again, what on earth he’d been doing at such an unfashionable event as the Crimmers’ annual Advent ball. If he was as wealthy as Mr Pargetter thought, he couldn’t have been searching for an heiress. She peered up at him, perplexed, as he handed her into the carriage. Could he possibly be thinking of going into politics? Perhaps he’d decided to mingle with the kind of men whose votes he would have to canvass and find out what they thought about various issues. Climbing boys, for instance.
Only, that didn’t explain why he’d wasted so much time with her, when he could have been mingling with the men, who were the ones who had the votes.
It was only when he smiled at her that she realised she’d been staring at him with a puzzled frown all the while he’d been taking his own seat opposite her.
Swiftly, she averted her gaze and peered intently out of the window. She had to stop making conjectures about what drove Lord Havelock and make the most of her first foray out of the immediate vicinity of Bloomsbury to see if she could spot an employment agency. But no matter how she strained her eyes, she simply couldn’t make out what might be engraved on any of the brass door plates of the buildings they passed. And it wasn’t the kind of thing she could ask.
Lotty and Dotty wouldn’t understand her desire for independence. The yearning to be able to stand on her own two feet and not have to rely on a man for anything.
Though at least they weren’t making any attempt to include her in the flirtatious sallies they were directing at Mr Morgan and Lord Havelock. They’d drawn the line at getting her dressed up smartly and practically bundling her into the carriage.
And so intent were they on dazzling the two gentlemen that they didn’t appear to notice when she started lagging behind them the minute they got inside the Abbey.
She’d started hanging back more out of habit than anything, but before long she was craning her neck in genuine awe at the roof, wondering how the builders had managed to get stone looking like acres of starched lace. She barely noticed their chatter gradually fading into the distance.
‘Miss Carpenter?’
Lord Havelock was standing watching her, a concerned expression on his face. And she realised she ought to have made an effort, for once, to stay part of the group. Loitering here, obliging him to wait for her, might have made it look as if she wanted to be alone with him. And she didn’t want him thinking that!
‘It has just occurred to me,’ he said, preventing her from stammering any of the excuses that leapt to mind, ‘that it wasn’t particularly tactful of us, was it, to arrange an outing to a place like this. With you so recently bereaved?’
Goodness. It wasn’t like a man to consider a woman’s feelings.
‘I can clearly recall how it felt to lose my own mother,’ he said, when she carried on gaping at him in complete shock. ‘I was only about...well, a similar age to the floury boy of yesterday...’
‘You mean Will?’ The mention of her favourite cousin brought a smile to her lips without her having to make any effort whatever.
Lord Havelock smiled in response, looking very relieved. It was a warning that she really ought to make more effort to conceal her thoughts, if even a stranger could tell she was blue-devilled.
‘You like the boy?’
‘He’s a little scamp,’ she said fondly. ‘The hope of the family, being the only surviving male, you see, and hopelessly indulged.’
‘Hmm.’ He crooked his arm and she laid her hand on his sleeve for the second time. The strength of his arm wasn’t as alarming this time. Perhaps because he’d shown her several kindnesses. Besides, if they walked swiftly, they could soon catch up with her cousins and Mr Morgan.
Only, how could she get him to walk faster, when he seemed set on strolling along at a snail’s pace?
‘But to return to your own loss,’ he said. ‘The one thing I would not have wanted to do, in the weeks immediately following my own mother’s funeral, was spend an afternoon wandering through a lot of tombs.’
‘Oh? But this is different,’ she said. ‘These tombs are all of very grand people. Not in the least like the simple grassy plot in the churchyard where my mother was laid to rest. No...this is...is history. I confess, I didn’t really want to come here. But now we are here...’
His face brightened. ‘Would you care to have a look at Shakespeare’s monument, then? I believe it is this way,’ he said, indicating an aisle that branched away from the direction the rest of the party were headed.
‘Oh, um...’ She couldn’t very well object, not when she’d just claimed to have an interest in old tombs, could she?
And what could possibly happen to her in a church, anyway?
‘Just a quick look, before we join the others,’ she said. ‘I don’t expect I shall have leisure to do much sightseeing, before much longer, and I would—’
She broke off, flushed and curled into herself again. She’d almost let slip that she was only going to stay with the Pargetters until she could find a paid position. What was it about this man that kept on tempting her to share confidences? It was time she deflected attention away from herself. It shouldn’t be too hard. All she’d have to do would be to ask him about himself. Once a man started talking about himself, nothing short of a riot would stop him.
‘You said you lost your own mother at a very young age. That must have been very hard for you.’
‘Oh, my father pretty soon made sure I had another one,’ he said with evident bitterness.
She wished she hadn’t said anything now. It was clearly a painful topic for him. And though she racked her brains, she couldn’t think of anything to say to undo the awkwardness she’d caused. An awkwardness that resulted in them walking the entire length of the south transept in silence.
‘What did you mean, Miss Carpenter,’ he eventually said, once they’d reached their destination, ‘about not having leisure to do much sightseeing?’
Oh, drat the man. Why did he have to keep asking such personal questions? He couldn’t really be interested. Besides, she had no intention of admitting that she wasn’t totally happy to reside with the Pargetters. Especially not now, when she could see Dotty and Lotty sauntering towards them. They’d been so kind to her. She couldn’t possibly hurt them by broadcasting the fact she wanted to leave.
‘Oh, look,’ she exclaimed, to create a diversion. ‘Sheridan!’
‘What?’
She pointed to the nearest monument. ‘Only fancy him being buried here. And Chaucer. My goodness!’
He dutifully examined the plaques to which she was pointing, though from the set of his lips, he wasn’t really interested.
‘Hi! You, boy! Stop!’
Mary whirled in the direction of the cry, shocked to hear anyone daring to raise their voice in the reverent atmosphere of the ancient building, and saw Mr Morgan shaking his fist at a raggedy urchin, who was running in their direction.
Lord Havelock let go of her arm and grabbed the boy by the collar when he would have darted past.
The
