the money in her reticule. “I hope you’ll be most happy there.”
Meg stood, throwing the newspaper on the occasional table. “When do you leave?”
“Tomorrow evening. Mr Farmer is in town at the moment, but is returning home tomorrow and I shall go with him.” Miss Nugent nearly skipped in her excitement.
“I’ll arrange for Mrs Nesbit to provide a nice farewell meal.” Hoping the cook would be sober enough to prepare it, Nicola headed out into the hallway for her parasol. “I must go.” She left the house and hurried down the street. At the corner she caught an omnibus to take her into the city.
Once at the docks, Nicola waded through the stream of humanity that always seemed to be in this area, and headed to the agency. The quay surged with activity. The cries of swooping seagulls added to the noise of men unloading ships, of the clip-clopping of horses on the street, of the clanging at the iron mongers, the screeching of hawkers.
At the doorway leading to the offices, Nicola found a large group of people waiting their turn to enter, while inside the people were crammed cheek to jowl. Disheartened, she had no wish to stand around for an hour or so waiting her turn, and so leaving the office, she headed away from the harbour and up towards the city centre, hoping to do a little shopping.
Shying away from Lower George Street, to save bumping into Frances, whose behaviour still hurt her, Nicola crossed Bridge Street and entered the haberdashery on the corner.
After buying reels of cotton, needles, buttons and ordering white linen to be made into table cloths for the new establishment, she asked for them to be delivered and left the shop. She continued on, happy to window shop. It felt indolent to be away from the house, the women and the work ahead of her, but a morning spent doing nothing wouldn’t hurt just this once. Soon they’d be moving into the new house Mr Belfroy bought in Glebe and then there’d be weeks when she’d not have a moment to herself.
Walking along Macquarie Street, Nicola headed towards the Inner Domain. She dodged a cat that streaked out between two carts and flew past her skirts. A little boy holding his mother’s hand squealed, wanting to chase after it, but a command from his mother had him contentedly walking again. Nicola gazed after him for a moment. The small boy glanced over his shoulder, finger stuck in his mouth, large blue eyes unblinking and Nicola smiled.
The door to a large stone building on her right opened and two men and a woman strode out, talking. Nicola’s step faltered as she recognised Nathaniel West as one of the men. He was facing slightly away and had not noticed her. After shaking the man’s hand, he kissed the woman’s hand and tipped his hat to her. Nicola couldn’t take her eyes off him. That man, only eight feet from her, had asked her to marry him. It defied logic. How was it possible for two people to go about their lives when one of them has proposed marriage and the other has rejected it?
Nicola took a step back, hesitating on whether to cross the road or return the way she’d come. Meeting face to face with Mr West wasn’t an alternative. She stood on the edge of the street waiting for a wagon to rumble by, willing it to move faster so she could escape.
“Miss Douglas?”
Nicola, half turned, momentarily closed her eyes and prayed for courage. Summoning a smile, she spun back to him. “Mr West. How delightful.”
His wry smile made her heart skip a beat. “Come now, Miss Douglas, we both know delightful isn’t the correct word in this case. Perhaps...awkward would be more fitting?” He took her hand and bowed over it. “You are well?”
She nodded, blushing. “As you see.”
“Would you indulge me in a walk, Miss Douglas? There are things I must say.”
“No, sorry, I…”
“Please?” His eyes softened with the plea.
Hoping her trembling didn’t show, she swallowed and wondered at her reasoning when she said she would.
They walked for the length of the street, content to let the city noise, the pedestrians and traffic occupy them for a time. Nicola didn’t know how to start a conversation with him. Her mouth seemed to have shut tighter than a clam. Would he propose again? She hoped he wouldn’t, for she utterly believed she wouldn’t know how to refuse for a second time. And