Just like he’d been a moment ago.
And the possible reasons why she was like this swarmed in his brain like biting gnats.
“I let him in the door a few minutes ago,” Dot volunteered happily. “Mr. Bellingham.”
“Well, I’m certainly pleased for your sakes that the beloved vicar has arrived safely. Perhaps I’ll be given an opportunity to ingratiate myself to you, as well. I’vebeen carefully studying your rules, so I’ll be prepared if there is a test.” He gestured with the card.
Clearly the right thing to say.
Now everyone was smiling at him.
Well, Bolt and Hardy were smiling, but he knew it was the conditional sort of smiling men did in order not to alarm women. They hadn’t decided yet what sort of man he was, and this was fair. Clever and thorough as Mrs. Durand and Mrs. Hardy might be, he sensed it was the men he needed to persuade of his suitability, given that he’d arrived bleeding and bristling with weapons, and that was going to be a slightly tricky conversation.
“I should say I hope there will not be dancing of evenings. Although if properly blackmailed, I might be persuaded to sing.”
Everyone laughed at this, too.
The ingratiating was underway.
“Assuming you pass the interview,” Mrs. Gallagher said pleasantly.
He shot her another sidelong glance.
“We all did dance once,” Mr. Delacorte said wistfully. “We even waltzed.”
“It will happen one day again, Mr. Delacorte,” Mrs. Hardy reassured him.
Hawkes noticed the swift, amused look she exchanged with Mrs. Durand.
“Do you remember what happened, Mr. Hawkes?” Hardy asked shortly. “If it’s not too difficult to recount, that is?”
He’dbeen watching Hawkes with unabashed unblinking assessment.
“There’s a tobacconist next to an apothecary who stocks a blend I enjoy—I’m in London overnight ona bit of business and your establishment was recommended to me. I strolled over to have a look at the livery stables adjacent and considered stopping into the little pub next door when I was accosted. Clearly, the blighter mistook me for someone who needed stabbing. I dodged or I think he would have ended me.”
“Oh!Terrifying!” Dot breathed, her hands to her cheeks.
He shrugged with one shoulder and lifted an insouciant hand.
(Dot found this thrilling. She would repeat this story and imitate that little hand gesture for maids in the kitchen the moment she got an opportunity.)
“I confess I felt a little unwell some days before it happened and hoped I merely needed a good sleep, and it seems I’ve had a bit of a fever. Admittedly, I feel considerably better this morning, if, alas, not absolutely in top form. Again, I cannot thank all of you enough for your extraordinarily kind efforts on my behalf. And please do not allow my depleted condition to dissuade you from extracting payment.”
As Mrs. Hardy and Mrs. Durand smiled at him, he tensed when he caught a minute movement out of the corner of his eye—Captain Hardy was reaching into his coat like a man reaching for a gun.
Hardy’s hand emerged holding a flask.
Hawkes wondered if either Hardy or Bolt had his guns tucked into their coats, too, ready to return them. “Have anything else interesting in your pockets, Captain Hardy?”
Hardy smiled pleasantly. “Would you mind if Bolt and I spoke privately with Mr. Hawkes?” Captain Hardy gestured with the flask. “I think we can make at least one of his dreams come true and his coffee more interesting.”
“Of course,” Mrs. Hardy said. “We look forward to coming to know you, Mr. Hawkes—and to having a little conversation. We’ll have someone look in on you at intervals to see if you need assistance with anything.”
“I look forward to it, too. And please extend my warmest regards to whoever managed to get the blood out of my shirt. I feel more myself and it is much appreciated.”
They left prepared to like their new guest very much, Mrs. Gallagher bringing up the rear, sending him one unreadable yet strengthening glance from those eyes of hers.
Chapter Thirteen