The Button Box: Gripping historical romance from the Sunday Times Bestseller. Dilly Court

can’t keep doing this. We’re not your responsibility.’ She emptied the contents onto the table in the parlour. ‘Bread, cake, ham, cheese, butter. This must have cost a small fortune.’

      He shrugged. ‘You can repay me by letting me take you to a chop house for dinner this evening. There’s plenty here to feed Jane and Betsy, with some over for tomorrow.’

      At any other time Clara might have refused his invitation to dine, but she was desperate to find out where the Skinner brothers were hiding. ‘Thank you. That would be lovely.’

      ‘Really?’ He stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘I was expecting an argument.’

      ‘Things have changed,’ Clara said, forcing her lips into a smile. ‘With Pa safely in the country we can start afresh, as I was just telling Jane.’

      Jane eyed the food, licking her lips. ‘Is all this for us, Luke?’

      ‘It is, and I don’t want to see any waste.’ Luke tweaked a stray golden curl that had escaped from the ribbons in Jane’s hair.

      ‘There won’t be. I promise.’

      Clara was just about to close the shop that evening when Luke arrived.

      ‘I’m ready,’ she said, tipping the day’s meagre takings into the strong box. The weather had kept customers away and sales had been poor even when the shop was open, but that was to be expected in the middle of winter. Things would look up with the first hint of spring. She glanced at Luke, who was staring at her, a frown creasing his brow. ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked suspiciously.

      ‘Is that all you have to wear?’

      She glanced down at her serviceable, but plain grey dress. ‘Yes, as a matter of fact it is. You know how things were with us, Luke. We had to pawn or sell everything we owned, or starve.’

      ‘I knew things were bad, but I didn’t realise that you only had that rag.’

      ‘It’s not a rag. This material is best-quality cotton.’

      ‘It’s dull grey and makes you look like a drab.’ Luke fingered the bolts of brightly coloured fabrics. ‘I want you to have a gown made in this.’ He pulled out a length of emerald-green silk.

      It was all Clara could do not to laugh at his choice, but even so, his words had hurt. She tossed her head. ‘That would make a wonderful afternoon gown for a lady, but not for a shop girl.’

      His winged eyebrows drew together in a scowl. ‘Marry me and forget all this, Clara. I don’t want my woman serving in a shop all day.’

      She met his gaze with a straight look, but this was not the right time to assert her independence. It was an argument they had had on numerous occasions, always ending in a stalemate. Tonight must be about gaining the information that Patches wanted, and personal feelings would have to be put aside. ‘I’m sorry, Luke, but this is my only gown. If you’re ashamed to be seen out with me …’

      He reached out to grasp her hand. ‘Of course not. I just want to show you off. Is that so wrong?’ He lifted the bolt of silk and placed it on the counter. ‘I’m a customer now, Clara. I want enough material to make a dress. You know more about that sort of thing than I do.’

      ‘And what then? Are you going to take sewing lessons?’ She could not resist the temptation to tease him. He meant it kindly, she was sure, but such a gown would be far too grand for her purposes.

      ‘You can laugh, girl, but I’m serious. I leave it to you to choose the style and find a good dressmaker.’ He put his hand in his pocket and took out a leather pouch. ‘How much would that cost?’

      ‘I’d have to work it out, but it’s an unnecessary extravagance and I’m not sure that it’s proper to receive such a gift from you.’

      He threw back his head and laughed. ‘You’re such a little prude at heart, my love.’ He tossed a handful of coins onto the counter. ‘Put that in the strongbox and fetch your cloak. It’s bitterly cold outside.’

      ‘I’ll just make sure that Jane and Betsy have everything they need.’

      ‘They’re quite capable of looking after themselves for a couple of hours,’ Luke said impatiently. ‘We’ll walk to the Gaiety; it’s not very far.’

      ‘All right. Just give me a minute to get my cloak and bonnet.’ Clara went through to the parlour where Jane was putting the finishing touches to the supper she was to share with Betsy. ‘That looks good,’ Clara said, smiling. ‘I wish I was staying at home, but Luke is taking me to the Gaiety.’

      ‘You might see Nathanial,’ Jane said eagerly.

      Clara shook her head. ‘I hope not. Luke didn’t take too kindly to him when they met. It would be embarrassing.’

      Betsy rested her stockinged feet on the brass fender. ‘I’d love to be taken out to supper, but I’m really too tired. Miss Lavelle was at her worst today. I’m sure she must be troubled with chilblains or something; she’s so crotchety these days.’

      ‘Perhaps she’s crossed in love,’ Jane said, sighing.

      ‘You read too many penny dreadfuls.’ Betsy stretched and yawned. ‘Pass me my plate, Jane. I’m dying of hunger.’

      Clara put on her bonnet. ‘Don’t squabble while I’m out, and don’t open the door to anyone but me. Make sure you lock up after we’ve gone, Betsy.’

      ‘Stop fussing,’ Betsy said with a careless wave of her hand. ‘We can look after ourselves. Go out and enjoy your evening. I just wish it was me going to a nice restaurant and not you.’

      ‘I’m sure your turn will come, and yours too, Jane.’ Clara turned to see Luke standing in the doorway. He might have taken to a life on the wrong side of the law, but with his fair hair waved back from a high forehead, clean-cut features and wide-set grey eyes he had an air of distinction and could easily pass as a gentleman. Just when she thought she knew every facet of his character, Clara discovered something new about Luke Foyle. She hated his way of life, but there was something about him that was both intriguing and fascinating.

      Betsy shot him a sideways glance. ‘Ta for the grub, Luke.’

      He bowed from the waist. ‘You’re most welcome.’

      ‘You look very smart,’ Betsy added, looking him up and down. ‘Look at those buttons on his waistcoat, Clara. I bet they’re real silver.’

      ‘I wouldn’t wear anything less,’ Luke said, chuckling. ‘You have an eye for fashion, Betsy. I paid a handsome price for them.’

      ‘You’re a shameless peacock.’ Clara hustled him into the shop. ‘We won’t be late, girls.’

      The ice-cold air took Clara’s breath away as they trod carefully on the frozen surface of the snow. Above them the indigo sky was studded with twinkling stars and wisps of cloud danced across the silver face of the moon. It would have been a night for romance, had it not been for the grim task ahead. Luke tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, and the scent of bay rum and Macassar oil filled her nostrils. It seemed that the noxious smells of the city had been frozen out of existence, for the time being at least, and when they reached the Strand, lights blazed from the theatres and eating houses, creating a magical snow scene. Ice seemed to fill Clara’s lungs as the cold grew more intense and it was a relief to step inside the Gaiety restaurant where they were enveloped in the aroma of good food and the heady scent of wine, gentlemen’s cologne and expensive perfume.

      The cloakroom assistant checked in their outer garments and the maître d’hôtel seemed to know Luke and led them to one of the best tables. A waiter hurried up to present them with menus and took their order. Luke made a selection from the wine list. ‘You’ve very quiet, Clara,’ he said when the waiter had filled their glasses and moved away. ‘Is there something on your mind?’

      She covered her confusion by taking a sip of the ruby-red