Page 25 of The Subtle Craft of Courting Kate

“I wouldn’t know,” Elliot said. “The both of them giggled straight through your conversation. I could hardly make out a word.” He eyed Kate speculatively. “How many slices of cake have you had?”

“Just the one.”

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Good. Go ask for another, and we’ll split it.”

Kate’s mouth dropped open. “Elliot! Requesting more would be dreadfully rude of me.”

“I did. Twice.”

“But Lady Havisham is angling for you for one of her daughters. You’re to be allowed an extra indulgence, whereas I—”

“You are my dearest friend, and Lady Havisham has likely already heard the gossip and will want to stay in your good graces.” Elliot clasped his hands before him in a desperate entreaty. “Katie, please. I will beg.”

By the wistful glance she cast to the empty plate she had set upon the table, probably she coveted that slice of cake every bit as much as did he. “A man has got to have some principles, you said,” she muttered.

“I did.”

“Well,” Kate sniffed, “so has a woman, and I must draw the line at finessing extra bits of cake from my hostess by preying upon her hope that she might win you for one of her daughters.” Her gaze sharpened in the distance. “Oh,” she said. “There’s Mama. But who is that with her?”

Elliot stuffed down his disappointment over her blanket refusal and turned to look. Some distance away still, Mrs. Littlefield had one arm threaded through that of a young woman as the two crossed the lawn toward them. “Miss Applegate, I believe,” he said absently as he spotted the plate held in Mrs. Littlefield’s free hand. A plate containing a large, thick slice of cake. Still untouched. Practically calling his name.

“Are you familiar with her?”

“In a manner of speaking. We’ve danced once or twice.” Mrs. Littlefield was not, to his knowledge, a particular connoisseur of sweets, and hope soared in his chest that another slice of cake might be in his future.

“Katie, dear,” Mrs. Littlefield said as they approached. “Have you met Miss Applegate? She was kind enough to escort me when I lost my way on my return from the retiring room.”

“I was happy to do it,” Miss Applegate volunteered with a sunny smile. “Your mother is pleasant company, Miss Littlefield.”

“I have always thought so,” Kate returned, managing a pleasant smile of her own.

“Mrs. Littlefield,” Elliot cut in, “I wonder if I might trouble you—”

With an exaggerated roll of her eyes and a resigned sigh, Mrs. Littlefield extended the plate to him. “You are terribly lucky that I have got no taste for sweets,” she said as he snatched the plate from her hand.

“You are an angel,” Elliot said with a surfeit of feeling as he grabbed up the fork. “A paragon among women. A veritable saint. A—”

“He’s had three pieces already,” Kate interjected as she folded her arms across her chest. “And I haven’t the slightest doubt he’ll be seeking another when he’s done with this one.”

Miss Applegate muffled a shocked laugh behind her fingertips. “Well,” she said, “it really is excellent cake. If I could have got away with asking a second slice, I might well have done.” But the tone of her voice had conveyed the belief that four was beyond excessive.

With a little shake of her head, Mrs. Littlefield said, “As little taste as I have got for sweets, I have still less for watching a grown man consume so much cake.”

“You did offer it,” Elliot reminded her, only barely managing to remember to swallow in advance of speaking.

“I did, more’s the pity,” Mrs. Littlefield said. “Katie, will you join us? I should like to return Miss Applegate to her family before they begin to worry.”

“Yes, Mama, of course,” Kate said as she made to join her mother. And as they turned to go and leave him to enjoy his cake in peace, Elliot heard Kate ask, “If I may ask, Miss Applegate—would you say you prefer the city or the countryside?”

∞∞∞

Dinner had proved a quiet affair thus far, with only the faint clink of utensils and the rhythmic scratch of Kate’s pencil to be heard. “That’s an awful lot of notes,” Elliot observed casually, between bites of fish.

“Hm,” Kate returned absently, bent over her notebook, her brows scrunching as she continued writing away.

She’d been at it all throughout the meal, her pencil scribbling furiously across the pages. Just occasionally she had paused to take a bite of her food, hardly even lifting her head to do so. It had been endearing, really, her unshakeable attention to the work he’d assigned her. Especially because as dinner had progressed, her mood—which had already begun rather grimly as she had first flipped the notebook open—had noticeably devolved.

He’d introduced her to three ladies at Hyde Park today and still more at Lady Havisham’s garden party, and clearly, she had had thoughts. A great number of them, all pouring from her brain onto the pages before her at a frantic pace. And she was muttering to herself as she wrote. Not so loudly that he could hear every word, but he had most certainly seen her lips form the words dowry of ten thousand as she had continued that frenetic scrawl.