“Mistress Vache” to Grace behind her mother’s back.
She stuck her tongue out at him and decided he hadn’t earned a kiss, no matter how many times he called her statuesque.
“Really, that’s uncalled for!” Minerva said. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“One can hardly blame me for trying to improve upon them, madam.” Crispin inclined his head in what appeared to be a deferential nod. Grace was sure it was not. “Especially when your words make so little sense. Is your eyesight poor? How can you fail to see your daughter’s best qualities?”
Minerva’s mouth opened and closed like a trout flopping on a river bank. Then she gathered herself and glared up at him.
“Mr. Hawke, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Minerva said with a spine of steel in her tone. “I want the very best for my daughter. I assure you I’m only thinking of Grace.”
“No, you’re only thinking of yourself, Mrs. Makepeace, and how Grace’s appearance reflects on you,” he said evenly. “And if you like that insipid sprigged muslin, I suggest you wear it. Your daughter is not the only one who could use some borrowed youth.”
Minerva puffed herself up like a wren on a window ledge. “Well, I never!”
“Probably not, and that may be your trouble.” He turned away from her mother like a potentate dismissing an unworthy subject. “Tell me, Grace. What was it you liked about the bombazine?”
“Oh, you’re both impossible.” Grace put her hand to her mouth and fled from the shop, letting the door slam behind her with a satisfying thwack. Before she reachedthe corner, she heard the staccato tap of Crispin’s walking stick behind her. She turned to face him.
He stopped, planted the walking stick between his boots and leaned toward her.
“Well done, Grace!” He gave her an approving nod. “Don’t give her permission to demean you. If you hadn’t bolted when you did, I’d have had to drag you out by the hair.”
“Did it occur to you that I might be trying to get away from you, too?”
One of his hands shot to his chest. “Me? What did I do?”
“You were unforgivably rude to my mother,” she said with vehemence. “I won’t have you speaking to her like that!”
He frowned. “Hold a moment! In case you didn’t notice, I’m on your side.”
“There are no sides. You’re playing one of your infernal games again,” she said with disgust. “And you’re using me as the ball to bat back and forth.”
His lips twitched. “Perhaps a little.”
“Perhaps a lot. Besides, my mother isn’t the one who called me a cow.”
He laughed. “That’s a private joke between us, ma petite vache. ”
“It’s not very funny.”
His smile faded. “No, I can see that it’s not. I only said it because I wanted to remind you that I stand ready to rescue you…again.”
“I can rescue myself, thank you very much.”
No, no, no. She would not think about the way he fought off those ruffians at Vauxhall for her. Or the way his sharp eyes seemed to bore into her soul and see far too clearly for her comfort.
“I want you to apologize to my mother.”
“I would be happy to,” he said with a sweeping bow. “Just as soon as she apologizes to you.”
Grace folded her arms across her chest and turned to walk on. “She won’t do that. You’ve got to understand, Crispin. She means incredibly well.”
“Indeed. I’m sure a vivisectionist also has noble intent, but at the end of the day his subject is still flayed alive.”
“She honestly doesn’t realize she hurts me.” Grace picked up her walking pace.
“Someone should tell her.” Crispin fell into canting step with her.
She slanted her gaze at him. “Someone just did.”
“Then I hope the truth has its desired effect,” he said. “It’s supposed to set one free, or so I’ve heard. You should make your own choices. She’s trying to mold you into something you’re not.”
“She’s been at it for a while.” Grace
She stuck her tongue out at him and decided he hadn’t earned a kiss, no matter how many times he called her statuesque.
“Really, that’s uncalled for!” Minerva said. “You’re putting words in my mouth.”
“One can hardly blame me for trying to improve upon them, madam.” Crispin inclined his head in what appeared to be a deferential nod. Grace was sure it was not. “Especially when your words make so little sense. Is your eyesight poor? How can you fail to see your daughter’s best qualities?”
Minerva’s mouth opened and closed like a trout flopping on a river bank. Then she gathered herself and glared up at him.
“Mr. Hawke, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Minerva said with a spine of steel in her tone. “I want the very best for my daughter. I assure you I’m only thinking of Grace.”
“No, you’re only thinking of yourself, Mrs. Makepeace, and how Grace’s appearance reflects on you,” he said evenly. “And if you like that insipid sprigged muslin, I suggest you wear it. Your daughter is not the only one who could use some borrowed youth.”
Minerva puffed herself up like a wren on a window ledge. “Well, I never!”
“Probably not, and that may be your trouble.” He turned away from her mother like a potentate dismissing an unworthy subject. “Tell me, Grace. What was it you liked about the bombazine?”
“Oh, you’re both impossible.” Grace put her hand to her mouth and fled from the shop, letting the door slam behind her with a satisfying thwack. Before she reachedthe corner, she heard the staccato tap of Crispin’s walking stick behind her. She turned to face him.
He stopped, planted the walking stick between his boots and leaned toward her.
“Well done, Grace!” He gave her an approving nod. “Don’t give her permission to demean you. If you hadn’t bolted when you did, I’d have had to drag you out by the hair.”
“Did it occur to you that I might be trying to get away from you, too?”
One of his hands shot to his chest. “Me? What did I do?”
“You were unforgivably rude to my mother,” she said with vehemence. “I won’t have you speaking to her like that!”
He frowned. “Hold a moment! In case you didn’t notice, I’m on your side.”
“There are no sides. You’re playing one of your infernal games again,” she said with disgust. “And you’re using me as the ball to bat back and forth.”
His lips twitched. “Perhaps a little.”
“Perhaps a lot. Besides, my mother isn’t the one who called me a cow.”
He laughed. “That’s a private joke between us, ma petite vache. ”
“It’s not very funny.”
His smile faded. “No, I can see that it’s not. I only said it because I wanted to remind you that I stand ready to rescue you…again.”
“I can rescue myself, thank you very much.”
No, no, no. She would not think about the way he fought off those ruffians at Vauxhall for her. Or the way his sharp eyes seemed to bore into her soul and see far too clearly for her comfort.
“I want you to apologize to my mother.”
“I would be happy to,” he said with a sweeping bow. “Just as soon as she apologizes to you.”
Grace folded her arms across her chest and turned to walk on. “She won’t do that. You’ve got to understand, Crispin. She means incredibly well.”
“Indeed. I’m sure a vivisectionist also has noble intent, but at the end of the day his subject is still flayed alive.”
“She honestly doesn’t realize she hurts me.” Grace picked up her walking pace.
“Someone should tell her.” Crispin fell into canting step with her.
She slanted her gaze at him. “Someone just did.”
“Then I hope the truth has its desired effect,” he said. “It’s supposed to set one free, or so I’ve heard. You should make your own choices. She’s trying to mold you into something you’re not.”
“She’s been at it for a while.” Grace
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