A/N: I have, over the past weeks, reread this story from Chapter One, and have found some embarrassing errors. I am rightfully ashamed and promise that the previous chapters shall be again proofread and re-uploaded properly. Thank you for leaving your thoughts with me as you read each installment, I am very grateful for readers like you who take the time to comment. Chapter 30 should be posted by next week; meanwhile, I hope you enjoy this one. -DCM


Chapter 29

February 4

The place was not as crowded as she expected. At ten-fourty on a Wednesday, Morgan's had a few patrons inside: an elderly man sat on a stool with the paper and his coffee, several were scattered around the small tables enjoying their food, and a few more stood in line, waiting to place their order. Most of the people were casually dressed, and Elizabeth gave her and her companion a once-over in the large mirror situated by the entrance.

"I think we're underdressed." His tone was deadpan, and William watched as her reflection flashed him a brilliant smile. He saw his own replying with a grin.

"I usually get a sandwich to take back to the office," she admitted, "but since the weather's lovely today I thought maybe one of the tables outside? Unless you prefer to eat while walking back, waiting for our food may take longer than I anticipated." She bit her lower lip apprehensively.

"I've got time," he reassured her as they approached the counter. She was still deciding whether to get some fruit or a brownie when he handed the cashier payment, asking her to give them both. A look of slight indignation crossed her face and he raised his eyebrows, taking the number that was handed to them.

"I won't be able to finish both," she insisted, "and do let me pay for lunch." She followed him outside, where he pulled out a chair and gestured for her to sit.

"I'll have whatever you won't," William eased her chair forward towards the table and she twisted in her seat to see his face. "And how about I take care of today; next time it's your turn." He sat down in front of her and held her gaze as Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth twice, finally ducking her head as her cheeks flushed pink.

"Alright," she said softly.

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It turned out, somewhere halfway through their lunch, that William had particular reason to talk about their next meal together. D&S Industries had acquired a new property about twelve blocks away from her gallery, with the intention of turning it into a satellite of their main office in central London. The renovations were ninety-percent finished, and the employees were moving in this week.

She chewed on her sandwich and chided herself for having jumped to that conclusion. He seemed to enjoy her company, yes; but had he actually gone beyond gentlemanly acquiescence? It had been she who brought up lunch; and William being - William, it was only natural for him to want to repay the favour.

Elizabeth laughed softly as he finished the amusing story involving the previous day at the office, feeling an odd sense of relief.

"This is good," he remarked, giving the sandwich he held an approving look. "But not quite Tom Bennet's famous roast beef."

She smiled at him in amused surprise. "That was years ago. You still remember?"

"Of course. That was an unforgettable night." He reached for his drink and took a sip while Elizabeth pondered what other things he remembered from that Christmas dinner five years past. He continued eating, seemingly unaffected, and she gave him a polite smile before again focusing on her lunch.

"So you're," she peeled the paper off the brownie, breaking the bar in half and placing a piece on his napkin, "Going to be in this neighbourhood more often, given your new location?"

He picked up the sweet and gave her a quick glance. "Once, twice a week, more likely; unless absolutely necessary."

"Of course," she replied. He was a very important man, with many responsibilities; and Elizabeth was well aware of that. He had probably not planned on a lengthy lunch today, but was too polite to refuse her invitation. She popped the last bit of brownie into her mouth and motioned for him to take the unopened container of sliced fruit. "Take that with you. I usually get the grilled chicken, no dessert; so today was a bit of guilty pleasure for me."

William nodded, lips curved in a warm smile. "Likewise."

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After walking Elizabeth back to the gallery and then promising to again have lunch in two days' time, William got in his car and made his way to D&S's new building. He pulled into the basement and into his parking slot, then strolled through the sliding doors, moving through the long hallway. He raised a hand in greeting as he passed the painters finishing up the main entrance and caught sight of Richard on the floor of his office - one that adjoined his own. Cross-legged, his cousin sat on the carpet, digging into a large takeout container balanced on his lap. The scent of chili and spice filled the air.

"Curry?"

Richard looked up at the sound of his voice. "Will! I just started," he said, "and there's enough for two. Unless you have more food inside that bag."

He blinked, as if only now noticing the brown paper bag he held. "Sure," he answered, taking out the clear plastic container filled with fruit and handing it to Richard, who raised an eyebrow.

"That's it? Is this some new diet Georgiana is forcing on you?"

"No, I already had a sandwich. And a brownie."

He let out a bark of laughter. "And you leave the fruit for me. Thank you."

