‘You have a prior engagement?’
‘No.’ Her appointments book was so full for the next month that she had deliberately kept this next Tuesday night free. Papa would be out so she would have the evening to herself to curl up with a frivolous novel.
‘You see, Maude? How refreshingly unusual for a young lady to admit she is not engaged every night of the week. Well?’
‘I promised Papa I would not go behind the scenes at the theatre in the evening and you are not, I hope, suggesting I dine at your house?’ She felt her voice rising slightly and swallowed. Was she wrong about him after all? Was he simply a heartless rake who would try and seduce her?
‘I am not suggesting that, no. I am intent upon getting to know you, Maude,’ Eden said, ‘not ravishing you.’ He grinned, the look of genuine amusement transforming his face, taking at least five years off her estimate of his age.
‘How old are you?’ she blurted out.
‘Twenty-seven,’ he admitted.
‘I thought you older,’ Maude said. ‘But that is irrelevant.’ Probably. ‘Where are you proposing we dine?’
‘Somewhere private that is not my house and will not cause you to break any promise to your father.’ He smiled, tempting her.
‘If I agree, it will be because I wish to know you better as a business partner and because I desire to help Miss Golding. You should not conclude anything else about my motives,’ she stated, trying to look businesslike and not as though Lady Wallace’s words were dazzling her brain like exploding sky rockets: spectacular in bed…
‘You think I might jump to conclusions?’
‘I have heard about your reputation, Eden.’ There, she had said his name aloud. ‘You are notorious for your liaisons with married women, so I hear.’ She could feel the heat in her face, just speaking of such things.
‘But you are not married, Maude. Say yes.’ There had been a shadow behind his eyes when she spoke of his affaires, a fleeting darkness, gone so rapidly she thought she had imagined it.
Distracted, she spoke before she had time to consider properly. ‘Yes, Eden. I will dine with you on Tuesday.’ It must be the wine, otherwise why had she agreed? So fast, so much faster than I thought. All my plans scattering like dust. How did I ever think I could make him fall in love with me according to a design? How could I not realise that he would set the agenda for whatever he is involved in?
‘Thank you. And will you be my partner for supper now?’ He glanced across the room and Maude followed his gaze. The crush had diminished greatly and the sound of the string quartet was once again clearly audible. ‘If there is any left, that is.’
‘You have obviously never been to one of the Standons’ soirées before.’ Maude stood up, still holding her glass. Eden lifted his and the champagne bottle in one hand and offered her his arm. She took it, smiling up at him. ‘They are famous both for quality and quantity—you need not fear going hungry.’
The queue into the refreshment room was not great and footmen were hurrying back and forth replenishing the long tables. Eden stretched up, looking over the sea of heads. ‘I can see a table for two over there in the far corner. If you trust me to choose for you, you could take it now.’
‘Anything except crab,’ Maude told him, gathering her skirts ready to slip through in the direction he was looking. ‘And lots of marchpane sweets, please. Give me the bottle and glasses.’
A young lady should pretend to have the appetite of a bird, of course, she acknowledged ruefully as she found the table and set out the wine. And, given that she wanted Eden to fall in love with her, she supposed she ought to be employing all the ruses at her disposal to make him see her as attractive.
‘Why are you frowning?’ Eden enquired, placing a platter laden with what must be a selection of every savoury on the buffet in the middle of the table. He was followed by a footman with two plates, forks and a dish brimming with marchpane sweetmeats. ‘Enough?’
‘A feast! Thank you, but I couldn’t eat a tenth of it.’
‘I will help.’ He poured more wine. ‘Now, why the frown?’
‘I was thinking—’ Could she tell him? Oh, why not? He professed to like her lack of feminine tricks. ‘Any lady will tell you that it is most unbecoming to display any appetite at all. I should be nibbling on one patty, perhaps, and you could then, with much persuasion, tempt me to sample a sweetmeat.’
‘I see.’ Eden’s lips quirked into a smile. ‘And you have just given yourself away? I have often wondered—and seeing that we are being so frank, perhaps I may ask—are all young ladies, except yourself, possessed of incredible will-power or are your stays laced so tight there is no room to eat?’
Maude burst into laughter. Not a giggle, not a titter, but genuine, uninhibited laughter. Heads turned, one or two grey heads were shaken, but no one seemed too shocked. This was, after all, Lady Maude Templeton and much would be forgiven to the Earl of Pangbourne’s charming daughter. Even, apparently, taking supper with him.
Eden watched her, his own amusement fading away to be replaced by something quite unfamiliar: affection and a kind of warmth. Maude, he realised, made him feel good inside. He gave himself a little shake, wondering if he was sickening for something, as he had suspected the other day. But it was a very strange fever that seemed to come and go like this.
‘Oh, dear.’ She struggled with her reticule and produced a handkerchief, which she used to dab at her eyes. The tears of laughter made them sparkle as she looked at him. ‘Stays indeed! No, and it is not will-power either—we are expected to eat a large supper before we come out. Didn’t you realise?’
‘How should I?’ he countered. ‘I have no sisters.’
‘And little to do with unmarried girls in the Marriage Mart, I would assume.’ Maude studied the platter and pounced on a salmon tartlet.
‘Are we back to the married ladies again?’ he enquired, wary.
‘No.’ She shook her head, making the loose curls that spilled from the combs set high on her crown tremble. ‘That’s just your guilty conscience.’
‘I doubt I have one,’ Eden admitted, biting into a savoury puff and wondering how far Maude’s hair would tumble down her straight white back and gracefully sloping shoulders if he pulled out those jewelled combs. Slowly, one by one.
‘Then how do you know what is right?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘I don’t know. Judgement, experience, assessment of the alternatives, I suppose.’ It was not something he ever thought about. ‘There is no good business sense in being capricious or dishonest. You keep your word because otherwise no one trusts you; you deal honestly, or they don’t come back a second time.’
‘But
