* *
Rilla flung herself down beside her churn. She kicked off her slippers and pulled out the ribbons Heloise had so painstakingly twisted into her unruly hair.
The whole evening had been a nightmare from start to finish. Instinctively, she reached for the solid wood of her churn like a sailor for a life ring. She rubbed her fingers along the grain, moving the wheel so that it made a comforting thump...thump...thump.
Surely if she stayed focused on force and momentum and mathematical calculations she would be safe. Such activities had helped her in the days after Sophie’s disappearance and rescue, during her mother’s illness and her father’s gambling.
Yes, if she occupied her mind with force, gravity and momentum, her skin would no longer tingle from his touch.
Besides, she was being highly illogical to still feel that tingle. The touch had occurred hours past. It was scientifically impossible that she could retain any sensation of his fingers brushing her palm, trailing across her cheek or pushing the cloth down from her shoulder—
‘Rilla!’ Imogene’s voice came from outside of the bedchamber.
Rilla lowered the trough with a clunk.
‘Gracious! It is three a.m. Whatever are you doing—?’ Imogene stopped on the threshold.
‘Adjusting the angle of my trough.’
‘Well, stop. I have news. Did you hear that Myra Kelly and Anthony Soames are engaged?’
‘Do we know Myra Kelly or Anthony Soames?’
‘No, but—’
‘Then why would I care?’
‘Because there were rumours that Lord Alfred was dangling after her and now she is off the market.’ Stepping into the room, Imogene sat elegantly on Rilla’s white-ruffled bed.
‘Oh...’ Rilla paused, frowning at her churn. She had not known that Imogene had so much interest in Lord Alfred although he visited frequently. ‘Then that is well, I suppose.’
‘Indeed, and he said he would call tomorrow and we could all go to the park if the weather improves.’
Perhaps if he asked for Imogene’s hand, they could leave London. Yes, that would be best, although the idea left her strangely flat.
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