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‘What is it, Theo?’ He looked up with a start to find Nell, elbows on the table, chin on cupped hand, regarding him with a twinkle in her eyes. A bath, a change of linen and another good meal had restored her, both in spirits and in looks. He could have wished she had fallen asleep the moment her feet were over the threshold. ‘You were smiling,’ she explained. ‘Wistfully.’
‘That sounds maudlin,’ he said, trying to make a joke of it. ‘Don’t I often smile?’
‘Not like that. Not as though you had just seen something you loved very much, something in a daydream.’
‘Very maudlin,’ he confirmed. ‘Just thinking about something I can never have.’
‘Of course. I’m sorry.’ She looked embarrassed and he suddenly realised she thought he had been thinking about the words he had let slip on the summit of the hill above Beaumartin. No doubt she had assumed he was pining after some unobtainable love. What would she say if he told her he was dreaming about her?
‘Look.’ The crackle of unfolding paper had him snapping out of his self-absorption. ‘I asked the waiter for a map. It’s a bit dirty and creased, but it shows Maubourg. How much longer do you think it will take us?’
‘Four days, three nights, unless we hit bad weather or problems on the road or the horses weaken. I’m not intending to force the pace.’
Nell’s face lit up. ‘Four days? Oh, good. Theo, I’m enjoying this so much now.’
‘You are?’
‘Of course. Mind you, we need to shop.’ That smile, the one that went right to the base of his spine, lit up her face. ‘I never thought I’d hear myself say it, but I really, really, want to shop for clothes now. I never enjoyed it before—it was a chore when everything had to be so practical and, anyway, I was convinced I looked plain in anything I bought. You have given me pleasure in dressing up.’
‘It’s a good thing I’ve got plenty of money, then,’ Theo teased, warmed by the thought he had done something so simple that had given her pleasure. He indulged a fantasy of playing at husband and wife, of shopping together, buying her presents and little luxuries. He would wager that frivolous indulgences, small pieces of frippery nonsense, had never entered Elinor’s life. Well, they would now. ‘Arnay will be fine for the essentials, I am sure.’
And Lyon for the luxuries. He would keep that as a surprise, find a modiste who could deliver in two days. It would delay them a little, but Nell would arrive at Maubourg with a wardrobe befitting the cousin by marriage of the Grand Duchess, whether she liked it or not. And he firmly intended that she would like it very much.
‘Excellent, I’ll make a list, then.’ To his amusement she produced notebook and pencil in a most domestic manner. ‘Linen, a robe. A plain walking dress. A cloak, I think. Yes, that’s all.’ Theo hid an inward smile at the modest list. ‘What do you need?’
‘More linen. Shoes—I’ve spent too long in these boots. Toothpowder.’
Elinor stopped writing and looked up. ‘Brushes? A nightshirt?’
‘Yes, those too,’ he conceded. ‘You are being very housewifely. I thought you had no talent in that direction.’
‘I am merely being practical,’ she said severely. ‘Someone has to worry about toothpowder.’
‘No,’ Theo said, straight-faced, suddenly feeling relaxed and warm and in the mood for teasing. ‘No one should have to worry about toothpowder, and certainly not the intellectual Miss Ravenhurst, who has a mind above such matters.’
‘Beast.’ She threw the notebook at him, missing by a country mile. Theo stretched out one arm and caught it.
‘Why can’t women throw?’ he enquired, with every intention of being provocative.
‘Because we do not waste our time in childhood chasing balls,’ she retorted. ‘Give me my notebook back.’
‘No. I shall read it. Perhaps it contains your diary and every secret you possess.’
‘You, Theophilus Ravenhurst, are no gentleman.’
‘So I have been told.’ He began to flick through the pages, not at all sure what he expected to find. What he did not anticipate was a pencil sketch of his head and shoulders. He was looking away, utterly focused, eyes narrowed. He could not place it, then saw the suggestion of a slender arch in the background and realised she must have done it that morning in the church at St Père, while they were sketching.
‘Give it back.’ She sounded tense. ‘That is private.’
‘It is very good. What are you so worried about? I’ve got all my clothes on.’
‘Oh! You—’
She dived for the book as it hung provocatively from his fingers, managed to get a grip and then was pulled firmly on to his lap and locked there by his arm. ‘Let me go, Theo, or I’ll bite you.’
‘You wouldn’t—ow! You little hell cat.’ She was off his lap and round the other side of the table, eyes sparkling, her laughter a positive incitement to any red-blooded male. Theo gave chase, dodging, feinting, always his fingertips a fraction of an inch behind her until they faced each other from opposite ends of the rectangular polished wooden table. Theo vaulted up, took one long step and slid on his knees to her end, arriving just in time to snatch her into his arms and crash off the table on to the settle beyond.
‘You idiot!’ she managed, whooping with laughter.
