Page 160 of Rakes & Reticules
Despite all he’d learned about this woman—one he now admitted stirred his blood—his curiosity had only been piqued rather than satisfied. How had she ended up in Cheapside? What happened to her husband? Did she have a child? Sam was confident he’d discover her past and its secrets if he was patient. He was one of Paddy’s Peelers, after all.
CHAPTEREIGHT
True to his word, Dr. Brooks met her on Sunday and bought his usual bounty of pastries. They had agreed to repeat their tea on Wednesday. Dottie knew she shouldn’t encourage him, but the man was so persuasive and such good company. On Tuesday, Mrs. Clatterly teased her about her “beau.”
“He’s a fine-looking gentleman, though Mr. Clatterly is reserving his opinion.”
“As am I. In fact, I wonder why he’s interested at all. I’m sure he would have no trouble courting a young miss from a good family.” Why a widow with no social standing?
“You’re still a lovely young woman. Whywouldn’the be interested?” Mrs. Clatterly poked Violet’s belly. “What do you think of him?”
Violet frowned and shook her head, then ran to the sink and put on her apron. Dottie watched her thin shoulders shake as she scrubbed furiously at a pot. Was she jealous? They would discuss it later. The poor dear had enough sorrow in her life.
The following day, Dottie dressed carefully, telling herself it wasn’t for Dr. Brooks. She wore a Devonshire brown walking dress, with the heart-shaped pendant her father had given her nestled above the square neckline. “Violet, how do I look?”
Violet grinned and nodded. Dottie had explained to her the previous night that, if it were in her power, nothing would ever part them. Knowing how life could change in a heartbeat, she couldn’t promise the girl that it wouldneverhappen. No one could make any guarantees in this world. Dottie would never lie to the girl.
As she entered the public room, Mr. Wells waved to her from a table near the fireplace. She smiled and waved back. Several other patrons greeted her as she walked toward Dr. Brooks. He stood, smiling and handsome in pale trousers, a light-blue coat, and a white-and-blue striped waistcoat.
“Mrs. Brown, you look lovely.” He bowed and took her hand before pulling back a chair. “I’ve ordered tea, and Mr. Clatterly is not scowling so harshly at me this week.”
She laughed, her nervousness disappearing at his touch. “His bark is worse than his bite.”
They discussed a variety of subjects, laughed, teased, and drank too much tea.
“May we meet again? Please don’t make me wait until Sunday to say yes.” He leaned forward as if about to share a secret. “I am not too proud to beg.”
She chewed her bottom lip, watching pedestrians pass by the window and deliberating the wisdom of beginning such a friendship. “I suppose we could do this again.”
“Would you consider an outing to Farrance’s for tea? I will only keep you a respectable amount of time. Perhaps we could take a stroll in St. James Park afterwards if the weather permits.”
“That does sound tempting.”
“We could enjoy a treat you didn’t have to bake yourself.”
“That might be nice. Yes, I accept. When?”
“Next Wednesday? And of course, I must see you on Sunday or the hospital board will be very disappointed.” He rose when she did and took her hand. “Thank you for a wonderful afternoon.”
* * *
Sampson snappedthe reins and the pair of gleaming chestnuts lunged forward into the traffic. He deftly handled the O’Briens’ black-lacquered curricle, thinking he’d eventually need one of his own. The top was down—for now. It was a sunny day, and he was eager to be with Mrs. Brown without the Clatterlys or other patrons listening. He wanted to ask about the girl, about her late husband, and how long she’d been widowed.
Most of all, he wanted her close beside him, elbows touching, smelling her scent as the breeze drifted his way. She smelled of citrus and cinnamon and cloves. He wanted to blow on those dangling auburn curls, jealous as they caressed her neck. Sink back into the velvet squab and study her profile, the delicate ears, the straight nose, the perfect chin, and the long lashes. For the third time in a week, he had dreamt of her—walking along the canal at St. James, strolling along a beach in Brighton, dancing at a ball. Each time it ended with a kiss. Would he be disappointed? For he fully intended to kiss her today. If had to put the top up and throw his greatcoat over them, their lips would meet.
He grinned as he turned onto Watling Street and slowed the pair in front of the Clatterlys. A lad ran up to take the harness, remembering Brooks from the past two weeks. “Ye can count on me, my lord,” the boy said with a nod, a cocky slant to his shoulders. “I’m yer man.”
With difficulty, Sam hid his smile and tossed the boy a coin. Entering the tavern, he peered around the room until his eyes adjusted from the bright sunlight. The hearth to the right crackled, several men sat in a back corner arguing good-naturedly over something, and the ever-so-congenial Mr. Clatterly sat with his arms crossed, only a slight scowl today.
A small girl with wild blonde curls escaping a too-big mobcap came from the kitchen, walked behind the bar, and tugged on Clatterly’s waistcoat. To Sam’s surprise, a delighted smile transformed the man’s face. It was amazing—or the child was, for the barkeep looked like a different person.
The lass caught Sam staring at her. The brown eyes widened, and she turned and dashed back to the kitchen. As soon as she disappeared, Mrs. Brown came out. She wore the same gray dress from their first tea with a small hat perched on her head. He wondered if he’d be able to breathe if he saw her in a ball gown. Mrs. Clatterly helped her on with her brown redingote.
“Dr. Brooks, how good to see you again.” She smiled, then waved to the men at the table, who paused in their argument to wave in return.
Sam bowed and she took his arm, a beaming Mrs. Clatterly behind them, the little blonde hiding behind the older woman’s skirts. He swore the girl frowned at him with the exact scowl the barkeep always wore.
After helping Mrs. Brown up and into the curricle, he maneuvered the chestnut geldings around other carriages, hackneys, carts, and pedestrians. Cheapside Street was hectic, even in midafternoon, with businesses crammed along the busy thoroughfare. Sam would never understand the lure of the overpriced and limited shopping on Bond Street compared to this industrious area.
