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“I gathered.”
“I thought you liked her.”
Arthur decided to admit it. “I do.”
“But you ain’t…haven’t told her so?”
“I shall.”
“Need any more help?” asked Tom with a grin.
“More?”
“I been giving things a little push when I could. I learned a deal watching you.”
“You have.” It wasn’t a question. Arthur saw it all in that moment. He was mostly amused, and a touch appalled, at Tom’s efforts.
“Just give me a sign if you need another.” Tom made an airy gesture with his hammer.
Tables turning, thought Arthur. Not a comfortable sensation. He shook his head.
“It’s a bit harder, eh?” asked Tom.
“What is?”
“This matchmaking stuff. You’ve been backstage, like, but now you’re out front. And it’s trickier.”
“There’s no question of matchmaking here.”
“There never was, with any of the fellows,” replied Tom with a grin. “Until, all of a sudden, the question was popped.”
His case was entirely different, Arthur thought. And then he remembered the idea that had occurred to him before he came down to London this year—a new happiness. Was this the result? Had that impulse moved him to…here? He hadn’t gotten that far.
Tom was watching him with open amusement.
Arthur wondered where he’d thought he was going when he decided to talk to the señora. If shewasoffering encouragement, what then? He examined the idea of Teresa Alvarez as a wife. His wife. And found it enormously appealing.
Tom was called to help with another man’s project. As it was clearly going to take some time, Arthur waved a farewell and left the workshop. His mind was so full of new thoughts that he nearly collided with a small man outside the door. The fellow offered him a bow, and said, “Good day, sir. I noticed you were speaking with the lady who left a few minutes ago.”
Arthur stopped, surprised. “Señora Alvarez?”
“Alv…ah, yes. I was coming up the street just now to pay her a visit. But she was away before I could speak.”
How then did he know that Arthur had been talking to her?
“I was acquainted with her in Spain, you see,” the man added.
Arthur examined him—slender, inches shorter than he. His clothes were foreign, as was his face with its dark eyes and aquiline nose. He realized that those eyes were making a thorough evaluation of him as well. They held a subtle gleam of cunning. “Indeed?” he said.
The man smiled. “Indeed. I am Conde Alessandro de la Cerda.”
“Macklin.” Arthur knew this was not enough information for a foreigner to identify him, but he found he didn’t care to say more. There was something about the man that he didn’t quite like. He was rather…professionally ingratiating. Arthur’s position in life made the type familiar. Though this fellow was quite good at it.
“You are also a friend of…Señora Alvarez?”
“I met her recently.”
“Ah, a most charming lady, as all her old friends would attest.”
