Just below, she’d drawn a crude sheep and goat. She had written the names of the species above each drawing.
I request that you correct your mistake without delay.
V. A.
It was a jest. She was smiling, clearly pleased with herself for it.
This was hardly proper, and Mateo wondered what he would think if Pacheco or Borerro had made a joke of it. What would he think if one of those two men suddenly burst into laughter? He would smile, surely. He would join in the jest.
Mateo picked up a pen from his desk and added a beard to the goat and handed the letter back to her.
Miss Woodchurch laughed with delight. “He’ll have absolutely no excuse for it now.” She was still grinning when she handed him another letter, this one more somber in tone, asking Mr. Feathers to correct his mistake at once, and if he did not, that he would instruct the majordomo to cancel the purchase.
A perfect letter for this strange circumstance. Beautifully written and presented.
But Mateo liked the first one better. He kept it on his desk. “Thank you, Miss Woodchurch.”
“You are most welcome, my lord. What would you like me to do now?”
“You may take tea.”
Her smile faded. She seemed to reluctantly make her way to the door. She paused there and looked back at him, and he sensed she wanted to speak. But all she said was, “Thank you,” and left the room.
What had she meant to say? He realized he was very curious about what she meant to say and regretted not asking her.
He regretted sending her away at all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
WHENMISSWOODCHURCHreturned from tea, she was bearing a plate of madeleine pastries. Mateo looked with confusion at them, then at her.
“It is not my place, I know, but you really must try one.” She held out the plate. “They’re delicious. They are almost as good as Mrs. O’Malley’s.”
Mateo and Rosa had made the sweets just last night. And who was Mrs. O’Malley?
“I’ve never known anyone who can bake delights like Mrs. O’Malley. Until now, that is.” She held the plate a little closer to him. He reluctantly took one.
“Thank you.”
She took the plate to the small writing desk to put aside, then returned to his desk for instructions. He gestured to the chair. “I’ll have a few things for you in a moment.”
Miss Woodchurch did as he asked. She sat on the edge of the seat, her back straight, her hands politely folded. He looked at the work before him on the desk. He’d been working so long that the figures were beginning to swim. He put down his pencil and rubbed his temples.
“The weather has been fine, hasn’t it?” she said. “I walked in Hyde Park this morning—it was lovely. Have you been?”
Mateo sighed softly.
“You really should, you know. Not that I would presume to tell you what to do. But if you like to ride, Rotten Row is where all the fashionable people go to ride and be seen. It’s quite crowded in the afternoons, but in the mornings it’s a wonderful respite. If the sun is shining, of course.”
He gave her a curt nod and picked up his pencil.
“Or, you can walk alongside the row. Or take a carriage if you like. Really, there is any number of ways you might enjoy the park.”
He couldn’t think.
“But I think the park is best enjoyed—”
“Miss Woodchurch.”
