excellent sticky buns. Hattie would have my head if I returned home without them.' Nora exchanged pleasantries with Harlow and wandered to the front window while he wrapped up her order. Her initial concern had been warranted. Stockport was occupying himself with a newspaper vendor across the street while keeping the bakery in perfect view.
If he was waiting for her to exit the warm shop, he was going to get extremely cold. There was nothing worse than standing still in the cold unless it was knowing the person you waited for was keeping warm inside. Confident in her strategy, Nora launched into an animated discussion with Mr Harlow regarding the merits of white bread crumbs versus brown in ter pudding.
Good God, what could she possibly be
about that
would take so long and demand so much gesticulation?
50
Pickpocket Countess
Brandon stamped his booted feet in a feeble attempt to generate some warmth and movement in his legs. Despite his greatcoat, muffler, gloves and fur beaver, he was not impervious to the cold.
He fought the urge to check his pocket watch one more time. He had already made the mistake of dragging it out of his waistcoat pocket once. Getting the timepiece out required removing his shearling-lined gloves and parting his greatcoat to reach inside. The newspaper tucked beneath his arm was warmer than he was. Short of going into the bakery and declaring his presence to the spinster, he had no choice but to wait, since the alternative would be to abandon his plan altogether.
Admittedly, the plan was hastily concocted. He had ridden over to Squire Bradley's to discuss some brief district business regarding the assizes and learned Eleanor Habersham was riding into Manchester with Alice Bradley. The opportunity was too good to pass up after his 'visit' with The Cat the prior evening. What better way to determine if there was a link between Eleanor and The Cat than to follow Eleanor about town? It had seemed a plausible idea at the time. Now, he had his doubts. If he had to wait any longer, he'd have frostbite to add to his growing list of regrets.
He did not usually tolerate being relegated to a watch-and-wait role. There was no reason he was tolerating it now.
Brandon decided he'd had enough. If he was going to have regrets over the Spinster Habersham, they would be of his making and not hers.
Miss Habersham tucked a package into her shopping basket and reached in her reticule. Brandon came alert, straightening his posture from the slouch he'd adopted against a lamp post. At last!
He watched eagerly as Miss Habersham handed over payment for whatever she had purchased. It was his cue to move in.
'Miss Habersham? Is that you? I thought it might be.'
Brandon strode forward, touching his hand respectfully to the
Scott
51
brim of his hat. 'It's a cold day to be out. Let me take those packages for you.' He didn't wait for an answer, which would have assuredly been 'no', and relieved her of the cumbersome shopping basket.
'Lord Stockport, what a surprise,' Miss Habersham responded, making a brilliant recovery from the initial look of surprise that had washed over her face. That look bore speculating on, though, Stockport thought.
She'd been surprised, but not in the way someone is startled out of the blue. It was almost as if she'd known he was there.
Her look upon his approach bordered on perplexed and annoyed. She had not expected him to announce his presence and she was annoyed that he had. Brandon mused that, if she had known such a welcome would increase his desire to stick close to her, she might have schooled her features better.
'What brings you to town, my lord?' she asked in her nasal-pitched voice.
Brandon waved his gloved hand dismissively. 'Some business that I quickly wrapped up. It was nothing all that important, just something that needed doing. And you? Do you have other stops to make?' He peered into the basket, filled only with the wrapped buns, trapping her into completing the
If he was waiting for her to exit the warm shop, he was going to get extremely cold. There was nothing worse than standing still in the cold unless it was knowing the person you waited for was keeping warm inside. Confident in her strategy, Nora launched into an animated discussion with Mr Harlow regarding the merits of white bread crumbs versus brown in ter pudding.
Good God, what could she possibly be
about that
would take so long and demand so much gesticulation?
50
Pickpocket Countess
Brandon stamped his booted feet in a feeble attempt to generate some warmth and movement in his legs. Despite his greatcoat, muffler, gloves and fur beaver, he was not impervious to the cold.
He fought the urge to check his pocket watch one more time. He had already made the mistake of dragging it out of his waistcoat pocket once. Getting the timepiece out required removing his shearling-lined gloves and parting his greatcoat to reach inside. The newspaper tucked beneath his arm was warmer than he was. Short of going into the bakery and declaring his presence to the spinster, he had no choice but to wait, since the alternative would be to abandon his plan altogether.
Admittedly, the plan was hastily concocted. He had ridden over to Squire Bradley's to discuss some brief district business regarding the assizes and learned Eleanor Habersham was riding into Manchester with Alice Bradley. The opportunity was too good to pass up after his 'visit' with The Cat the prior evening. What better way to determine if there was a link between Eleanor and The Cat than to follow Eleanor about town? It had seemed a plausible idea at the time. Now, he had his doubts. If he had to wait any longer, he'd have frostbite to add to his growing list of regrets.
He did not usually tolerate being relegated to a watch-and-wait role. There was no reason he was tolerating it now.
Brandon decided he'd had enough. If he was going to have regrets over the Spinster Habersham, they would be of his making and not hers.
Miss Habersham tucked a package into her shopping basket and reached in her reticule. Brandon came alert, straightening his posture from the slouch he'd adopted against a lamp post. At last!
He watched eagerly as Miss Habersham handed over payment for whatever she had purchased. It was his cue to move in.
'Miss Habersham? Is that you? I thought it might be.'
Brandon strode forward, touching his hand respectfully to the
Scott
51
brim of his hat. 'It's a cold day to be out. Let me take those packages for you.' He didn't wait for an answer, which would have assuredly been 'no', and relieved her of the cumbersome shopping basket.
'Lord Stockport, what a surprise,' Miss Habersham responded, making a brilliant recovery from the initial look of surprise that had washed over her face. That look bore speculating on, though, Stockport thought.
She'd been surprised, but not in the way someone is startled out of the blue. It was almost as if she'd known he was there.
Her look upon his approach bordered on perplexed and annoyed. She had not expected him to announce his presence and she was annoyed that he had. Brandon mused that, if she had known such a welcome would increase his desire to stick close to her, she might have schooled her features better.
'What brings you to town, my lord?' she asked in her nasal-pitched voice.
Brandon waved his gloved hand dismissively. 'Some business that I quickly wrapped up. It was nothing all that important, just something that needed doing. And you? Do you have other stops to make?' He peered into the basket, filled only with the wrapped buns, trapping her into completing the
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