She backed up a few feet. “Is this far enough away?”
“Yes.”
“What are you working on?” She set the picnic basket on the lawn, spread the blanket she brought on the ground and began unloading the hamper.
Ruddy stoked the fire in his forge. “The base for a table to match that bench I made last year for Mrs. Goodge. You’re welcome to sit on the bench, you know. You don’t have to sit on the ground.”
“Don’t be silly. What sort of picnic would it be if we ate sitting on the bench? Mrs. Goodge has a lovely garden. It’s a beautiful sunny day. We shall have a city picnic. Now stop playing with your fire for a moment and come and kiss me.”
Ruddy washed his hands in a bucket of fresh water he had on the side, splashed his face, grabbed a towel he kept handy and wiped his face. “I’m a dirty, sweaty mess. I hesitate to come within arm’s distance, let alone kissing close. But since you asked, I shall oblige.”
He bent and kissed her. She leaned into it and he rested his hands on her waist to draw her in tighter. Remembering his unclean condition he immediately raised his hands and hoped he hadn’t soiled her dress already.
Honeysuckle broke the kiss first but lingered close enough for him to feel her body heat. “Sit for a moment and have a glass of wine with me. Then, I promise to be good and let you work for a while longer on your table.”
She looked at him with absolute knowledge in her eyes that he would say yes. It occurred to Ruddy that his village priest was wrong. The devil did not come to men wearing horns and with goat-like hooves and a tail. He came to men in a woman’s eyes. “Only one glass, then I have to finish this one table leg before I can stop for the afternoon.”
“From the curly-cue pieces on the bench, I’m guessing this is a flower pattern. Is it a sunflower?” Honeysuckle asked, studying the bench.
“I’m not sure what kind of flower it is. I saw it in India when I went to visit Will once.”
“Your ironwork is remarkable. Where did you learn it?”
“I learned the basics from my father who’s a farrier. I learned how to shape hot iron working with horseshoes. I am self-taught with other types of ironwork, the more detailed kind like the wrought iron on fences and garden furniture. I draw what I intend to make first then use that as my pattern.”
“I bet you’re Mrs. Goodge’s favorite boarder.” Honeysuckle removed tea sandwiches from the basket, peaches, which she must’ve remembered him saying he loved, sweet biscuits, and a cut up pig’s ear.
Ruddy kissed her on the cheek while she busied herself laying out the food.
“What was that for?”
“Do I need a reason?”
She kissed him back on the lips and said, “Never.”
The food brought Winky dashing over. After initially greeting Honeysuckle by wagging and blocking her path until he’d received a proper belly rub, he’d returned to squirrel watch. Squirrel watch consisted of him trying to stay awake while sitting pouncing distance from Mrs. Goodge’s walnut tree.
“Winky sit and behave,” Ruddy ordered. “I take it that pig’s ear is for him.”
“It is. Oh look. He knows it too.”
His idea of behaving was to roll over several times, stop and bark.
“Winky lay down,” Ruddy said in a stern voice.
He did but with all the truculence of a human two-year-old ordered to stop misbehaving.
Ruddy pinched a piece off one of the sweet biscuits and popped it into his mouth. “Did you make these?” he asked, after finishing the little chunk he stole and reaching for the rest.
“Don’t be silly.”
Winky popped up and shot toward the house, barking.
“Hello Winky boo, don’t you remember me?” a familiar female voice said behind them.
The barking stopped but Ruddy’s heart shot to his throat. He turned in time to see Mrs. Goodge hurriedly waddling after Evangeline.
“Winky, come here.” The dog trotted back. “Evangeline, this is a surprise. I thought you were in New York,” Ruddy said and stood to greet her.
“I was. But I earned holiday time. Since you wrote that you didn’t care to see New York, I thought to come home for a visit.”
“Mr. Bloodstone, I’m so sorry. She got by me before I could stop her,” Mrs. Goodge said, breathing hard, having rushed from the front door to the garden.
“No worries, Mrs. Goodge. Everything is fine,” Ruddy reassured her not feeling the sentiment all that much.
