Читать книгу A Lord For The Wallflower Widow - Ann Lethbridge - Страница 12

Chapter Two

‘What do you think?’ Mimi Luttrell batted her lashes at Avery, her pale blue eyes soulful, her lips pouting provocatively.

He stifled the urge to yawn. Mimi would run a mile if he so much as hinted at anything sensual between them. She had agreed to this little outing in his company because her husband preferred the hunting field to escorting her to shops and balls. She wanted to feel appreciated, that was all. And perhaps wake her errant husband up to the fact that she was a desirable woman.

It was strange how differently the English husband regarded the position of cicisbeo to those on the Continent. In Italy a man would see it as a compliment that his wife garnered the attention of a young attractive gentleman. He would even participate in funding said gentleman, provided the affaire was conducted according to the rules. In England, such financial arrangements were despised by noblemen who liked to guard their wives, pulling up their drawbridges as if they were castles.

It had certainly worked that way with Lady Passmore, the first lady whom Avery had endeavoured to charm on his recent return from the Continent. Her neglectful husband had hot-footed it all the way back from Scotland to stake his claim on his wife and hadn’t been far from her side ever since.

To Avery’s surprise, the whole thing had also been financially rewarding, both in terms of her eternal gratitude expressed in her effusive thank-you note accompanied by a parting memento he’d sold for a goodly sum and with the commissions from the merchants where he had taken her to shop, the latter being the same sort of arrangement he had entered into in Italy where he’d been living until recently.

There, in Venice, he’d fallen into the role of cicisbeo quite by chance, having at first been attracted to the lady in question, only to discover there were financial benefits to be reaped from what could only be described as a platonic relationship, and all with the approval of the lady’s husband.

Here in London, he was walking a much finer line between husband and wife, but Lady Passmore had been so delighted with the results of her innocent flirtation with Avery that she’d advised Mimi to contact him about a similar ‘arrangement’ to see if it worked on her dilettante husband, too.

And he was happy to oblige, as long as Mimi shopped in the places he recommended and did not expect him to come to her bed, since socially that would put him beyond the pale.

‘I prefer the blue.’ He’d picked out the fabric because he had known that it suited her perfectly.

Mimi frowned at herself draped in the material in the looking glass. ‘Why?’

He gazed at her silently.

She glanced over at him and gave a trill of laughter. ‘Really, Ave, darling. Please explain.’ Again, she fluttered her lashes.

Unfortunately, Mimi’s girlish tricks were a little too cloying for his taste. He much preferred the stern looks he encountered in a certain millinery shop. And the very rare smile he was able to coax from its owner.

Madame Grace, the dressmaker, pursed her lips as if trying to hold back words.

Avery had no trouble interpreting that look of disapproval. Madame Grace knew that this lady was married to someone else. The dressmaker likely thought he was a libertine, if not something worse, but that was because she did not understand that his goal was to bring the lady’s errant husband home to her side, not drive a wedge between the couple. If Mimi’s husband did not show up in a day or two, the man didn’t deserve his wife. But he would since he did not yet have his heir and his spare. He certainly would not want another man poaching on his turf, at least until that duty was completed. And knowing the minds of men, it would be a long time before her husband strayed again.

While Madame Grace might pout about giving him his cut of what Mimi spent in her shop, she knew where her best interests lay. Why should he not be paid for the extra business he brought her way?

Not that these arrangements brought him a huge income. They merely helped augment his winnings at the table.

Avery leaned back in his chair in the fitting room at the back of Grace’s shop and smiled lazily at the woman staring at her image. ‘Because that blue shade brings out the colour of your eyes, my dear, and the lustre of your skin. The rose colour you have there does not complement, rather it shouts your best features down.’

Her lips formed an O of surprise. Again, she peered into the mirror and turned this way and that. ‘How clever you are, Ave.’ She turned to the dressmaker. ‘Let me see the first one again?’

