Page 38 of The Troublemaker

He looked at her like she had grown another head.

“Well?” she said.

“Fine. I guess we’ll convene sometime after work?”

“Yes,” she said. “I’ll see you then.”

She went about her daily appointments, and mentally planned the various things that she would prepare for her high tea with Lachlan. In fact, she thought about it all day. But that wasn’t unusual. She often thought about Lachlan all day. He was like an extension of her in many ways. She couldn’t explain that exactly; it simply was.

She didn’t have a full day of appointments, so when she got home she decided to quickly put together a batch of scones and some lemon curd. But she forgot what a pain in the rear lemon curd was, and by the time she had finished whisking it, her arm felt like a limp spaghetti noodle. But everything looked lovely. However, she did wonder if Lachlan would really appreciate any of it. They were going to have a spread that had multiple pieces of silverware—because you didn’t really get that at tea. But he could pull her chair out for her and put his napkin in his lap. That wouldn’t kill him.

She would be picking Byron up at the airport in two days, and after that, their time together would be severely limited. So they might as well enjoy this now.

Why did she think about Byron like somebody coming to end something? It was a very strange thought. He wasn’t that. Not at all.

But she didn’t have time to ponder that anymore, because then Lachlan showed up.

“So my deep question to you,” Lachlan said, “is if I should be offended that you clearly found my manners on our date to be wanting.”

“It isn’t bad. It wasn’t lacking in the extreme. It’s just that... You know, you could probably benefit from even more instruction.”

“Was I not a gentleman?”

“You were,” she said. “You gave me your jacket. You opened the car door for me. You could have scooted my chair back for me, however.”

“Oh,” he said. “My apologies, my lady.”

“I’m not trying to be like that. I’m trying to do exactly what you asked me to do.”

She looked at his face, and she could see that he kind of enjoyed this. Teasing her. Flustering her.

She knew this about him. She did. So she shouldn’t actually be surprised at the way he was behaving. But she was a little bit.

She was selflessly helping him. Of course, the side effect of such selflessness was that she got to eat a scone and some lemon curd. But still. She had provided it all. He could settle down.

“All right. So what kinds of things do I talk about in such a civilized setting?”

“First of all,” she said, moving over to the table, “you pull my chair out.”

He did so, grinning down at her. “My lady.”

“You said that already.” She sat in the chair, and he pushed her up to the table. It was a bit abrupt, but funny, so she couldn’t help but laugh, even though she knew he was being purposefully recalcitrant.

That was the problem with Lachlan. He was charming even when he shouldn’t be. He had always been like that.

There was something that felt reduced inside her ever since that date. Some wall that had begun to crumble, that she didn’t really want to examine.

She felt so...raw after that experience. Part of her wondered if she had simply suggested today because it was an etiquette lesson, rather than a replacement for something he would be doing with another woman, which had made her feel sort of hollowed out inside. And she didn’t particularly like the sensation of being a Charity husk.

She skirted the edges of that enough, in the depths of her grief over her father. She didn’t need to add to it. She just felt so raw. And this was the problem. Almost everything was beginning to feel like a loss. Like a new layer of grief. Even Byron’s coming to visit, which should feel joyful, felt like a loss of time with Lachlan. A loss of her normal routine, and it jarred her.

She was extremely fragile in some ways and places. She didn’t quite know what to do about it. Didn’t quite know when it would resolve. If it would resolve.

“Now what?” he asked.

“Elbows off the table,” she said.

He had his chin rested on his knuckles, his elbows firmly planted there.

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