Page 22 of Saved By the Belle

While she waited, she sliced another piece of bread and put it on a plate to bring in with the tea. Mr. Arundel might not eat it, but if he could stomach it, it would help him regain some of his strength.

Finally, the tea was ready, and she brought the tray into her chamber. Arundel was still lying where she’d left him, his eyes open and looking about her room. When she stepped in, he smiled at her, and Belle almost looked over her shoulder to see who he might be smiling at. Ridiculous. Of course, he was smiling at her.

“Here we are.”

“It smells good.”

“I’ve brought you some bread too, if you’re up to eating something.”

“I’ll try.” She helped prop him up on the pillow then stood uncertainly beside the bed. Should she hold the teacup to his lips or allow him to drink on his own? He made the decision for her, taking the cup from her hands. The cup shook on the saucer, making a rattling sound, but he seemed to have a grip on it. Belle didn’t want to stare at him, so she stepped to the window and looked out. The rain seemed to have stopped for the moment, and she opened the window and leaned out, looking up and down Fenchurch Street. The dark clouds in the distance promised more rain. She stretched, peering down Fenchurch Street as far as she could in the direction her father had taken and wondered, again, when he would return.

“What’s the matter?” Arundel asked.

“Nothing,” she said. “It looks like more rain is coming.”

“You’re not a very good liar, Miss Howard.”

Belle rounded on him. “Come see for yourself then. Or just wait an hour. It will be raining again for certain.”

“That’s not what I meant. Something is wrong. I’ve been trained to observe people and note small gestures and expressions. You’re worried about something.”

Interesting how he said he had been trained to observe. If she was a curious sort of person, she might have asked more about that, but she had learned it was better not to be too curious. Sometimes one discovered information one would rather not know. Belle waved a hand. “I don’t think it takes much training to read someone. I can tell the moment someone enters my shop what sort of tea they want.”

“I imagine you can judge the quality of their clothing and steer them toward tea they can afford.”

“There’s that.” She nodded. “But it’s more than that. Some people are keen to try something new and others want what’s comfortable. That sort will never stray from their Darjeeling or their Earl Grey.” She gestured to the cup he held.

“I must say, it’s very good. Probably the best Earl Grey I’ve tasted.”

“I know,” she said. He grinned and sipped again.

“For those people, the ones who want comfort, I’ll never sway them,” she continued. “They might be willing to try an Assam or an Irish Breakfast, but a Jasmine or a Pai Mu Tan? Out of the question.”

“What’s Pai Mu Tan?”

“A sweet white tea. It’s not something you’d enjoy.”

One dark eyebrow winged up. “How do you know?”

“Because it’s sweet and subtle, and you are anything but.”

“I might say the same of you.”

“I hope so. I’d hate to be called sweet or subtle. Still, I enjoy a Pai Mu Tan from time to time.”

“But it’s not your favorite.”

“No, it’s not. Like you, I enjoy something stronger and bolder.”

“I don’t like bitter teas,” he said.

Belle folded her arms. “I didn’t say bitter. My point is, if you came into the shop, I would know the type of tea to present to you.”

“I’m sure it would be expensive.”

“The best teas are worth the cost.”

“Like everything in life, I suppose. So you can recognize a customer who is not adventurous and a customer who is, and you think that by changing the topic, I’ll forget something is bothering you.”

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