All the Tea in China Read Free Page A

not find your image improved by pressing against the mirror. Though I’ll not gainsay that many ladies oft believe it otherwise.”
    “Oh!” I whirled about with a start, finding myself face-to-face, nay, nearly nose to nose with the most unusual-looking man. He appeared to be but five years my senior, yet he wore thick spectacles, which magnified his eyes most alarmingly. His dark hair was pulled back in a queue, though such style had been out of favor for many years. He also wore an ill-fitting, odd sort of faded silk jacket, along with near threadbare inexpressibles.
    In short, I felt sorry for someone so out of tune with simple fashion. Surely it was my Christian duty to be kind to such a person, no matter his manners. How he had snuck up on me so silently, without my knowledge, was beyond all reason. Why he had spoken to me without introduction was beyond all propriety.
    “Sir, I confess not to vanity but to a wish not to offend others with any displeasing physical display,” I said, attempting a light tone. Surely he would understand a lady’s dismay at seeing her new dress soiled, no matter how slightly.
    “Perhaps what you desire, if you so truly wish not to offend, is the raiment of a monastic, complete with cowl. Then every displeasing aspect of yourself would be truly hidden.”
    With great effort, I kept my mouth from dropping open. Christian duty forgotten, I willed myself to stand straighter and attempted to brush past him. “Excuse me, sir. You forget yourself.” The man thought I was preening! Moreover, he inferred I was unattractive! I did not like to give anyone the cut, but his behavior was inexcusable.
    He moved in front of me, impeding my progress. “Did I offend?”
    “To ask the question is to answer.”
    He smiled knowingly. “Ah, but if you answer the question, it will admit the need for a deeper reflection than any mirror can provide. But perhaps you disagree? Or are you merely . . . disagreeable?”
    I opened my mouth but was checked by a hand on my elbow. “There you are, Isabella.” My hostess had impeccable timing.
    “Lady Ransom,” I said with a curtsy. “I had the pleasure of seeing Sir Henry at the doorway, but you were detained elsewhere.”
    “Yes, and for that I beg your forgiveness.” She pointed her fan at the strange man and smiled. “I see you have met our distinguished guest.”
    He bowed slightly in our direction. “I confess that we have not, Lady Ransom. We were merely commenting on your mirror here.”
    She tutted. “What a ghastly piece of work it is. But if you two admire it, then I shall consider it fine enough. Mr. Snowe, Miss Isabella Goodrich. Isabella, Mr. Phineas Snowe.”
    I curtsied, and somewhat to my surprise, he followed decorum by bowing.
    “Mr. Snowe is visiting us from China, Isabella. He is with the uh, the uh . . . what was the name of your organization, Mr. Snowe?”
    “No doubt you have heard of the London Missionary Society,” he said somberly.
    I could feel the blood rush from my face. I had no idea he was one of God’s workers. Uncle Toby held such men in high regard and had taught me the same. “Why, yes.”
    He smiled, bowing low. “I am traveling with a husband and wife who seek to become missionaries themselves.”
    “Unfortunately, the Tippetts were called away to London and could not join us tonight. And now I shall leave you two alone,” Lady Ransom said, tapping me lightly with her fan. “I am never one to meddle in discussions of the heart or religion, and something tells me that one or the other is about to transpire. If you will excuse me.”
    Left alone with Mr. Snowe, I felt the obligation, if not quite the desire, to apologize. And yet he was, I reminded myself, practically a foreigner, which explained his lack of fashion sense. I should at least be forgiving in that regard.
    Meanwhile, he said nothing but stared at me until I felt irritation rise anew. “I suppose your travels have kept you away from England for a