited. Was Thomas still watching the shop? He had not come inside, small mercies.
Francesca sensed his arrival before she saw him. She did not turn immediately—she did not need to. There was a particular quality to Major Manners’ presence that distinguished him even in a room such as this.
“Miss Vale.”