Madame Grace swathed her in the pale blue fabric, pleating it artfully so it displayed well.

Mimi nodded slowly. ‘I see what you mean. I’ll take it.’

Behind her, the dressmaker heaved a sigh of relief and Avery knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes ladies spent hours looking in the mirror and bought nothing. But Madame Grace should know better than to worry about one of Avery’s ladies. They never left her establishment without placing an order.

Oddly, he used to enjoy accompanying a woman shopping, but more recently it had simply become a chore. He gave Mimi a broad grin of approval. ‘Where do you want to go next, Puss? Slippers?’

Ladies loved their shoes and the cobbler made a healthy profit that he was more than happy to share with Avery.

Mimi stroked the pale blue fabric. ‘Which bonnet would I wear with this?’

He stilled. An array of exquisite bonnets popped into his mind. But he did not have an arrangement with Mrs Greystoke. Indeed, he’d been doing his best to ignore the fact that he had ever met the woman, because he found her far too intriguing. A distraction. Yet, despite his best efforts, he kept thinking about her smile.

Why hadn’t he offered her the same arrangement he had with other merchants? Was he concerned about what she would think about him? Why would he even care?

‘Ave?’

Mimi’s peevish tone brought him back from the recollection of a tall stern-faced woman to the dressmaker’s shop. He gritted his teeth. He hated it when Mimi called him Ave. It was presumptuous and demeaning, but she was his sister’s bread and butter and as such her irritating little foibles had to be tolerated.

‘Yes, Sweetling?’

‘I don’t have a bonnet that will go with this fabric.’ She touched the rose fabric, now discarded on the counter. ‘I do have one with pink ribbons.’

The lady did love pink. He recalled that particular hat with an inner shudder. It was hideous. Not in the first stare of fashion either. ‘You wish to drive out in a brand new carriage dress wearing a bonnet you must have worn at least five times?’

Mimi winced. ‘You think people would notice?’

‘Other ladies would certainly notice. The gentlemen would not give a fig, I suppose.’

She grimaced. ‘But the ladies will mention it to the gentlemen and they will rib George about not providing for his wife. I won’t have them belittling George.’

Mimi was really fond of her husband in the strange way of the ton.

‘A bonnet it is then,’ he said. ‘I know just the place.’ He winced inwardly. He really was going to do this, then? Take her to visit Mrs Greystoke? Where he wouldn’t make a penny in commission. He must have porridge for brains. Except he wasn’t thinking with his brain if the surge of warmth in his veins at the thought of seeing her again was anything to go by. ‘Afterwards, we will see new half-boots to complete the ensemble.’ And put a few coins in his purse.

Mimi put her arm through his. ‘Perfect.’

Trailed by Mimi’s maid, they strolled down Bond Street, looking in shop windows until they passed a milliner’s shop. Mimi pointed at a jaunty hat with a huge feather. ‘What do you think of that one?’

‘It really isn’t you.’

‘It is all the crack. It might look better on.’

‘We can come back if we don’t find anything else.’

For a moment, he thought she would refuse, but she shrugged. ‘Very well.’

When he turned off Bond Street, she frowned. ‘Really, Avery? Where are we going?’

‘Not far. This shop has the best hats for really decent prices and if you purchase one, you won’t see another hat like it anywhere.’

Her face lit up.

Finding something unique but not outrageously priced was always the trick. There was nothing worse than arriving at a ball or a drum and discovering another lady in the exact same gown or riding Rotten Row and meeting a lady wearing the same carriage dress or hat.

Ladies set great store by such things. Whereas most men were happy wearing black coats and buff pantaloons with the occasional idiosyncrasy of a fanciful waistcoat.

He opened the door to Mrs Greystone’s establishment and ushered Mimi in.

As far as he could tell not a single bonnet had been sold since his last visit two days ago.

‘Good morning,’ she said, eyeing him askance.

‘Good morning,’ Mimi said.

A strange look passed across Mrs Greystoke’s face as she took in his companion. An expression she quickly masked with a bright smile.

