Page 11 of Debtor’s Daughter (Wicked Sons #11)

Larkin,

Yes, of course I’d be willing to help you. Do you want me to call a meeting of the Sons? I could manage it next week sometime if that suits?

―Excerpt from a letter from Mr Leo Hunt (Son of Mr Nathanial and Mrs Alice Hunt) to The Hon’ble Larkin Weston.

4 th October 1850, Berwick Street, Soho, London.

The next morning, the household was a flurry of activity as the ladies prepared to show themselves in society. Dresses and bonnets were chosen and discarded and Sally and Priddy darted back and forth with this pair of gloves and that ribbon, trying to make sense among the general hubbub.

“Oh, Caro, you do look splendid,” Maggie said, stifling the smallest twinge of envy as she regarded her little sister. She had never been jealous of Caro’s glorious, good looks before, and told herself she was not now, except she wished she might capture Mr Weston’s admiration as Caro had.

“Thank you. It is pretty, isn’t it? I’ve been just dying to wear it, but what with being in mourning—” She stopped, suddenly ill at ease. “You do not think we shall look too much like country bumpkins among the fashionable town set, do you?”

“Don’t be a silly goose,” Aunt Connie replied soothingly. “Your papa was many things, but he knew what was up to snuff and what wasn’t. Mrs Ledbetter might not have been a London modiste, but she got all her patterns direct from Paris, and much of her fabric too. She’ll not let us down.”

Maggie had to agree, for Caro looked divine in her promenade dress en redingote in a striking lavender taffeta. It was not black, however, which they well knew they ought to be wearing, and was probably even a little too dashing for half-mourning. But Mr Weston would not judge them, Maggie felt sure, and no one else knew who they were, so why not enjoy the day without the suffocating pall of heavy mourning fabrics, which made everyone look at them with pity? If they were to laugh or to appear to enjoy themselves too much, those looks would become censorious too, and Maggie thought they had suffered enough from her well-meaning but rackety father’s behaviour and its consequences.

She turned back to the looking glass to review her own toilette with a critical gaze, aware she had dressed with far too much care this morning. It was foolish of her to choose her gown in hopes of drawing Mr Weston’s eye. Wicked, too, when she purported to support his suit towards her sister, but she seemed unable to help herself. Besides, it was too late now to don her widow's weeds again. Instead, she had chosen a gown of deep green satin, with a fitted jacket embellished with black silk frogging. It hugged her waist and emphasised her bust and, whilst Maggie had never been vain—who could be with Caro to compare oneself to? —she did think she looked rather pretty.

“What do you think?”

Maggie turned as Aunt Connie came in, resplendent in a dashing ensemble of puce silk with three large, fringed flounces on her skirts that swished when she moved. The bodice was intricately ruched and tucked and seemed to make her impressive bosom even more notable.

“Auntie!” Maggie said, as her aunt twirled before her, looking as pleased as Caro did with her outfit. “You look quite magnificent and shall cast us both in the shade.”

“Oh, you silly creature, as if I could,” Connie said, but she blushed with pleasure all the same. “I declare, I am so excited! I know we came to town for Caro’s sake, but to have a shopping trip all of our own and to see something of London… well, I am quite beside myself with delight.”

“Indeed, it is a rare treat, and well deserved,” Maggie said, pulling on her gloves. “We shall enjoy ourselves excessively, but if I may be the voice of doom for just a moment—”

“Oh, Maggie, no!” Caro said, sitting on Maggie’s bed with an aggravated flounce and folding her arms.

“Yes, dear,” Maggie said firmly, determined to make her point. “We are on a budget, and you are not to spend more than the amounts we discussed, and only on the items we decided are necessary to us. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Maggie,” Caro replied, stony-faced.

“Of course, my dear,” Aunt Connie said, patting her arm.

Maggie gave her aunt a stern look, aware Connie was the most likely of the two to get carried away, but Connie floated off, murmuring about having forgotten to apply her scent.

Maggie sighed, wishing she was not the one who had to remind them of such things and spoil their pleasure. Picking up her bonnet, she made her way downstairs, reaching the bottom just as a knock sounded. As Wallace was in the kitchen, she opened it and had to fight not to catch her breath as Mr Weston’s tall, powerful frame filled the opening.

“Good morning, Mr Weston,” she managed, wishing she did not sound quite so breathless, but the morning was bright, and sunshine gleamed upon his hair, making it shine gold and bronze, and highlighting the warm glints in his brown eyes.

