Page 3 of A Foolish Flirtation

Teddy pulled a face. “They’re even worse.”

“Then, what do you say to getting an ice from Marshall’s?”

Teddy’s expression wavered. He had a weakness for strawberry ices. “No,” he sighed. “In any case, they would be shut at this hour.”

Jeremy reached for his pocket watch and was forced to concur. “Tomorrow, then,” he suggested. “We could go for luncheon there.”

“Arthur invited me to his house again tomorrow,” Teddy said without any great enthusiasm.

“I think not,” Jeremy said swiftly. “We could not possibly impose on the Arbuthnots’ kindness anymore. You have already spent three afternoons under their roof in the past week. What is your papa supposed to do with himself all day with no society? I will grow lonely.”

“You could come along. Mrs. Arbuthnot said to tell you that you were always welcome.”

Jeremy suppressed a shudder. “Surely you and Arthur have caught up on all your reminiscences by this point. Good lord, you were only at Paverton Preparatory for nine months!”

Teddy shrugged, looking suddenly washed-out. A flicker of enthusiasm lit up his disinterested gaze. “We could call on Miss Ballentine,” he suggested, and Jeremy had to work to keep his expression unruffled.

“It must have been some ten years or so ago that we were acquainted, my son. It is more than likely that Miss Ballentine is no more.”

“She’s not dead, Papa!” Teddy responded with spirit, clearly suspecting his father of trying to wriggle out of the obligation. “Arthur’s mother said she has lodgings in Winkworth Street!”

“I meant,” Jeremy explained painstakingly, ignoring the strange skip in his chest at hearing she was in Bath, “that after all this time, the lady is more than likely married already.”

“Oh no,” Teddy said, shaking his head. “No, she’s not. Mrs. Arbuthnot said her papa could not bring anyone up to scratch, even though he was rich as Jesus in those days.”

Jeremy cleared his throat, concentrating on his son’s words, rather than his strange reaction to them. He doubted very much that a Galilean carpenter’s wealth equated that of a wealthy cit. “Is it possible you mean ‘Croesus’?” he enquired politely.

“It’s possible,” Teddy conceded generously. “In any case, her papa’s not rich anymore. Arthur’s mother said he lost it all on the ‘change.”

“The Exchange,” Jeremy corrected him absently. That would make sense, for the direction of Winkworth Street eluded him. Most likely it was not in a fashionable quarter of town.

“Yes,” Teddy agreed. “So, Mrs. Arbuthnot says she does not even have to ’knowledge her anymore.”

“Acknowledge,” Jeremy supplied.

“Yes, what does that mean, Papa?”

“It means, my boy, that Mrs. Arbuthnot has quite appalling manners. I do not think we should consider her a reliable source when it comes to Papa’s past behavior. Are we agreed?”

“What about Miss Ballentine?” Teddy asked, a mutinous cast to his features.

“Naturally I shall look up my old acquaintance, Miss Ballentine, whilst we are in Bath,” Jeremy responded coolly. “It would be most remiss of me not to.”

Just for a moment, he allowed himself to remember Emmeline Ballentine as she had been on that last evening. Plump, pretty Emmeline in her frilly white gown, with her curling red-gold hair done up and framing her face in ringlets. Orange blossoms, yes, of course. Hawford’s conservatory. Shall I give you something to remember me by, Ballentine?

Not his finest hour. Then, other memories, less pleasant, seeped from the breached vault, making him wince. Her openly admiring gaze across a ballroom. The offhand comments he would make to the other young bucks, the barely hidden smirks and laughter. He had made Emmeline a figure of fun that season, for entirely selfish reasons. He wanted nothing more than to forget how he had behaved. Didn’t he?

He sat back in his seat, breathing deeply. Then why had he just promised his son that he would renew the acquaintance? And why was his pulse racing so damn fast at the prospect of seeing her again? He was sure she would be a good deal older and wiser now, despite the fact she had never married.

She was certainly far less likely to be receptive of his attentions. Not after that announcement that same night as the conservatory and the orange blossoms and…all the rest of that wretched business.

Would she still be the same sweet girl he had known, and would she play along and reassure his child that he had not acted like the worst kind of cad toward her? He had no idea, but he knew one thing. He wanted to find out. Badly.

*

Fritton’s Bakery, Bath

The queue at Fritton’s was longer than usual for this time of day. Seeing the assistant turn obligingly to the man to her left, Emmie leaned against the counter, letting her mind wander back once more to the worrying letter she had received that morning from Mr. Hardiman, the senior clerk at her father’s firm.