Diane Gaston - Rumours in the Regency Ballroom

When she headed back towards Berkeley Square, Samuel realised he’d not found an opportunity to speak to her, although it somehow had not seemed like time wasted.

When she entered Gunter’s Tea Shop, a confectionary in Berkeley Square, he saw his chance. Samuel hurried into the shop behind her.

“A lemon ice, please,” she said to the shop assistant. “And six of those.” She pointed to marzipan displayed under glass, perfect miniature pears and peaches and apples, confections made from almonds, sugar and egg whites.

He stood behind her, his heart beating a little faster. He could easily see over her head. She was no taller than the level of his chin. She turned and gave him the briefest glance with those big blue eyes. He nodded to her, and she turned away again.

The shop assistant produced the lemon ice and packed the marzipan into a box, tying it with string. The maid handed the shop assistant her coins. When she walked past Samuel he had a whiff of lemon from the lemon ice, but also a hint of lavender.

He stepped up to the counter. “A lemon ice, as well.” He wanted to ask the shop assistant to be quick about it, but held his tongue.

The maid took her time leaving the shop, admiring the delectable fare displayed under glass on both sides of the aisle. He’d nearly had a chance to speak to her and still might if the shop assistant hurried with his lemon ice.

His quarry walked out of the door.

“Your ice, sir.” The shop assistant handed over the dish.

Samuel threw down his coin and hurried out after the maid. As he’d hoped, she was seated on a bench near a tree, her basket beside her. He sauntered over.

He nodded to her again. “I see you, like me, could not resist a lemon ice even on this chilly day.”

She glanced up, a spoonful in her hand, “That is so,” she said softly. She shivered prettily as she swallowed it.

Samuel dipped his spoon in the treat, taking a generous portion and swallowing it at once. Pain seized his entire chest.

“Oh, that hurt,” he gasped. “Did you ever do that? Swallow something cold and have it feel as if someone had punched you in the chest?”

She glanced at him, looking uncertain as to whether to speak to him. “You should take it a little at a time,” she finally said.

After dipping his spoon into the ice again, he lifted it to show her the tiny portion before letting it slide slowly down his throat. He grinned at her. “That was a great deal more pleasant.”

She glanced at him again and turned her attention back to her own lemon ice.

He took another spoonful. “I am Mr Samuel…Charles,” he said, taking the name of the street that had been his detour in following her. “I know it is forward of me to speak to you, but I am new to London. I do think it is so much nicer to share the eating of such a treat as an ice, than to eat it alone, do you not agree?”

She nodded ever so slightly and shifted in her seat, knocking the box of marzipan out of her basket.

Samuel picked it up and put it back in.

“Thank you, sir,” she said, briefly meeting his gaze.

“Will you be eating all that marzipan alone?” he asked.

She smiled. “Oh, no, sir. It is my treat for my lady and the others.”

“For your lady?”

She nodded again, but with less reserve. “I am a lady’s maid, sir.”

“Do you always bring your lady such delicacies?” He kept his tone soft and friendly. It was not difficult to do with such a sweet and pretty girl.

She smiled at him. “Oh, no, but it is my treat. We are celebrating today.”

His brows rose and his heart accelerated. “Celebrating? And what do you have to celebrate? Something wonderful?”

Her smile widened and her eyes sparkled and, for a moment, Samuel forgot everything but how charming she looked. “We are celebrating good fortune!”

“Good fortune?” By his tone he encouraged her to go on.

She merely nodded happily and scraped the last of her lemon ice from her dish. She picked up the basket and stood.

He quickly finished his own ice. “Allow me to return your dish for you.” He reached for it and his glove scraped hers.

“Thank you, sir.” Her eyes caught his again.

He continued to peer into their depths. “Would…would you like to share a lemon ice again? I could meet you right here whenever you say.”

Her expression turned serious, but she did not look away. Finally she answered him. “Saturday. Around one o’clock? I think my lady might not mind.”

His smile was genuine. “I will be delighted. It…it pleases me to have a friend with whom to share my lemon ice.”

Her lashes fluttered and her face flushed pink. Before he could say another word, she curtsied and hurried off.

Samuel watched her rush away before he returned the dishes to the tea shop. He had not wormed very much out of her, but more would come.

Saturday at one o’clock.

He was surprised at how much he looked forward to sharing another lemon ice with her.

Adrian opened his eyes to bright daylight illuminating his bedchamber. He twisted around in the bed linens to look at the clock on the mantel.

It was about to chime two o’clock.

He groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed. His valet appeared. “Do you rise now, m’lord?”

Adrian rubbed his face, wondering how his man always seemed to know the instant he awoke. “I suppose.”

Dawn had been showing its first glimmer of light when Adrian walked home from the gambling den where he’d spent the night hours at a table of whist. His profits had not been spectacular, but, then, he had not been as keen at keeping track of cards. Too many other thoughts intruded.

Every win, every loss, was measured against the sum he had given to Lydia and, thus, he’d kept her constantly in his thoughts, distracting him, leaving him feeling unsettled.

Hammond stood next to the bed, holding his banyan so that Adrian had no choice but to stand and be assisted into the garment. He padded over to the basin, not surprised that the water in the pitcher was warm. How Hammond accomplished having warm water no matter what the hour of Adrian’s rising was another unfathomable mystery.

Adrian splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth, then sat so that Hammond could shave him. Same as he had done the day before and the day before. Boredom was a dreadful thing. What did one do when that which once relieved boredom now merely added to it? Hammond left to prepare Adrian’s breakfast while Adrian finished washing up.

He walked into his drawing room where Hammond had prepared a table for him with slices of cold ham, cheese, bread and jam. There was also a fresh pot of hot coffee and copies of the morning newspapers.

Adrian sipped his coffee while looking through the papers. He came to an article in The New Observer:

The certain gentleman, whom we have now identified as Lord C—, and with whom Lady W—was so recently linked, has lately visited several jewellery shops…

Adrian sat up. Good God .

This was Reed’s newspaper. Reed had identified him.

Adrian turned hot with fury.

The damned man had probably followed him, as well.

If Adrian caught Reed following him again, there would be hell to pay and he’d see Reed paid it.

How much did the man know? Adrian perused the column again and blew out a relieved breath. Reed thought he’d been purchasing jewels.

It was nearly half past three before Adrian ventured out. For wont of any other place to go, he headed towards White’s. The air felt damp as if rain was in the offing, and other pedestrians on the street seemed to keep their heads down. To Adrian, the cold was bracing and it felt good to walk at a fast clip.

He was almost invigorated by the time he walked into White’s, but, as soon as he stepped into the coffee room, he knew something was wrong.