His One Woman. Paula Marshall
build an effective iron man-of-war.
Tea and cake over, Marietta pulled out her little fob watch and insisted that it was time that they returned to the stall.
‘I am sure that your brother would wish to take tea with Sophie and Aunt Percival. You could assist me in selling whatever remains there—if anything does.’
‘Surely,’ said Jack enthusiastically. ‘I should have informed you that my late father was a great man for selling things as well as buying them and we all seem to have inherited those talents—in varying degrees, of course.’
If Sophie resented losing Jack again by having to do the pretty to Alan and Aunt Percival in the tearoom she did not let it show, but went off with them meekly enough. Charles had found a clerical gentleman with whom to converse about the coming war, so Marietta had Jack to herself again.
She was coming to know him so well: to know that a certain quirk of his mouth and a sparkle in his bright blue eyes always preceded some comic aside; that he possessed a good and shrewd mind, and that he had great respect for his parents and his elder brother. She had to be honest, though, and admit that merely to be with him was enough to set her all pulses throbbing.
His tall and muscular body and his face which, unlike his brother’s, was not orthodoxly handsome, but a little irregular, though full of character, attracted her as no other man’s physical attributes had ever done before. More than that, when with him she was full of a strange excitement even while they were discussing the most banal topics.
Did he feel the same about her? Marietta very much doubted it. He was plainly a man who attracted women and could have his pick of them, so why should he be drawn to her? Except that this afternoon he could easily have arranged matters so that he spent it with Sophie, but instead he had whisked her away and left Sophie behind.
That might simply mean, however, that for some reason he felt a need to discuss serious matters for once and so he had monopolised her. When it came to a ballroom or a rendezvous, it would most likely be Sophie whom he would choose for a companion—and perhaps for a wife.
Marietta shook herself. What in the world was she doing to be thinking of Jack marrying, and after a fashion that meant that she was thinking of him as a husband? She returned for a moment to being sensible Miss Hope again and, with Jack’s help, sold most of the few remaining trinkets on the stall, after watching him charm and cajole passers-by into buying them. He had a nice line in patter and so she told him.
‘You are wasted as an engineer, Jack. You should have been a barker at a fair. You would have made a fortune.’
He was not offended, but instead rolled his eyes and said solemnly, ‘You flatter me, Marietta. My father was a master of the art, and Alan also. I am not of their calibre, believe me.’
He offered her a conspiratorial wink before hailing a passing matron with the words, ‘Madam, I have to tell you that you are missing some of the greatest bargains in Washington today if you do not stay a moment at our stall.’
Marietta laughed up at him after he had successfully wheedled one of society’s most miserly women into buying a vase which she didn’t want.
‘You are a rogue, Jack Dilhorne, a very rogue.’
He leaned forward to whisper conspiratorially to her, ‘You should do that more often, Marietta, it becomes you.’
She was so unused to such compliments that she said abruptly, ‘What…what did I do?’
‘Laugh,’ he told her, solemn now. ‘You should laugh more often. I must think up some jokes.’
‘Oh, Jack,’ she riposted, ‘you are a living joke.’
‘In that case,’ he shot back, ‘you should be favouring me with a laugh all the time instead of rationing me so severely.’
Marietta did something which she had seen Sophie do quite often, but had never done herself. She slapped him gently on the wrist in playful reproof. ‘Come, Jack, you must not tease me.’ Which was another favourite phrase of Sophie’s when she was flirting with an admirer.
Goodness, that’s what I’m doing, flirting! How did he make me flirt? I ought to stop, I’m too old, too solemn, too plain, too serious… The litany unrolled itself in Marietta’s head, but it didn’t stop her from laughing again, or Jack from admiring her and trying to provoke her a little more.
He put out a gentle hand and loosened a strand of her glossy chestnut hair which had escaped its imprisoning bandeau. ‘That’s better,’ he said. ‘It goes with the laugh.’
Well, Jack Dilhorne knew how to flirt and no mistake! Which was perhaps why she was suddenly doing all those flighty things which she had never done as a young girl. It was all his fault, of course. How does it happen that he’s making me think, behave and talk like a green girl of fourteen with her first beau?
Marietta tucked the errant lock of hair back. He promptly loosened it again.
‘No,’ she murmured at him. ‘No, you will make a spectacle of me if you carry on like this. What will people think?’
‘Nothing,’ he told her. ‘They’re too busy with their own affairs to trouble about yours. Besides, why should you not be entertained by your gentleman companion? They think nothing when Sophie is.’
‘Is that what you are, Mr Jack Dilhorne? My gentleman companion? How much of a gentleman are you?’ But she was smiling when she teased him, and there was no sting in her words.
‘As much as any other man whom you allow to help you at a charity bazaar.’ He smiled at old Mrs Nuttall who had come up to the stall, her busy, curious eyes on Miss Marietta Hope, who was dallying with that handsome young stranger in a manner quite unlike her usual dignified restraint.
‘Ah, madam,’ he asked her cheerfully, ‘what may I sell you this afternoon? I regret that Miss Hope has been so successful that there is little left for you to choose from.’
‘Not Miss Hope,’ cackled Mrs Nuttall. ‘She’s not been selling much this fine afternoon. You’ve been far too busy chaffering with each other for her to find time to sell anything to outsiders. Not that I blame you for showing an interest in her, young man—she’s worth ten of that cousin of hers. She’d always have your dinner on the table when you came home after a hard day’s work, which is more than I could say for Miss Flighty Hope if you were silly enough to settle for her—but then, you young men always go for show rather than quality!’
Marietta’s face was one vast blush, but Jack, as befitted the true son of his father, was quite unruffled.
‘Dear lady, I can see that, were I considering marriage, you would have much useful advice to offer me. But since, this afternoon, my life is dedicated to selling each last bibelot on Miss Hope’s stall before the day is over, then I must beg you to turn your undoubted talents to inspecting what is left—and choosing the best.’
Mrs Nuttall’s answering cackle was so loud it had every head in the room turning and staring at them, including those of Alan, Sophie and Miss Percival, who had just finished their tea and were returning.
‘Land sakes, young man, with that silver tongue you should be a preacher, like Mrs Beecher Stowe’s rascally brother. Why should I want any of this trumpery rubbish?’
Jack’s smile was a masterpiece. ‘The poor children, madam: it is for their sake that you should buy something and offer up a tribute to charity.’
‘Don’t madam me, young man. I’m Ida Nuttall, Mrs Ida Nuttall, and rather than take home something I don’t want, I’ll gladly give you a few dollars for the young ’uns.’
She pulled out a battered leather purse and extracted several dollars from it before pouring them into Jack’s extended hand.
‘Thank you, Mrs Nuttall,’ he told her gravely. ‘Great will be your reward in heaven.’
‘Oh, pish,’ she threw at him. ‘I’d rather have