The girl glanced up, her eyes wide. “Oh, uh, I’m…I’m…Miss Smythe.”
“Miss Smythe it is then,” Esme agreed. For now. “And I’m Mrs. Maguire. But you must call me Esme, for everyone does.” She sighed. “Oh, but isn’t it nice to have a bit of company on such a miserable night.” As if to emphasize her words, a clap of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the timbers around them. “I don’t get as many visitors as I like, and I do so love to have someone to talk to.”
“Yes, company is lovely,” the lady mused, as she glanced about the shadowy room.
“More tea?” Esme asked, even as she filled the lady’s cup once again with the spicy brew. After she refilled her own, she settled back into her seat. “Now where is it that you’re bound?”
Miss Smythe took a nervous sip from her cup. “Brighton.”
Esme smiled. The tea was starting to work, because that was the first honest thing the girl had told her. “Oh, a bit of sea air, a bit of romance, I suppose,” she mused. “Are you meeting someone there? Perhaps a young man?”
“Oh, nothing like that,” the girl said hastily. “I fear I’m rather too old for such a thing.”
Esme waved her hand at the very notion. Certainly this Miss Smythe was no schoolgirl, for she hadn’t that dewy innocence about her, but she was hardly past her bloom, what with her rosy cheeks and bright eyes. “Too old for love, she says,” she muttered in an aside to Nelson.
Nelson shot a glance at their guest before he switched his long tail and then returned his gaze to his mistress and let out an adamant meow.
“Nelson is quite right,” Esme declared. “No one is too old for love. Even you, Miss Smythe.”
“I hardly have time for all that,” she said, politely covering a yawn with her hand.
“Time?” Esme asked. “Time is what you make of it. And I would imagine you have enough to find your heart’s desire.” She scratched Nelson again. “I could help you with it, if you like. For a small fee, that is.” She held out her hand, her eyes fixed on the delicate little blue reticule before her guest.
“A small fee for my heart’s desire?” The girl laughed, making just a tiny hollow sound, as she reached for her purse. “Well, I suppose it is the least I can do for your hospitality.” As she passed the coins across the table, Esme’s glance strayed in the direction of Nelson.
The foolish cat was grinning at the sight of gold—probably fancied a fine chicken and kidney pies with their newfound riches. Oh, yes, there would be a bit of that for him, but first and foremost they had to discover the truth about their new client.
“What would that be?” Esme prodded. “What would be your heart’s desire?”
Miss Smythe yawned again. “I do beg your pardon. I traveled quite a distance today, and what with the storm and all, I fear I am quite tired.”
“I suppose you are.” Esme nodded toward a small cot in the corner. “Lie down over there, Miss Smythe. Sleep a bit. We can discuss everything in the morning.”
The tea had done its work, for even as the girl’s head touched the pillow, Esme could see the dreams that rose within her guest. Wishes that tipped and toppled as they danced through a Season in London.
Settling into her rocking chair and pulling out a pipe, Esme smoked and eavesdropped on the girl’s dreams.
And of course into Miss Smythe’s slumberous interlude strode a man.
“Isn’t there always one?” Esme said, nudging Nelson, who’d climbed up into her lap.
The cat shook his head and then nodded at her to get on with her business. As far as Nelson was concerned, there was a fine dinner to be had out of all this.
So caught up in her own jest, Esme almost missed a glance at the sort of man Miss Smythe desired. But when she did turn her attention to him, the elegant figure cutting a dashing path across Almack’s stopped her cold.
A man with a carefree smile and a rakish gleam to his eyes. A man Esme knew only too well.
“How could this be?” she whispered to the large tabby. Even the unflappable Nelson appeared stunned. Yet there he was, Miss Smythe’s heart’s desire, as clearly as if he’d just walked through Esme’s door.
And now it was up to them to see that the girl found her way into his heart.
Esme set the cat down, then rose and tottered over to the line of pegs on the wall, reaching for her cloak hanging there. Turning to Nelson, she motioned at him to follow her. “Storm or not; come along. We’ve got our work cut out for us.”
The cat grumbled something under his breath, but followed his mistress out into the dark and wretched night.
A bargain was, after all, a bargain.
One