‘What went wrong?’
Henrietta’s heart sank as Nancy confronted her, hands planted firmly on hips, at the bottom of the stairs. She’d been relieved to spy several customers in the shop when she’d come back in through the kitchen earlier, allowing her to sneak up to her bedroom and change into her yellow shop dress unnoticed, but now it seemed she wasn’t going to escape an interrogation so lightly. Which was the very last thing she wanted, especially after she’d just made such a fool of herself in front of Mr Fortini.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ She smoothed her hair, making sure it was tucked neatly behind her ears while she maintained a calm and collected expression. ‘Nothing went wrong.’
‘Something must have happened for you to be back here so soon.’ Nancy looked unconvinced. ‘I said that you should take your time and enjoy yourself. Where is Mr Fortini anyway? Why didn’t he escort you back?’
‘He escorted me to the end of the crescent, if you must know, but I insisted on walking the rest of the way by myself. I’m sure he has better things to do than spend his time with me.’
‘He seemed pretty keen on your company this morning.’
‘I’m sure he was just being polite.’
‘I doubt it.’ Nancy gave a sceptical snort as they made their way through to the shop. ‘Men are never that polite to me.’
‘He invited both of us.’
‘He was looking at you while he said it. I’m not blind. It was perfectly obvious it was you he wanted to walk with, just like every other man who comes in here, I might add. It’s a good thing I don’t want a husband or working with you could prove extremely frustrating.’
‘You shouldn’t put yourself down. You’re very pretty.’
‘No, I’m not, but you’re a good friend to say so.’ Nancy removed her hands from her hips finally. ‘My hair is too red, my face is covered with freckles and I have an awful temper. Men don’t like any of those things, or so my mother tells me.’ She grimaced. ‘Not that she’s an authority on men, but my aunt said it, too. And my grandmother.’
‘I’d rather that men didn’t look at me.’ Henrietta sighed. ‘Or at least it would be nice if one of them could actually see me, the real me, I mean.’
‘Is that what that awful outfit was about? You know you can be the real you without dressing like a scarecrow.’
‘I dressed for the cold.’
‘It’s not that cold. I’m surprised birds didn’t peck at you.’
‘Well, they didn’t.’ Henrietta braced her hands
firmly on the counter. ‘I might have looked a bit severe, but I didn’t want any misunderstandings, that’s all.’
‘And why do you always assume misunderstandings are your fault? You’re not responsible for what other people think. If men get the wrong impression, then that’s their problem, not yours.’
‘I know. Or I sort of know. I just don’t want to make any more mistakes or feel stupid again.’
‘I understand.’ Nancy placed a supportive hand on her arm. ‘But you’re not stupid, you never have been and you don’t need to hide away or pretend to be anyone other than who you are. You don’t see me pretending to be calm and patient, do you?’
‘Not often, no.’ Henrietta found her lips twitching. ‘Only you’re not getting out of this argument so easily. I didn’t want to go for a walk with Mr Fortini and you shouldn’t have suggested it. You were the one who said that men were more trouble than they’re worth!’
‘Most of them are.’
‘Exactly! You weren’t even convinced that he was Anna’s brother this morning.’
‘Yes, but once I looked closer, I could see that you were right about the resemblance. And if he’s her brother, then that means he won’t be anything like...’ Nancy paused and clucked her tongue ‘...like some men whose ears I’d like to box and will if I ever see them. Even I can accept there are a few exceptions to the rule. Besides, I thought you liked him.’
Henrietta gawked in surprise. ‘What on earth made you think that?’
‘Like I said, I’m not blind. You kept sneaking glances at him over breakfast.’
‘I did not!’
‘Yes, you did and you were fidgeting, but if it makes you feel any better, he was doing the same thing. It was putting me off my breakfast watching the pair of you.’
‘You were imagining things.’