Chapter One #2
But there was nothing she could do now. Ditty watched, half despairing, half fascinated, as Mr Matthews rose from his knees and kissed his new fiancée reverentially.
The chink of champagne glasses, sipping of the bubbly liquid and muttered joyous nothings that were not, clearly, for her ears.
Glancing up, she caught the eye of the violinist and told him with the nod of her head, silently and from at least ten yards, precisely what to do.
The violinist began playing the overture from Mozart’s Magic Flute.
That told the proprietor of Rules restaurant that it was time to bring out the mock wedding cake with copious candles, dazzling and glorious, lighting up the whole restaurant.
The bright lights indicated to the florist she had hired, through much difficulty, to start scattering rose petals over the heads of the happy couple.
‘Oh, Mr Matthews!’
‘Anything for you, my dear.’
Ditty smiled as she relaxed back into her seat.
Well, the timings were completely off, she would never have sanctioned that sort of nonsensical speech—every day spent with you is one I want to continue forever, indeed—and she would be forced now to pay double to everyone else involved for the change in plan.
But it was a success. Of course it was. It was one of her proposals.
The tiredness she had managed to keep at bay suddenly rushed through her. A dull ache in the back of her neck, a throbbing in her shoulders, a heaviness to her head. The pins in her coiffure were far too numerous and her stays far too tight.
Perhaps she would take a week off before seeking out her next client, Ditty mused as Miss Evans burst into happy tears. She’d earned it.
Twenty minutes later—as per the agreed schedule, she could not help but think to herself—she rendezvoused with the happiest man in the world just outside the door to the kitchens.
‘It went perfectly!’ Mr Matthews said excitedly, a light in his eyes Ditty well recognised. It was the look of a happy client.
She nodded. ‘All of my matches are perfect. Though you did go off-script, Mr Matthews.’
He blinked as though he had never heard of a script in his life, and they hadn’t spent the last few days going over and over it. ‘What?’
‘The script we agreed,’ Ditty said patiently, resisting the urge to simply return home and collapse onto the chaise. ‘The one that detailed your appreciation of Miss Evans’s support through your medical degree—’
She could not continue for Mr Matthews was laughing too heartily. ‘Appreciation? Miss Oliver, I am in love!’
I can see that, Ditty wanted to say. But what about the plan?
‘I could not hold in such emotions during such a time—I had to speak from the heart!’
‘The heart,’ Ditty repeated, trying not to smile.
They were all the same, these romantics. They all believed they had a better understanding of romance than she did—she, who made a living from it!
But there was no point in arguing with them. It was why Thomas was such an excellent match for herself. They both had no interest in the pointless Valentine-style performances that filled so many courtships these days.
They knew where they stood.
But of course, now so did Mr Matthews. Ditty smiled. ‘I am happy for you, Mr Matthews. I will be leaving now, but enjoy your evening, and your New Year.’
‘And you, Miss Oliver,’ Mr Matthews replied, beaming. ‘And may you find true love!’
It was all Ditty could do not to roll her eyes as she departed from Rules into the freezing cold London air.
True love.
Ditty had never had much cause to believe in such a thing. Her parents had loved each other and what had that gained her mother? Nothing but heartbreak. She had barely considered a gentleman until six months ago, when she had come across Thomas.
‘Excuse me,’ she said, pushing past a happily clamouring crowd taking up much of the pavement.
One of the men leered. ‘Happy New Year, ain’t it?’
‘Not quite,’ Ditty said with a wry smile as she left the chattering group behind.
It would not be New Year until she dined with Thomas. Her sisters could never understand what she saw in him, and she trotted out the same speech she always gave.
He was solvent. He was unmarried. And he understood her passion for planning.
What else could a lady want?
Ditty pushed back a curl of golden brown hair as a familiar face stopped by her side.
‘Miss Oliver!’
‘Hullo there, Pat,’ she said brightly, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her heavy winter pelisse. The postman’s chirp put a smile on her face. ‘You’re out late.’
‘Post never sleeps, miss!’ the man said happily. ‘I thought you would be at home, but here you are—and here you are.’
Pat handed her a letter, relatively thick and sealed with a symbol she recognised.
Ditty smiled. It was perhaps one of the most foolishly romantic things she had ever done, she mused as she pulled off a glove to open the letter.
Selecting a bespoke seal for Thomas so she would always recognise his letters was not something she had ever done before, though it had a certain charm about it.
