The Watchmaker's Daughter (Glass and Steele #1)(62)

"Will you be at church tomorrow?" he said.

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Because I'd like to know which one to attend in order to see you again."

I laughed and bowed my head to hide my blush. "I believe Grosvenor Chapel is the nearest."

"Then I hope to see you in the morning." He walked me up the steps and deposited me at the door. "I'm glad I bumped into you, Miss Steele."

"So am I," I said. "I'd be thoroughly wet otherwise."

He laughed, but I winced on the inside. I'd made it sound like I'd used him for his umbrella. I had enjoyed our walk together, but not in that way, I realized. Not in the same way I enjoyed Mr. Glass's company. It was like comparing chocolate and apples. Both tasted good, yet one was a decadent experience to be savored, and the other something that could be found in every grocer's cart on every corner. I liked both, but I would always choose chocolate over an apple.

"I hope I haven't caused you any trouble," he said.

"Not at all."

"It's just that you have an observer." He nodded at the window. The curtain fluttered, but not before I saw Miss Glass's face disappear from sight.

I smiled. "Goodbye, Mr. Dorchester. And thank you again."

I slipped inside and shut the door. I'd barely removed one arm from my coat when Miss Glass emerged from the entrance to the sitting room.

"Who was that, dear?" she asked.

"An acquaintance by the name of Dorchester."

"I don't know any Dorchesters."

"He's from Manchester."

"Manchester!" She wrinkled her nose. "What's he doing in London?"

"Visiting."

"From Manchester?" she said, incredulous.

"It's hardly the other side of the world."

"It might as well be. Those accents." She shuddered. "It's like listening to glass break."

"His accent is quite refined. I didn't detect a hint of Mancunian."

She sniffed and I thought that the end of it, but she followed me all the way to the kitchen. I fetched bread, cheese and plum jam from the pantry and set them out on the table.

"Have you eaten?" I asked.

"Picket fixed me something earlier." She sat at the stool and watched me spread jam on a slice of bread. "He's not particularly handsome."

"Are we still discussing Mr. Dorchester?"

"He's rather short too, and he had a way of walking that I didn't like."

I pressed my lips together to suppress my smile. "Perhaps they walk differently in Manchester."

"I suppose he's in trade."

"He has a factory."

She clicked her tongue and picked at the cheese I sliced off the wedge but didn't eat it. "You can do better than an ugly factory worker from Manchester."

"You forgot his odd walking style."

"This is not a joke, India."

I set down the knife with a sigh. "I appreciate your concern, but there's no need. I'm not considering Mr. Dorchester as a suitor."

"You may not be, but he might be considering you. Sometimes men—I won't refer to him as a gentleman, since I don't know his connections—can be difficult to remove once they latch onto you. I've seen very eligible girls swept up by a romantic gesture from a man who is not at all suitable."

I was about to protest that I wasn't susceptible to romantic gestures, but past experience showed that to be false. While Eddie hadn't shouted his love for me from a rooftop, he had given me flowers and trinkets on a regular basis and been attentive from the start.

I stuffed my mouth full of bread and jam, to avoid answering, and hoped Miss Glass would leave the topic of Mr. Dorchester alone. Unfortunately, she was only getting started and proceeded to warn me about the dangers of a woman alone in the world and men of unknown connections. The only way I could see to stop her was to tell her that I'd learned my lesson from Eddie. Thankfully Willie walked in, distracting Miss Glass. I'd never been so pleased to see her, even though she wore an ominously thunderous expression.

"Bread?" I offered. "Cheese?"

"God, yes." Willie descended on the table like a hawk on a field mouse. "I'm half starved."

I handed her a slice of bread with jam and hoped it would be enough to chase her black mood away. She bit into it, tearing off a chunk with her teeth like a lion ripping apart a poor creature it had just caught.

"Don't see you down here much," she said to Miss Glass around her mouthful. Miss Glass looked horrified, which I suspected was Willie's intention. "That Polly girl not feeding you?"

"Picket takes good care of me, thank you."

"Why do you call her by her last name?"

"It's the way things are done here. I don't expect anyone from an American backwater to understand."

"Miss Glass wanted to talk to me about Mr. Dorchester," I said quickly, before Willie's temper had a chance to flare. "He escorted me home just now."

"Who?"

"The man from the poker game last night. The one who punched Lord Dennison."

"Punched!" Miss Glass's hand fluttered at her black lace collar. "I knew he was no good."