‘This is Mrs Luttrell,’ Lord Avery said.

Mrs Greystoke dipped a curtsy. ‘How may I be of service, madam.’

‘I need a hat.’

Amusement danced in Mrs Greystoke’s dove-grey eyes. ‘Then you have come to the right place.’

Avery felt a surge of gladness that he had brought Mimi here. He’d recognised the shadows in Mrs Greystoke’s eyes the last time he was here. Desperation. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge he didn’t like it. He had enough responsibilities as it was.

Nevertheless, the idea that she was desperate had weighed on his shoulders. And he was glad he had the means to do something about it, even if it did leave him a bit short of funds.

Mimi pulled forth the scrap of blue fabric Madame Grace had cut off the bolt. ‘This is the fabric for a new carriage dress. What do you suggest?’

Avery wedged himself in a corner by the counter and let the two women have at it. His part would come later, when a decision was to be made. In the meantime, he could not help but compare the two women. Mimi, a sweet English rose at first glance, but with all the experience of a married woman, and Mrs Greystoke, not exactly pretty, but striking and strangely innocent.

Greystoke. Now why did he keep thinking that name sounded familiar?

* * *

Lord Avery’s special lady was older than Carrie had expected and apparently a widow to boot, but pretty as a picture, nonetheless. The sort of woman she would have expected to attract him, if she was honest. Carrie helped the lady remove her hat and brought down three bonnets that she thought would suit the lady’s face and complement the fabric.

A maid eased in through the door. Mrs Luttrell frowned. ‘Boggs, I am sorry, but you need to wait outside. There really isn’t room in here for another person.’

The maid, who was all of eighteen, looked worried. ‘Yes, mum.’ Her accent came from the north. She started to back out.

The sound of someone from her home county gave Carrie an odd feeling in her stomach. A bit of the same feeling of homesickness she’d experienced when she’d first arrived in London to go to school at around the same age as the maid. She’d been sent to a young ladies’ academy to acquire a bit of polish, as her father put it.

‘Your maid can wait in the back room,’ Carrie said. ‘This is not the best of streets for a young girl to linger on.’

‘Thank you, mum,’ the maid said with a look of relief.

Mrs Luttrell gave Carrie a sharp look. ‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Greystoke. I can certainly vouch for Boggs’s honesty.’

‘Indeed.’ Carrie smiled kindly at the girl. ‘Perhaps you could make us all a cup of tea while you are waiting.’

The girl beamed. ‘That I can, mum.’ She glanced at her mistress. ‘That is, if you agree, madam.’

‘It is a wonderful idea.’ Mrs Luttrell picked up a bonnet Carrie hadn’t suggested. ‘What about this one?’

Carrie tried not to frown at the choice. ‘If you wish to try it on, you may, but I think you will find it hides your face and, with a pretty face like yours it would be a shame.’

‘Do you think so?’ She turned to Lord Avery. ‘What do you think, Ave?’

He gave her an indulgent smile and for a moment Carrie wondered what it would be like to have a man smile at her in that warm lazy way.

‘I think Mrs Greystoke knows what she is about, Pet,’ he said. ‘Trust in her judgement.’

Mrs Luttrell put the bonnet aside and picked up one of Carrie’s suggestions. ‘May I try this one first.’

Carrie helped her put it on. She tied a neat bow and directed Mrs Luttrell’s attention to the looking glass.

Mrs Luttrell viewed herself from various angles with pursed lips.

Carrie held her breath. This was it. This was her chance to get this shop found by ladies of the beau monde. Oh, she could tell that Mrs Luttrell was not a diamond of the first water, or a member of any of the first families of the ton, but she wore her clothes well and other ladies would admire her, if she wore the right hat.

After a couple of minutes, Mrs Luttrell turned to Lord Avery. ‘What do you think, Ave.’

‘I think you should try them all, before making up your mind. I like that one very much, but another might suit better.’

