Читать книгу The Rake's Unveiling Of Lady Belle - Raven McAllan - Страница 10

Chapter Two

London 1815

‘Madame Belle, I’ve a request for a consultation here.’ Tippen, her assistant, seemed somewhat perturbed. ‘I’m not sure as you’ll want to say yes, but, well…’ She glanced at Belle and coloured delicately. ‘It’s not someone who you’ve associated with before, well not here anyway. Not exactly someone…’ Tippen wrinkled her nose. ‘Well, it’s a man who has requested the appointment. And it’s not as if you need any more clients—not really.’

‘You know I’ve had men request appointments on more than one occasion.’ Belle was now intrigued and wondered why Tippen seemed so agitated. They’d worked together from even before the business had launched. Lady L had suggested the daughter of her dresser, a skilled seamstress, would be an ideal companion and help to Belinda, now no longer Lady Belinda Howells, but Belle the modiste to the chosen few. As Lady Lakenby and Clarissa had predicted, the Dressed by Belle label was much sought after, especially as it had been made known to the ton by those two ladies just how particular Belle was and how exclusive her clothes.

Now several years of hard work later, there was an air of mystery about Madame Belle, which those whom she chose to dress did nothing to dispel. No one wanted to incur Belle’s displeasure for fear of being told they were no longer welcome at her salon. That would be tantamount to disaster and lost credibility, which would probably never be recovered. If anyone did recognise her as the former Lady Belinda Howells they were careful not to mention it.

As Tippen generally knew who would be acceptable and who not, this cryptic conversation puzzled Belinda.

‘Why do you think I might not want to dress the lady concerned? I assume it is a lady and not the gentleman himself?’ Usually, she’d go with Tippen’s ideas, as they generally mirrored her own. Plus it was true they had no need of more clients. Nevertheless, Belinda’s interest was piqued. Tippen must have mentioned it all for a reason.

‘Well, this wardrobe is not for the gentleman’s wife.’ Tippen said it in a worried tone, as if the identity of just who wanted to be ‘Dressed by Belle’ would upset Belinda.

Belle put down the lace she was using to create an intricate rose, and gave her full attention to Tippen. ‘Right, you have my full, intrigued attention. I assume he is a gentleman of the ton?’

Tippen nodded.

‘Who wishes me to dress his mistress, or is she not quite so well esteemed? Or am I now supposed to be amenable to making pantaloons and shirts?’

Tippen sniggered. ‘That I would like to see. You measuring a gentlemen to make sure his, ahem, attributes fit in.’

Belinda gaped and then the picture Tippen’s words created filled her mind and she laughed. ‘Left- or right-sided my lord? Now how much extra knit do you think we’ll need? Are you one who grows or one who shows? Let me measure you. Oh Lord, Tippen, could you imagine it?’

I can. Oh my I can.

Tippen nodded enthusiastically, and continued to snigger until she had to wipe her cheeks with her hands. ‘Oh yes.’

‘And me.’ Belinda sobered. ‘Ah well, it’s a nice dream for us. It’s not something that is likely to happen in our lifetime, not even if we live to be one hundred. So it is one of this gentleman’s women? Whom he will not mention, unless I agree to dress her. Therefore I must assume she is not convenable. Oh, and you still haven’t mentioned who he is.’

Was it that the woman was an opera dancer or some such like? Whom Belle had made a point of not accepting as clients, mainly because their protectors were usually the husbands of those ladies she did dress. The ramifications of an accidental meeting were enough to make Belinda’s blood run cold.

Tippen drew herself up straight, and took a deep breath. ‘Nothing like opera dancers, or I don’t think so. It’s just that, it’s well, oh my, the gentleman concerned is none other than Lord Macpherson.’

It was as well Belinda had put down her needle or it was a certainty she would have pricked herself. She absently rubbed the crescent-shaped scar on the fleshy part of her hand.

‘Ah. As in Phillip, Clarissa’s brother?’

Tippen nodded. ‘The very same.’

‘Interesting.’ Belle took a deep breath and counted to five, very slowly, in order to decrease the pace of her heart. Even after all these years, she still held on to a certain amount of tenderness for him. ‘Did he recognise you?’