William walked around the room as Richard resumed eating. "This wall would do well for the Brooks. The dimensions of the particular piece you saw fit the space accordingly. And you do have a sufficient decorating allowance that will enable the purchase."

"I'm thinking about it, yes."

He nodded and turned to face his cousin, leaning against the wall.

"Wait a minute. Where'd you get lunch?"

"This place called Morgan's. I passed it on the way here." That was the truth, as he had driven by the shop after leaving the gallery.

"Was it good?"

"Yes."

"For getting me this," he gestured to the fruit salad, "you owe me a huge sandwich - preferably one with gravy. Next week, when we get the furniture in. My arse will be ridiculously happy to sit on something much more yielding."

A ghost of a smile appeared on William's face. "Who told you to have lunch in an office with no chairs?"

"Seemed less pathetic than eating alone in a restaurant full of people," he shrugged.

He studied his cousin as he ate. One would think a celebrated bachelor such as Richard - experienced, worldly and perpetually affable - should have no trouble finding someone to share a meal with, wherever he was. Today, though, his charms had failed to work on Elizabeth; and save his initial expression of petulance, the refusal had not seemed to bother him.

William told himself that the rush of warmth he had felt upon her invitation - so soon after Richard's rebuff - had been a natural reaction. Given their history, he felt that it was only right for him to feel that way. He was, at times, competitive to a fault; and in this instance he acknowledged it. Call it male pride, he supposed.

"The furniture arrives over the weekend."

"I don't have to be here, right?"

"Adrienne is free to meet with us tomorrow in Kensington to finalise the details."

Richard gave him a sideways glance. "Is she in the area? Where is she staying?"

"She asked to be put up in The Fifty Four."

"Is she staying over the weekend?"

William grinned knowingly. "Why don't you ask her yourself?" He reached into his pocket for his mobile and pressed a few keys. An insistent beeping sound came from Richard's pants. "That's her number."

"Contrary to what you may think, I do not still carry a torch for her. I just want to catch up."

"Ah yes, only natural, I suppose." He smirked, and Richard gave him a pointed look as he set aside the empty curry container and picked up the bowl of fruit. He popped off the lid and selected an apple slice.

"Wait a minute. I seem to recall leaving you behind in Shoreditch. Were you able to make a decision about anything?"

A pause. "I think so."

"Would it have to meet her approval?"

"Elizabeth's?"

It was Richard's turn to smirk. "No, Adrienne. Our interior designer."

He straightened up from his position on the wall and took a few steps towards the corner window, peering out of it. "I don't see why."

Richard gave him an appraising glance and stood up, brushing imaginary dust off of his trousers. "Well, thank you for dessert. I've got a meeting with Davis and I cannot be late. I'll see you back in Kensington after?" He waited by the doorway as William turned to face him and nodded.

"I'll be heading back soon myself."

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Elizabeth waved to the chauffeured car as it rolled away from the gallery. Mr. Peter Hunt, senior partner of Presley-Scott Galleries, was as lovely as a boss could be. Amelia Martinez had told her he was an old-fashioned, reserved man; thankfully, she had had more experience with men who fit that description. Mr. Hunt looked to be a few years younger than her own father, with slight touches of grey on his temples, round-rimmed glasses perched on his short straight nose. He looked like one of her art professors from school, she thought absently.

The initial introduction had been quite formal; afterwards, taking him around the gallery had been much easier. He was relatively silent for most of the tour, pausing every now and then to share his thoughts about her work to date. His last visit to the gallery had been while her former contemporary was in charge; and though it was too early to tell if he thought her a good addition to the company, she felt the sincerity of his compliments.

They shared a cup of tea in her office, and she quickly noticed how he favoured - among all the biscuits on the plate - the ones covered in chocolate. It wouldn't hurt, she thought, to have that particular kind on hand in her office at all times, just in case. She made a mental note to pass by the grocer's on the way home, just as he stood up (having finished their conversation, and the last biscuit, she noted with some amusement) and prepared to leave.

Alone once again, she sat down in her chair to look over the small bundle of envelopes he had left with her, bound by a thick piece of elastic. A brief glance at the clock that read five-fifteen in the afternoon pushed her to work diligently; with the intention of reading all the gallery's correspondence before she went home that evening.

She finished around an hour later, filing the papers into two separate piles: one requiring replies by tomorrow and the other for those that could stand to wait a few days. Underneath the discarded envelopes was a sheet of paper with familiar handwriting and she picked it up, unconsciously biting her lower lip as she read the notes and leaned back in her chair. Elizabeth thought of the man who had written it, feeling a slight yet familiar apprehension as her face warmed.