How very odd. Most men hated shopping.

So the lady tried on all three. When she reached the last one, Lord Avery straightened. ‘I like them all,’ he said. ‘The last two looked equally good on you, Mimi. Whichever one you pick you cannot go wrong.’

Carrie did not agree with him. She preferred the one Mrs Luttrell had chosen to put on last. ‘The one you have on now suits you particularly well,’ she said, not wishing to argue with his lordship, but wanting the lady to make the right choice.

Lord Avery picked up his cup and sipped at his tea. He’d put a great deal of sugar in it, Carrie had noticed.

Mrs Luttrell turned this way and that and then also took a sip of tea. ‘I am sure I cannot decide between this one and that one.’ She pointed to the first one she had tried on.

‘Take them both,’ Lord Avery suggested.

Carrie stared at him. Surely, he was jesting?

Mrs Luttrell frowned.

Dash it! She was going to refuse them both now. ‘Truly, the one you have on suits you best, madam. It is perfect for this time of year. I am sure you will be doing a great deal of driving out now the weather is changing for the better.’

‘You are right,’ the lady said.

Carrie breathed a sigh of relief.

‘But if I am doing a great deal of driving out...’ she turned towards Lord Avery and batted her lashes ‘...then I will need more than one bonnet.’

Lord Avery nodded. ‘I should say so.’

‘Then I will take them both.’

Carrie snapped her mouth shut. Showing her surprise was not the way to do business. ‘Let me wrap them for you, while you finish your tea.’

In short order, she had both bonnets wrapped in tissue paper and in their boxes, while Mrs Luttrell drank her tea and chatted with her companion.

Carrie waited for them to finish their conversation. ‘Where would you like me to send the bill, Mrs Luttrell?’

She hated the idea that she was not to be paid right away for the purchase, but it was the way the beau monde did their business. Hopefully, Lord Avery could afford such extravagance.

‘Send it to my husband,’ Mrs Luttrell said and handed over her card.

Shocked, Carrie could only stare at her for a second or two.

Mrs Luttrell didn’t seem to notice her surprise, but Lord Avery had a naughty twinkle in his eye. The wretch. He knew Carrie was shocked all the way to her toes. Her back had gone stiff and her smile had frozen solid on her lips.

Glancing at the address, she put it in a drawer for safe keeping. As soon as they were gone she would write up the bill and have it sent round to Carlin Place. She could only hope that Mr Luttrell approved of his wife’s purchases while in the company of another man.

More to the point, what did that make Lord Avery? Her lover? How very shocking. And disappointing...

‘Oh, look, Ave, darling, there is another of those pretty fans. It is similar to the one you bought for me.’

‘Each one is unique,’ Carrie said, aware her voice was terser than she would have liked. Was she really such a prude? It wouldn’t be the first time she had heard of a man taking an interest in another man’s wife. She had just thought it happened behind closed doors, not flaunted in the faces of respectable people.

‘I have received a great many compliments on it, you know.’ Mrs Luttrell stared down into the cabinet. ‘Now I can tell everyone who asks where it was bought.’ She gave Carrie a sharp look. ‘As long as there are no more exactly the same as mine.’

‘I will guarantee there is not, Mrs Luttrell,’ Carrie said. ‘Or I will gladly refund your money.’

The woman nodded in approval. ‘Boggs,’ she called out.

The maid materialised from behind the curtain. ‘Yes, mum.’

‘Pick up the boxes. We are leaving.’

‘It is all right, Mimi, dearest,’ Lord Avery said. ‘They are two bulky for Boggs. I’ll carry them.’ He bowed to Carrie. ‘Thank you, Mrs Greystoke. I wish you good day.’

Mrs Luttrell waved a hand. ‘Yes. Thank you. You can be sure I shall let everyone know where I purchased my hats.’ She frowned. ‘Though it would be better if you had a more fashionable address.’