Tippen shook her head. ‘He never messed with the servants and I was naught but a child when he visited Lady Lakenby regularly.’

‘Did he say who the woman is?’ Belinda was curious. Clarissa had confided only a few days earlier that she thought Phillip had a new mistress but couldn’t work out who it was. She had also said it was the third woman in as many months whom he was thought to be bedding. Clarissa’s exact but crude expression was ‘one week plucking, three weeks fucking and they’re out’. Belinda accepted she would never reach the heady heights of knowing him as he did those women, and indeed was happy with the life she had made—with the help of other strong women like Clarissa and Lady L. However, she couldn’t help but wonder… What is it like to be desired in such a way? In any way? Is it enough?

Tippen coughed delicately and Belinda realised she must have been wool-gathering.

‘Sorry, you were saying?’

‘Very close-mouthed he was. He said that unless you agreed to dress the lady, you would have no need to discover her identity. It was strange really. I did wonder if he’d recognise me, but he didn’t. I know I haven’t seen much of him these past few years, since I was in service and not one of the scrubby village kids, but I was around sometimes when he visited Lady Lakenby with Lady Clarissa.’

‘People only see what they expect to see,’ Belinda said with a smile. ‘Not you or me.’ The test would be if he recognised her as his sister’s friend.

‘That’s true, but what do I tell Lord Phillip? He’s waiting for an answer.’

‘What?’ Belinda stared at her companion. ‘Waiting here?’

‘Well he wouldn’t go away until I approached you. Very insistent he was that I asked you now, and gave him the answer straight away.’

‘Oh Lud. How on earth do I explain that even if I do see the lady there is no guarantee I’ll agree to outfit her?’ That was the cardinal rule. Even if Madame Belle agreed to a preliminary meeting, that didn’t mean she would take you as a client. There was also a rule that one agreement did not necessarily mean any more garments would be made. Each approach was decided on its own merit. So much depended on how much advice a client took on board, and as Clarissa had once put it, how well they continued to show off their clothes to their best advantage.

‘For if one has gone to seed, why be an advertisement for that?’ Clarissa had said prosaically.

Belinda agreed.

‘Madame?’

Oh Lord she’d yet again forgotten why Tippen stood in front of her with a look of query on her face.

‘Where is he?’ She automatically slipped into the voice she used for her clients. Luckily.

‘If you mean me, I’m here.’ The gentleman in question strolled into the workroom and bowed. ‘Lord Phillip Macpherson, at your service.’

Belinda had to force herself not to scowl. Just like fine wine he’d matured well. Damn it.

* * *

Phillip straightened up from his bow, and studied the stunning woman in front of him. She was dressed in understated elegance, held herself like any lady of the ton, and made his body harden with instant, unexpected desire. That jolted him. He might be renowned throughout the ton for his prowess in the bedchamber—or in an empty room at a ball—but rarely did someone affect him in such a manner. In fact, he thought as he willed his body to behave, the last time a lady had affected him so strongly, she was a young friend of his sister’s and he had fought against that attraction. Belinda Howells had been too young and too innocent for him. Then she’d dropped out of view and Clarissa had told him she’d moved to the north. He’d felt a pang of disappointment. She intrigued him. Pity about her awful family of course. Those he held in contempt. But Belinda now? If she’d been older…

He shut that thought away. She was a friend of his sister’s, welcome in his father’s house. No way could he have dallied there. But, she had affected him in the same way it appeared the lady in front of him did. Because once more his body was demanding he paid proper attention to a woman probably not suited to or interested in him. More’s the pity.

‘Madame Belle?’ He looked into deep, dark eyes, and wondered where he’d seen such intense blue irises before. She reminded him of someone but at that moment he had no idea whom.

She nodded. ‘My lord. How exactly can I hep you?’ The accent was a mix of French and English, and called to him like a siren song.

Phillip prowled around the room. One long table and a tall cupboard filled one side of it. The other had a deep and comfortable-looking daybed, two armchairs and a low table between them. The fireplace was ornate, and the light fittings of the highest quality. More like a sitting room, it was unlike any workroom he’d seen. Not that he’d seen that many. He was very selective as to which of his many—and he admitted it was a considerable number—mistresses he dressed to such a high degree. However, this time he rather thought the lady in question would merit such attention. A fitting swan song. Even he would admit his behaviour had been less than stalwart.