“Introduce us, Rudyard.” It was Honeysuckle.
Mrs. Goodge’s grimace at the request reflected his internal one. “Of course, sorry. Honeysuckle Flowers, this is Evangeline Bannister.”
“How nice to meet you,” Honeysuckle said with a pleasant smile. “You’ve come visiting all the way from America. I’d love to hear about New York. Won’t you join us for a glass of wine?”
Ruddy shot a frown Honeysuckle’s direction trying to convey his dislike of the idea. She didn’t see. Was that a deliberate evasion, he wondered?
The brief surprise Evangeline showed at seeing Honeysuckle was quickly covered with a mild smile. “I can see this is a private picnic and I don’t wish to interrupt. I just wanted to say hello and give this to you.” She handed Ruddy a box the length of his hand with a ribbon around it. “It’s from our men’s department.”
A tiny animal-like sound escaped Mrs. Goodge and she said, “I’m going inside now.”
Ruddy desperately wanted to say, “Take me with you.” Instead, he stared, frozen with the gift in his grasp unsure if he should accept. He certainly had nothing to give Evangeline in return. Would it be rude? If he accepted, was it rude to open it in front of Honeysuckle? After a brief mental tug of war, he thought it best to decline. “Evangeline, how can I accept when I have nothing to offer you in return? I feel terrible.”
“It’s a gift, Rudyard. A person isn’t supposed to give expecting something in return. How bourgeoisie. Open it,” Evangeline ordered, tapping the ribbon.
“She’s right,” a wine sipping Honeysuckle chimed in. Her comment was followed by a traitorous bark from Winky.
He did as ordered. Inside was a pair of fine black leather men’s gloves. Expensive gloves. His haberdasher carried similar ones. He removed them from the box.
“Try them on. They’re from Italy,” Evangeline said.
Ruddy tugged each on and had to admit to being pleased they fit. He really did want them. However, he ought to make one more half-hearted effort to not accept. “Are you sure you wish me to have these beautiful gloves? Is there not a family member you’d prefer to give them to?”
“I bought them for you. I’ll hear no more talk of giving them back.”
“Now you must join us,” Honeysuckle said. “Rudyard, we need another wine glass. Be a dear and get one from Mrs. Goodge.”
“Be right back.” He jogged into the house not wanting to leave the women alone to talk any longer than necessary.
Mrs. Goodge was in the kitchen goblet in hand, ready for him. “I heard,” she said. “The window was open.”
If it hadn’t been open, she’d have cracked the door to listen. He knew better than to say as much. “Thank you,” was all he said and jogged back with the glass.
“I never thought I’d leave London but the opportunity was too good to resist. Lord and Taylor is the nicest store in the city. The partner’s families are modern thinkers when it comes to business. They were willing try women in management positions. There are three of us. I manage Ladies Accessories, the other two women manage Ladies Hats, and the Lingerie departments,” Evangeline said as Honeysuckle poured her a glass of wine.
“Good for them and good for you. It took courage to leave home and everyone you know. You’re very brave to start fresh in a different country and different job and in one with so much responsibility.” Honeysuckle filled Ruddy’s glass. “Don’t you agree, Rudyard?”
“Yes.”
“What sort of work do you do?” Evangelin
e asked Honeysuckle.
“I’m an actress.”
“Like Sarah Bernhardt?”
“No. My career isn’t so grand. I’m a music hall performer.”
Evangeline shoulders stiffened so slightly, if Ruddy had blinked, he’d have missed the change. “Music hall, how interesting.”
“She’s the star attraction at the Odeon,” Ruddy said.
Evangeline peered at Honeysuckle over the rim of her glass. When Honeysuckle wasn’t looking, she eyed her in a judgmental way that set Ruddy’s teeth on edge.
“Have you been the star there long? Rudyard and I went to the Odeon when we were courting. I don’t recall seeing you,” Evangeline asked.
Ruddy winced. Why’d she have to use the term courting? He’d explain to Honeysuckle after Evangeline left that courting was too strong a word for their relationship. He didn’t have another word handy to describe the months they saw each other but it definitely wasn’t courting. Not in his mind anyway. It hadn’t evolved that far.
