Page 73 of A Dangerous Engagement

“She is very well read, Mr.Birtwistle,” Felicity said. “She has read every book in my father’s library.”

“Do you reside with Miss Mayson, then?”

“Yes. Her mother is my sister.”

“And have you been a guest of Lady Blackstone for long, Miss Appleby?”

“Nearly three weeks, I believe. And how long have you lived in Margate, sir?”

“I have been here these ten years, first as a curate, then as a rector.”

“And you like being so near the sea?”

“I admit I rarely go near the water, but I have seen a sunrise or two over the ocean that was simply spectacular.”

“Oh.”

Felicity chimed in occasionally to praise her aunt’s taste in music or how much she was beloved by various great-nieces and great-nephews—the children of Felicity’s siblings—but mostly she listened, enthralled with how well her shy and reclusive aunt was able to converse and hold the rector’s attention.

Fortunately, Mr.Ratley was talking with Mr.Smallwood about the various types of pheasant and grouse in the area and the best ways to shoot them, the best guns to use, et cetera.

“Lady Blackstone,” Mr.Ratley said, suddenly standing, looking quite jovial. “Since it is not the season to be shooting but the weather is so dry and warm, may we all ride to the seashore soon, if the weather is still fine?”

Lady Blackstone smiled. “I don’t see why not. Mr.Birtwistle, are you fond of riding?”

“No indeed, my lady. I am more of a man of letters myself. I prefer a carriage to horseback riding.” He stood to take his leave as the room suddenly became more lively with discussions of their upcoming outing to the sea.

While everyone else—everyone except Felicity—was otherwise occupied with their separate conversations, Mr.Birtwistle bent toward Aunt Agnes and said quietly, “I should like to call on you again tomorrow, if that is all right with you, Miss Appleby.”

“Oh.” Aunt Agnes’s eyes went wide, and she opened and closed her mouth a few times. Finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”

He smiled and gave her a quick bow before turning to Felicity. “Good day, Miss Mayson.”

“Good day, Mr.Birtwistle.”

As soon as he was gone, Felicity squeezed her aunt’s arm. “Oh, Auntie,” she whispered. “You have made a conquest!”

“Do you really think so?” Aunt Agnes plucked at her sleeves, her usual sign of nervousness, but something she had not done once while Mr.Birtwistle had been there.

“He said he wished to call on you—onyou—tomorrow, did he not?”

“It is so very strange.” Auntie chuckled. “No one has ever ... Hmm. Mr.Birtwistle. Well. I never.” She shook her head.

The next day, Mr.Birtwistle did come, and he brought a book for Aunt Agnes.

Aunt Agnes examined the book, then looked up at him. “You wrote it?”

“It is only a little novel, a morality tale of sorts, not too different from Miss Hannah More’s allegorical works.”

“Oh, how impressive! You simply must allow me to read it.”

“But of course, Miss Appleby.”

“It is such an honor to meet a published author.”

Mr.Birtwistle grinned as Aunt Agnes gushed and made much of the fact that he had written a novel.

“I have two others. I can bring those later if you enjoy this one. I also have compiled all my sermons, but as of yet, I have not published those.”