For a moment she thought he hesitated too at the sight of her, his eyes widening a little, his mouth opening as if to speak but closing again. Maggie instantly fretted that she had something stuck in her teeth, though she had cleaned them very carefully, or that her skirts were caught up somehow, but a quick survey reassured her all was as it ought to be with her dress.

“Good morning, Mrs Finchley. That is a most charming outfit, if I may say so.”

Maggie returned a quick smile, careful not to show her teeth before hurrying to the looking glass to put on her bonnet. Assuring herself that Mr Weston was not looking, she checked her teeth, reassured to discover nothing appalling lurking there.

“Good morning, Mr Weston. Forgive me for not opening the door to you,” Wallace said, giving Maggie a reproving look for having done so herself.

She returned an apologetic smile before looking back at Mr Weston. “We are almost ready,” she assured him, glancing up the stairs and hoping Connie would not keep them waiting too long.

“Mama!”

“Master Gideon!” Priddy exclaimed, hurrying after Gideon, who had clearly escaped from her clutches. “Beg pardon, Mrs Finchley, he got away from me.”

“That’s quite all right, Priddy,” Maggie said, bending down to kiss her son’s cheek. “He just wants to say goodbye, don’t you, darling?”

“Yes, Mama. You going with Westie?”

“We are,” she agreed, pushing his golden curls from his forehead. “And if you are a very good boy, I shall bring you a present.”

“Cake?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “Westie bring cake too?”

“Not cake,” Maggie said, laughing. “Something good, though, but only if you behave,” she added, wagging a finger at him.

“I be good,” he replied, looking grave indeed.

“Wallace.”

Maggie looked up as Mr Weston spoke, seeing Wallace turn towards him. “Yes, sir?”

“That matter I spoke to you about last night. He’ll start today.”

Maggie looked between them, a little perplexed.

“Nothing to trouble yourself about, Mrs Finchley. A private matter between Mr Weston and myself,” Wallace assured her soothingly.

“Oh, of course,” Maggie said, wondering what matter that could be when they barely knew each other. Still, it was none of her affair. Wallace was entitled to his private life as much as she was.

Finally, Caro and Aunt Connie arrived, and the party set off in high spirits, all looking forward to the day ahead.

The carriage Mr Weston had hired dropped them after they had survived the madness that was Piccadilly Circus, though the noise, the weight of traffic, and the chaos almost sent Aunt Connie into a swoon. She recovered with alacrity, however, once she was travelling again under her own power and surrounded by the delights that the fashionable shopping street had to offer.

Before they chanced to look in a shop window, however, the magnificent sight of the Horse Guards caught their eye, riding up Regent Street on their way to St James’s. Caro gazed upon them open-mouthed, and even Maggie, who had been once so beguiled by a red coat, admired the impressive picture they presented on their gleaming mounts. Their helmets were adorned with flowing black plumes, the standard they bore flapping eagerly in a brisk autumn wind that also tugged at the ladies’ bonnets and skirts as they trotted smartly past.

Once the imposing display had passed, they stopped at the very first window they came to, Caro and Connie drawn by the colourful display of stuffed birds. Brightly arrayed parrots and hummingbirds were arranged in lifelike poses, settled upon branches or suspended from cleverly hidden wires. Birds-of-paradise, with their exquisite plumage, gazed glassily back at them and made Maggie shudder with pity.

“I don’t disagree,” Larkin murmured with sympathy. “I find them rather unnerving myself. They would have been so free and beautiful in life; this seems rather undignified.”

Maggie smiled at him, pleased he understood her disquiet without her having to explain.

Hurrying past a funeral monuments shop in silent accord, they ignored the obelisks and draped urns in the window, pulled onwards by the promise of more agreeable sights. An Italian statuary shop drew Aunt Connie, who lingered for longer than was appropriate over a scale model of Michelangelo’s David until Maggie tugged her away. Next was a filter shop, at once somewhat revolting yet fascinating, with its display of clever machines for turning foul water, thick with mud, into something sparkling and clear.

Next, they came across a magnificent emporium, which they dared to enter to peruse the goods on offer. Wines from France and Italy, sweetmeats and preserves, liqueurs and condiments, Bayonne ham and honey from Narbonne all tempted them to spend their carefully counted allowance for the day. Mr Weston found he could not resist the lure of Bologna sausage, which he confided to Maggie was his valet’s favourite thing in all the world. He bought a quantity, and had it sent to his home, laughing with amusement at how pleased Barnes would be when it arrived out of the blue. That he would think of and buy such a treat for his servant only elevated him higher still in Maggie’s estimation and she found she hardly dared look at him for fear of gazing at him like a complete ninny.

