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“His cousin Myrna and he had a … an understanding,” she said primly, and he could tell the phrasing was not her own, but that milksop Allsop’s.

“His cousin?” he repeated and was not sure he had managed to keep the derision from his tone.

“Not a first cousin,” she hurried to assure him. “A second cousin, once removed.”

“Another sort of cousin,” he commented dryly, and she looked up quickly at his tone. He smiled to reassure her but could see from her expression she was not entirely convinced.

“Myrna contracted consumption and died of it on her twenty-first birthday,” she explained. “They hired the best doctors, but nothing could be done to save her. It was all very tragic.”

“And when was this?”

“Three—no four years ago last Whitsun.”

Clem forbore to comment further on this, and in any case, they had now reached the church gate. They both paused as one before it and eyed each other.

“Well,” he said, “here we are.”

“No going back now,” she added with a clear wobble in her voice.

He paused and glanced down at her. “Do you need a moment?”

“Not at all,” she assured him hurriedly. Strange to say, her own show of nerves settled any vestiges of his own.

Their brief meeting in the vestry with the vicar was surprisingly painless. Theodora looked extremely sincere and attentive, and Clem was at his most respectful. After this, they passed into the nave and sought out a pew at the back of the church. When they emerged an hour later from the gray stone church, they found that the fog had started to lift, and it had now started to lightly rain.

Theodora squinted up at the sky and then turned to Clem. “So … we have a wedding date,” she commented, for Canon Bridgewater had said they could be married after four Sunday’s worth of banns.

Clem nodded. “We do indeed.”

She held her breath and turned very pink. Clem could not tell if she was thrilled or terrified at the prospect and he rather fancied neither could she. After a moment she thrust her hand out again in that forthright gesture of hers. “Until next Sunday, then,” she said bravely.

“I’ll see you into a cab,” he said. “My manners aren’t quite so shabby that I would allow you to wander off into the fog alone.” He took her arm and steered her in the right direction. “How is your arm, by the way?” he asked.

“My arm?”

He frowned slightly. “Where you burned it.”

“Oh, that.” She gave a slight laugh. “I completely forgot about it in all the excitement. It is quite healed.” She cast him a quick smile. “Thank you for asking.” The sound of an approaching cab had her wheeling about. “Stop! Cab!” she cried, before Clem had the chance.

When it halted, Clem stepped forward and opened the door for her. He helped her up and leaned against the top of the door for a moment before it pulled away. “Same time, same place, next week?”

She nodded so hard the tassel on her hat swung about and hit her in the face. “Yes please,” she said, though she looked scared out of her wits at the prospect.

It was not until the cab pulled away that Clem realized he should have told her not to bother writing to him via Albert the following Friday, for they had already fixed their next meeting. For some reason, he was not unduly bothered about the needless exchange of letters.

In fact, he thought suddenly brightening, he should ask her to Sunday lunch next week. He could take her somewhere respectable and convince her that he was nothing but a big softy at heart, then maybe she would stop trembling every time he touched her. The fact it was a complete lie did not bother him overmuch.

SEVEN

Theo spent the next week in a state of nervous anticipation. For some reason, instead of settling her nerves, her Sunday morning with Clem had set them all a-flutter. She could not remotely understand why, for he had been his most affable yet. Really, he had been almost agreeable company, if she had not been so terrified at what they were up to.

Maybe it was because the memories of their first two meetings still lingered, she pondered on Tuesday as she chopped haphazardly at two large parsnips. After all, they had only met four times, and for at least half those times, Mr. Dabney had been frankly unappreciative of her talent and person.

“You have had a free ride in life and that is now over,” she seemed to recall with unfortunate vividness. Oh yes, and “standing around in a pair of silk breeches does not a male impersonator make.” That one had held a particular sting. Still, they were on the same page now and he did not seem to hold her in such contempt anymore. At least, not openly.

Theo wiped her brow with her forearm and surveyed the chunks of parsnip with disfavor. What was it she had been planning to do with them anyway? She debated a moment before scooping them up and throwing them into a pan of water. One boiled parsnips, did one not? Overall, Theo found boiling vegetables to be less hazardous than roasting them. They were less likely to shrivel up into blackened hard lumps that way.

Her gaze traveled doubtfully over the other ingredients lying nearby, but they looked similarly uninspiring. Had she had some particular plan in mind for this evening’s meal? She stared blankly down at a leek, a stalk of brussels sprouts, and a pair of mutton chops, before shrugging and reaching for the sprouts. She may as well peel and prepare them for boiling too. It was unlikely she would be struck with inspiration any time soon. One good thing about her preoccupation with her scandalous plans was that it had left her mercifully indifferent to Felix’s scathing appraisal of her housekeeping skills, or lack thereof.