Chapter Five #2
He chuckled. ‘You think a lawyer would drive a dog cart like mine?’
For a moment, just a moment, she laughed with him, and Henry found his spirits soaring.
He’d been wracked with guilt after their last conversation, had hoped to make amends, but had not expected this.
To stand like this with a pretty woman, to hear her laugh at something he said.
This was what he had missed. What he had thought he would never share with anyone ever again.
And yet here she was, that dimple appearing once more in—
Miss Oliver forced her face straight. ‘No, I suppose not. What do you do, then? Or are you a gentleman of leisure?’
Henry swallowed. She was infuriating, and wrong about so many things…but she was also passionate, and clearly clever.
And she would be leaving soon.
Oh, people enjoyed Brexley for a few days, perhaps two weeks. It was a great place to come for a visit, a chance to leave the smog of London, he was sure…but people like her, they didn’t stay.
And although he could not explain it, Henry wasn’t ready to open himself up to someone who wasn’t going to be here next month.
‘I—I am a manager,’ he said stiffly.
Why he did not tell her the truth—that he was a doctor, an unexpected duke, that he had far more facets of his personality than she could conceive—he did not know. It would almost be like attempting to earn her praise.
And he would not do that with a title as ridiculous as Duke of Glanyrafon. One he certainly hadn’t earned.
‘Really?’ Miss Oliver attempted a smile. ‘How fascinating…’
Her voice trailed away, her mind evidently unable to maintain the conversation any further.
Which did not explain why Henry was so exasperated by her instant lack of interest. Why should it matter? Miss Aphrodite Oliver would soon be gone, getting her coin from his brother in the process, and she would be gone without a second look back.
But none of that explained why the sudden desire to share with her about the Brexley Lodge for Gentlemen and Ladies of a Certain Age, to get her to smile again, overwhelmed him.
It was not the only thing overwhelming about her. She looked delightful, all bristling curves and firm pouting mouth—
Henry swallowed, his jaw inexplicably tight. ‘It’s actually rather amusing. You see—’
‘And what would you say is the best restaurant in Brexley?’ Miss Oliver said, cutting across him and showing no interest in what he was saying.
Henry forced down the retort that he had already told her this, and that it was offensive—not to mention upsetting—she had already forgotten.
She wasn’t here for you, he reminded himself.
‘I think most people rate Reg’s place the highest,’ he said shortly. ‘Though that’s not difficult.’
Miss Oliver stared, utterly perplexed. ‘What do you mean?’
‘It’s the only restaurant in town.’
‘The only—you cannot be serious.’ Miss Oliver’s eyebrows frowned.
Henry tried not to notice the thin line that appeared between her puzzled eyes, the way their colour deepened as she considered his words.
‘Brexley is a small town,’ he reminded her, as a gentleman passed and wiggled his eyebrows at the pair of them. He tried to ignore it. He failed. ‘This isn’t a big city, you know. We don’t have restaurants on every street. We have King’s Street. If it’s not on King’s Street, we don’t have it.’
If only he could remove the terseness from his voice. Henry loved this place, and he wasn’t doing Brexley any favours by describing it like this to an outsider.
Miss Oliver’s frown deepened. ‘You are in earnest?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m doing a survey of the place, looking at potential locations,’ she said airily. ‘I thought I’d check out Mr Cantelli’s place—’ Henry almost smiled at how easily she said that, as though she’d lived here all her life ‘—and compare it to the others. But you’re saying…there aren’t others?’
Henry tried to smile. ‘There’s a tavern about five miles out, on the stagecoach road, and there is a tavern for the local working men, but I doubt that Charles has stepped foot in there in his life.
Mrs Fletcher does breakfasts for her guests, you’ll know that, but there are no other places.
Unless you become very friendly with a resident, of course. ’
What on earth had possessed him to say such a thing?
Miss Oliver obviously was wondering the same thing. ‘I see,’ she said carefully. ‘Well, in that case, it’ll be Mr Cantelli’s.’
Sudden realisation dawned. Henry groaned. ‘Oh, not a restaurant proposal, I beg you!’
It was the wrong thing to say. Miss Oliver’s nostrils flared and pink patches appeared on her cheeks which had nothing to do with the wintery temperature.
‘And what, precisely, is wrong with a restaurant proposal?’ she said defensively.
‘Oh, it’s such a cliché! I am sure it’s a clever idea in the city but don’t you think it’s been done?’ Henry could not help but say.
In a way, he was disappointed. After all her impressive speeches at Charles’s, he’d rather thought she would come up with something wild. Totally impractical, but at least better than a restaurant proposal.
He could do better than that!
‘Oh, indeed, has it?’ fired up the woman who never ceased to amaze him. ‘I suppose you know better than I do where a lady wishes to hear a proposal?’
Pushing aside the memories of Georgiana and finding much to his surprise that they did not surface, Henry nodded. ‘I think I do.’
‘Then why don’t you find a lady to propose to, then?’ she shot back.
The blow, though it did not hurt as he had expected, still landed. Henry’s jaw tightened. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘I could say much the same to you,’ Miss Oliver retorted, smoothing down her gown as though that would soothe her nerves. ‘I believe I am the professional here.’
‘You may call yourself whatever you like,’ Henry said, noting the brilliant sparkling eyes and the flushed cheeks. Was she…enjoying this? Was he? ‘That does not make this restaurant idea of yours any good—’
‘It’s a brilliant idea, and has a 100 percent success rate,’ Miss Oliver was saying curtly. ‘Why, the last proposal I planned was a restaurant—’
‘There you are, then,’ Henry interrupted, throwing up his hands. ‘Come on, Miss Oliver. I thought you’d be more inventive than that. You’ll put yourself out of business that way!’
She stared, face pale now as though he had just insulted all her relatives, living and dead. The colour draining away from her cheeks was startling, and as Henry tried to work out what on earth he could have said to upset her so, she swallowed hard and turned away.
‘Aphrodite!’ Henry called after her. ‘Blast—Miss Oliver!’
She completely ignored him, striding up King’s Street without looking back.
Henry bit his lip. Now, why had he pushed her right to the edge…and what had he said to end their conversation so swiftly?