They left the shop, making it feel suddenly very empty. Carrie herself felt empty. Surely it was nothing to do with the knowledge she’d gained about Lord Avery? It must be to do with the excitement she’d experienced in making her first real sale.

Now she had good news to take home. It was such a relief.

* * *

‘How did we do?’ Petra’s voice rose to a squeak.

Carrie removed her bonnet and gloves in the hall. It must be so hard for the other two waiting at home, wondering if all their hard work had been appreciated. ‘Not too badly for our first week.’ Much to Carrie’s astonishment. ‘We have covered next week’s rent with a little left over for supplies.’

It was almost four in the afternoon, her back ached from the long drive home and yet she could not help feeling proud.

Marguerite popped her head around the drawing room door. ‘I thought I heard the cart. Petra, for heaven’s sake let her pass. Carrie, come and sit down and have a cup of tea. You must be worn to the bone.’

She was, but she was also exhilarated by their success.

She hung up her spencer, then joined her sisters-in-law in the drawing room. She sank into the most comfortable chair in the room beside the hearth. Bless them, they had saved it for her. She loved having sisters.

Petra brought her a cup of tea and somehow managed to hold back her questions until Carrie had taken a sip.

‘Well?’ Petra exploded.

‘We sold two bonnets, a fan, a handkerchief and a posy.

Petra frowned. ‘Only two bonnets.’

‘Two bonnets are better than none,’ Marguerite said, in prosaic tones. Clearly, she was also disappointed. Some of Carrie’s excitement dissipated.

She forced herself to sound cheerful. ‘I am sure the lady who purchased them will tell her friends and then we will have trouble keeping up with the demand.’

‘It is a wonderful start,’ Petra said, clearly trying to hide her doubts. She gazed at the tea tray. ‘Are those shortbread biscuits, Marguerite. Isn’t that a bit extravagant?’

Her older sister looked embarrassed. ‘I only made a few. We need a treat now and then. And see, I was right. We have good news to celebrate.’

Petra pointed to the hat box. ‘What is in there.’

‘A hat. I removed the decoration for a gentleman who wanted it for a posy.’

‘A posy? How very odd,’ Petra said, giving her a sharp look.

Carrie felt the heat rise to her cheeks. Why would talking about Lord Avery make her blush? ‘I thought so, too. Actually, I think he was intoxicated.’ She’d seen her father and uncle in their cups often enough to recognise when a man was more than a trifle warm. She put up a hand at their shocked expression. ‘He was never impolite, simply a little slurred in his speech.’ As well as wavering on his feet. ‘He said he wanted it for a special lady. At that point, I had sold nothing. Better to sell a bit of trim than nothing at all.’

‘Very wise, I should say,’ Marguerite said. She opened the box and drew out the hat. ‘It is easy enough to replace the...’ She raised an eyebrow in question.

‘Violets,’ Carrie said. Violets for a special lady indeed. Mrs Luttrell was a very pretty woman. Dainty and delicate, not unlike Carrie’s sisters-in-law. The sort of woman Carrie had always envied. And while Carrie could not approve of Mrs Luttrell’s closeness with Lord Avery, she could certainly understand why she would attract a handsome lord. Perhaps it was difficult for a woman to ignore such a charming man’s attentions and hard for him to ignore such a pretty lady if she was lonely.

Carrie, being plain and gruff and unattractive, would never catch the eye of a man like Lord Avery. She would be far better to focus her thoughts on making a go of this venture instead of indulging in stupid flights of fancy about a handsome gentleman. Such dreams would only lead to further humiliation.

‘Which hats did you sell?’ Petra asked.

‘The chip straw and the blue shako,’ Carrie said. ‘Unfortunately, the shop is a little bit further from Bond Street than I realised. There is not much passing traffic. It is going to take a while to build our clientele.’

‘But you think it will build?’ Petra asked.

‘I hope so.’

The ladies fell silent, thinking about the consequences of failure, no doubt.

