errands he believed still remained. She'd only just arrived in town and one did not travel five miles simply to visit the bakery.
In essence, he knew what he was doing. He was coercing her into the spending the day with him.
Gamely, Miss Habersham took the bait. 'Why, yes, I do, Lord Stockport. It would be absolutely wonderful if you could accompany me.'
Ah, the victory was too easily won, but Brandon took it anyway. Since he'd met The Cat, his victories had been more like draws, something he wasn't used to. However, as expected, the easy victory was not without price. Brandon was hard pressed to distinguish whether Eleanor Habersham was being
Pickpocket Countess
herself with her excessive chatter and tittering or deliberately trying to run him off.
The second stop was the butcher's, where Brandon was exposed to Eleanor's protracted conversation with the butcher on the virtues of redcurrant jelly sauce as an accompaniment to an amazing array of game dishes. Brandon hadn't thought there was that much to say about the subject. She tittered as she confessed to using a naughty dash of cognac brandy to sweeten the sauce. Brandon immediately felt guilty over his pique. Regardless of the woman's potential connection to The Cat, the poor woman had little to look forward to in her drab life, supplemented as it was with the most modest of means.
For a woman of her limited income, there were no new dresses to look forward to, no excitement of taking in the entertainments offered in London or other large cities, no luxury of permitting oneself a splurge here or there. Every penny in her possession was likely budgeted with the strictest of care.
If discussing currant sauce gave her day meaning, broke the mundane routine of her life, he could tolerate it. After all, he had invited himself on her errands.
Still, Brandon was glad enough to move on once she finally reached in to her reticule and paid the butcher for the beef. His relief was short-lived. The roast she dropped into the basket he carried weighed down his arm considerably.
'That's not too heavy for you, is it?' Miss Habersham inquired innocuously, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
Brandon smiled easily, assuring her with a lie that the basket wasn't too heavy. Whatever charity he had felt for her a few moments ago vanished. The woman must have bought the largest roast in Manchester. He was utterly persuaded by her overly innocent inquiry that she'd done it on purpose too.
Eleanor was playing a secret game with him. Very well, he would play one with her. Spinster or not, all bets were off.
Scott
53
Brandon redoubled his charm. He bought her a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and plied her with stories of London. As if in retaliation for his she stopped at
the poulterer's and added a chicken to the basket.
The afternoon turned into a polite, unspoken tug of war. The more she bought, the more he smiled when she piled the purchases into the full basket. The more inane her chatter became, the more he flirted shamelessly, subtly letting her know that it would take more than insipid conversation and a heavy basket to drive him off.
She made two more stops, paying in cash at each one and her wrapped purchase into the basket. Brandon was cold, his arm aching, when they turned down the avenue heading towards High Street and the clothes shops. Brandon breathed a sigh of relief. At least that section of town had arcades and he'd be a shade warmer.
She chose a large haberdashery and Brandon thanked the fates. The shop was warm and roomy. The long counter at the back looked to be a likely place for him to put down the basket for a bit.
'Feel free to browse, my lord,' Eleanor said. 'I have some private things to take care of.' She blocked the way to the counter, making it clear that he was not to follow her.
'Of course, Miss Habersham, take your time. Let me know when you're done.' Brandon said in his best gentleman's tones.
Although
In essence, he knew what he was doing. He was coercing her into the spending the day with him.
Gamely, Miss Habersham took the bait. 'Why, yes, I do, Lord Stockport. It would be absolutely wonderful if you could accompany me.'
Ah, the victory was too easily won, but Brandon took it anyway. Since he'd met The Cat, his victories had been more like draws, something he wasn't used to. However, as expected, the easy victory was not without price. Brandon was hard pressed to distinguish whether Eleanor Habersham was being
Pickpocket Countess
herself with her excessive chatter and tittering or deliberately trying to run him off.
The second stop was the butcher's, where Brandon was exposed to Eleanor's protracted conversation with the butcher on the virtues of redcurrant jelly sauce as an accompaniment to an amazing array of game dishes. Brandon hadn't thought there was that much to say about the subject. She tittered as she confessed to using a naughty dash of cognac brandy to sweeten the sauce. Brandon immediately felt guilty over his pique. Regardless of the woman's potential connection to The Cat, the poor woman had little to look forward to in her drab life, supplemented as it was with the most modest of means.
For a woman of her limited income, there were no new dresses to look forward to, no excitement of taking in the entertainments offered in London or other large cities, no luxury of permitting oneself a splurge here or there. Every penny in her possession was likely budgeted with the strictest of care.
If discussing currant sauce gave her day meaning, broke the mundane routine of her life, he could tolerate it. After all, he had invited himself on her errands.
Still, Brandon was glad enough to move on once she finally reached in to her reticule and paid the butcher for the beef. His relief was short-lived. The roast she dropped into the basket he carried weighed down his arm considerably.
'That's not too heavy for you, is it?' Miss Habersham inquired innocuously, her eyes wide behind the thick lenses of her glasses.
Brandon smiled easily, assuring her with a lie that the basket wasn't too heavy. Whatever charity he had felt for her a few moments ago vanished. The woman must have bought the largest roast in Manchester. He was utterly persuaded by her overly innocent inquiry that she'd done it on purpose too.
Eleanor was playing a secret game with him. Very well, he would play one with her. Spinster or not, all bets were off.
Scott
53
Brandon redoubled his charm. He bought her a bag of roasted chestnuts from a street vendor and plied her with stories of London. As if in retaliation for his she stopped at
the poulterer's and added a chicken to the basket.
The afternoon turned into a polite, unspoken tug of war. The more she bought, the more he smiled when she piled the purchases into the full basket. The more inane her chatter became, the more he flirted shamelessly, subtly letting her know that it would take more than insipid conversation and a heavy basket to drive him off.
She made two more stops, paying in cash at each one and her wrapped purchase into the basket. Brandon was cold, his arm aching, when they turned down the avenue heading towards High Street and the clothes shops. Brandon breathed a sigh of relief. At least that section of town had arcades and he'd be a shade warmer.
She chose a large haberdashery and Brandon thanked the fates. The shop was warm and roomy. The long counter at the back looked to be a likely place for him to put down the basket for a bit.
'Feel free to browse, my lord,' Eleanor said. 'I have some private things to take care of.' She blocked the way to the counter, making it clear that he was not to follow her.
'Of course, Miss Habersham, take your time. Let me know when you're done.' Brandon said in his best gentleman's tones.
Although
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