He was jaded. Bored and uneasily aware he went through the motions with no emotional involvement. It was time to take stock of what he was and what he wanted to be. The last thing he wished to become was an aged roué.

‘I wish you to outfit a lady.’ Phillip mentally winced at his affected languid rake’s tone, so unlike the normal tenor he used.

She cocked her head to one side. He waited for her to reply. She didn’t.

‘What?’ he asked in irritation. Who did he know who held her head in just such a way?

‘What?’ Madame Belle walked towards him, and indicated the door. ‘Why, if we are to discuss business let us go through to my office.’

She walked past him, and he looked at the other woman in the room with one eyebrow raised. ‘Which is where?’

‘Oh, sorry, my lord, follow me.’ She scurried past him, and turned to the left and down the stairs. ‘The upper part of the building is not for visitors to the salon.’

He hadn’t thought it was, but the woman had left him alone for so long he’d decided to explore. Voices from the floor above had led him to the stairs and the room they had just vacated. He’d arrived at the open door just in time to hear Madame Belle ask where he was. Now he wished he’d got there a few moments earlier. Something about the woman intrigued him.

And arouses me. He adjusted himself discreetly under his trousers before he reached the bottom of the staircase.

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,’ he said to the lady who waited for him. ‘You are?’

She blushed the colour of the sash on her dress. ‘Oh, I’m Tippen, your lordship. I’m, well, Madame Belle’s…’

‘Right-hand woman,’ the lady mentioned answered. ‘I couldn’t mange without her. Tippen, do you think you could ask Mrs Lovett for…?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Brandy? Port? Wine? Whisky?’

‘Tea,’ Phillip said firmly. Somehow he had a feeling he’d need his wits and faculties in full working order or Madame Belle would run rings around him.

‘Tea?’ both women said in amazed voices.

He laughed. ‘Why not? My sister coerced me to try it, and now I find it refreshing.’

‘Tea it is, then.’

‘And scones?’ he asked in a tone most woman would roll over and beg for. ‘I’m partial to scones.’ He paused and smiled in a way he knew would persuade most women to do whatever he asked. ‘With jam?’

‘Do not push your luck, my lord.’ Madame Belle’s voice was full of humour, as if she understood what he was doing and was amused, but not influenced by it. ‘Follow me if you will.’ She turned into the room behind her and Phillip did as she bade with alacrity, amused by her attitude and his diverted response to it.

He looked around him, not bothering to hide his interest. This room was more as he expected but still had those womanly touches a man’s domain lacked. Flowers on a side table and a fire crackling in the grate. Knick-knacks grouped in a glass-fronted cupboard as well as several bookshelves, plus the obligatory desk and chair.

‘Very businesslike,’ he said as she settled in one of the two armchairs placed to one side of the fire, and waved him to the other one. So it might be business but it would be conducted in relative comfort.

Madame Belle inclined her head. Phillip blinked. Who did that remind him of? More and more he was certain he knew her. He racked his brain, but no elegant blonde in trade came to mind. In fact elegant blondes of any description were few and far between in his mind. Up until then he would have said he had a penchant for brunettes. Now he was rethinking that, somewhat rapidly.

‘I am businesslike,’ Madame Belle said, breaking into his reverie. ‘So, let us get started.’

She paused as someone knocked on the door and on her bidding, opened it. Evidently there was no such thing as ‘a door should be left open when a lady and gentleman are together’ in this establishment. And whatever she tried to say to the contrary, Phillip was in no doubt that Madame Belle was a lady in some way.

Once the tea tray, and a plate of scones and jam was deposited on the table and they were alone once more, Madame Belle turned to him. ‘Pray continue. Oh and help yourself to tea and scones.’

Her look defied him to argue or ask where her manners were. He bit back a grin and nodded. If the lady thought he had no idea how to pour the perfect cup of tea, or jam a scone, she was sadly mistaken. ‘May I pour you one?’

Her eyes widened, very briefly, and then she smiled. A smile that lit up her face and took years off her.

Damn who does she remind me of? He was beginning to repeat himself.

‘You may. Excuse me one moment.’ Belle walked across to her desk and extracted a ledger and a pen.