Aunt Connie could not quite contain herself either and succumbed to a pot of clotted cream and a jar of paté de fois gras . This, Mr Weston was kind enough to add to his own order so the items might be delivered together.

They gazed next into the windows of fancy watchmakers and stationers, before the ladies dragged poor Mr Weston into a haberdasher’s shop in which Maggie feared he might be forced to spend the rest of the day. Here, Caro ran amok, despite being reminded they still had a great deal to see. An hour later she was finally dragged out, looking dazed but delighted by her haul of ribbons, lace, and silk flowers.

Once more, Maggie looked upon Mr Weston with admiration, for he had not by look nor deed shown even a little impatience with them when she had felt sure he must be bored witless. After another hour or more of meandering and window shopping, Mr Weston suggested they stop for tea in a charming tea shop, for he was certain everyone was famished. No one contradicted him.

The proprietress, who greeted them warmly, seated them in a table near the window so they could watch the world outside while they ate, and promised them a delightful lunch would be provided at once. Aunt Connie was very taken with the place and admired the pretty china and the lovely chintz wallpaper. They all exclaimed when the lady returned with two serving girls who carried an extraordinary selection of dainty sandwiches, scones, cakes, and biscuits.

“Good heavens!” Maggie exclaimed, looking at Mr Weston in astonishment. “However, shall we eat it all?”

“I think we can manage it. I’m starving myself, so I promise to do my part,” he added, winking at her and helping himself to a selection of sandwiches.

“Oh, Maggie, can you imagine what Gideon would say if he saw all this?” Caro said, laughing.

“You must not tell him, Miss Caroline,” Mr Weston said, wagging a finger at her. “The poor boy will be bereft. However, I shall make it up to him and bring him another day. What do you think, Mrs Finchley?”

Maggie gazed at him, colour rising to her cheeks. “I-I think he would be the happiest boy that ever lived,” she managed, hardly able to believe he meant such a thing. Would he really bring Gideon here? Why should he trouble himself with her little boy? Did it mean anything, or was she over-interpreting a kind gesture? Never having had a come out, she was uncertain how a gentleman might act towards a female friend in town and whether this would be considered quite unexceptional or not. In the countryside a neighbour might well invite your child in for tea, or give them a game of cricket, but to take them out to a tea shop in town? Was that usual?

Overwhelmed and disarmed, she busied herself pouring the tea and preparing it to everyone’s taste before she ate and was a little surprised when Mr Weston handed her a plate filled with a little of everything that looked nicest.

“I thought I had best lay claim to some for you before we eat it all. I told you we would,” he said with a grin.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the plate.

As she took it, their fingers touched. The oddest sensation raced over her skin and her foolish heart skipped.

Maggie glanced up at him, wondering if he’d felt it too, and discovered his warm brown eyes upon her. He held her gaze far longer than he ought before he replied, “You’re welcome,” in a low voice that made her breath catch and warmth bloom inside her.

Maggie looked away, flustered, wondering if she was imagining things. Was he flirting with her, or was she being an idiot? She tried to remember how she had felt when William had courted her. Though it seemed a lifetime ago, as if it had happened to another version of her when she had been innocent and relatively carefree, she recalled the excitement she had felt, but had it been so tangible then? Had the brush of William’s hand sent her pulse racing, had she felt the lingering touch like she had been branded somehow, the warmth persisting long after it had ended?

Though they all exclaimed that they did not know how it was possible, Mr Weston was proven correct, and little remained of their lunch but crumbs. Once Mr Weston had paid, they thanked him excessively for the rare treat until he laughed and held up his hands, imploring them to stop.

“I told you it was my treat, and I promise you I enjoyed it as much as you did! If you wish to repay me, then I shall come to tea again and you may stuff me with cake to your heart’s content.”

“Indeed, we shall do so,” Aunt Connie said firmly. “Shan’t we, Maggie?”

“Certainly, if you would like to come, we will be pleased to see you. I believe you must know by now that you are always most welcome,” Maggie replied, finding her words were rather more earnest than perhaps they ought to be.

