A Study in Silks

“Good day, Mr. Penner,” she answered very properly. “I trust you are well.”

“Indeed I am,” he gave her a sly look. “I see you are once again guarding the supply of tea, this time with an entire equipage.”

Imogen’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed, I am not. Let there be tea for all. Here, have a bun.” She unrolled the top of the paper sack and held it out defiantly.

The corners of his mouth twitched, but then a furrow of concern appeared between his eyebrows. Imogen looked down to see what he was looking at and saw with horror that her lace cuff was torn. Dirty streaks covered her pale gloves where she had scrabbled to safety in the warehouse. She felt the color mount to her cheeks as Bucky’s brown gaze lifted to meet hers, a question clear in his eyes.

“You’ve had an eventful morning?” he asked blandly and with another quick glance at Applegate.

“Nothing untoward,” she said, widening her eyes in warning. “Just a bit of shopping.”

He fished a bun out of the bag, his look turning conspiratorial. “Far be it from me to question the mercantile conquests of the fairer sex. But do keep in mind that I am always available to carry parcels if the occasion requires. I hope it is not too forward a sentiment, but I’ve been a friend of your brother’s far too long not to consider myself your friend as well.”

Imogen swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry as the sawdust on the warehouse floor. She rolled up the paper sack briskly, refusing to show that she was flustered even if her face was hot clear up to her eyebrows. Ugh. How sophisticated.

But after a brief struggle, she found her tongue. “That is most gentlemanly of you, Mr. Penner.” And there was something about his manner that said she could trust him if she needed to. Intense gratitude unlaced the tight feeling that had left an ache in her stomach and she took the first proper breath she’d had in what felt like hours.

And then Bucky held up the bouquet. It was a small, round confection of primroses framed in a paper lace doily. Reflexively, she accepted it, even though there were a thousand warnings about accepting flowers from young men. It was a signal that he was courting her, and that simply wasn’t possible. Not Bucky. At least, not in any world she was familiar with.

“What is this?” she asked, thinking the question stupid even as she said it.

“Flowers,” he replied dryly. “Or, if you prefer, an earnest against future events.” His mouth curled wickedly as he bit into the bun with strong, white teeth.

Imogen gulped. She’d demanded flowers before he kissed her, she recalled now. The realization made her fingers clumsy, and she nearly dropped the bouquet into her lap. “Primroses. How lovely.”

“My sisters claim flowers have a meaning. I do hope I made an appropriate choice.”

Primroses were the flower of the silent but enduring admirer. Did that mean Bucky had been nursing feelings for her? With a sudden flood of panic, Imogen raised her eyes, but Bucky was looking away.

“Here comes Miss Cooper out of the tea shop,” he said jovially, and raised his hat as the dark-haired girl approached.

Evelina! And Evelina was alone—not in leg irons or on a stretcher—looking a little disheveled but otherwise unhurt. Relief crashed into Imogen, but somehow got tangled in this new worry over Bucky. She parted her lips to speak, but no sound came out. Am I making too much out of a simple bouquet?

Bucky still had his face turned away. “Miss Cooper looks a trifle harassed. What is it about refreshments that obtaining them seems to be fraught with complications?”

Imogen’s mind flashed back to the garden party and her encounter with Bucky beside the tea urn. She’d felt something stir inside her, a recognition of attraction for this man who had been no more than her big brother’s teasing friend. She looked at him seriously now, realizing that what she felt for him promised hours of interesting contemplation.

“Tea is never as simple as it appears, Mr. Penner.”

He finally turned to face her, that smile of his a bit less certain now. This was the moment she could end this flirtation before it began. And this is Bucky Penner, the one who rigged my pianoforte so that it set off a miniature explosion every time I hit the D below middle C. Her heart had nearly stopped the first time he’d done that. She still flinched every time she played that particular piece by Czerny.

“Then perhaps I should take my leave,” he said with an edge of disappointment.

“As Miss Cooper has returned, I must be on my way,” Imogen agreed.

“You do not wish me to stay and assist in any way?”

“Thank you, but no.” His face contracted a minute degree, but she held out her hand, torn cuff and all. “Until another day, then.”

That was clearly the message he wanted to hear. With a spark in his brown eyes, he took her dirty glove in his, kissing her fingers lightly. “Until another day, Miss Roth. And thank you ever so much for the bun.”

He straightened, bowed to Evelina, and set off down the street, eating the sweet with obvious enjoyment. Imogen watched him go, unexpected butterflies in her chest, wondering if she had wakened a second and even more unpredictable dragon.

When Evelina reached the street, the victoria was in front and waiting. With—of all people—Bucky Penner looking like a canary-eating cat. He departed quickly enough that she got the impression he was doing his best to appear a chance passerby. But despite everything, she couldn’t help a prickle of curiosity. Was she missing something? It was hard to tell. She had the feeling that like so many who appeared easygoing, Bucky was expert at hiding what he was really thinking.

When she reached safety of the carriage, Evelina’s strength ebbed. She grabbed the edge of the victoria, refusing to let her knees buckle. Suitably dismayed, Imogen and Applegate bundled her into the vehicle.

“Good gracious, what happened?” Imogen scolded, looking pale as paper. “You were gone so long, I was about to summon the cavalry!”

Since Captain Diogenes Smythe was one of Imogen’s admirers, that wasn’t an entirely empty threat. “I took care of our smoky friend.”

“Pardon me, Miss Cooper,” the old driver broke in, “but may I ask what happened?”

It was a polite way of warning her that Lord Bancroft would get a full report on the day’s events. He clicked to the horses and eased them into the busy traffic.

“There were ruffians.” That sounded lame, but it was the best Evelina could think of on short notice.

“They were bothering me,” Imogen put in. “Extremely rude.”

“Ruffians with a giant, um, dog,” Evelina elaborated. “I stayed behind to point out the villains to some baker’s boys who took care of the matter. It got a little rough.”

“You always were adventurous for a young lady,” the driver replied easily. “It would have been better if you had come and fetched me to sort them out. But as long as you’re not hurt, there’s no harm done I suppose. Though I can’t imagine what ruffians with a giant dog were doing in a draper’s shop that caters to fine ladies like yourselves.”

There was no good answer. The two young women exchanged a conspiratorial look. Evelina smothered a nervous laugh. “They weren’t in the draper’s. They were behind the tea shop.”

Imogen held up a paper bag. “Tea bun?”

“You bought buns? I was fighting for my life and you bought buns?”

Imogen shrugged. “I thought I might as well, since I was in the shop anyway. The currant and lemon ones are excellent.”

Evelina pulled one out and bit into the soft, sweet bread. Ladies didn’t eat in the street, but Imogen grabbed one, too, dropping sugary crumbs all over her dress. Something about danger and derring-do negated even the best table manners.

“So what did we learn?” Imogen asked.

Evelina glanced toward the driver. “That’s where the, um, cloth sample came from. It must have something to do with the warehouse out back.”

Imogen leaned close, lowering her voice to the point where Evelina was mostly reading her lips. “Do you mean the foreign connection? Are they importing something they shouldn’t? I thought opium and the slavers and all that was down in the East End.”