Phillip admired the sway of her body and the manner in which her gown tightened over her rear when she bent forward. Seeing it outlined so prettily almost made up for the disappointment of not being able to glimpse how much of her breasts were exposed by the action. Almost. He intended to rectify the latter as soon as he could.

‘We may as well talk whilst we eat. I hesitate to sound unwelcoming, but I am somewhat busy.’

She sat down, arranged her skirts around her and accepted a cup from him. Phillip indicated the scones he’d buttered. She shook her head.

‘No, I thank you. If I ate all of Mrs Lovett’s home cooking, I’d be the size of a house. I have to ration myself.’

Somehow he doubted that, but one thing he did know about women was that they could be touchy with regards to their shape and size, therefore he forbore to comment. Instead he smiled his best ‘fall at my feet’ smile, which to his chagrin appeared to have no effect on Madame Belle. Phillip you’re failing here. The thought that perhaps she could see through his practised charm was something to mull over later.

‘So, let’s get down to business,’ Madame Belle continued briskly. ‘You wish me to dress a lady.’

He nodded as his mouth was full of scone and jam.

‘Who?’

Phillip swallowed. This he judged could well be the spot at which the negotiations ended abruptly. ‘I’m not prepared to say until you agree.’

‘Then, my lord, we have arrived at an impasse,’ Madame Belle said implacably. ‘For unless I know whom it is you wish me to consider, there will be no preliminary appointment. And be warned, even then, I do not guarantee I will dress the lady. I am incredibly selective, and can afford to be.’ She sat back into her chair and sipped her tea.

Damn the woman—she seemed totally at ease and not at all worried she might have offended one of the leaders of the ton. Did she not realise he could make or break her?

Be warned, a voice in his head said. Heed her words. She is made and could you break her? Really? Would you? Phillip acknowledged that no, he wouldn’t. He might try to bed her, not wed her, and add her to his… He stopped that train of thought. Madame Belle might intrigue him, but he made a point of never bedding any lady who didn’t know the score, and was not of his class, however much she made his cock stiff and his body taut. He might be a rake but he had his own rules and stuck to them rigidly.

‘It is somewhat delicate,’ Phillip said slowly. ‘The lady in question is…is…’

‘Married? Your mistress? Your soon to be mistress?’ Madame Belle said matter-of-factly.

‘My soon to be ex-mistress,’ he said. ‘I have decided we do not suit. This is, in a way, in recompense for my…’ he hesitated ‘…my hasty discarding of her.’

Belle put her cup down in the saucer and tapped her quill on her teeth. ‘How hasty?’

‘Does it matter?’ Phillip selected another scone and spread jam over the crumbly surface to cover his discomfiture. Why did she make him feel he was acting in an ungentlemanly manner? On the contrary, he was behaving exactly the opposite. ‘Suffice to say I have decided we will not suit.’ Not now, not now I have met you, and will do my utmost to make you my mistress and my previous edicts be hanged. He’d changed his mind faster than he changed his waistcoats and realised it didn’t bother him in the slightest. He who was renowned throughout the ton for intransigency.

‘It matters.’ She was adamant, and Phillip sensed if he didn’t answer her openly and honestly he’d be handed his hat and cane and shown the door.

He sighed. ‘We have not yet…consummated the relationship. However, the lady knew sex was on the cards and agreed to the liaison.’

‘And now you’ve decided your pego doesn’t want to play and you are willing to pay my prices to buy the lady off.’ It was not a question.

Phillip winced. Put like that it sounded so very bad, but in essence it was true. He stirred uneasily in his seat. She made him sound a perfect coxcomb. ‘I suppose that is one way to put it.’

‘Well what other way could you put it? Hardly for services rendered, is it?’ She cocked her head and smiled at him.

‘You have a very forward way of talking.’ He wasn’t sure if he liked it or not. It worried him that perhaps she did think him lacking somehow.

Madame Belle shrugged. ‘I have discovered it is me, and plus, nothing comes of holding back. So, on that note I must say once more. Who is the lady?’

He hesitated and she made a noise akin to a kettle about to boil. ‘For goodness’ sake Phi…phht.’

Phtt? I swear she was about to call me by my given name. Strange, very strange.