Mr Weston’s gaze met hers and he smiled, a smile that tugged at her heart and made her dream impossible dreams. “I shall hold you to that,” he said, and then turned to speak with Caro, making her laugh as he drew her attention to a shop window, leaving Maggie in a stew of happiness and confusion. Could she have been wrong all this time? Could it be that Mr Weston was not interested in Caro, but in her? The idea was so tantalising, so beguiling, her heart skipped, her skin aching with longing as she remembered his strong arms, and allowed herself to consider how it might feel to be held in his embrace. How desperately she wanted that, she realised with sudden clarity, understanding in that moment how much she needed to feel loved, to feel safe and wanted, and like she was no longer alone.

They made their way along Regent Street, stopping at this window and that, and beguiled by the dazzling array of fashionable people out on the street. Mr Weston seemed to know many of them, and pointed out a few, the most notable being Charles Kean, the famous actor. Son of the legendary Edmund Kean, his productions as the Princess Theatre on Oxford Street were famous for his meticulous research into historical dress and settings.

“Oh, how I should love to see him perform,” Aunt Connie lamented longingly, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’ve read so much about him and his performances, but we’ve seen nothing other than the travelling theatre shows that appear in the village during the summer months. They are most diverting, of course, but to see Shakespeare performed by such a man in a London theatre….”

Connie sighed and gazed after Mr Kean with a dreamy look in her eyes. Maggie pinched her aunt and gave her a stern look, quite certain she was angling to get Mr Weston to take them all.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he said, smiling at Aunt Connie.

“Oh, no, Mr Weston, you have been too good, too patient already. We cannot, will not, impose upon you further,” Maggie said in alarm, so afraid her sister and aunt would take advantage of his kindness that she glared at Connie and at Caro too, who was opening her mouth to protest.

Connie looked crestfallen but Caro stalked past Maggie, muttering ‘killjoy,’ under her breath. Maggie heard it, and she thought Mr Weston did too.

Aunt Connie hurried after Caro before she could get too far ahead, leaving Maggie with Mr Weston. She glanced up at him uncertainly, not wishing him to think ill of Caro for her complaint.

“She is so excited to be in London, she wishes to see everything all at once,” Maggie said by way of apology. “It’s just she’s very excited and—”

“You do not need to make excuses for Caro to me,” Mr Weston said, taking her hand and placing it on his sleeve. “It was you she was rude to, but really, there is no need to refuse my invitation. I promise you I should never have offered if I did not wish to accompany you. I’ve had a delightful time today, you know. It’s fun seeing everything that is familiar to me for the first time through your eyes.”

“I’m sure we must seem like bumpkins to you,” Maggie said ruefully.

“Not at all. I think you are all the most charming companions a fellow could hope for.”

He smiled down at her and Maggie gazed helplessly up at him, wishing she understood him, that she knew what it was he wanted from them, if anything. Perhaps he really was just a kind fellow looking after his neighbours, treating them as his friends, or was it Caro he wanted? Or did she dare hope…?

Perhaps he recognised the worshipful look in her eyes and realised his neighbour was an unsophisticated fool, for he looked away from her at once, his expression unreadable.

“Come along, Mrs Finchley,” he said briskly. “The Parthenon Bazaar awaits if you have the stamina for it, and your aunt and Miss Caroline are getting away from us. We’d best catch them up.”

Larkin cursed himself. What the devil was he playing at? He’d been lulled into foolishness by the pleasure he’d taken in the day so far. The three women were, just as he’d said, the most charming of companions and he’d enjoyed treating them and squiring them around town. But it was Mrs Finchley who captured his attention, Mrs Finchley whose beautiful profile he could not stop gazing at. No doubt it was all the fault of that blasted dream. It had returned to him nightly, each time a little different, each time allowing him to explore the adventure, and the woman, a little further. This morning, he had woken aroused and restless and longing to take her in his arms. He wondered if he was confusing reality with the woman that existed in his imagination, for she was everything that was passionate and welcoming, responding to his touch in a way that made him ache for her. It was this captivating creature whose hand he could not resist touching, just to see the colour rise to her cheeks, could not resist flirting with just a little, only to see how she reacted to him. Yet she was not his dream lover, but flesh and blood, and he was being cruel, for he did not mean to pursue her. Did he?

