Page 38 of Debtor’s Daughter

“I thought I had best lay claim to some for you before we eat it all. I told you we would,” he said with a grin.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the plate.

As she took it, their fingers touched. The oddest sensation raced over her skin and her foolish heart skipped.

Maggie glanced up at him, wondering if he’d felt it too, and discovered his warm brown eyes upon her. He held her gaze far longer than he ought before he replied, “You’re welcome,” in a low voice that made her breath catch and warmth bloom inside her.

Maggie looked away, flustered, wondering if she was imagining things. Was he flirting with her, or was she being an idiot? She tried to remember how she had felt when William had courted her. Though it seemed a lifetime ago, as if it had happened to another version of her when she had been innocent and relatively carefree, she recalled the excitement she had felt, but had it been so tangible then? Had the brush of William’s hand sent her pulse racing, had she felt the lingering touch like she had been branded somehow, the warmth persisting long after it had ended?

Though they all exclaimed that they did not know how it was possible, Mr Weston was proven correct, and little remained of their lunch but crumbs. Once Mr Weston had paid, they thanked him excessively for the rare treat until he laughed and held up his hands, imploring them to stop.

“I told you it was my treat, and I promise you I enjoyed it as much as you did! If you wish to repay me, then I shall come to tea again and you may stuff me with cake to your heart’s content.”

“Indeed, we shall do so,” Aunt Connie said firmly. “Shan’t we, Maggie?”

“Certainly, if you would like to come, we will be pleased to see you. I believe you must know by now that you are always most welcome,” Maggie replied, finding her words were rather more earnest than perhaps they ought to be.

Mr Weston’s gaze met hers and he smiled, a smile that tugged at her heart and made her dream impossible dreams. “I shall hold you to that,” he said, and then turned to speak with Caro, making her laugh as he drew her attention to a shop window, leaving Maggie in a stew of happiness and confusion. Could she have been wrong all this time? Could it be that Mr Weston was not interested in Caro, but in her? The idea was so tantalising, so beguiling, her heart skipped, her skin aching with longing as she remembered his strong arms, and allowed herself to consider how it might feel to be held in his embrace. How desperately she wanted that, she realised with sudden clarity, understanding in that moment how much she needed to feel loved, to feel safe and wanted, and like she was no longer alone.

They made their way along Regent Street, stopping at this window and that, and beguiled by the dazzling array of fashionable people out on the street. Mr Weston seemed to know many of them, and pointed out a few, the most notable being Charles Kean, the famous actor. Son of the legendary Edmund Kean, his productions as the Princess Theatre on Oxford Street were famous for his meticulous research into historical dress and settings.

“Oh, how I should love to see him perform,” Aunt Connie lamented longingly, pressing a hand to her chest. “I’ve read so much about him and his performances, but we’ve seen nothing other than the travelling theatre shows that appear in the village during the summer months. They are most diverting, of course, but to see Shakespeare performed by such a man in a London theatre….”

Connie sighed and gazed after Mr Kean with a dreamy look in her eyes. Maggie pinched her aunt and gave her a stern look, quite certain she was angling to get Mr Weston to take them all.

“I’m sure that could be arranged,” he said, smiling at Aunt Connie.

“Oh, no, Mr Weston, you have been too good, too patient already. We cannot, will not, impose upon you further,” Maggie said in alarm, so afraid her sister and aunt would take advantage of his kindness that she glared at Connie and at Caro too, who was opening her mouth to protest.

Connie looked crestfallen but Caro stalked past Maggie, muttering ‘killjoy,’ under her breath. Maggie heard it, and she thought Mr Weston did too.

Aunt Connie hurried after Caro before she could get too far ahead, leaving Maggie with Mr Weston. She glanced up at him uncertainly, not wishing him to think ill of Caro for her complaint.

