“This is nice, isn’t it?” Humphrey says to the table cloth. “Spending time with each other. Going abroad.”

“Hm,” I reply, hoping the vague affirmative will put him off further conversation, and I can go back to thinking about the map my Mother left me. But then Humphrey keeps talking.

“I can’t say I’ve ever travelled further than London - to London, I mean. Father and I made a habit of going after Mother died, and he was always introducing me to-“

“Coffee? Madame? Monseñor?” The waiter leans over us, coffee pot in hand.

“No, thank you.” Humphrey waves some kind of jazz hands and the waiter - my only hope of a reprieve - backs away.

Meanwhile, I risk a glance at the exit over Humphrey’s shoulder, mentally preparing an excuse as my travelling companion realigns the silverware.

“Where was I?” Humphrey says. “Ah, yes. Mother died and Father was taking me to London in search of a wife.” He gazes up at me shyly through his fringe. “Lucky he met your Father when he did, else I’d probably still be-“

“Wife?!” My eyes bug out of my skull at the word and I grip the table edges so hard my knuckles are white.

“W-well, yes,” Humphrey stammers, “but don’t worry, my Father is taking care of everything. The second we get back, we can go straight to the church and-“

“But I don’t even know you!” I scrape back my chair as far as it will go. “I can’t marry a man I don’t know.”

“Henrietta, please,” Humphrey says, voice strained to a whisper, “sit down. You’re making a scene.”

“No.” I hadn’t even realised I was standing, that the other diners are staring. “I have to go.”

“Wait! Please!” Humphrey lunges at me, catching my hand in his own. His palm is slick with sweat. “I’ve done this all wrong.” He’s patting his pockets, discarding tissues and ticket stubs on the plush carpet. “Ah, here we are.”

In his free hand is a red velvet box, barely a few inches wide.

The world shrinks around me, down to the size of that box, the size of the ring that undoubtably lies within. All I can cram inside it are thoughts of my life as Humphrey’s wife, wasting away as the lady of a dusty country house.

I rip my hand away before Humphrey can utter those fateful words. Today, my fate belongs to me.

“Terribly sorry, old chap,” I say as brightly as I can, “but I can’t marry you.”

And with that, I make a hasty exit.