Suddenly he felt certain of nothing, his heart a confusion of longing and desire and the desperate need not to make another stupid mistake. Was he doing it again, forcing himself into a woman’s life when she did not want him there as anything other than a friend? Were those blushes because his attentions embarrassed her? Suddenly, he felt uncertain of everything, of what he wanted, of what Mrs Finchley wanted, or needed.

Before Elmira, he’d been as carefree and pleasure-loving as any of his friends, despite his ‘do gooding,’ for which they often teased him. But he’d had no trouble with women, though he’d been a little more careful than some of his companions, understanding what consequences women bore more keenly than perhaps his friends did. Life had seemed a good deal simpler then, and so he had not questioned his feelings for Elmira or hers for him, which he ought to have done. Now, however, he did nothing, but question and the questioning only left him increasingly confused.

He was relieved therefore when they arrived before the Parthenon Bazaar, and he could stuff all his misgivings and anxieties into the mental cupboard where he put anything he did not wish to look at. For now, he wished only to live in the moment, to enjoy the women’s company and take pleasure in the joy they found in shopping in such exciting new surroundings.

The Parthenon Bazaar had once been one of London’s most fashionable theatres but had ultimately failed and fallen into disrepair. Since then, it had been lavishly remodelled and repurposed. The party walked inside under the porch and into an elegant vestibule with a display of statuary. Taking the stairs, they found themselves in a picture gallery but did not stay long to view the offerings, which they all agreed were a little humdrum and of no greater quality than they might find in local exhibitions around Norfolk. Eager to see more, they discovered the room led onto a gallery which housed a magnificent toy bazaar. Maggie gasped with delight and immediately set about finding a gift for Gideon whilst the Misses Merrivale gazed over the balcony at the floor below.

“Why, but it’s enormous,” Miss Caroline exclaimed, her lovely face lit with joy.

To his chagrin, Larkin noticed her exclamation had taken the attention of two young bucks who stood gazing up at the vision of loveliness with dim-witted expressions that made them look as if they’d each been struck in the head with a mallet. Miss Caroline did not seem to notice but her aunt did and pulled her niece away.

“Come and help Maggie find something for our dear Giddy, Caro. There’s time enough to look downstairs afterwards.”

Thus occupied, the ladies walked off and Larkin found his attention drift back to Mrs Finchley. She had moved to inspect an aviary where little birds chirped and hopped from branch to branch.

“At least these are alive,” he remarked.

“Yes,” she said ruefully, watching the pretty things flit back and forth with a considering expression.

“Are you thinking of buying one?” Larkin asked her.

“I don’t know. What do you think?” she asked, turning to smile at him with such trust in her eyes that Larkin’s heart felt squeezed in his chest. “I don’t really approve of seeing them caged when they ought to be flying free, but when I was a girl, we had dogs and cats, not to mentions all the chickens and ducks and a few pigs. Horses and ponies too, naturally, and yet Gideon can have none of that, for we are in a rented home in a city and only until the season is over. Then we shall have to move again, I suppose, and find something smaller and cheaper. We are not at the manor any longer and I really must get used to that. I keep forgetting, you see. Thinking that when this is done we can go home and… foolish, isn’t it?” she said, such a depth of regret and longing in her voice Larkin moved to take her hand in his, only to remember himself and stop before he overstepped once again.

This was why he ought to get their home back for them if it was possible, though. He could not bear to know how much they missed it, and to realise how much Gideon would miss out on as he grew up.

“Not at all,” he said. “You’ve lost something that has always been integral to your lives, your happiness. It is only natural that you mourn the loss of it.”

Mrs Finchley nodded briskly and blinked away tears, smiling bravely instead and turning back to the birds.

“I think it is important for children to have the care of something. It teaches responsibility, and caring too, but this is all I can offer him. Except for perhaps a goldfish, but that seems a little dull in comparison.”

“Perhaps if you bought two birds, and they had a decent sized cage, so they had space at least. It’s got to be better than the inside of this shop, anyway,” he pointed out.

“I don’t think I can afford a large cage, too,” she said with a frown. “Oh, dear. Perhaps it’s not such a good idea. I shall only feel sorry for the poor little things and want to set them free whenever I look at them.”

Larkin opened his mouth, about to say he’d build the cage for them, but closed it again. Not his family. Not his responsibility, he reminded himself. He really had to stop sticking his oar in.

“What about a train?” he suggested, guiding her to the back of the shop where he’d noticed a display of tin toys. He picked up a smartly painted train in green with red pinstripes and held it up to show her.

