Chapter Eighteen
Ditty’s key scraped in the lock, as though it had become unformed through lack of use. It took three goes to gradually turn the key, and when she pushed the door open, a wash of memories soared over her.
The umbrella by the door they never put away. The pair of boots she recognised immediately as Thalia’s. A pelisse, Calliope’s or one of her own, Ditty couldn’t tell, just visible on a hook.
I’m home.
And yet, as Ditty stepped in, pulled her trunk in and shoved the door shut, it didn’t feel like home. There was a strange emptiness to the place, as though no one was living there.
Which was foolish, Ditty tried to tell herself as she hung up her pelisse and pulled off her winter boots. She’d lived here for years, with both of her sisters and their mama. It was silly to think the place was empty.
‘Hello?’ she called out.
No answering voice replied, no happy squeals that she was, after almost a month, home. No rushing footsteps to welcome her.
No hint of hot chocolate on the air, or stew in the kitchen.
Ditty’s shoulders slumped. Then she started to drag her trunk toward her bedchamber.
It was foolish of her to just assume they would be home.
Calliope would be out somewhere on one of her painting commissions, and Thalia was surely on a walk seeking more inspiration for her poetry.
It was only now, as she heaved her trunk onto her bed and looked at her books, all lined up in colour order at the moment, that Ditty realised just how cold it was.
Not their lodgings. London.
At Brexley, she could not help but think, there would be someone here to welcome her. Mrs Fletcher, or Miss Vivienne. Certainly Mavis and Avril would want to see her.
And even if they were not there at… Ditty pushed aside all thoughts of Brexley. Home was not with Henry. It was here.
But even on the streets of Brexley, she had felt the camaraderie and connection of the people around her.
Reg would smile, the baker and butcher would wave, Vicar Melview would greet her warmly and offer her a cup of tea.
Kids would play in the street, giggling all the while, with no fear of rushing carriages.
Here, in London, she’d had to shove her way along the pavement or else she would have still been at the coaching inn. Someone had glared and Ditty had smiled back, but her smile had swiftly faded.
‘Well, I’m not in Brexley,’ Ditty said to herself, falling backward onto her bed and looking up at the ceiling. ‘I’m in London.’
And she was needed here, wasn’t she? Her sisters could not do without her, and she needed that in turn—needed that purpose. Purpose she could not get from a duke.
Not that he had said anything. Henry. No promises had been made. He hadn’t misled her, not really, she thought wretchedly. It was only…
Unless there’s a reason… I should stay?
Ditty had really thought, for a moment, he would say something. Something like what he had been about to say, maybe, when they had danced the first dance at the Lodge’s Valentine’s Day Ball. They had made love and yet the vulnerability that truly mattered, that of the heart, had never occurred.
It was just a fancy of her imagination, she told herself sternly. If Henry had felt anything more than mutual respect, he would have said something. He was supposed to be the big romantic of the two of them, after all! Wouldn’t he have said something?
Her smile faded.
If he had asked her to stay she would have thought about it. Definitely considered it. Maybe even—
‘Goodness, whose pelisse is— Ditty! Ditty, are you here?’
The front door to their lodgings slammed, and Ditty could not help but smile at the sound of Calliope’s voice. The scatty artist had immediately noticed her pelisse on the rack.
‘I’m in here,’ she called out, then added hastily, ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
For some reason, she didn’t want Calliope in her bedchamber.
Not just yet. She needed a moment to collect herself, to remind herself she was back in her old life.
Her life in London. Her matchmaking reputation was saved, she reminded herself severely, and that was the whole purpose of going to Brexley in the first place.
Not to fall in love with emotionally distant doctors who happened to be penniless dukes…
‘Oh, my goodness, a small town suits you!’ Calliope exclaimed as, a few seconds later, Ditty stepped out into the drawing room. ‘Thalia’s out, busy being inspired by nature. You look wonderful!’
Ditty looked down at herself. She couldn’t see anything different. Well, except…
‘Oh,’ she said helplessly, pulling at the fabric of her scarf. ‘Mavis knitted it for me. To keep me warm in the big city, she said.’
Ditty had been painfully touched when the two older ladies had taken her aside after Charles’s proposal. It had been nice, of course, to say goodbye, but it was the fact they had made her parting gifts that had brought a lump to her throat.
‘And those ear-bobs, are they new?’ asked Calliope from the sofa, where she was curled up with a blanket before jumping up for an embrace. ‘You went on a spending spree without me?’
