Page 82 of A Winter By the Sea
“True. In that case, let’s give it a go.” She consulted her notes and began.
“Over the last twenty years, Sidmouth has rapidly advanced from an obscure fishing town, containing a few—” She broke off. “No. Composed of? Comprising? Sorry.... Consisting of a few handsome, I mean, homely cottages...”
Face heating, she glanced over and found him writing away, unperturbed, pausing to dip the quill every five or six words.
He appeared completely at ease, and she wished she felt half as comfortable. Along with being nervous, she was distracted by his attractive profile and the warm, masculine scent of his shaving soap.
She pressed her lips together, then went on. “To an attractive ... Scratch that. To a populous and well-built watering place, possessing every convenience desirable to those who wish to enjoy sea-bathing, healthful exercise, cheerful society, or elegant amusement.”
Again she glanced over. “Do I need to repeat any of that?”
“I think I have it. Just one minute more...”
The man must have an incredible memory.
When he stopped writing, he looked up at her expectantly.
For a moment she sank into his dark eyes, her concentration crumbling once again. She told herself such feelings were only natural, not disloyal. She would be distracted by any attractive gentleman sitting this close to her. Charles most of all.
He gently prompted, “Whenever you are ready.”
She inhaled deeply and continued, “Besides sea-bathing, the town also offers two libraries furnishing opportunities of general information and social converse. As well as a public walk, and ball and assembly rooms, beaming with the smiles of youth and beauty.”
She looked at him with a wince of embarrassment. “Overdone?”
“Not at all. Very vivid. You express yourself well.”
“You are kind to say so.”
He said, “These ball and assembly rooms you mentioned. Do you attend balls there?” He looked down as if self-conscious at the question.
“On occasion.”
He opened his mouth to say more. Glanced at her, then away again.
Seeing his hesitation, she asked, “Do you like to dance, Mr. Thomson?”
“I do, yes. Although I admit I am somewhat out of practice.” He swallowed, then added, “Perhaps we might ... attend ...together? Once your hand is better? In the spirit of writing an accurate description, of course.”
“Of course,” she echoed, then stilled. Had she just agreed to more than the need for an accurate description? Had she agreed to go with him? She pushed her uncertainties aside and focused again on her notes.
They continued for another half an hour, until Emily realized it was growing late.
“Enough for tonight, I think. A good start. And I certainly accomplished far more than I thought I would, thanks to you.”
“My pleasure. Let me know when I might help again.”
“Thank you. That would be most appreciated.”
16
On Sunday his cold was still worse, but he had asked people in for the evening and would not cancel the party.
—Cecil Woodham-Smith,Queen Victoria
In church that Sunday, Emily made a point not to sit next to Mr. Thomson, attempting to put some distance between them, physically and otherwise. Instead she wedged herself between Sarah and Georgiana. If he noticed, he made no sign. He opened his prayer book and held it between himself and Selwyn During, silently offering to share. Mr. During angled himself for a better view.
Emily recited the responses and prayers and tried to concentrate on the service. Despite her efforts, her ears singled out his voice among the others, especially when the congregation sang a hymn.
