Fleming’s smile had been…possessive? Appreciative? Abigail would have the word for it, if she’d seen the couple dancing. That smile gave Stephen a glimmer of a theory regarding why Abigail’s life had been turned upside down, and who was manipulating whom in the Stapleton household.

“You have been most helpful,” Stephen said, lowering his foot from the stool. “How is the shop doing?”

Betty’s gaze went to the roses. “I might sell it to Clare. Would you be angry with me if I did?”

Stephen pushed to his feet, though his knee offered him profanity for making the effort. “You have caught the eye of a military man, and not a half-pay officer. He has room to keep a thriving rose garden and a glass house. He’s probably widowed. Witness, he knows enough to trim the thorns from his bouquet. You like him, and that unnerves you.”

“You unnerve me. How did you know he’s former military?”

“The precision in the arrangement, the stems all cut at exactly the same angle, the colors chosen to match. He’ll be loyal to you, Betty, and he’s seen enough of life that he won’t judge you for making your way as best you could here in London. Soldiers tend to be kind people, when they aren’t on the battlefield.” And often even when they were.

She touched a delicate pink rose petal. “He has a son, a darling little fellow. The captain adores that child. The lad’s mother did not survive long after the birthing. The captain brings Tommy with him into the shop and is so patient with the boy.”

Stephen had the odd sense of having been gently pushed off the stage of Betty’s life. He’d thought to make a dignified exit, assuming he’d always be welcome to return for a cameo appearance, and that had been arrogant of him.

“If Clare needs a silent partner,” he said, “I am happy to oblige. I’ll want the name of your parasol shop too.”

Betty followed his slow progress to the front of the shop. “Does your Miss Abbott appreciate you?”

“She argues with me, about guns, society entertainments, and anything else that strikes her fancy.”

Betty measured out a scoop of gunpowder fragrant with the scent of jasmine flowers. “But when she touches you, is it…real?”

“Her affection is genuine.” And far too fierce for the tame label of affection.

Betty put the tea in a white muslin sack, tied a pretty pink ribbon around it, and passed it to him. “Then you should marry her.”

“I want to, but I’m not sure she’ll have me.” Stephen put the tea in his pocket rather than hold it in his free hand.

Betty went up on her toes and kissed his cheek. “Good. If she puts you off balance, then she’s exactly the lady you ought to wed. You are not to tell Ophelia you stopped by here.”

“Of course not.” Stephen bowed over Betty’s hand, happy for her and her officer, and eager to discuss the conversation with Abigail.