“Lies,” she whispered. “That’s not why you’re here, is it.”
“I’m afraid I don’t—”
“You aren’t writing a novel at all.”
“Erm,” said Catriona. “No, but—”
Mrs. Weldon shot off the couch and looked down at her with a sharp expression. “What is your purpose?”
Catriona seemed stuck to her seat.
“He sent you, didn’t he?” the woman demanded.
“Who?”
“Oh, I curse the day I married him.” Mrs. Weldon’s hand curled into a claw. “The knave—the spiteful creature.”
“No, I—”
The woman cried for the butler, who dashed into the room so quickly, he must have hovered right outside the door all along. A tall woman in a maid’s cap and apron followed right on his heels.
Catriona rose.
Mrs. Weldon gestured wildly. “Please assist the lady to the door.”
Catriona raised her hands. “Ma’am, it appears there is a terrible misunderstanding—”
“Out, out!”
The female servant moved between Catriona and Mrs. Weldon.
“Ma’am, kindly follow us outside,” the butler said, moving in on her, too.
Behind him, Mrs. Weldon had buried her head in her hands, and her shoulders were shaking.
The house all but spat her back out onto the path, and the white door firmly shut behind her. She blinked into the sun as she stumbled toward the pavement. What on earth?
Elias took one look at her face when she approached, and he abruptly rose from the bench. “What happened?”
“I’m not even sure. The poor thing seems unwell.”
He fell in step with her. “She’s ill?”
“Not in that sense—she knew about my plans, somehow. She is a spiritualist.”
“What’s that?”
“Apparently, the veil is thin around me,” she said. “She thinks I’d have a knack for communing with the dead.”
“Yiii.” He crossed himself.
“Her credentials were perfect: her husband is a captain—Parliament would be loath to send a military officer to jail, and he would probably prefer prison rather than spend time with her because I daresay she was odd.”
Elias fell into a more leisurely pace, compelling her to slow.
“I understand it wasn’t the success you hoped for,” he said.
“It wasn’t, it was creepy.”
“There’s an oyster bar near the railway stop,” he said. “Am I allowed to take a female cousin there?”
She shot him a consternated look. “Female anythings may dine or lunch in most eateries these days, even entirely unaccompanied.”
He grinned. “Do you mind the rustic fare? Come, let’s have lunch.”
She balked; how was she supposed to summon an appetite at such a moment?
Her irritation subsided quickly; this was a rare opportunity to share a meal with him, alone, outside her kitchen.
The fa?ade of the oyster bar was painted fire-engine red; inside, the room smelled of brine and woodsmoke. Nautical lamps in different sizes lined the mantelpiece of the fireplace, the polished brass catching the light. A blackboard on the wall advertised a pint-and-oysters special. They were the only guests, outside the regular lunch hour. Elias requested a table in one of the two bay windows. It felt illicit, lunching in bright daylight with her lover in a public place. When the waitress arrived, Catriona hid her hand where a ring should have been under the table.
“We won’t have the oysters in for another six weeks,” the waitress informed them. “There’s fish soup, and fish pie.”
“What about champagne?” Elias asked.
“We have that, sir, a dry Perrier-Jou?t.”
He ordered a bottle.
Catriona took off her glasses and slipped them into her jacket pocket. Briefly, her surroundings blurred. Elias remained in focus; he was indecently good-looking and had mischief in his eyes. Champagne at noon.
“This excursion was a complete shot into the brown,” she pointed out. “It hardly merits a celebration.”
“It was a what?”
“Oh—it’s a phrase to describe a failure. A shot gone astray, far off target.”
He nodded, unruffled. “All the more reason for champagne.” His lashes lowered a fraction. “Don’t forget it’s not even noon—this could become the best day of your life just yet.”
The waitress arrived with a dusty champagne trolley, the neck of the perspiring bottle sticking up from a plain wooden ice bucket. When she made to pour the drinks, Elias told her he’d take care of it. He filled Catriona’s glass with Perrier, then his, and he raised his goblet with a soft Salute.