Page 103 of A Much Maligned Miss

“I thought this navy bonnet matched rather well,” she answered, touching the brim.

“It merely suffices. We need to visit a milliner.”

She sighed. “Do you remember when you said I could indulge in my cousinly fantasy with you?” she asked cheerfully.

Gervaise blinked and cleared his throat. “I beg your pardon?”

“You know,” she said. “How I always wanted a cousin to tell all my confidences to, and write letters to and share girlish confidences—”

“Oh, that,” he interrupted. “Yes.”

“Well, it occurred to me that you have made good on that promise too,” she said, squeezing his arm.

“You have not written me a single letter,” he could not refrain from pointing out. Now that he came to think of it, he felt rather put out about that. He would not mind a letter or two from her to carry about in his pocketbook.

“What? Oh, no, but we live together so the need has never arisen. But I do tell you my thoughts and how I spend my day, and—”

He made a skeptical noise in his throat. “Sometimes you leave things out,” he said critically.

“Well, I could not possibly tell you everything,” she pointed out reasonably. “You would be unspeakably bored.”

“Doubtful,” he responded at once. “Nothing you do or say bores me.”

“Really?” She caught her breath.

“Yes, really.”

“Oh. Shall I write you a letter, then?” she asked.

“Yes, do. And sign it with your full name, if you please. I’ll have no half measures if we are to play out this fantasy.”

She gave a chuckle. “Shall I embroider you a handkerchief too? Like the one I made for Cynthia one Christmas. Or perhaps I could make you a pen wiper, like I did for Diana.”

“I will accept one of each,” he answered generously. “It is the least you can do. For neither will take up as much of your time as that miniature gown you are sewing for my godson’s doll.”

“That is true,” she conceded. “I have never made anything so elaborate before in my life.”

“Did you finish it this morning?”

“Not quite.” She reached for his hand. “This is nice. Going out to lunch, I mean.”

Their fingers entwined. “Yes, it is,” he agreed, rubbing his thumb over her gloved knuckles.

“Where are we going?”

“Wards. It’s a hotel in Mayfair.”

She gave a happy sigh. “Mayfair! If they could all see me now.”

“Do you think your family will have puzzled it out yet?” he asked casually. “That you ran away to London. With me,” he said in answer to her quizzical look.

“I was not speaking of—of Penarth. I have been trying not to, if I am honest with you. Thoughts of home are not…” Her throat closed on the words, and Gervaise was sorry he had raised the matter.

“You will like Wards,” he said. “It is very grand and impressive. Even more so than The Citadel.”

“I don’t believe that for an instant!” she said, rallying at once. However, when they drew up outside the hotel’s opulent frontage, she was forced to take this back.

“I am glad I did not have to wear my old burgundy gown,” she murmured as he helped her down. “I doubt the doorman would even have admitted me!”