Читать книгу The Remnants - W. P. Osborn - Страница 9

They had arrived at Ellen Aldridge’s Dress Shoppe at twelve thirty, precisely on schedule. Lady Barbara immediately dismissed Smith until three when she would move along to her flower club meeting across town. Precisely on cue Mrs. Aldridge was waiting at the front door to receive her and escort her to the private fitting room. As they traveled up the stairs she explained to her client that the alterations to both gowns were completed as she had directed and she was confident of her ladyship’s approval.

Smith of course was delighted for the early relief. Once his mistress was safely ensconced inside he quickly re-embarked and as Lady Knowles had witnessed through the tiny upstairs window had immediately set the horses trotting toward high street in town. With any luck he would be at the bar with his mates within the half hour.

The location of the shop itself was a matter of great convenience for Barbara’s agenda. It was set just at the edge of town in a refurbished private home, a former parsonage for the dank old church that had burnt down several years ago. When the much larger new church was relocated to an ideal plot one block behind the high street, the parsonage had become redundant and was acquired by Mr. Aldridge for a song. At his passing, his young widow had set about renovating the dowdy old house and converting it to her new commercial interest. Although isolated from the main commercial centre of town, its quiet segregation had proven to be its greatest value. It became a very welcome locale for her upper class clientele who sought relief from any direct contact with those beneath them. In a very short time Ellen Aldridge had established a very exclusive business. Her services were reserved almost entirely for wealthy women of significant status. She understood and provided for all of their special requirements, often providing services that would seem well beyond the attentions of a simple dress shop. Her staff was appropriately demure and deliberately chosen for their attention to detail and most importantly, for their absolute discretion.

Fifty minutes after her arrival, Captain Richards arrived at the rear entrance. He handed the reins of his horse to an elderly valet, who walked it quietly to the privacy of a small barn tucked neatly beneath a large chestnut tree fifty yards away from the house. Richards eased through the door and paused to smile to an attractive woman who was seated at a small desk in the corner. She blushed and nodded politely saying, “You’re expected sir,” and pointed him toward the rear stairs, a route that was already well known to him. He nodded and without a word stepped across the room toward the staircase. The clerk’s gaze followed him discretely as he left. She cleared her throat and smiled, “Now that is a handsome man!”

He double stepped up the carpeted stairs, turned the corner and gently tapped at first door on the left. Mrs. Aldridge opened it herself murmured a polite, “Good afternoon, sir,” she turned and waived the two seamstresses out. She then bowed politely and immediately followed them closing the door softly behind her.

“Jeremy Richards, you’re late again,” Barbara pouted as she stepped toward him.

“And you look ravishing,” he smiled.

She paused, smiled and twirled demurely to allow him to absorb the full picture.

“Do you like it?” she teased.

“I do indeed. You’re quite breathtaking in white. I think all those fussy French faggots must have imagined you when they designed it.”

“But it’s not quite white, Darling, it’s ivory.”

“Whatever. You’d look just as stunning in an old laundry bag. You are by far the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”

She smiled again and widened her eyes to inhale all of him. He was three inches taller, the perfect height for her, coy green eyes, a perfectly coiffed flush of thick brown hair celebrated with a masterstroke of the thin moustache of a military champion. She reconfirmed that he was, as always, beautifully turned out in an elegant brown tweed jacket, green silk ascot, gray jodhpurs and sparkling chestnut riding boots. She had long ago conveniently ignored the fact that he was six years her junior and that his reputation as swordsman had much more to do with his success in the boudoir than on the field of honour. She paused, expanded her smile and stretched forward to embrace him.

“Oh Jeremy, you are such a rogue. You always know exactly what to say to me. I shall always love you for that.”

“I’ll tell you a little secret though, Darling,” he whispered into her left ear.

She said nothing and pulled the back of his neck closer to feel his breath along her throat.

“I like what’s in that dress a great deal more,” he whispered.

Her face flushed and she eased her head back and ran the tip of her tongue along his lower lip. As if on cue, his ruby signet ring sparkled in the afternoon sunlight as his right hand closed gently around the back of her neck. He closed his eyes to kiss her firmly in a long breathy embrace, reached down, lifted her into his arms and carried her to the day bed in the corner.

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