Page 31 of Heartbreaker of the Ton
He picked up the lid. The pattern—delicate images of flowers in myriad colors—was exquisite. He might be ignorant in regards to antiquities and fine porcelain, but he was not so lacking in understanding as to be unable to recognize quality when he held it in his hands.
“Whomever you may be, K.P.M., you’re a master craftsman.”
“It’s Meissen,” a voice said.
He glanced up to see Etty standing before him. “I’m sorry?” he asked.
“The teapot.” She gestured to the shard in his hand.
“He’s the maker?”
She shook her head. “Meissen is a town in Germany, where the pot was made. My mother has a collection of teapots from the Far East. But I always preferred this one.”
She plucked the larger piece from his hand and smiled at the image.
“I always used to wonder what the figures depicted were talking about,” she said. “Papa said that most likely they wereasking each other how much longer they had to pose for the artist.”
“That seems a reasonable assumption to make.”
“Only if you consider the image literally,” she replied. “But I never thought of them as models posing for an artist to earn a coin or two. I saw them as characters in a story. Were they meeting in the garden in secret? Why did the one on the left look so sad?” She set the piece on the table and sighed. “Fanciful nonsense, my mother said. I soon grew out of it.”
“Not fanciful nonsense, but imagination,” Andrew said, placing the other pieces on the table beside the first. “Without imagination, the world would be a poorer place. And your teapot’s now broken. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Frannie didn’t mean to drop it, I’m sure.”
“It matters not,” she said, a flicker of pain in her eyes. “Everything breaks eventually.”
Then she fixed her gaze on him. “What matters more is what caused Frances to drop the pot.”
“Her hand slipped, that’s all.”
“At the very moment you referred tounwanted children.”
He opened his mouth to reply, and she raised her hand.
“Pay me the courtesy of refraining from deception, or denial,” she said. “I have no wish to pry, and nor do I relish gossip. But Frances carries a secret, and given that she is a child living in my home—for all that the world expects her to undertake paid work—I feel some responsibility for her welfare.”
“Frannie’s hiding nothing from you, Etty.”
Her eyes widened at the familiar address. “Perhaps not, but a secret exists nonetheless. I have no wish to distress Frances, please believe me. I only wish to ensure that I do not place her in any danger. I take it the secret has something to do with her sister Freda, and possibly Loveday Smith, whoever she may be?”
Good heavens!How could any creature possess such insight? “Loveday Smith is a young woman from the village with two children.”
“And are her children unwanted also?” she asked, resuming her seat.
“Of course not!” he replied, and her eyes narrowed at the vehemence in his tone. “Loveday is the kindest, gentlest creature in the village—save young Frances, perhaps.”
“Then perhaps it’s Frances herself who’s unwanted.”
His cheeks warmed under her scrutiny. “Mrs. Gadd is a kind woman, and…she loves Frances.”
“Young James, then?”
“She loves her son also.”
She exhaled, then leaned back in her chair. “Interesting.” The color of her eyes intensified, deepened by a sharp intelligence.
