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"Gemma!" My name rings out. Tom has arrived at last. He rushes over, hat in hand, that annoying lock of hair flopping into his eyes."I thought you said Paddington Station."
"No, Thomas," I say, forcing a smile for politeness' sake. "I distinctly said Victoria."
"You're mistaken. You said Paddington!"
"Mr. Middleton, may I present my brother, Mr. Thomas Doyle. Mr. Middleton has been kind enough to wait with me, Thomas,'' I say pointedly.
Tom's face pales. If he's feeling ashamed, then I am glad for it.
Simon smiles broadly. It makes his eyes dance. "Good to see you, Doyle, old boy."
"Master Middleton,"Thomas says, offering his hand. "How fare the Viscount and Lady Denby?"
"My mother and father are well, thank you."
Simon Middleton is a viscount's son? How could someone as kind and charming and titled as Mr. Middleton be on familiar terms with my disagreeable brother?
"You are acquainted with each other?" I ask.
"We were together at Eton," Simon says. That would make Simon--the Honorable Simon Middleton--my brother's age, nineteen. Now that I'm past my shock, I see that Simon is also handsome, with brown hair and blue eyes. "I'd no idea you'd such a charming sister." "Nor did I," Tom says. I take his arm, but only so that I can pinch the inside of it without being seen by Simon. When Tom gasps, I feel better and stop pinching. "I do hope she hasn't pestered you too much."
"Not at all. She was under the impression that someone was following her. A man in a dark suit with a, what was it? A hideous scar upon his left cheek."
I feel very foolish about that now.
A flush rises up Tom's pale neck."Ah, yes. The famous Doyle imagination. She's likely to become a writer of mystery novels, our Gemma."
"I am sorry to have bothered you," I say.
"Not at all. It was the most exciting part of my day," he says with such a winning smile that I believe him. "And you were most helpful with this," he adds, holding up the velvet box. "Our carriage is just outside. If you care to wait, I could offer you a ride."
"We've our own carriage waiting," Tom says smugly.
"Of course."
"It was a most generous offer," I say."Good day to you."
Simon Middleton does the most extraordinary, daring thing. He takes my hand and gives it a courtly kiss. "I do hope we shall meet again over the holiday. You must come to dinner. I shall see to it. Master Doyle, carry on." He gives Tom a grand tip of the hat, and Tom returns it as if they are two old friends playacting together.
;But he followed me over here." "We are near the way out." He points to the doors that lead to the street.
"Oh. So we are," I say. I am such a fool. "I'm terribly sorry. I am jumping at shadows, it seems. My brother was to meet my train. He is late, I'm afraid."
"Then I shall stay and keep you company until he arrives."
"Oh, no, I couldn't possibly . . ."
"You could be of help to me, actually," he says.
"What sort of help could I give?" I ask warily.
From his coat pocket, he pulls out a beautiful velvet box the size of a cracker tin. "I need a lady's opinion about a gift. Will you help me?"
"Of course,"I say, relieved.
He places the box on his open palm and lifts the top. There is nothing inside.
"But it is empty," I say.
