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sixpence.”
     “Forget the sixpence.” His hands clasped around hers, stilling the struggle with the obstinate reticule cords. “Or no, I’m very glad you remembered it, but I don’t want it.”
     “But you said I could repay you tomorrow. Today.”
     “How else was I to make sure you returned? My dear Miss Ross, your honesty must surely be obvious to the meanest intelligence. I knew a debt would bring you back.”
     Again she concentrated on inessentials so as to avoid commenting on his eagerness for her return. “My name isn’t Ross. They call me Miss Ros, short for Rosabelle.”
     “What barbarism! It’s by far too pretty a name to deserve shortening. May I call you Miss Rosabelle?”
     “If you wish,” Rosabelle said with reckless abandon. After today—or at least once the Frost Fair was ended—she would never see him again, so what did it matter what he called her? Her name sounded sweet upon his lips.
     Nonetheless, she withdrew her hands from his and said firmly, “I want to buy fairings for everyone at home, and I thought gilt gingerbread would serve very well, but you must let me pay the proper price.”
     He smiled. “If you insist. How many?”
     Seamstresses, including the assistants in the show and fitting rooms, cook, coachman, maids, “Oh, and the footmen. I’d better take two dozen in case I’ve forgotten anyone.”
     Mr Rufus’s eyes widened. Two dozen servants made a substantial household. Rosabelle nearly told him that most of those, including the footmen, were employees of the business, not household staff, but she held back. If he still had not guessed that she was not a real lady, she did not want to disillusion him.
     He must be aware no family of the aristocracy, or even the gentry, would accept him as a son-in-law, despite his obviously excellent education. As long as he believed her one of them, he expected no more than a brief flirtation with her, to be laid to the magic of the Frost Fair, so he would not be hurt when it ended.
     Between the owners of a prosperous, fashionable establishment and the employees of a commonplace small shop the gulf was narrower but just as deep. Mr Rufus might hope to jump it, not realizing how determinedly it was maintained by those on the far side. Better that he should continue to imagine the gulf as wide as it was deep. Rosabelle did not want him to suffer the double pain of a snub and dashed hopes.
     Of blighted love she did not let herself think. He could not possibly have fallen seriously in love upon such brief acquaintance. And nor could she.
     “Two dozen of gingerbread,” he said. “Any particular shapes?”
     “I don’t know what you’ve got. I didn’t really look yesterday.”
     “Just the usual, I’m afraid. Diamonds and circles, stars and crescent moons, that sort of thing, and of course men with currant eyes.” He laughed. “I experimented a bit with cutting out icicles and snowflakes, but by the time they came out of the oven they were unrecognizable.”
     “What a pity! Anything will do, a variety.”
     “Very well. I’ll have a neat parcel made up for your maid to carry.” He glanced around, raising his eyes from her face for the first time since he had spotted her. He frowned. “But where is Miss Betsy? Is she still incapacitated?”
     “She is much better, but not able to walk.”
     “You haven’t come alone, have you? There are some rough characters about.”
     “Oh,” said Rosabelle doubtfully, remembering numerous taverns and the rowdy youths by the pugilist’s stage, “perhaps I ought to go back to Anna and Mary. I brought two others, as I said yesterday I would, and I left them on the swings.”
     “They’ll be all right together. You arranged to meet?”
     “Yes, I gave them money for hot chocolate and told them to wait here if I had left to look at the sights.”
     “Then will you allow me to escort you to see the sights?”
     A sudden stillness fell between them. Even