“Fine. We have been busy enough.”
Carter was amazed at how easily Lady Pamela had responded to Miss Danvers. Apparently, her stutter was less prevalent when she was speaking to a friend. He wasn’t overly familiar with the affliction, but that explanation made sense.
The two women put their heads together and Carter knew precisely when Lady Pamela told her he was in the store because Miss Danvers stiffened, and for a moment, he thought she would flee. Before she could do that, he stepped out from behind the bookcase. “Good afternoon, Miss Danvers.”
“Mr. Westbrooke.” she nodded at him. “Such a surprise.” Her smirk baffled him. Was she pleasantly surprised, or annoyed?
“I am afraid w-w-e are about t-t-to close the store for our t-t-tea break,” Lady Pamela said. He then noticed the store was empty except for the three of them. “W-w-would you c-c-care to join us f-for tea?”
Miss Danvers swung her eyes to Lady Pamela with an expression that should have set the poor woman’s clothes on fire. The polite thing to do was refuse since it was obvious Miss Danvers did not want him there, but he could not let this opportunity pass him by.
Instead, he bowed. “I would be delighted to have tea with such charming ladies. Thank you very much.”
Lottie wanted to shake Pamela. The last thing she wanted to do was sit down again with the earl’s son. That was how she’d thought of him since their ill-fated lunch when she learned he was a member of the ton. He must surely know her mother. Or at least know about her. As she tossed and turned in bed that night, she had the horrible thought that perhaps he’d even availed himself of her services.
It was that consideration which sent her to the water closet to bring up the little bit of food she’d eaten that day. Then she calmed herself with the thought that if he knew her mother that well, he would have noticed—and most likely commented on—the likeness between them.
She had been much happier living in Bath dealing with her young charges and her two friends before Mr. Westbrooke had entered her life. Why couldn’t he go away and leave her alone? Then she wouldn’t have to acknowledge this ridiculous pull she had toward him.
As they made their way to the back of the store, Lottie fought the beginning of a megrim. She glanced at Mr. Westbrooke as they all settled in the chairs surrounding the table that held their tea things. He was still studying her in a way that only put her m
ore on edge. He was such a wonderful man, she hated that he might think she didn’t care for him.
She did care for him. Probably much more than she should. But she could not change who she was or who he was. His family no doubt expected him to make an excellent match and that certainly did not mean a courtesan’s daughter. They would be appalled.
Pamela hopped up and retrieved another cup, saucer, and plate for their guest and began to pour the tea.
Lottie was afraid to even pick up her cup since she knew her hand was shaking like leaves clinging to the branches in a windstorm. If she were to get through this, she had to gain control of herself. She was a strong woman, and it was only tea.
She took a few breaths and looked Mr. Westbrooke in the eye. “I see you have two books there, Mr. Westbrooke. What have you selected today?” She congratulated herself. Despite the perspiration that had broken out on her upper lip and forehead, she managed to speak like a normal person.
She had actually put two sentences together and did not trip over her words or sound like a squeaking mouse. Nor had she dropped a biscuit in his lap, or dumped tea over his head.
The smile he bestowed on her alarmed her. It was apparent she’d made him happy by simply speaking with him.
Please, no. No, no, no.
He picked up the two books and looked at the covers. “Flatland by Edward Abbot Abbot.” He grinned. “I don’t know why he has two of the same names.” He placed that book back down on the table and read the other one. “A Little Tour of France by Henry James.”
“Oh, Mr. Westbrooke, d-d-did you know M-m-miss Danvers went to s-s-school in France?” Lady Pamela said.
“Yes. Miss Danvers shared that information with me.”
“How very odd that you chose that book,” Lottie said. It could have been a coincidence, but she didn’t think so. “Just as strange as you popping up in Lottie’s bookstore twice in the past week.”
He had the decency to flush. “I’ve always had a great deal of interest in France, actually. And books.” Mr. Westbrooke laid that book on top of the other one. “Now I have a question for you ladies.”
Force of habit had Lottie sitting quite still, almost as if waiting for a blow.
“Y-yes, Mr. W-w-westbrooke?” Pamela sat forward; her pretty face full of curiosity.
“I would love to escort both of you lovely ladies to the Assembly Rooms Saturday evening.”
“Oh, how lovely,” Pamela said. She turned to Lottie. “Isn’t that wonderful, Lottie? We’ve always wanted to go, but never had an escort.”
“Yes. Just lovely.” Lottie glared at Mr. Westbrooke who had the temerity to grin.
Lottie paced her small bedroom thinking of every excuse she could possibly come up with to add to the partially written note, addressed to Mr. Westbrooke, sitting on her desk in the corner of the room.