Larkin bent down and gave the toy an experimental push to see how it travelled over the wooden floor and Maggie laughed as the little train promptly flew towards the bannisters.

“Blast!” Larkin exclaimed and ran after it, snatching it up in the second before it dived off the edge to the shop below. He let out a breath of relief and turned to see Mrs Finchley watching with her hand over her mouth. She was laughing at him, the wretch, and doing a very poor job of hiding it.

“Oh, I-I b-beg your pardon,” she stammered. “How quick you were!”

She went off again with a peal of laughter that made his heart feel lighter, even if she was laughing at his expense. How lovely she was, her eyes sparkling, the colour in her cheeks a delicate rose that he longed to capture in paint. More than that, he longed to reach for her, to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless.

No. No, that was not going to happen. Not in a public place. Not in any place. Not ever.

The reminder made him feel oddly out of sorts and despondent, but he shook the sensation off and walked back to stand beside her.

“Well, it works,” he said, finding a smile from somewhere.

“So it does,” she said, gazing up at him with a look that reminded him of everything he had just promised he would not do. He glanced down at her. A mistake, as his gaze fell at once to her mouth, lingering on her plush lips, soft and ripe for kissing. She wanted him to kiss her, a little voice in his head told him, but he silenced it before it got him into trouble.

Instead, he walked back to the display of tin toys. “What do you think, then? Do you think the train is best? There are others?”

“I think he will love the train, especially when I tell him you nearly crashed it in the shop,” she said, giving him a mischievous smile.

Despite his best intentions, the devilry in her eyes called to him, begging him to answer in kind.

“In that case, I shan’t give it to you!” he said, holding the train up where she could not reach it.

“Oh, now, Mr Weston. That is hardly gentlemanly of you,” she scolded.

“Who said I was a gentleman?” he replied, the words out before he could think better of them.

Stop! yelled a voice in his head. Stop this now!

Mrs Finchley looked around and discovered, as he’d already realised, that they were alone up here. She reached up on tiptoes and made a grab for the toy, but Larkin stepped back, holding it out of reach.

“Say you will not tell Gideon I did something so foolish,” he demanded, his voice grave.

“I will tell him,” she retorted, laughter and defiance shining in her eyes. She reached up again, lunging for the toy and overbalancing. She gasped, the toe of her shoe catching on an uneven floorboard and fell against him.

“Ooof!”

Larkin pulled her close, his intention only to stop her falling, but then she was in his arms, her warm, soft body pressed close to his, and his mind turned to treacle.

One hand still held the train, but the other was upon her waist, her deliciously shapely waist, while her breasts pressed against his chest. He gazed down at her, seeing her eyes widen as she realised how close they were. Larkin waited for her to push him away and scold him for taking advantage of her mishap, as she should, as she must do. Only she didn’t. She simply stared up at him, and then closed her eyes, lifting her face to his.

Larkin swallowed hard, the little voice in his head suddenly shrieking at him that this was not what he wanted. Mrs Finchley was respectable, she’d have expectations, she’d need marrying. He’d have to be a father to Gideon!

“We ought to find Miss Caroline. There were two gentlemen ogling her rather too keenly for my liking. We don’t want her to get herself into a difficult situation,” he said briskly, all the time extricating himself from their embrace.

Mrs Finchley stiffened, moving away, her frame suddenly rigid where a moment ago it had been pliant and giving. “Of course,” she said curtly, hurrying past him, but not before he noticed the burn of embarrassment colouring her cheeks.

Damn him to hell! Now he’d humiliated her, and no doubt hurt her feelings, too. Well done, Larkin. Excellent work, you utter prat.

Smothering a groan of frustration, he hurried after her.

Oh Maggie, you fool! You utter fool! How could you do such a pathetic, such a reckless thing?

All the way down the stairs, Maggie berated herself, shame and humiliation burning inside her so fiercely she felt too hot and longed to go back outside. She pressed her gloved hands to her cheeks, trying to cool them before anyone noticed. Before he noticed.

