Page 13 of The Wallflower Manifesto
The bell above the establishment’s door sang again as another pair of would-be diners squeezed their way in, much to the grumbling discontent of those who were already waiting. This tore Abe’s attention entirely away from the table itself.
“Why, look, Bentley,” he said with sincere glee, just as Freddy had taken up his knife and fork. “It’s your mistress and your sister-in-law.”
The color drained from Freddy’s face immediately, his fingers going slack on his cutlery.
The delectable Miss Millie Yardley had indeed appeared in the doorway, framed by sunlight. She was dabbing at her pale throat and generous decolletage with a lace kerchief in a way Abe felt should have been directed specifically at him, while hercompanion, one Ember Donnelly, was shouting something at the barman.
“I must go,” Freddy mumbled, and though Abe would later recollect he must have exited in a normal fashion, it seemed just then that he vanished in a puff of white smoke, leaving behind his full plate and steaming coffee with a clatter of silverware and a delicately floating cloth napkin settling over his chair.
Judging from the lack of chimes, Abe surmised that Freddy had found a rear exit to flee through.
Cresson had stretched all the way around to look at the ladies, that customary redness creeping up over his ears.
Now, that is interesting, Abe thought. Perhaps he was not the only one fascinated by Miss Yardley’s handkerchief activities.
“Miss Yardley,” he called, so suddenly he might have startled himself just as much as poor Cresson. “Miss Yardley, over here! We have empty seats. Please, join us!”
Millie raised her gaze with a curious lift of her brows, only to sigh with annoyance when her gaze settled on Abe.
He grinned.
Ember Donnelly reacted much the same way, though she indulged in a full rolling of the eyes upon finding them in the crowd.
The women conferred for a moment while Cresson whipped back around to stare, wide-eyed in disapproval, at Abe.
“It’s too late,” Abe said with a smirk. “They’re coming over.”
“... because I don’t mind going elsewhere,” Millie was whispering to Ember, not nearly as quietly as she believed.
“Nonsense, the Cuckoo’s Nest is the only decent breakfast in the neighborhood,” Ember Donnelly answered, briskness in her Irish brogue. “Hello again, Mr. Cresson. Mr. Murphy.”
“I … I …” Cresson fumbled.
“Cresson, move to the inner chair for the lady,” Abe chided, enjoying himself a little bit too much. “Ladies, we have an untouched plate already here if you’d like it. I’m afraid our third had an urgent call to leave before he could enjoy it.”
Ember eyed the plate with interest.
“In fact, have mine as well. I’ll order another so the two of you may eat together.” He slid his plate across the table and signaled for another to the attendant.
“That’s not necessary, really,” Millie began, but seeing Ember take up the discarded cutlery without preamble, she shrugged and accepted the gesture. She didn’t balk at being seated next to Abe, either, at least not that he could discern. She simply avoided looking at him.
Well, that wouldn’t do.
“I hope you don’t mind if we speak about our business rather than socialize,” she said without looking up as she tucked her napkin neatly around her lap. “Miss Donnelly and I are here on a professional basis.”
“As are we,” Abe said cheerfully. “Say, Cresson, did you ever find those interview files I asked for on the jewel thief from last Season?”
That earned him a sidelong glare from Miss Yardley, her brown eyes sparkling a lovely whiskey shade of brown in the warm spring light.
Better.
“I did, in fact,” Cresson replied, seemingly relieved to have something familiar to speak on. “I haven’t finished summarizing them yet for you, but should have them this time next week. For today, I only have two small matters: interviews for a criminal case and an inheritance dispute resulting from bigamy.”
“Oh, the second one sounds rousing.” Abe extended a hand to accept the files Cresson had prepared for him as the third plate and a cup of coffee for Miss Yardley arrived.
“Beg pardon,” he said sweetly, reaching past the ladies for a cube of sugar to drop in his own cup and noting the sharp intake of breath from Miss Yardley as he briefly brushed against her.
He settled back into his seat and opened the file, pretending to skim over it so that the ladies would begin to speak. Ostensibly, he was listening for information regarding Lady Bentley, but personally, he was curious.
