Nighttime always seemed to bring out Wendell’s insecurities, and by the time morning arrived, he’d talked himself out of this crazy plan. But as he walked into work, he passed by the tea shop and just happened to glance in, catching a glimpse of Ariadne as she placed new bags of tea on the shelves. She was so sweet, so pretty that he knew he had to give it a try. Chances were quite good that he wasn’t even worthy of her love, but the thought of moving on left him feeling desolate, so he pulled in a deep breath and went about his errands.
He asked the tailor for advice on his new suit, and while he wasn’t sure about the new styles that were coming out, he agreed to give the suggestions a try. Then he bought stationery. Mrs. Jackson seemed amused when he asked for something with a scroll pattern. She explained that she didn’t have any, but she did sell him some with a nice border printed on it, and he imagined it would please Miss Chapel’s discriminating tastes.
When he arrived at the office, he opened the package of stationery and stared at it. How long had it been since he’d written a personal letter? The only person who had ever cared to hear from him was his mother, and she had passed away two years previously. His father had been dead for ten years. He had no siblings. No wonder he was such a boring man—he lived a nearly solitary existence. He had no call to be writing a letter when he had nothing valuable to say.
He put the stationery in his drawer, and his eyes fell on the list of properties that had been left by Mr. Wells. That was something he knew how to do. He put the list in his pocket, locked up his office again, and strode down the street, thankful that all his dealings were close enough that he didn’t have to hassle with other means of transportation.
When he got to the bank, he was warmly greeted by Byron Cromwell, who took the sheet of paper and studied it carefully. “Yes, these properties are still available,” he said after he checked each one.
“My client is interested in purchasing them all,” Wendell said.
Byron raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “We can certainly see to that. What is the name that will be going on the deed?”
Wendell opened his mouth, then closed it again. He wasn’t actually sure. He’d been so confused after his conversation with Miss Chapel that he hadn’t asked Mr. Wells all the questions he should have. “I’ll find out for you straightaway,” he replied.
“Excellent. Let me know, and then we can start drawing up bills of sale.” Byron shook his hand, and Wendell left the bank feeling as though he’d done something good. If only all his business transactions went that smoothly.
His feet led him past the tea shop, but then stopped, turned, and walked right through the door. It was almost as though he’d been dragged in there by an invisible force. Regina Honeycutt stood behind the counter and smiled as he approached.
“Good morning, Mr. Thurgood. How are you today?”
“I’m fine,” he answered, pulling his hat from his head. “And you?”
“Doing well. How may I help you?”
“I . . .” His courage failed, but he dredged it back up again. He would never get anything he wanted in life if he ran from the opportunities. “I wondered if Miss Ariadne was in today.”
“Yes, she’s in the back for a moment. Would you like me to get her for you?”
His face must have shown his uncertainty because she added, “It’s no trouble.”
“Yes, please,” he blurted, and she stepped around the partition that led to the back of the shop.
His heart was pounding in his chest so fast, he thought it might pop right through his coat buttons. He’d never in his life asked to see a young lady. He hoped that Miss Chapel, wherever she was, could see the immense danger he was putting himself in and could appreciate what he was going through. If he ended up on JT’s doorstep with some sort of stress-related ailment, he wouldn’t be surprised.
Ariadne came around the partition, her face full of smiles, but a flicker of disappointment crossed her features when she saw him. Nevertheless, she greeted him kindly. “Hello, Mr. Thurgood. What can I do for you?”
It was on the tip of his tongue to say “Marry me,” but he didn’t think it was quite time for that. Instead, he said, “I’m told you make a very good cup of Earl Grey, and I thought I’d like to try it for myself. I’ve never had it, you see.”
“Oh? Who told you about it?” She glanced around, as though looking for his friend.
“Someone I met yesterday.”
“I see.” She smiled again, looking as though she had some hidden secret. “I’d be more than happy to make you some. Please have a seat.”
He lowered himself onto a chair and waited, trying not to stare as she set a saucer and cup on the counter, then placed a small bowl of sugar on a tray. Each of her movements were so graceful, so precise, it was like she was performing an ancient tea ritual. He was absolutely fascinated by it.
He knew from overhearing others speak that she was well educated and very well read, that she excelled in handicrafts, and that she enjoyed music. These were bits he’d been collecting for weeks, picking them up from random conversations and tucking them away in his memory like pearls to be strung together to make up a whole woman’s character. He would love to discuss music with her—that was one thing they’d have in common, and something he could include in his letters. Miss Chapel would be glad to hear that he’d thought of another interest.