‘What we need is something really different,’ Carrie said, thinking about the lovely Mrs Luttrell again and how she’d seized upon the idea that no one would ever carry the same fan as the one Lord Avery had given her.

‘What sort of something?’ Marguerite asked.

‘Lots of places sell bonnets, though ours are unique and beautifully styled,’ Carrie hastened to add. ‘But we need an item ladies cannot purchase elsewhere.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about.’ Marguerite looked thoroughly puzzled.

Petra looked intrigued.

‘Perhaps something a little risqué,’ Carrie said, her face immediately fiery.

‘Risqué?’ Marguerite pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘We don’t want to attract the wrong sort of customer.’

They already had. Carrie bit her tongue to stop the words from forming.

‘Don’t be prudish, Marguerite.’ Petra said. ‘We don’t care who buys the hats, do we? If we can’t make a go of this, we’ll all be shipped back to London to live with Westram. And all he wants to do is marry us off. The thought of another marriage...’ She shuddered.

Carrie frowned. She’d always thought Petra’s reaction to marrying again quite odd when her first marriage had been so happy. Perhaps when one found true love, one could never face the prospect of another man.

Still, they had all agreed that none of them wanted to marry again.

So they needed to make a success of their shop. Carrie swallowed. ‘I was thinking perhaps of something for the boudoir. Something feminine and alluring.’ Something a gentleman like Lord Avery might want to buy for a special lady. ‘Something a wife might buy to rekindle her marriage?’

The other ladies’ eyes widened.

‘That sounds...wicked,’ Marguerite said, looking worried. ‘I am not sure Westram would approve.’

‘He won’t know unless someone tells him,’ Petra said sharply.

Marguerite stiffened at the less-than-subtle implication that she would go to their brother and tell tales.

‘Well, let us put our heads together and see what we can come up with,’ Carrie said quickly. ‘We will do nothing unless we all agree.’

‘You know,’ Petra said, turning to Marguerite, ‘Carrie knows far more about running a shop than we do. We should follow her advice.’

‘You are right,’ Marguerite said. ‘Carrie, you must do whatever you think is best to make the shop a success. We will help you all we can.’

Their vote of confidence made her heart swell with pride. ‘It is a joint venture, ladies. Together we can do anything.’

They toasted each other with their teacups.

Leaning back, Carrie sipped at her tea. She had no doubt that, between them, they could come up with something unique that would appeal to the likes of Mrs Luttrell.

‘How is the garden coming along?’ she asked Petra. The cottage had both a kitchen garden at the back and a large front garden full of roses. Petra had agreed to take on the task of providing vegetables and herbs for their table. She actually liked grubbing around in the dirt.

‘Really well,’ Petra said. ‘It is too bad we have so little ground. I could do so much more.’

‘I don’t think you would have time,’ Marguerite said. ‘You already work your fingers to the bone on the hats.’

Carrie handed Marguerite the cash box. ‘I sent the bill for the bonnets to the lady’s husband.’

Marguerite looked inside. ‘You will need some of this for change. The rest can go towards our household bills.’ She rose to her feet. ‘It is time to start on cooking dinner. After that we will see what we can come up with to bring more custom to the shop.’

‘I’ve been working on hats all day,’ Petra said. ‘I need some fresh air. I’ll go and do a bit of weeding.’

It seemed wrong that these ladies who had grown up with every privilege should be required to work so hard now and all because her husband had led their husbands astray. Or at least she thought he must have. She could not think of any other reason they had left with him to join Wellington’s army.

She was determined to do her share to make up for it. ‘I will fix the hat,’ Carrie said picking up the hat box. ‘After all, it is my fault it is spoiled.’

‘We have two more finished for you to take back with you,’ Petra said. She frowned. ‘And I’ll make a couple of extra posies in case that gentleman should return.’

Carrie’s tummy gave a funny little hop. It had been doing that every time she as much as thought of Lord Avery. ‘I doubt if he will,’ she said and followed Petra from the room.