‘Do I know you?’ he asked abruptly. ‘Away from here?’

She shook her head, but he saw a cloud cross her expression, before she was once more her calm composed self.

‘No, my lord, you do not. And please do not change the subject. Do you think I can not be discreet? Heavens above, the secrets imparted to me would sink and kill the ton as we know it if I let them out. Your little affair will be safe with me.’

‘Very well.’ He nodded, reluctantly. Little affair indeed! She made him sound like a callow youth. However, he bit back his scathing retort. If he wanted her to help him, and if he wanted to further his acquaintance, he needed a way of doing so. ‘The lady in question is Lady Rosemary Rattenberry.’

Belle muttered something under her breath.

‘Did you really say, no lady, and rat by name, rat by nature?’ he asked in amazement.

She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look that reminded him of his sister. He didn’t trust it for one second. He was convinced the lady was up to something. To his amazement her attitude encouraged rather than repelled him, and it didn’t appear to be the automatic response of a lady who played hard to get or teased him. With each exchange his attraction to her grew and, Phillip admitted to himself, it was a unique feeling. One he wished to explore.

‘No, of course not,’ Madame Belle said swiftly. ‘I…er…muttered something immaterial. You do mean the former Lady Rosemary Minchin?’

‘I do.’

‘Then no.’

* * *

Belinda wanted to crawl under the table. Now she’d done it. Why on earth couldn’t she keep her mouth shut and her feet out of it? Phillip looked at her in amazement. Then his eyes narrowed and fixed on her like she was a specimen of some obscure insect pegged out for inspection. It made her want to wriggle. She fought against the instinct. It was imperative she didn’t show Phillip how he affected her.

‘Why not?’ He was persistent, she’d admit that. Annoyingly so.

Should she be honest? Why not? After all she needed neither the detestable Rosemary, nor Lord Phillip around to complicate her life. ‘My clothes are for good people, or,’ she amended quickly, ‘people who try to have some goodness in them. Otherwise they do not show them off to advantage. The lady you speak of has none and as far as I can tell never attempts to. She is unpleasant through and through. I thought you had more about you than to consort with her.’ There. She’d answered him honestly and would have to bear the consequences. To Belinda’s surprise Phillip’s eyes widened and she saw a flash of appreciation within their dark depths.

‘So did I, but…when you are thrown a fish so often and it puts up no resistance, in the end, you give in, tug on the line, get reeled in and accept the gift.’

‘And eat it?’ She went red when she realised how her words could be construed. Phillip took pity upon her. He grinned, and in that expression she once more saw the young man she’d fallen headlong in love with all those years ago. Belinda wasn’t sure whether the lurch of her heart was in pleasure or pain.

‘Just so,’ he said. ‘This could be one way of extracting myself, without too much angst, or getting indigestion. If you agree.’

Belinda made her mind up. There would be no way Rosemary would connect Madame Belle to plain Lady Belinda Howells, especially if Phillip didn’t. And in truth she was nosy enough to see how the woman had fared. ‘It will cost you.’

‘Anything will be worth it, to extract me from this with my body in one piece,’ Phillip said. ‘The lady doesn’t like to be thwarted.’

‘Then why on earth did you get involved with her?’ The Phillip she remembered was too wily to get caught, surely?

He shrugged. ‘Stupidity and an itch to be scratched. Oh I beg your pardon, that was crass.’

‘Very, but if it’s true?’ Belinda spoke with an insouciance she didn’t feel. After all what did she really know about gentlemen’s itches? ‘But I assume you now wish you hadn’t thought she might be the one best served to help?’

‘Oh yes. So therefore I’m throwing myself on your mercy.’

Belinda moved to the desk to add ink to her quill. ‘What were you thinking would suffice?’

Half an hour later her head was reeling, and her coffers considerably heavier. Phillip didn’t stint.

‘If Lady Rattenberry doesn’t realise how lucky she is, then really she deserves nibbling to death by her namesakes,’ Belinda said to Tippen as they drank chocolate later that evening. ‘Seriously, Tipp…oh this is ridiculous. All this time and I still don’t know your given name.’

Tippen reddened. ‘You do.’

‘I do not; you’ve only ever been Tippen.’

