His One Woman. Paula Marshall

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      At the moment she was busy making him welcome with extremely cool formality, pulling the bell to summon the servant, ordering tea for them, and recommending him to a large armchair.

      ‘My father’s,’ she told him. ‘But he is out, attending a committee on the Hill.’

      When his eyebrows rose at this remarkable statement, she told him that the Hill was shorthand for Congress where the Senators worked. ‘He will not be back until late. It is the coming war which exercises us, Mr Dilhorne, as you have doubtless noticed. You are from abroad, are you not?’

      ‘From Sydney, Australia, Miss Hope. I have business here.’ He did not explain what it was. ‘I am staying at Willard’s Hotel until I find suitable rooms. So, you are sure that there will be a war?’

      ‘No doubt of it all,’ she told him firmly. ‘Now that Mr Lincoln is President, and the two sides being so intractably opposed to the degree that seven Southern states have already seceded from the Union, how can we doubt it?’

      ‘How, indeed?’ said Jack, amused. Yes, she was a bluestocking, and doubtless as well informed as any man. She was quite the opposite of little Miss Sophie with her ardent seeking of his opinion on everything. Miss Marietta Hope was used to speaking her mind—but it was as though she were able to read his.

      ‘Come, Mr Dilhorne, you did not visit my cousin to talk politics with her. Pray speak to me as you would have done to Sophie.’ Her face was alight with amusement when she came out with this.

      ‘Oh, I do not think that would be wise, Miss Hope. You would not be entertained by it.’

      ‘Now, why should you suppose that, Mr Dilhorne,’ she parried, ‘seeing that you have only just met me? Sophie and I might well be intellectual twins.’

      So saying, she briskly wielded the heavy tea-pot which a repentant Asia had just brought in, handed him a cup brimful of tea, and offered him English muffins, and sandwiches, as well as Aunt Percival’s best pound cake. None of which he declined, and it was surprising how slimly athletic he was if this were his usual appetite.

      Seeing her eye on him while he was eating, he grinned at her a little. ‘But you are mind-reading, too, Miss Hope. Yes, I like my food. I was taught to.’

      Perhaps food had been short in his childhood, Marietta concluded—but he looked as though he had been well fed from birth.

      ‘You have not answered my last question, Mr Dilhorne, nor carried out my express wish for idle conversation.’

      Marietta was overcome by surprise to find that she was flirting with an attractive man whom she had only just met.

      ‘Do call me Jack,’ he said through his muffin, which exploded ungracefully, splashing him with melted butter. ‘Sophie does.’

      ‘Most incorrect of her,’ said Marietta severely, ‘since I deduce that you have not been formally introduced.’

      ‘For that matter, neither have we,’ said Jack, elegantly retrieving the remains of the muffin and depositing them on his plate.

      ‘No more we have,’ returned Marietta, who was beginning to enjoy herself. ‘So licence reigns supreme.’ She further added, after watching him struggle, ‘As your way with muffins would seem to suggest.’

      ‘They call them English,’ said Jack, cleaning his sticky fingers on his expensive lawn handkerchief rather than on the Hopes’ equally expensive damask napkin, ‘but I have not seen an English muffin like this one. Ours do not explode.’

      ‘Oh, you have mannerly muffins, like the English themselves, I suppose. But a bit weighty, perhaps?’

      ‘I own that I was wrong,’ said Jack, accepting a sandwich and warily inspecting it before taking a bite, lest that, too, should cascade about him. ‘You are even more adept at light raillery than Sophie, but you do have the advantage of the muffins. Ballrooms and receptions have fewer diversions; conversation there must be sustained without such useful props.’

      ‘Try the pound cake,’ suggested Marietta, waving the plate at him, her face alight with an amusement she had not felt for years. ‘Or do you call pound cake something exotic in…New South Wales, is it not?’

      ‘Bravo!’ exclaimed Jack as he took a piece. ‘You are the first bona fide US citizen I have met who knows where Sydney is situated. No, unless our aborigines bake this delicacy, I have not met it before. It is well named, a most filling concoction. You may help me to another slice.’

      ‘And your cup needs refilling,’ said Marietta, putting out a hand for it.

      Jack watched her concentrate on pouring out the tea—aware of his gaze on her and that she was a little entertained by him.

      ‘Since you will not engage in froth and fun with me, Jack—you see, I take you at your word—we may be serious. Pray, what is the business which brings you to Washington? That is, if you wish to inform me.’

      He stirred his tea vigorously. ‘No reason why not, Miss Hope—’

      ‘Oh, Marietta, please,’ she said softly.

      ‘Marietta,’ he continued, ‘but ladies are not usually interested in my speciality. I will not say that it is dry, since it concerns the sea, but one might call it heavy. I ran the shipping side of our family firm until recently. Now my situation has changed and I may pursue my engineering bent. Among other things I am interested in such remote matters as the design of metal warships or iron-clads—hardly tea-party entertainment, I fear—but the States is the place to be these days for matters of invention.’

      ‘Indeed,’ she said, her eyes mocking him a little. ‘And screw-propelled ships, too. You are interested in those as well as iron-clads, I presume? I can see that Mr Ericsson is your man.’

      Jack put down his delicate cup with exaggerated care. ‘Lest it, too, explode,’ he offered when he saw her smile. ‘Well, now, Marietta, you do surprise me. Most gentlemen around here do not know of such arcane matters, let alone pretty ladies at tea.’

      ‘Pray do not flatter me, Jack. A gentleman of such profound knowledge about design will know how lacking I am in it, even in a different line,’ she flashed back at him, for daring to describe her as pretty. ‘But there is a simple explanation for my surprising expertise. I am my father’s secretary and he is on a Congressional committee which deals with shipping of all kinds. What shall we discuss, sir? I am ready for you. Explosive shells, not muffins, and their effect on wooden ships?’

      Jack’s laughter was unforced. ‘If you like,’ he said. ‘I warn you, once you start me going, you will not be able to stop me. On these matters I am a very bore.’

      ‘Oh, I doubt that, Jack. I doubt it very much. I am sure that Sophie does not think you are a bore.’

      ‘Oh, but I do not discuss iron-clads, and their future peaceful use, with Sophie,’ he said, waving away further proffered cake. ‘I see that you are determined to sink me, Marietta, with your broadsides.’

      ‘Difficult to achieve, I think,’ said Marietta, who had not enjoyed herself so much for years. He undoubtedly knew how attractive he was, but he displayed little conceit. He had a wicked look now and then, and she was subtly flattered that he was favouring her СКАЧАТЬ