Page 49 of Bookshop Cinderella

“No,” she admitted and rushed on, “The truth is, I don’t think having a maid help me dress suits my temperament. It seems so odd. So alien.”

“I wouldn’t know,” he replied with a shrug. “I’ve never been required to dress myself.”

“Never?” Diverted from her own embarrassment, she couldn’t help a grin. “What?” she teased. “Don’t you know how?”

“Of course I know how,” he said, sounding defensive enough to make her doubt the veracity of his assurance, especially when he jerked his chin. “I’ve just never had occasion to do it, that’s all. I’ve always had a valet.”

“Of course,” she said gravely, pressing her lips together.

“Let’s return to the subject, shall we? You need your maid, as the tricky dress you’re wearing clearly demonstrated to you already. Best to become familiar with her now,” he added as she made another protest. “That way, if you don’t like her, you have time to find another before Delia’s got you in the teeth of the season’s whirlwind. And Delia will tolerate no missishness about maids if it makes the pair of you late for an engagement.”

“Oh, very well,” she replied, heaving an aggrieved sigh as she gave in to the inevitable. “But I’m only agreeing to the maid because if Anna hadn’t arrived when she had, I’d still be trying to do up all the tapes and tabs and buttons on this thing. I mean it, Max,” she added as he laughed. “It was like wrestling with an octopus!”

“I can’t imagine any octopus getting the better of you, Evie,” he replied, still grinning.

“Heavens, Westbourne,” a feminine voice broke in, “what am I hearing?”

Both of them turned as a striking, silver-haired woman paused in the doorway of the box, one young male companion and one older one behind her. “Did you really just compare this sweet-looking girl to an octopus?”

“Only in the most favorable way, Alicia,” he assured, bending down for the woman to kiss his cheeks in the French fashion, then moving aside so she could enter the box.

“I hope so,” she replied. “Otherwise, I should begin to think you were losing your touch with the ladies. If I were you, my dear,” she added to Evie as she moved to stand beside her, “I should not believe a word he says.”

“I don’t,” Evie countered at once. “Since most of what he says is utter tosh.”

Everyone laughed at that, including Max. “She adores me, really,” Max assured, shifting sideways so that Alicia’s two companions could join them. “Allow me to perform introductions. Miss Harlow, this is Mrs. Anstruther, her husband, Colonel Anstruther, and their son, Ronald. This is Miss Harlow. And,” he added as Anna rejoined them, “Mrs. Banks.”

Somehow, in the mutual bows and curtsies that followed this introduction, Ronald Anstruther ended up by Evie’s side. “How are you enjoying the opera, Miss Harlow?” he asked her.

She hesitated, and her opinion must have shown on her face, much to everyone’s amusement.

“Not much, then, it seems,” Mrs. Anstruther said and turned to Anna. “And what about you, Mrs. Banks?” she asked as Ronald Anstruther leaned closer to Evie.

“I don’t like operaeither,” he confided to her in a whisper. “Caterwauling cats are more pleasant to the ear.”

“Maybe they sing like that on purpose,” Evie answered, considering.

“On purpose?”

“Yes. If they’re anything like the alley cats outside my flat, their singing will ensure no one falls asleep.”

He threw back his head and laughed. “I think you might have something there, Miss Harlow. We all come to the opera, but most of us don’t like it much. Not that it matters, anyway, since we’re all far too busy staring at the people in the other boxes to care about the performance. My mother, for instance, was staring at you most intently earlier this evening.”

“What on earth for?”

“Oh, the duke had mentioned you to us not long ago, saying you were a dear friend of his cousin, Lady Delia Stratham, and quite a pretty girl, and that made my mother curious.” He grimaced. “I expect she’s considering the possibility of matching us up. Just thought I’d warn you,” he added, reddening, “because my mother is determined in her efforts to marry me off, and it could prove embarrassing for you.”

Evie laughed. “I understand, believe me, and I won’t hold it against you. Before my father died, he often tried to throw me together with the boy next door. Parents ought to be intelligent enough to know that forcing these things never works, but alas, they never seem to.”

“Mine certainly don’t,” he agreed with a long-suffering sigh. “Not that I mind,” he hastened on. “In your case, I mean. I’m sorry. That sounded rude.”

“It’s all right,” Evie assured him, laughing. “I take no offense.”

“Good, because I truly didn’t mean any. Because I like you,” he added, to her surprise, “and I wouldn’t mind at all seeing you about town.” As if embarrassed by this sudden admission, he gave a cough and changed the subject. “I’m sorry about your father. Did he die recently?”

“Oh, no, it’s a decade ago, now.”

“And do you really live in a flat?” he asked, sounding oddly impressed. “All on your own?”

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