‘That’s because it is my name.’ Tippen rolled her eyes and shuddered. ‘Stupid though it sounds, my name really is Tippen. Tippen Smellie.’

Belinda put her chocolate down on the table with a thump that threatened to spill the contents of the mug. She bit her lip and did her best not to laugh. Tippen shrugged and then grinned. ‘Go on, laugh, get it over with.’

Belinda firmed her lips and shook her head.

Tippen crossed her eyes, pulled out her mouth wide in an awful leer and stuck her tongue out. Then she waggled her fingers. ‘Shall I tickle you?’

That was enough. Belinda laughed. ‘Oh my. Where did that come from?’

‘My papa’s grandmother was Tippen Smellie. Evidently it is an old family name given to the firstborn girl. I was the only one for two generations so I was saddled with it. Lady L suggested I use Tippen, because…well it sounds better than you calling me Smellie.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, Smellie…’

Belinda snorted. ‘I see what you mean. Tippen it will always be, but at least I won’t feel so infernally offensive when I call you that now. I didn’t like the fact it seemed to show I felt superior to you when I didn’t. And as you well know, I am Belinda, but it’s never to be uttered, therefore Belle will suffice.’

Tippen smiled. ‘You’re still my lady to me.’

Belinda grinned. ‘Better than saying I’m your Madame. People might get the wrong ideas, if you go around saying that.’

Tippen stared at her then put her hand over her mouth as she laughed out loud. ‘Oh my goodness.’ She spluttered as Belinda began to snigger. ‘Best not to, eh? So what exactly are we doing for the rodent?’ She twitched her nose, just like the said rodent did.

‘Oh Tippen, don’t or my sides will ache.’ The anguish over being so close to Phillip and not able to chat or get back to the innocent friendly approach they once had towards each other began to subside. It was what it was. ‘And we shouldn’t call her that now, should we?’ But it was oh so fitting.

‘Perhaps not but she is akin to one,’ Tippen said. ‘I saw her on one occasion, when I accompanied Lady Clarissa to the warehouses when you sprained your ankle. She was giving some poor man such a telling-off when he said he didn’t have the silk she wanted. Of course he didn’t; it was that ecru-shot bolt that we ordered, and Lady Clarissa had a ballgown made with. Somehow Lady Rattenberry must have decided she’d like some of it, and we subsequently found out she had interrogated every merchant around to find out who originally brought it in. Well of course she was out of luck. No merchant worth his salt would share what you had ordered or agreed upon.’

‘I remember Clarissa saying Lady Rattenberry had cut her dead at Almack’s. Apparently she was seething and hissed, “I might have guessed,” to Clarissa. She truly is stupid. Lady R, not Clarissa.’

‘And now you have to dress her.’

‘Well, yes, and I will do, and make sure she forever knows what she will never have again. To be “Dressed by Belle”.’

‘Perfect,’ Tippen said in an admiring tone. ‘I love it. Oh so very devious.’

‘Honest,’ Belinda said. ‘I might do it this once, partially for Phillip, but mainly for my own satisfaction of knowing I can make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear. Now enough of the woman. I suspect we’ll see and hear more than we want of her over the next week or so.’

Two weeks later, Belinda began to realise just how prophetic her words were. Lady Rattenberry was on her third visit and still refused to agree to anything Belinda had suggested.

‘These are all rubbish,’ Lady Rattenberry said petulantly, with a spiteful gleam in her eye. ‘I can’t think why so many people admire your work.’ She plucked at the toile she had on. ‘I shall tell his lordship how misinformed he has been and make sure none of my friends ever want to use your services.’

‘They won’t get the chance,’ a new voice said pleasantly. ‘Hello, Rosemary, look who is with me.’ Clarissa strolled in arm in arm with her brother.

Belinda bit her lip. She recognised the militant expression her friend wore and prayed Clarissa wouldn’t let her temper get the better of her. If it did, heaven knows what she would say or do. To her relief, Belinda watched Phillip give his sister a nip on her arm. Clarissa frowned but the expression lightened.

‘Only the best of the best are accepted here. Of course on occasion there is a slip-up.’ Her tone made certain Rosemary knew that this was one of those times. ‘My dear Madame Belle, I’m so sorry that my entreaty for you to help my brother in his hour of need should have come to this.’ The wink that accompanied the outrageous untruth was enough for Belinda to keep her mouth shut, and not put her feet into it.

