table. In a sudden surge of anticipation she turned in his direction. Not looking at what she was doing, her sleeve caught the slice of Madeira cake on her plate, sweeping it off.
‘Oh!’
She tried to catch it as it fell but succeeded only in giving it a whack so that it landed in several pieces at the young man’s feet. Flustered and embarrassed, she made an ungainly lunge in her tight skirt to retrieve it, her elbow catching the plate she’d been holding. It landed on top of the already broken cake, splattering it even more. All eyes turned towards the disruption.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry!’ she gasped in dismay.
She was vaguely aware of a reassuring hand on her arm, the slim fingers gently curling around it.
‘Allow me,’ he said in a low, easy tone. Before she could stop him he had bent and gathered up both plate and lumps of cake, depositing them in the hands of the lady dispensing teas who had hurried around the table to see what she could do.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I seemed to have been a little clumsy.’
The older woman simpered before the fine blue eyes. ‘Not at all, dear man. Accidents happen.’
‘Thank you,’ he said in the same low tone and turned back to Eveline, she by now blushing furiously. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she managed. She was aware of Connie looking on. ‘I’m fine, thank you. But it was my fault. You shouldn’t have taken the blame.’
‘It shouldn’t matter,’ he said. ‘It’s over now.’ He was regarding her closely. ‘I’m sure we’ve met somewhere.’
‘Ambrose Hall, a few weeks ago,’ Eveline blurted without thinking. It was too late to retract. She saw Connie regarding her with some amusement. ‘A few weeks ago,’ she repeated lamely. ‘We didn’t speak, though.’
‘I remember,’ he returned. ‘I was sitting a little way behind you.’
He didn’t need to say more. She was painfully aware from the look in his eyes that he recollected their glances meeting, and her turning a second time to look at him. The memory brought up her colour quite violently. What must he be thinking of her?
‘I’m glad I’ve met you again,’ he was saying. ‘As there’s no one here I can ask to introduce us, I will introduce myself if you have no objection.’
She gave a small shake of her head, still aware of Connie looking on, less amused now so she thought. Was she seeing her as an outrageous flirt?
‘My name’s Laurence Jones-Fairbrook, Larry,’ he ended lightly.
‘I’m Eveline Fenton,’ she said in a small voice. Then, unable to help herself, she burst out, ‘Is that young lady you’re with your fiancée?’
The question instantly struck her as utterly rude, but he laughed, half turning to where his companion sat talking to another woman. ‘My cousin,’ he said lightly. ‘She’s a bit of a suffragette and when in town likes to pop in here, but insists I chaperone her, though why, I don’t know. She’s a capable enough person. Still, only right I oblige.’
Connie had put her cup of tea back on the table. She laid a discreet hand on Eveline’s arm. ‘I have to be off. I shall leave you two together. I’ll see you on Tuesday evening at the pageant?’
Eveline’s gaze was trained on Laurence’s handsome, narrow face as if held there by a magnetic force, relief and delight all but overwhelming her. ‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured absently, aware that she was alone with this man, alone in the crowd of departing attendees.
‘You’ll be at the pageant?’ he asked quietly. As she nodded he said, ‘Then I shall make certain to be there too. My cousin will have gone home, but I shall look out for you, if I may. If you don’t mind?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Very well,’ he said.
Going home a little while later, her heart pounding with excitement, she could hardly believe what had happened, that he was actually unattached, had spoken to her, had even spoken of seeing her again if only at the
‘Oh!’
She tried to catch it as it fell but succeeded only in giving it a whack so that it landed in several pieces at the young man’s feet. Flustered and embarrassed, she made an ungainly lunge in her tight skirt to retrieve it, her elbow catching the plate she’d been holding. It landed on top of the already broken cake, splattering it even more. All eyes turned towards the disruption.
‘Oh dear, I’m sorry!’ she gasped in dismay.
She was vaguely aware of a reassuring hand on her arm, the slim fingers gently curling around it.
‘Allow me,’ he said in a low, easy tone. Before she could stop him he had bent and gathered up both plate and lumps of cake, depositing them in the hands of the lady dispensing teas who had hurried around the table to see what she could do.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I seemed to have been a little clumsy.’
The older woman simpered before the fine blue eyes. ‘Not at all, dear man. Accidents happen.’
‘Thank you,’ he said in the same low tone and turned back to Eveline, she by now blushing furiously. ‘Are you all right?’
‘Yes,’ she managed. She was aware of Connie looking on. ‘I’m fine, thank you. But it was my fault. You shouldn’t have taken the blame.’
‘It shouldn’t matter,’ he said. ‘It’s over now.’ He was regarding her closely. ‘I’m sure we’ve met somewhere.’
‘Ambrose Hall, a few weeks ago,’ Eveline blurted without thinking. It was too late to retract. She saw Connie regarding her with some amusement. ‘A few weeks ago,’ she repeated lamely. ‘We didn’t speak, though.’
‘I remember,’ he returned. ‘I was sitting a little way behind you.’
He didn’t need to say more. She was painfully aware from the look in his eyes that he recollected their glances meeting, and her turning a second time to look at him. The memory brought up her colour quite violently. What must he be thinking of her?
‘I’m glad I’ve met you again,’ he was saying. ‘As there’s no one here I can ask to introduce us, I will introduce myself if you have no objection.’
She gave a small shake of her head, still aware of Connie looking on, less amused now so she thought. Was she seeing her as an outrageous flirt?
‘My name’s Laurence Jones-Fairbrook, Larry,’ he ended lightly.
‘I’m Eveline Fenton,’ she said in a small voice. Then, unable to help herself, she burst out, ‘Is that young lady you’re with your fiancée?’
The question instantly struck her as utterly rude, but he laughed, half turning to where his companion sat talking to another woman. ‘My cousin,’ he said lightly. ‘She’s a bit of a suffragette and when in town likes to pop in here, but insists I chaperone her, though why, I don’t know. She’s a capable enough person. Still, only right I oblige.’
Connie had put her cup of tea back on the table. She laid a discreet hand on Eveline’s arm. ‘I have to be off. I shall leave you two together. I’ll see you on Tuesday evening at the pageant?’
Eveline’s gaze was trained on Laurence’s handsome, narrow face as if held there by a magnetic force, relief and delight all but overwhelming her. ‘Yes, of course,’ she murmured absently, aware that she was alone with this man, alone in the crowd of departing attendees.
‘You’ll be at the pageant?’ he asked quietly. As she nodded he said, ‘Then I shall make certain to be there too. My cousin will have gone home, but I shall look out for you, if I may. If you don’t mind?’
She shook her head. ‘Not at all.’
‘Very well,’ he said.
Going home a little while later, her heart pounding with excitement, she could hardly believe what had happened, that he was actually unattached, had spoken to her, had even spoken of seeing her again if only at the
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