The customer who had been in her shop earlier lifted his arm and beckoned her over. She was struck by the ease with which he communicated a great deal with so simple a movement, as though he were accustomed to commanding and being obeyed without question. With no help for it, she wended her way around the tables, chairs, benches, and people, greeting those she knew as she passed by. Finally, she reached him. “While I appreciate your gallantry, you were here before me. The table should be yours.”

“You’d have arrived ahead of me if I’d not delayed you in your shop.”

His mien reminded her of her brothers, and she was well aware of the time involved in striving to win an argument with them, so she graciously accepted her defeat, but decided one last rally was in order. “As there are two chairs, I don’t see why we can’t share the table.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, in what appeared to be disapproval, as though she’d suggested they strip off their clothes and dart about through the establishment. “You’re an unaccompanied woman.”

“Which is the reason the other chair is available.” She kept her tone amiable and pleasant, rather than pointing out she knew exactly what she was. For the span of a heartbeat, she thought he was going to smile, but he seemed to be fighting his inclination to do so. “Please. You can read your book and I’ll read mine. We needn’t speak. It’ll be as though we’re dining alone.”

“You have a book?”

“A miniature. In the pocket of my skirt. Please join me. Otherwise, guilt shall gnaw at me for delaying your dinner, and I won’t enjoy mine.” She didn’t know why she was insisting when he seemed so uninterested in her company, but she never had liked the thought of inconveniencing another.

With a slight bowing of his head, he pulled out a chair and indicated it was for her. Gracefully, because she’d mastered the lessons that had taught her it was the only way a lady sat, she eased down to the wooden seat, grateful when he took the one opposite her, yet surprised he exhibited almost as much grace. She’d watched countless men drop into their chairs within these walls. Few did it with such deliberate care, as though every muscle, bone, and bit of sinew had been trained to respond with an elegance of motion, as if their owner were accustomed to being observed and intended to ensure none found fault with him. He tugged off his gloves and set them aside, while she placed hers across her lap.

“Evenin’, Miss Trewlove.”

She glanced up at the young woman whose face was flushed with her efforts and her bosom in danger of breaking free of her black bodice’s restraints. “Hello, Becky.”

“Wot ye be havin’ this evenin’?”

“What has Hannah prepared?”