Rosemary stood slack-jawed. ‘Are you going to let your sister speak to me like this?’ she demanded of Phillip, once she seemed able to talk. ‘Hour of need?’

‘Five minutes then,’ Clarissa said in an ‘oh aren’t I helpful’ tone.

‘Clarissa, hush,’ Phillip said firmly. ‘I’m interested to hear what Lady Rosemary thinks.’

Rosemary smirked. Phillip narrowed his eyes, and then nodded.

Clarissa rolled her eyes, but kept her mouth shut. How Rosemary didn’t realise Clarissa did it to stop herself laughing Belinda had no idea.

‘She is rude and I won’t have it,’ Rosemary said petulantly. ‘She needs to apologise and leave us to sort this mess out.’

‘That’s a pity because I have no intention of asking her to cease offering her opinions, although this mess as you call it is easily resolved. If you can be rude to Madame Belle, who went against her better judgement to do this for me, why shouldn’t Clarissa be rude to you?’

Rosemary went red, white and then red again. ‘She…’ she waved at Belle ‘…is a servant.’

‘And your point is?’ Phillip asked in such a silky, threatening voice that Belinda shivered.

‘Well, if she can’t deliver…’ Rosemary said sulkily. ‘I mean not once has she brought me anything remotely suitable.’

Tippen opened her mouth. Belinda glared at her and Tippen shut it again hastily.

‘Then that suggests to me that you are not helping,’ Phillip said evenly. ‘For I know of no one else who has this problem. However, never mind. I will pay her for her time and accept she is of no use to you. You agree?’

‘Phillip.’ Clarissa wailed his name. ‘You can’t.’

Belinda said nothing. The look in Phillip’s eyes showed there was more to his words than there seemed.

‘Well?’ He ignored Clarissa’s entreaty and spoke to Rosemary. ‘What do you say?’

‘She is useless and I shall tell everyone so. Perhaps now you will listen to me and we should go to La Compte as I suggested?’ Rosemary tore the toile off her body and stood naked in front of them all. To Belinda’s amusement, her muff was much lighter than the hairs on her head and oh my, sported several grey strands. Someone must have told her the gossip was that Phillip preferred brunettes.

I wonder how she was going to explain the colour difference to him?

The woman’s sultry gaze seemed not to affect Phillip one jot, as he turned away from Rosemary and looked at Belinda.

‘Send me a bill and it will be paid by return.’

‘But I didn’t buy anything,’ Rosemary said in a voice laden with temper. ‘Why should she be recompensed when I’m still waiting for clothes?’

‘For your rudeness perhaps? Wasting her valuable time, certainly. Madame, don’t forget to charge for the toile,’ he said as he picked up his gloves, looked at and addressed his sister. ‘My dear.’ He turned his back on Rosemary, and ignored her outraged hiss and harrumph as he spoke to Clarissa. ‘Do you come with me?’

‘I’ll wait until Madame Belle can see me,’ Clarissa said slowly. ‘I’ll call for my carriage when I’ve finished.’

He nodded. ‘Then I’ll escort Lady Rattenberry off the premises, and see you at the ball this evening. He now looked directly at Rosemary with such indifference that Belinda was shocked. If a man who you thought was enamoured of you gave you that look, you’d surely never be able to lift your head again.

Not so Lady Rattenberry. ‘And we then go to La Compte?’

Phillip shrugged. ‘You may do so; I have no intention. I offered you a wardrobe, one you demanded I purchase from Madame Belle. You have now turned it down. I’ve kept my part of the bargain; you better keep yours. And that, my dear, includes no lies or indeed anything about your visit here. For…’ He took the lady’s chin in between his thumb and forefinger. Her eyes widened but she made no sound.

‘For,’ he continued, ‘if I hear one word, believe me your husband will hear more than one. And none will be conducive to your comfort. That I vow. Have I made myself clear?’

Rosemary blanched until her skin was the colour of the toile she had so recently discarded, and she nodded.

‘Good, I’m glad we understand each other. Do you need any help to dress?’

She shook her head.

‘Then hurry up.’