When Ariadne brought over his tray, she set it down and turned to leave. “Wait,” he said, desperate to talk to her. “Tell me about the tea,” he finished lamely, realizing he needed an excuse for his request.
“Earl Grey? Well, it’s black tea flavored with oil of bergamot. That’s a type of orange,” she replied. “Taste it. See what you think. It’s one of my favorites.”
He lifted the cup to his nose, sniffed, and then took a sip. The flavor hit his senses, and he blinked a few times.
“That’s delicious,” he replied, pleasantly surprised. He didn’t know why he hadn’t expected to like it.
She smiled, and it warmed him to his toes. “I’m so glad. I used to have a cup of it every afternoon when it rained in England, and it does rain in England quite a lot.”
“I’m sure that makes it very green,” he offered.
“It does, out in the country and in the parks. In the towns themselves, however, it just makes things a bit more gray.”
“And where did you live?” He was exhilarated to realize he was actually having a conversation with her, and that he sounded normal and not like the babbling idiot he’d feared he would.
“We lived in London, but we did go out into the country quite a bit. My father had a friend who owned a lovely country estate, and we’d go boating or have picnics in the woods. Some of my fondest memories are of the country.”
Just then, the door to the shop opened, and four ladies came in. Ariadne smiled at Wendell apologetically. “Please excuse me. I hope you enjoy your tea.”
“Oh, no problem,” he said. “It’s very tasty . . .” But she was already helping her new customers, and likely hadn’t heard him.
He sat back in his chair and took another sip, trying to decide how to feel. On the one hand, she had a business to run, and she needed to see to the needs of all her customers—not just him. She did have rent to pay, after all, and he was keenly invested in whether or not she paid that rent. On the other hand, he wished she could have stayed forever, chatting about boats and picnics and whatever else came to mind. She could have asked Regina to help the new customers, couldn’t she?
But that was a foolish wish. She had no idea how badly he wanted to get to know her, so of course she would move on with her day. The best thing was for him to go back to the office, write her a letter, and get this plan under way—the sooner the better.
He stood and placed some money on the counter. As he was leaving, he passed the table where she was setting a pot of tea, and she called out, “Mr. Thurgood?”
He turned. “Yes?”
“It was nice talking to you.”
That unexpected olive branch warmed his soul clear to his toes. “Thank you, Miss Stoker. I enjoyed it myself.”
He walked back to the office without even feeling the ground beneath his feet.
***
As soon as all their customers had left, Ariadne cornered Regina behind the counter. “When you tell me I have a gentleman caller out front, you need to tell me what sort of gentleman caller it is,” she said. “I was expecting . . . well, I was hoping it was Mr. Wells.”
“I’m sorry,” Regina replied. “I didn’t realize you had any hopes up. I was just trying to be funny.”
“It wasn’t funny at all. And poor Mr. Thurgood. He was trying to be kind to me, and I likely treated him like a leper.” Ariadne leaned against the counter. “I don’t want him to think badly of me, but it’s difficult to be polite when you’re expecting Mr. Wells and get the landlord instead.”
“I’m sorry,” Regina said again. “I might need to go hunt down this Mr. Wells and see what has you in such a tizzy about him.”
“He’s just . . . well, he’s just about perfect,” Ariadne said. She smiled, then giggled, thinking about him. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve built him up in my imagination to be all sorts of things he’s really not, but yes, you do need to meet him. He’s charming and witty, and so handsome. Regina, honestly, I’ve never met a more handsome man in my life.”
Regina raised an eyebrow. “That’s quite a claim you’re making.”
“And it’s absolutely true. I wish I knew where he was staying so I could have you go hover around until you caught a glimpse of him.”
“Well, I’m glad you don’t know then—I’m not the hovering-around type.” Regina took her bag from under the counter. “I’ll run over to the mercantile and see if Toria has any cinnamon today. We’re on our very last bit.”
“Thank you. And also some molasses, please.”
“All right.” Regina left, the shop was empty once again, and Ariadne took a moment to breathe before washing up the dishes that had been dirtied over the last hour. She had actually enjoyed chatting with Mr. Thurgood—he’d seemed genuinely interested when she mentioned her holidays in the country, and she’d been sorry to end their conversation so soon. Perhaps he wasn’t quite as unpleasant as she’d originally thought, but she still had to wonder—what did he want?