Oh, Lord, if she had spoiled Caro’s chances and spoiled their friendship with a man of whom they had all become so very fond, she would never forgive herself. How could she be so selfish as to let her own desires wreck all their futures? Yet she had been growing ever closer to such foolishness all afternoon, but had she imagined the way he had spoken to her, the lingering glances and touches? Well, she must have, or perhaps he was just reacting to the encouragement she must have so blatantly given him. For a gentleman such as Mr Weston would never lead a lady on. It was her own foolish heart seeing things that were not there and her own selfish wickedness that had tempted her to practically throw herself at him. Since he had entered their lives, she had come to realise she was not so sanguine about living the rest of her days as a widow as she’d believed. She was lonely, and not only for friendship, but for the closeness one only found with a husband. Whilst her marriage had been fleeting thing, she knew that physical love, not to mention the comfort and companionship of such a union were not easily replaced with friends. Mr Weston was handsome and charming and so very kind and attentive to them; it was only natural that her feelings should warm to him after so long in mourning and after so much unhappiness. But to embarrass the man and betray her own sister by acting on those feelings was beyond the pale.

Ought she to apologise, she wondered? No. That would only highlight her dreadful behaviour and would be too humiliating to endure. Maggie felt certain Mr Weston’s innate good manners would ensure he put her dreadfully bold behaviour aside. She only hoped it did not spoil everything for Auntie and Caro. For her own part, she would do her best to keep her distance from Mr Weston and take some time to remind herself that such an eligible fellow would hardly be interested in a penniless widow with a lively son to raise. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise, in fact. She must check her feelings before they could grow out of proportion, and she fancied herself in love with the poor man.

So Maggie did her utmost to calm herself, outwardly at least, focusing on the bazaar and doing her best to look pleased with it. In any other circumstances, she would have been delighted, for it was a fascinating place. The ground floor held dozens of glass-topped counters, each displaying something interesting. Trinkets and jewellery, millinery and lace all jostled for attention besides gloves and hosiery and so much else it was quite overwhelming. Maggie caught up with her aunt and Caro, who exclaimed excitedly over all they had seen and, to Maggie’s dismay, seemed to have made far too many purchases. In normal circumstances she would have remonstrated with them for their reckless spending, but as she had behaved far worse than they she did not feel she had the right to do so.

More counters stuffed with cutlery, sheets of music, pocketbooks and porcelain objects had to be inspected and remarked upon. They all sighed over darling little children’s dresses, and in the next stall Maggie had to drag her aunt bodily away before she bought a cut glass ornament in the shape of a bird. Caro complained bitterly over the loss of their piano when she saw the variety of sheet music on offer, all of which was utterly useless to them now. There were children’s books, however, and Maggie could not resist buying a copy of Tom Thumb’s Picture Alphabet, a purchase she comforted herself was educational for her son and so not in the least frivolous. Then she remembered the train and did not know whether to be comforted or dismayed when she discovered Mr Weston had rejoined them and that he had purchased the train himself.

Mr Weston noticed her standing alone at the bookstall and walked towards her, looking as though he wished to speak, but Maggie turned away, hurrying to stand close to her sister and aunt once more. She had humiliated herself beyond bearing as it was, and if he was kind to her on top of that she would die. Instead, Maggie determined to repay him for the train and prayed that everyone else was feeling as weary as she was, if not so out of sorts, for she longed to go back to the house. She could not think of it as home, but at least Wallace and Mrs Moody and Gideon would be there, and Mr Weston would not be, and she might contrive to feel comfortable again.

It was another half an hour before Caro could be persuaded to leave, however, and only then when she was the proud owner of a splendid ostrich feather dyed a jaunty shade of green. Indeed, the display held so many feathers, all in extraordinary colours, that Auntie Connie was moved to wonder aloud if there was a bird left anywhere that wasn’t entirely bald.

The journey back home was no quieter than the one going, despite everyone being fatigued by such diverting entertainments. Only Maggie was silent, though she tried her best to do her bit to attend to the conversation and appear at ease, whilst studiously avoiding Mr Weston’s gaze. Once or twice, she thought he tried to catch her eye, but she refused to meet it, certain it would do her no good and only make an awkward situation worse.

If only he did not speak of it, perhaps in time they could forget it ever happened and be easy together again. For she realised she valued his friendship too highly to ever risk it again for feelings which she now knew were entirely one-sided. It had only been a silly daydream, after all, to think that such a man might take an interest in her, and she was sensible enough to put such romantic nonsense to one side. She might feel sorry for herself for a day or two, but that would pass as all things passed if one kept busy and did not dwell on what could not be changed.

When they finally arrived back at Berwick Street, Maggie congratulated herself on behaving very prettily, thanking Mr Weston most warmly for a wonderful outing and leaving him with perfect politeness, all without ever meeting his eye.