But it had not been designed for romantic purposes, she had been quite clear about that.
A proposal planner received a great many letters, and knowing his in a moment was a practical solution.
Besides, he lived right on the other side of London. Miles away, hours of walking if there was not a hackney cab to be found. And they were both so busy—sometimes they could go weeks at a time without even seeing each other.
‘G’night, miss!’
‘Yes, good night, Pat,’ Ditty said vaguely as she looked down at the letter, sidestepping a couple nuzzling together in a doorway. She didn’t even need to look up. Kissing couples were merely the backdrop of her world.
The seal easily broke and Ditty pulled out two pieces of paper. Oh. Thomas hadn’t written to her, after all. Oh, there was a short note…but the other paper within the envelope appeared to be from a solicitor.
A solicitor?
Miss Oliver,
Please find your cessation of relationship notice enclosed.
Yours respectfully,
Thomas Wright
Ditty blinked. It was a little formal, to tell the truth, even for Thomas. Her thumb was cold in the freezing December air as she opened up the other piece of paper, entitled ‘For Aphrodite Oliver, 31 December, 1811.’
And stared.
No. Surely she could not be reading—
‘Careful now!’
Ditty gasped as she almost strode straight into someone—but they were beaming.
‘Ditty, you’d lose your head if it wasn’t screwed on!’ Thalia said with a snort. ‘Got lost?’
Ditty’s features relaxed into a smile as she grinned at her brash, outspoken and frequently irritating younger sister. ‘Lost?’
Thalia pointed up at the building they were standing outside. ‘You’ve walked straight past our door. Something exciting in that letter—is Mama returning soon from her visit with Aunt Louise in Brighton? A new client, maybe?’
There was such hope in her voice, Ditty almost winced. Her sisters had been so understanding with her the last few days as she started to fret about this proposal concluding and leaving her with no income to speak of.
But her sister could not be more wrong.
‘Not really,’ she said awkwardly, suddenly conscious they were standing outside in a bustling street. ‘Come on, I’ll tell you upstairs.’
And so about ten minutes later, Thalia was curled up in an armchair while Calliope poured them all hot chocolates.
Calliope had a pencil shoved in her hair bun—an occupational hazard of being an artist—and Thalia slowly worked on adding paté de guimauve, or what she called ‘marsh mallows,’ arranging them carefully in their mugs.
Her passion for poetry and beauty meant she was always looking for perfect balance.
And while they did that, Ditty told them.
‘A…a cessation of relationship notice?’ Thalia said, eyes wide, legs tucked under her. ‘No.’
‘Yes,’ said Ditty ruefully.
‘No!’ Calliope thrust the hot chocolate into her hands with wide eyes.
‘Yes.’ Ditty nodded.
It was hard to believe, even saying it aloud. She and Thomas had never spoken much about the future—at least, not after they had mutually agreed to court.
What had been the point? Ditty had elaborated on her five-year plan, indicated precisely when she would need Thomas to propose if he was serious about courting her, and gave him a copy of her weekly schedule.
He had sent her a notarised copy of his own five-year plan by the early-morning post the very next day.
They understood each other. Better than anyone. Better than all these romantics.
At least, she had thought they did.
‘I have never heard of such a thing!’ Thalia said expansively, slopping hot chocolate over her hand with her wild gesture. ‘Oops.’
While she licked her hand, Calliope looked firmly at Ditty. ‘And you had no idea this was coming at all? He didn’t say anything to you about this?’
Ditty hesitated, and took a sip of the delicious steaming hot chocolate to give her time to think.
Not that she needed it. She and Thomas hadn’t spoken for…
why, it must be a week now. Perhaps more than a week.
No, it was definitely a week: he had called on Christmas Day, according to their landlady, who lived in the rooms below them, and she had missed it because she and her sisters had been out for a bracing walk—but she had read his hastily scrawled note and returned a note in kind. He had probably read it.
That counted, didn’t it?
And she should be sad. She should be, yet sadness would not come. There was a strange sort of ache, an emptiness. Was that what one was supposed to feel when one’s courting gentleman ended things by letter?
‘Ditty?’ Calliope’s eyes were looking more concerned with every passing moment.
Ditty leaned forward, snuggling into the large, misshapen chaise that took up most of the small drawing room of their lodgings. ‘Honestly, you mustn’t worry.’