Misty merely winks, giving a pacifying little tilt of her head as if to concede. It’s something she’s entirely capable of, but capable needn’t – and doesn’t – mean willing, or inclined to. To emphatically assert it would be as needless as pointedly reminding one how capable she was of starting a fire, or slapping him rather than grinning.
“I doubt it took too much luck, you never know - we may be in a city unusually dense with pretty women.” Pretty, she opts for, rather than beautiful specifically, even when she’s applying it to herself as one of an entire demographic. It seems increasingly apparent she’s come out of her upbringing too wary of appearing vain, too doubtful of others’ sincerity. ( To his credit, he’s burning through the worry over sincerity as if he were trained to do so. ) “There’s only one way to be certain, and it’s to keep testing it.”
He doesn’t quite cross over into callous, but he sounds interestingly desensitized to frauds and the false hope they can impart. He catches as much himself, judging by his expression, which she regards with a more subdued smile and sympathetically steepled brows. Whoever is conducting the affair tomorrow, she hopes for his sake they’re authentic; he sounds in need of a proper demonstration.
She spots their parting point as he gestures, and is reflexively raising a hand to accompany a reassurance that she is and will remain perfectly fine before he continues. It gives her a great deal of pause.
He himself doesn’t strike her as a dangerous or even particularly unkind man, not of what she can observe or in her gut. It isn’t one enormous red flag of an offer, but it’s certainly quick, and odd. It’s possible he’s lonely, she hazards to guess, if only because she could see herself making a similar offer in his position if only for the company provided. It would be an outing she has legitimate interest in, with presumably more than one third party. Minimal risk.
He still seems like the type she could outrun.
And, damn her, what sounds like a free dress is tempting.
“It’s a possibility,” she begins, the turning gears in her head all but audible. “If you’re allowed a guest; I don’t think my friends were expecting me tomorrow.” She has none, but it seems a fair precaution – were there any ulterior motive, noting she had people who would notice something suspicious would give ample cause to backpedal. To rescind. It’s more thoughtful than warm, but a smile returns as she rounds out: “I couldn’t repay you for the dress immediately, and I don’t know how you would assure yourself of my safety unless we met again afterward.”
He waves a dismissive hand at the word ‘pay’, but is genteel enough not to belabor the point. Montgomery’s interest isn’t in hearing about how magnanimous he is, but rather in finding someone with an interest in the seance process similar to his own.
Dark eyes wander back to the public house where he intends to deposit her before parting ways. Charles is still uncomfortable leaving her unattended, but is resigned to this course because Miss Day wishes it -- and wisely so. She doesn’t know him and has come this far based on intuition alone, he suspects. Or perhaps she’s as lonely as he is. Either way, he must be viewed as a risk to her safety no matter how well-meaning his intentions.
“I assure you, I’m permitted a guest. I’d never do the dishonor of requesting your company if you weren’t to be welcomed. All told, there should be about a dozen guests, including plus-ones. But if your friends suggest an alternative outing, please enjoy it with a clear conscience. I’m quite capable of attending on my own.”
His hat is off his head again, this time in anticipation of saying good-bye. Why he’s so ill-at-ease leaving her alone, Charles can’t say. He might almost call it an intuition of his own, but dismisses the idea. He’s many things, but sensitive isn’t one of them.
The gold pocketwatch appears and Montgomery consults it, clearing his throat. “If you’re agreeable, we might meet here again in the morning. Eleven o’clock, perhaps? That allows time to browse and for you to be fitted, if need be.”
A drunken pub patron stumbles by, but gives them a wide berth. Still, Charles lightly cups Miss Day’s elbow to ensure her safety. She may bolt if she wishes, and will meet no physical resistance because his only concern is appearance. If other men think she’s being escorted, she’s less apt to be bothered by any wayward sots.
“You’re welcome to think on it, of course. I don’t require an answer. If you’re here tomorrow, that’s all well and good; if you’re not, that’s fine also. Believe me, I’ll understand if you’re reluctant or detained by other matters.”
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