Page 42 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“I dislike being referred to as poultry,” she told him, making him chuckle.

“How about mo leannan?” he asked, lowering his voice.

She shot him a suspicious glance. “What does that mean?”

“Ye are a clever lassie, ye can figure it out,” Hamilton teased her, wishing fervently they were alone so he could tell her just what it meant in private.

She huffed and looked away from him, and they were silent as the soup course was served. Conversation rippled up and down the table, though Hamilton paid it no mind. He was only interested in the woman beside him now. The scent of her reached his nose, something delicately floral and entirely feminine. Roses, perhaps? It was too faint to be certain, and the desire to trace it back to its source was tantalising.

“I did like them. Very much.”

Hamilton glanced around at her in surprise, smiling with pleasure as he realised she had finally answered his question.

“I am glad. I wished after that I had sent ye roses, or lilies, but—”

“Oh, no. I should not have liked those half so much,” she admitted. Hamilton held his breath as she turned her face to his. “They were perfect.”

“Like yerself,” he said with a smile.

To his dismay, she frowned and looked away. “Please don’t do that.”

Hamilton was about to ask what she meant by that but the conversation at the table swelled to encompass her, and she was lost to him for the next quarter hour as Mr Barker monopolised her conversation. Hamilton shifted restlessly, condemned to converse with Miss Fleming, which was a simple enough exercise if one turned the conversation so she could speak about herself. Still, listening, usually something he did with ease, was a challenge as he tried to eavesdrop on Clara’s conversation with Mr Barker at the same time. The fellow had certainly set his sights on her, that much was clear. Hamilton felt a sudden kick of anxiety behind his ribs and told himself not to be daft. Just because Mr Barker was a respectable banker did not mean he was a better prospect.

He considered this with a sinking sensation as he realised her father might view the match in a different light altogether. Moyra was right. He’d been a fool, and he’d be a bigger one to drag his heels.

“I lived in Thorney,” Clara was saying to Harold Barker, the next words muffled until she exclaimed with delight. “You don’t mean it! Not really. But when were you there? Do you mean to say you know Mrs Kershaw?”

“She’s my aunt,” Mr Barker said, sounding triumphant at the discovery. “There, I knew we had things in common. We are destined to be great friends, Miss Halliday, for fate has tied its ribbons about us.”

Hamilton made a sound of disgust that had Miss Fleming looking at him oddly.

“A bone,” he said hastily, pointing at his throat as the fish course was removed.

“Yes, I know Mr Ludlow too. Of course, of course, a dear old fellow. Always losing his spectacles.”

“Yes!” Clara replied, laughing, such a genuinely merry sound that everyone at the table turned towards her. “But how is this? How can you have visited, and Papa and I never have known of you?”

“Ah, but your father does know me,” Mr Barker said with obvious satisfaction. “And I believe I had the misfortune of calling upon him once when you were away visiting your aunt.”

“Oh! That’s how it happened,” she said, shaking her head before adding ruefully. “And of course, Papa would never think to inform me that anyone interesting had called upon us.”

“I am flattered in the extreme to be considered worthy of noting, Miss Halliday, and I can only curse my rotten luck that I did not get to meet you sooner. But fate has decided to smile upon me, at last.”

“Perhaps fate was being kind in keeping you out of my company,” Clara replied, rallying. “You do not know me well yet. Perhaps I will turn out to be a dreadful trial.”

“That, I cannot allow. Not under any circumstances,” Mr Barker said, his voice soft now, and Hamilton noted the blush rising to her cheeks with increasing irritation.

“How is Jimmy?” he asked her, determined to steal her attention back again.

Clara turned away from Mr Barker to regard Hamilton. The blush had faded but her eyes still sparkled with merriment and the sight pleased him more than he could credit despite the jealousy that nagged at him. It was wonderful to see her happy, to watch her shining in company rather than hidden away in the vicarage where no one could see how very special she was. She ought to preside over a grand dinner table, her fortunate husband, the envy of every man present. The desire to have her attention entirely for himself was suddenly paramount in his mind and he determined to keep it.

“He’s well, I thank you.”

“Your father—”

Clara shook her head. “No, he doesn’t know, though I’m feeling horribly guilty about that.”

“Nae, lassie. Ye did a wonderful thing. I am proud of ye for it.”