“I was probably still at the Oxford Music Hall. I started my career in London there,” Honeysuckle told her.
“The Oxford, what a lovely building, such a fancy façade, one doesn’t expect something so nice for a music hall.”
“I was born in Bristol. My parents are theatre people. As a child, I traveled the length and breadth of the island touring with them. You’d be surprised how many elegant theatres there are.”
“If you say so.”
“Have you ever been to the Paris Opera House?” Honeysuckle asked Evangeline.
“No.”
“It’s one of the most beautiful buildings in that city.”
The comment triggered an unnecessary eye roll from Evangeline. “Well, it’s for opera performers. One expects elegance and beauty from their settings. They have grand stories to tell.” She spread her arms stressing how much greater their needs.
Honeysuckle bristled. It looked like she grew two inches her back went so ramrod stiff.
Evangeline blithely continued, “A music hall is—no offense- a stage for song and dance performers, sleight-of-hand tricksters and the like. All their routines are fun. I’m not saying they’re not but let’s be honest, look how hard opera singers train.”
No offense, indeed, Ruddy thought. Evangeline’s glass was empty. Honeysuckle didn’t offer her a refill. No surprise. Over the years, police work honed one’s sense of timing. It was time to intercede. “I’d like to say something as a typical Londoner. I’ve never seen an opera. I’ve no interest. It’s marvelous if you can hit the high notes of a great aria. But I’m always going to prefer a music hall. As the one in the audience listening, talent is talent, bringing joy to a jolly tune that brightens the day is just as great as putting tragedy in song. I can’t do it and appreciate the ability of those who can. Both singers bring pleasure. One is not better than the other, each has different appeal.”
“I’d like to add that the magicians or tricksters as you call them work very hard at their craft,” Honeysuckle snapped. “Nothing is learned overnight. And speaking for myself, my father started teaching me to dance when I was four.”
Evangeline raised her hands in mock surrender. “Again, I meant no insult. It’s a matter of taste, I suppose,” she conceded. She drew a white enamel floral pocket watch on a gold chain from a waistband pocket. “I’ve stayed later than I planned. I must be on my way. Thank you for the wine and the lively discussion.”
“It was nice meeting you as well,” Honeysuckle said with a tight smile.
Ruddy stood when Evangeline did. “I’ll see you to the door. Thank you again for the gloves.”
“Perhaps one day before I leave we can meet for tea or an ice cream sundae at the parlor near the park,” Evangeline said as they neared the kitchen door.
She hadn’t spoken loud but Ruddy gave a fast glance over his shoulder to see if Honeysuckle heard. From her expression, she had.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, feeling stupid. He should’ve anticipated an invite of this kind when he accepted the gloves. “I must apologize. I’ve been remiss in not writing you back. I’ve no intention on visiting New York and I don’t foresee us socializing while you’re here.”
Mrs. Goodge stopped chopping but kept her head down and her eyes on the cutting board as they passed through the kitchen.
“Why? You’re not engaged, are you?” Evangeline asked.
“No.”
“Are you promised to each other in some way?”
“No.”
She stopped in the hallway and tugged on his arm so he’d stop. “Then why can’t we have tea?”
“Two reasons. I’m not a smoothie, which is no shock to you, I’m sure. I’m not adept at juggling relationships with more than one woman at a time. Frankly, it’s never been a skill I’ve ever aspired to. I’m currently in a relationship with Honeysuckle.”
“What’s the other reason? Is it anger at me for offending her?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“I’m entitled to my opinion.”
“True, although your harsh manner when you voiced it wasn’t necessary.”
Evangeline didn’t respond. He’d never found a reason to criticize her in the past and wasn’t sure how to interpret her reaction. He had an opinion as well and a right to express it.
“The other reason I’ll decline tea is because I think Honeysuckle would be hurt by my socializing with a lady I had a former relationship with. I don’t want to hurt her. I’ve no wish to hurt you either so I hope you understand why I’m saying no.”
