to the greengrocer, her cheeks pink with the pleasure of arguing. And Jack, holding her basket, reeled on his feet.
Not because of lettuce, or even cabbage. But because she was right: When the cost was too dear, there was no way to find joy. He and Helena had sold themselves, she for status and he for money. He’d loved someone else, and she had too.
The cost had been too dear. And when Lincolnshire had seen loss upon loss—Marianne’s father, the Redfern lands, Helena, his own father—Jack stopped counting the months to the end of mourning and began instead counting the months until he could get away. To Marianne, with whom he’d last been happy in that golden, glowing, honeycomb way.
“Forget the lettuce,” she concluded with a sniff. “Mr. Haviland, I’ll take the cabbages instead. Jack, by the time I’m done with them, you’ll swear they were tender spring greens.”
She tapped her chin with a fingertip. “How many do you suppose we could fit into that basket? I’ll need twenty-three for the academy meal, and for the servants’ dinner...hmm.”
“Wait. You make a whole separate dinner for the servants?”
Her brows drew together. “Of course I do. You don’t think the kitchenmaids dine on roasted lambs and new peas with shallots, do you?”
He resettled the basket, growing heavy again on his arm. “I rather hoped this kitchenmaid would.”
She elbowed him, grinning. “The meal will be as good as you help me make it. We’ll have colcannon, and you see if Mrs. Lavery doesn’t come into the kitchens for a serving of it.”
“Mrs. Lavery?” Jack didn’t recognize the name as one of the servants he’d met the day before.
“She’s the—” Biting her lip, she shot a glance at the greengrocer. “The art teacher, among other things. Family’s from Ireland. She made sure I’ve got the recipe just right.”
To the order of cabbages, she added onions as well, selecting them carefully as a wealthy lady might pick over the stones at Rundell and Bridge. After arranging to have the vegetables delivered to the academy, she rejected the leeks the greengrocer offered. “Good in colcannon, but not if they look dry as that. Nice try, Mr. Haviland.”
The man threw up his hands in seeming dismay, then bade a farewell so cheerful that it was clear he’d enjoyed the dickering as much as Marianne had. As they left the stands of fruit and vegetables, Jack was simply relieved not to have dozens of cabbages piled onto the clinking weight of the exotic ingredients in the basket.
“We’ll go to the butcher’s next,” Marianne said, pushing back into the thick of the crowd of shoppers. “And find a bit of bacon to go into the servants’ dinner, plus joints of beef for the young ladies.”
“One moment,” Jack said. “I’ve got to switch arms, since you’re using me instead of a farm wagon.” He shifted the basket, drawing it from his aching left forearm to the right and immediately felt pinioned.
It was then that he noticed the dip. If it had been subtle, he probably wouldn’t have, but this was a jostle against his side, a hand in his coat.
He struggled to turn, fighting the press of several people moving past him at once. Who had done it? A boy? No, a grown man! That wiry balding fellow, just there. Jack saw the purse just before someone moved between them, blocking both his sight and path to the man.
“Stop! Thief!” Jack thrust the huge basket into Marianne’s arms, then gave chase. “Stop that bald man!” he called. “Thief!” Damn these crowds! Why was everyone in his way? Hadn’t they heard him? Seen the man running away with his purse?
Shoving and pushing, he finally got close enough to dive for his quarry. With a leap and a curse, he caught the man about the shoulders and tackled him down.
“Lemme go! I didn’t do anything!” The wiry man struggled, caught Jack in the bruised forearm, and slipped from his grasp as Jack hissed in pain.
A neat booted foot stuck out—to trip the man, Jack thought with a flicker of hope, but no, it caught another fellow and sent him sprawling. The balding man darted away, looking over his shoulder furtively, as Jack turned to lambaste his would-be helper.
It was no well-meaning stranger who regarded him with grave green eyes.
“Marianne!” How had she run after him so quickly? He shook that off. “That’s not the thief!” The man she had tripped was larger and quite prosperous looking. Already, he was heaving himself upright,