Free Parlor Games by Leda Swann Page A

where I would rather have your company fully dressed than not at all.”
    He really was trying to court her. Her insides curled pleasantly at the thought that he liked her company as well as desiring her body. “I do not know if we are allowed out to go walking,” she said doubtfully.
    “Pshaw. Tomorrow is Sunday and even the lowliest house maid gets a half-day on a Sunday. Mrs. Erskine would be a brute to refuse you. I will come to call for you at two in the afternoon.”
    With that, he set her off his knee, stood up purposefully, and clapped his hat on his head. “I had best be off before Mrs. Erskine sets her porters on me and tosses me out into the street.”
     
     
     
    That night Sarah barely slept. Before it was yet dawn, she had risen from her bed and was contemplating her wardrobe in despair. Going walking with Tom was a far cry from walking out with a butcher. What sort of a dress should she wear for a stroll in the park with a real gentleman? She did not want to make him ashamed of her, or regret being seen with her in public.
    She did not admit even to herself that she had other, equally pressing, concerns. Which dress would Tom like best to see her in? What color did he fancy above any other?
    Polly, seeing her confusion, kindly came to her rescue. “The green dress with the ribbons,” she pronounced almost at once. “It sets off your pretty pale skin, and makes your eyes look even greener. Besides,” she added with a giggle, “it is cut so neat that you will not be able to wear a thing underneath it. Poor Mr. Wilde will be driven to distraction thinking about that for the whole walk.”
    Polly helped her to lace herself tightly into the chosen dress. That done, she paced about the floor unable to concentrate on anything, waiting for two o’clock.
    To her relief, Tom presented himself at the coffee house at two o’clock on the dot. He offered her his arm and walked her out of the door like any lady into the bright sunshine of a clear afternoon.
    “You look as pretty in the afternoon sunshine as you do in the dim light of the gas lamps of an evening,” he remarked, as they picked their way over the cobblestones toward the tiny patch of green at the end of the street that called itself a park.
    “Is that meant to be a compliment?” She could not help but think that it was a very poor one.
    He shrugged. “Not at all. It was simply the truth.”
    The bright sunshine made her feel more daring than usual. “I would think a man who writes for his living would be able to make a prettier speech to a young woman than that,” she teased.
    “Do you want pretty speeches? I can make you twenty such if you please, but I rather thought you would prefer me to pay you the compliment of talking honestly with you.”
    He was right, of course, though she was more in the mood for compliments this afternoon. “I do prefer your honesty.”
    They walked in silence for some moments until Tom broke it again. “I will not marry you, you know.”
    His sudden pronouncement took her aback. There was such a thing as too much honesty. “I never expected you would.” Expectation was one thing, hopes and dreams and wild fantasies were quite another. She could not deny that in her fantasies, Tom had proposed to her on bended knee, but she knew as well as he did that her dream was unthinkable in reality.
    “I cannot afford to set you up as my mistress. Though I can support one house hold well enough on my income, I cannot support two in any style. You would make a poor showing as my mistress. You’d be better off as a milliner than depending on me for your bread.”
    She pulled her arm out of his, picking her way through the muddy grass of the park without the support of his arm. Did he think because she was poor that she had no pride? “I am not depending on any man for my bread.”
    “I have paid Mrs. Erskine for the pleasure of your company for a month, but I really do not know why I am bothering with you.”
    A cloud