Evangeline turned from him and walked briskly to the door. A gust of wind blew over him as she yanked it open. “If you change your mind, I’m at my sisters for another three weeks. And no, I don’t understand why friends can’t have tea.” She closed the door hard behind her.
As he cut through the kitchen to get to the garden, Mrs. Goodge blocked his path. “Never you mind about her,” she said and patted him between the shoulder blades like his mum used to when he had a cough. “She was such a sweet thing the few times I saw her last year. America’s turned her into quite the crosspatch. Pity. I suppose we’ll see more of that attitude with the coming waves of American Dollar Princesses from there.”
Dollar Princesses? He had no idea what Goodge was talking about.
Goodge chuckled. “Young American heiresses are landing here by the droves they say. Their families send them in hopes of arranging marriages with our impoverished young noblemen. The rich colonials are starved for titles. Our old families are starved for cash. It’s all very mercenary now. I don’t approve, not that anyone cares.” She returned to her onion cutting.
Nothing really changed in those upper social classes since the beginning of time. It might be mercenary now. Before this, it was political. Sons and daughters have always been bargaining chips. He grinned at the snide term Dollar Princesses. Who thought it up, he wondered. Probably angry matrons of the Ton with unmarried daughters hoping for a marriage match in the same crowded field.
Out in the garden, Honeysuckle had removed a pillow from the bench seat and set it between her back and the bench leg. She sipped her wine and idly scratched Winky’s ears. The dog lay next to her sound asleep.
“Sorry about the interruption,” Ruddy said and sat next to her.
“No need to apologize.”
Ruddy tipped her chin and kissed her lightly on the lips. “I’m not having tea with her,” he said after breaking off the kiss.
“Rudyard, I wouldn’t ask you not to. She’s a friend to say the least. Clearly, you were important to her. We’ve no claim on each other’s time or with whom it is spent.”
“I don’t like the way she spoke about your profession. I don’t like the way she spoke to you at all.”
“Let’s neither of us pretend we don’t know what is said about actresses, and in the main, it’s true.”
He thought it best not to answer. Their reputation for being more open-minded
when it came to intimacy was well known. He’d be lying if he said it hadn’t crossed his mind. He hoped at a point in the near future it proved true for him and Honeysuckle.
“I’m not having tea or anything else with her. Period. I’m ravenous. I am desperate to try one of your sandwiches.” He took one of each, a watercress and butter, and a cucumber.
Activity involving food had roused Winky. Honeysuckle let him have the cut up ear, which he devoured. He plopped down in front of her again committed to a blink-less focus on her sandwich.
After taking a bite, Ruddy opened his cucumber sandwich up. “What is this smeared on the bread?”
“I don’t know what they call it. It’s a mix of egg, oil, salt, white pepper, and mustard. I think it’s tasty and asked the teashop to use it on the cucumber sandwiches. What do you think?”
He nodded his approval. “I agree. I’ve only had buttered bread on my sandwiches. It’s different but tasty.” He finished and started on the watercress sandwich. Swallowing the bite he took, Ruddy brushed his cheeks with his fingers and asked, “Do I have food on my face? You’re staring.”
“No.” Honeysuckle dipped her finger in her wine, ran it across his lower lip and then licked it off. “You know what else actresses have a reputation for?”
A rush of lusty thoughts filled his mind. Thoughts no gentleman would repeat, unless he was sure the lady wished to hear them. Ruddy opened his mouth to test the territory, so to speak.
“Shh,” Honeysuckle said, touching her wet finger to his mouth, then she dipped her finger in the wine and ran it over his lip again. She kissed him. “They’re known for boldly speaking their mind. I think we should have dinner in my hotel tonight and that you should stay past midnight.”
Words failed him. Women had flirted with him but he’d never been propositioned by a woman. He’d never been propositioned by anyone.
“Rudyard, you should see your face. I take it from your expression and silence, that you’re shocked by my forwardness.”
He searched for a better word than shocked. “It was definitely unexpected.”
“That doesn’t tell me how you feel about the suggestion.”
Snifter of Death Page 17
