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‘Not the woman I thought you were’, indeed. He had as much of an idea of her as any stranger who heard gossip of the Carter’s fainting, sickly niece.
Diane looked at him over her teacup, held just to her lips, about to take a sip.
“We did make a plan,” she said simply. “We’re having tea.”
Liam grumbled and rolled his eyes, shifting in the seat across the table from her.
Some hours into their escape, both their stomachs had started growling. The memory of the wedding breakfast that would have awaited them after the ceremony, the small buffet of food prepared for the guests, seemed to haunt them every quarter mile. Diane hoped that it had not gone to waste with her jilting Martin, but even thinking about the food left behind filled her with guilt as to what the reactions of the guests and her family must have been. It was a feeling like a swarm of bees, humming in her chest, ever present.
It mixed terribly with the empty complaints of her stomach.
When they came upon a signpost directing them to a nearby town, there was little discussion or protest from Diane's quarter when Liam turned them in its direction. They found somewhere to park the carriage outside a local oyster room for a lunch of dried salmon sandwiches and spruce beer.
The two of them had barely exchanged a word to one another during the whole meal, though it seemed having a full stomach softened some of the unease between them.
The first thing Diane said to him was her exclamation upon spotting a tea room across the street, on their way back to their stolen carriage.
“We must!” she had insisted most ardently, tugging at his arm to the door. Liam resisted every step across the street, but he proved defeatable to Diane’s efforts.
The little bell at the door chimed sweetly with Diane’s victory.
There was something nearly comical about watching Liam fitting into a seat meant for a petite lady, the sort that would frequent a tea room. It was doing wonders for Diane’s disposition, seeing how he tried to arrange his legs around the small table that barely spanned a foot and a half between them. It did not at all seem like a table for two, but one.
Still, it was nice to spend a few more minutes not pressed shoulder to shoulder, feeling Liam’s body heat radiate over her against the cool early spring winds. It was a sensation that nearly made her forget she was cross with him
Sitting across from him in such close quarters and finding somewhere to fix her gaze was its own little challenge, but one she was quickly getting good at.
“At some point we need to make a real plan,” Liam pressed on. “We need to figure out what we're doing.”
“No, no plans,” she shook her head, and tried to bury all of her attention in her teacup, watching a few specks of tea leaves swirling in its amber depths.
Liam glanced to the shop’s proprietor behind the counter, and the door their server had disappeared behind. The room was just about empty, save for them. Still, he leaned forward over the little table, to keep their conversation from prying ears.
He spoke so quietly, she had to lean forward to hear him. "We’re not going to have all the time in the world to figure out how to save your reputation."
Diane frowned.
She played with the pretty white tablecloth stretched between them absently as she put her thoughts together.
After several moments, she offered quietly, “I don’t want to stop and think about what's best for me. I don’t want to put myself back into that place of crossing off options until only the things left to me are those I can't stand.”
At that moment, the server came out of the kitchen with a slice of sponge cake on a plate. Diane’s eye stayed on the slice every step the girl took towards them, until she placed it on the lacey table between them.
“Are you sure there’s nothing you want?” the girl said, looking to Liam, cake-less, tea-less, looking as out of place as one could.
Likely, the only thing he wanted was a bigger chair.
He opened his mouth to answer yet another negative to her, when Diane interrupted.
“Another fork, I think,” she said with a smile to the girl, an idea striking her. She put down her own and waited, raising an eyebrow at Liam.
He eyed her and the slice of cake.
“Here you go, Miss,” the girl said, darting back to their side and placing it on the table between them. She glanced out the window that aligned with their table. “Is that your carriage?”
Diane held still, pulse quickening. “Um, yes?”
“Congratulations to you both,” the server smiled, nodding to the ‘Just Married’ sign hanging off the side of it.
