Ten minutes later there was a knock at the door, and Mary rushed to answer it while Helena arranged the tea things. When she returned to the drawing room, Mary had shown Gideon and a gentleman inside.
The gentleman was taller than Gideon, which was a feat in itself, as Gideon was rather tall. Sir Franklin stood perhaps a half head above him, his limbs long and slender. He wore a neatly trimmed beard in the shape of a goatee, which was not precisely the fashion, and his hair, a blondish brown, was cropped closely around his head, which was not the fashion either. He wore spectacles, but the sort that made a gentleman look distinguished rather than silly. And he carried himself with an air of quiet seriousness, as though he knew his own worth but saw no need to parade it.
She set the tea down and stepped forward with a curtsy.
“Sir Franklin, may I introduce my friend, Lady Helena Vale.”
He bowed before her and then held out a bouquet of roses.
“Oh,” she said, “I was not expecting flowers. Thank you very much.” She turned to Mary, who took them with a small smile, and turned back to her guest.
“I do hope they suit,” Sir Franklin said. “I always preferred to pick flowers myself, but I was told in the past that ladies do not appreciate it.”
“You need not have worried. I appreciate flowers of any kind.”
“Well, good,” he said. “That is good to know.”
“Will you take some tea?” she said quickly, before silence could creep into the room.
“I would,” he said, and took a seat by the fireplace.
She poured and set a cup before him, and was just about to sit down herself when she noticed that Gideon was still standing. She had arranged for Mary to act as chaperone, having assumed Gideon would simply escort Sir Franklin to her door and then take himself off again. Apparently he had other ideas.
“Is that peppermint tea I smell? I would rather enjoy a cup.”
She looked at him. He intended to stay. Here. While she met with a potential suitor. She held her tongue, knowing this was not the moment, and asked Mary to bring another cup.
“Sugar, Sir Franklin?”
“Two, please,” he said. “I try not to overindulge. The Good Lord reminds us that gluttony is a sin.”
“Of course.” She was genuinely grateful to hear it, as this was the last of the sugar in the house.
“Four for me,” Gideon said pleasantly.
She stared at him. Was he being deliberately contrary? She dropped two pieces of sugar into his cup — the second from slightly too great a height, so that a little tea splashed over the rim.
“Goodness, how clumsy of me,” she said, and handed him a handkerchief.
She took no sugar for herself and settled into her seat. “There are buns,” she said. “Mary made them fresh this morning. Nothing fancy, I’m afraid.”
“I am a humble man,” Sir Franklin said with a modest nod. “I do not require anything fancy. One should not overindulge in anything. Everything in moderation, I always say.”
“I fully agree,” she said. “Are you from town, Sir Franklin?”
“Born and bred in St. James,” he said. “And yourself? From Bloomsbury, I take it?”
“No, actually?—”
“Lady Helena’s father was a commanding officer in the Somerset militia,” Gideon said smoothly, “and the family grew up there.”
Helena stared at him. She was quite capable of answering questions about herself.
“Pray, Sir Franklin,” Gideon continued, unabashed, “how did you come by your knighthood? I am always curious how such things come about. Most of us simply inherited our titles — no great effort required.”
Sir Franklin straightened slightly. “His Majesty awarded it to me some twenty years ago,” he said, “in connection with a matter relating to church taxation. A rather complex business involving the redistribution of certain ecclesiastical revenues to the Crown. I was in a position to be of some assistance.”
“I see,” Gideon said. “Not through battle, then. Nothing particularly heroic in nature.”