“She is so excited to be in London, she wishes to see everything all at once,” Maggie said by way of apology. “It’s just she’s very excited and—”

“You do not need to make excuses for Caro to me,” Mr Weston said, taking her hand and placing it on his sleeve. “It was you she was rude to, but really, there is no need to refuse my invitation. I promise you I should never have offered if I did not wish to accompany you. I’ve had a delightful time today, you know. It’s fun seeing everything that is familiar to me for the first time through your eyes.”

“I’m sure we must seem like bumpkins to you,” Maggie said ruefully.

“Not at all. I think you are all the most charming companions a fellow could hope for.”

He smiled down at her and Maggie gazed helplessly up at him, wishing she understood him, that she knew what it was he wanted from them, if anything. Perhaps he really was just a kind fellow looking after his neighbours, treating them as his friends, or was it Caro he wanted? Or did she dare hope…?

Perhaps he recognised the worshipful look in her eyes and realised his neighbour was an unsophisticated fool, for he looked away from her at once, his expression unreadable.

“Come along, Mrs Finchley,” he said briskly. “The Parthenon Bazaar awaits if you have the stamina for it, and your aunt and Miss Caroline are getting away from us. We’d best catch them up.”

Larkin cursed himself. What the devil was he playing at? He’d been lulled into foolishness by the pleasure he’d taken in the day so far. The three women were, just as he’d said, the most charming of companions and he’d enjoyed treating them and squiring them around town. But it was Mrs Finchley who captured his attention, Mrs Finchley whose beautiful profile he could not stop gazing at. No doubt it was all the fault of that blasted dream. It had returned to him nightly, each time a little different, each time allowing him to explore the adventure, and the woman, a little further. This morning, he had woken aroused and restless and longing to take her in his arms. He wondered if he was confusing reality with the woman that existed in his imagination, for she was everything that was passionate and welcoming, responding to his touch in a way that made him ache for her. It was this captivating creature whose hand he could not resist touching, just to see the colour rise to her cheeks, could not resist flirting with just a little, only to see how she reacted to him. Yet she was not his dream lover, but flesh and blood, and he was being cruel, for he did not mean to pursue her. Did he?

Suddenly he felt certain of nothing, his heart a confusion of longing and desire and the desperate need not to make another stupid mistake. Was he doing it again, forcing himself into a woman’s life when she did not want him there as anything other than a friend? Were those blushes because his attentions embarrassed her? Suddenly, he felt uncertain of everything, of what he wanted, of what Mrs Finchley wanted, or needed.

Before Elmira, he’d been as carefree and pleasure-loving as any of his friends, despite his ‘do gooding,’ for which they often teased him. But he’d had no trouble with women, though he’d been a little more careful than some of his companions, understanding what consequences women bore more keenly than perhaps his friends did. Life had seemed a good deal simpler then, and so he had not questioned his feelings for Elmira or hers for him, which he ought to have done. Now, however, he did nothing, but question and the questioning only left him increasingly confused.

He was relieved therefore when they arrived before the Parthenon Bazaar, and he could stuff all his misgivings and anxieties into the mental cupboard where he put anything he did not wish to look at. For now, he wished only to live in the moment, to enjoy the women’s company and take pleasure in the joy they found in shopping in such exciting new surroundings.

The Parthenon Bazaar had once been one of London’s most fashionable theatres but had ultimately failed and fallen into disrepair. Since then, it had been lavishly remodelled and repurposed. The party walked inside under the porch and into an elegant vestibule with a display of statuary. Taking the stairs, they found themselves in a picture gallery but did not stay long to view the offerings, which they all agreed were a little humdrum and of no greater quality than they might find in local exhibitions around Norfolk. Eager to see more, they discovered the room led onto a gallery which housed a magnificent toy bazaar. Maggie gasped with delight and immediately set about finding a gift for Gideon whilst the Misses Merrivale gazed over the balcony at the floor below.

“Why, but it’s enormous,” Miss Caroline exclaimed, her lovely face lit with joy.