Carola Dunn Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dibden’s booth came into sight. She did not want to appear too eager.
     Since yesterday the booth had been improved. Before it now stood two benches for customers to sit on while imbibing their chocolate. The slapdash name-board above had been replaced with a new one, neatly painted in green on white:
    DIBDEN PASTRYCOOK
    at the sign of the Pie and Pipkin
    Cornhill.
    At one end was depicted a golden-crusted pie decorated with cut-out pastry leaves and a fluted rim; at the other a brown earthenware pot.
     The stall was besieged by customers. Reluctant to wade into the crush, and to transact her business so publicly, Rosabelle hesitated.
     The crowd was for the most part composed of solid citizens, tradesmen and their wives and children taking a holiday from the demands of commerce to enjoy the Frost Fair. Among them Rosabelle saw the caped greatcoats of two gentlemen, and a footman’s livery. As she watched, three young ladies took possession of one of the benches.
     All three were expensively dressed in fur-trimmed pelisses. From the cut and ornamentation, Rosabelle guessed which rival modiste had designed and made up two of the three. She was more expensive but less exclusive than Madame Yvette, who was in a position to pick and choose her clients, and to dictate to them.
     That plump redhead should never have been rigged out in coquelicot, Rosabelle thought disapprovingly, nor with horizontal bands of fur around the full skirt of her Russian mantle. Worse, the short cape of fur made her shoulders almost as broad as those of the black pugilist.
     In contrast, the equally plump brunette, who was one of maman’s customers, looked almost slim in a close-fitting pelisse, narrow-skirted, with vertical stripes from neck to hem. The rich amber colour flattered her, too. Rosabelle knew the Honourable Miss Abernathy had wanted modish Pomona green, which made her look sallow, but Madame Yvette had not permitted it.
     The third was a fair beauty who would have looked lovely in rags. She was the most animated of the three, chattering and laughing with endearingly mischievous glee. They had probably slipped away to taste forbidden pleasures after telling their mamas they were going to walk in Hyde Park.
     Rosabelle found herself smiling in sympathy.
     A woman pushed free of the throng at the counter and approached the young ladies. Dressed in black, she appeared to be an abigail. She bobbed a curtsy and said something, then moved to stand behind the bench.
     A moment later Mr Rufus emerged from the booth. He carried a tray with three cups of steaming chocolate, which he presented to the three on the bench. He bowed, and through the din of the fair Rosabelle picked out the timbre of his voice. She could not hear what he said, but whatever it was, it made the three ladies blush, bridle and giggle.
     Sympathy vanished as a dart of pure jealousy shot through Rosabelle. In vain she reminded herself that she had known him for a flirt.
     For a moment she watched as he continued to speak to them. Cures were usually unpleasant, were they not? But it was too painful. She need not torment herself with meeting him face to face—she could send Mary and Anna with his blasted sixpence and find something other than gingerbread for fairings.
     She was about to turn away when he glanced around, searchingly, a slight frown creasing his forehead. He saw her, and his face lit.
     Without another word to the aristocratic young ladies, he strode towards Rosabelle. Her heart felt ready to burst. Afraid of what he might read in her face, she looked down and fiddled with her reticule, suddenly clumsy fingers striving to take out her purse.
     “Miss Ross! I was afraid you wouldn’t come.”
     Shyly she raised her eyes to his face. The warmth in his gaze brought a rush of warmth to her cheeks.
     In self-defence, she made a joke of it. “Fie, Mr Rufus, you thought me the sort of person who doesn’t pay her debts? I came to return your