Ditty grinned as she slipped onto the other half of the sofa, drawing up her feet and tucking them under her skirts. ‘Not quite. A gift, from Avril. She made them, you know.’
Calliope beamed. ‘You met some creative people, then? People you think you’ll write to?’
And Ditty had to hesitate.
Mavis and Avril had promised to write. She’d promised Reg she’d keep in touch, too.
And Mrs Fletcher. Both of their businesses were going to surge after this, she told them.
Ditty told her she’d recommend all her friends to her inn.
Even Miss Vivienne had asked to be kept up to date with her news.
Charles had promised her references and a guest bedchamber anytime she was passing through.
Everyone had wanted to stay in touch…except Henry.
‘Ditty?’
She blinked. ‘Yes?’
‘You sort of drifted off there for a second,’ said Calliope with a frown. ‘Like you were thinking about something unpleasant. Nothing happened there, did it? What happened in Brexley?’
Ditty swallowed. What had happened in Brexley?
In a way, nothing. She had gone there to do a job, and she had done it. Memories of Charles and Miss Yorke’s proposal drifted through her mind, and a swell of warmth overcame her. She’d done an excellent job—the perfect proposal.
And she’d done more, hadn’t she? Reg’s restaurant was being buoyed by a market stall now which was apparently taking the town by storm, and if she was any judge, he would keep it up even when the restaurant roof was fixed.
The Brexley Lodge for Gentlemen and Ladies of a Certain Age was saved.
Ditty’s heart fluttered as she thought of the celebration she’d put on with only two days’ notice: the laughter of the children playing the games, the craft room selling out within the hour…
the frantic kisses by the gardener’s shed and the dance she’d shared with Henry.
Even Miss Vivienne had mentioned she’d be stocking more daisies in future, now she knew they were Ditty’s favourite.
Yes, plenty had happened in Brexley, Ditty had to admit. She had changed the town, irrevocably, and it had changed her.
But one thing had not happened in Brexley, and that was why she could not bring herself to speak.
Calliope was waiting, patiently at first, and then not so patiently. ‘You know, the way you talked about that town in your letters, I honestly thought you were going to pack up and move there. I thought you’d want to stay there forever.’
Ditty bit her lip, and apparently that was all the hint her sister needed.
Calliope’s mouth fell open. ‘You thought about it! You actually considered not coming back to London?’
‘Only for a moment,’ Ditty said hastily, as though that changed anything. ‘But in the end he—I mean, I thought it was best to come home. How about a hot chocolate? I might tidy my books while you make it…’
But her sister was not to be so easily distracted. Ditty winced as Calliope fixed her with a firm glare, one that told her in no uncertain terms she was not going to be let off the hook that easily.
‘Aphrodite Oliver—’
‘I can’t believe you’re full-naming me,’ said Ditty with a gasp. ‘You—’
‘You fell in love while you were in Brexley, didn’t you?’ Calliope said, her finger pointed at her sister.
Ditty could not help but laugh. ‘Well, it’s not like I planned—’
‘Aha!’ Calliope sounded triumphant, and Ditty winced at the second clue she had let slip. ‘So you did meet someone! It’s this Henry gentleman, isn’t it? The one you very carefully made sure to mention in your letter, but gave no additional details about when I asked?’
‘No,’ Ditty said defensively.
Her sister raised an eyebrow. ‘Come on. Tell me all about him.’
With a heavy sigh, Ditty shook her head. ‘There really isn’t much to tell.’
Which was odd, because it took the best part of an hour to tell. Ditty tried to explain, as best she could, how she and Henry had started off on entirely the wrong foot. How he had criticised her matchmaking, argued with her in front of her client—
‘The audacity!’
But how eventually, after seeing just how much this proposal mattered, he had promised not to get in her way.
‘Well, I should think so!’
And then, over time, how their friendship, for want of a better word, had grown.
The kisses, Ditty decided not to share. Nor the bedding.
Some things had to remain private, even from sisters.
But she shared how he had helped her find the perfect place for a proposal, had opened up about his own conundrum, and how eventually she had helped him just as much as he had helped her.
‘If not more!’ interjected Calliope, a third time. ‘But I don’t understand, Ditty. You and Thomas—you two seemed well-suited. You wanted the same things out of courting, you wanted to keep it all businesslike and easy. But this Henry, he sounds a proper romantic.’
Ditty sighed. ‘That’s what he said, but—’