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‘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.
Chapter Three (#u199ae4cf-f451-57f2-92dd-d710d7f6183e)
Avery opened the door for Lady Fontly to pass into the milliner’s shop. It had been two weeks since his last visit. He had forced himself to stay away, though he had encouraged Mimi to recommend the shop if anyone should admire her new hat.
As he entered, he was taken aback by the changes.
Rose-filled vases graced every open space not occupied by a bonnet or a lacy cap. There were two women in the narrow space between the door and the counter, a lady and her maid, being helped by Mrs Greystoke, and there were giggles coming from behind the curtain leading to the shopkeeper’s private quarters. Maids having cups of tea, he assumed.
He turned to his companion. ‘I apologise, Elizabeth, I did not expect it to be this busy.’
Lady Fontly, green-eyed and auburn-haired, beamed. ‘How clever of you, Avery. I heard whispers about this place, but was unable to discover its location.’
He kept his expression blank. Whispers? About Mrs Greystoke? ‘Then it is my pleasure to bring you here.’
The customer at the counter turned at the sound of his voice.
‘Lord Avery?’ Mrs Baxter-Smythe’s eyebrows shot up and Avery inwardly groaned. ‘And Lady Fontly,’ she said with a sly smile. ‘How very...surprising to meet you both here.’ The widow cast him an arch look and her innuendo was perfectly clear.
Mrs Baxter-Smythe had made more than one attempt to begin a flirtation with him, but she was a widow. Avery had no truck with widows. They usually had brothers or fathers or distant cousins, who would see their role as protectors of virtue. And no matter how merry the widow, they were unlikely to pass up the chance to marry off a single relative to the son of a duke.
Avery bowed. ‘Likewise, I am sure, Mrs Baxter-Smythe.’
The widow turned her gaze on his companion. ‘I understand Lord Fontly is out of town at the moment?’
Elizabeth’s cheekbones coloured. ‘He has gone to the races in Newmarket.’ She sounded a little too defensive.
‘How you must miss him,’ Mrs Baxter-Smythe cooed. ‘And you only recently married.’
‘Lord Fontly has a horse entered in a race,’ Avery put in cheerfully. ‘Not something even a newly wed husband should miss.’
Elizabeth recovered her composure. ‘And he recommended Lord Avery take me shopping, since it is something he hates to do.’
Avery gave her arm a little squeeze of approval. Elizabeth had been hurt by her husband’s departure so soon after their marriage, so he had suggested that a new hat might be just the thing to make her feel better.
He became aware of a pair of grave grey eyes watching the interchange between him and the ladies. It was the sort of considering look one might get from a tutor who realised you were not going to live up to your potential. Her eyes held curiosity along with a dawning understanding.
What did she understand? That he served as an escort when a lady’s husband was absent? Did she think it was more than that? Let her think what she wished. Everyone else did. And naturally his special ladies never discussed him with others. They were married, after all.
‘It seems everyone has discovered this place,’ Mrs Baxter-Smythe said. ‘Does Mrs Greystoke not carry the most beautiful hats you have ever seen?’
‘I have not yet had a chance to look.’ Elizabeth glanced around. ‘But I must say at first sight they appear to be most attractive.’
‘Each and every one is stunning,’ the widow said. ‘And do ask her about the other unique items she has for sale.’ She pinned her eyes on Avery. ‘I am having an open house next Monday. Afternoon tea. I would love to see you there.’ She moved her focus to Elizabeth. ‘If you are free, I would love you to come also, Lady Fontly.’ The afterthought was a deliberate snub.
Mrs Baxter-Smythe was a denizen of the ton. For Elizabeth not to accept would put her on the fringes of society. Flirting with him was one thing, but declining to attend one of Mrs Baxter-Smythe’s at homes was quite another.’
‘I shall be delighted to escort you,’ Avery said, smiling at Elizabeth, who dipped a little curtsy. ‘If Lord Fontly is not back in time.’
‘Oh, but of course,’ the widow said. ‘Your husband is welcome also, should he be home, if he does not think it a terrible bore.’ She gave them a sickly sweet smile, squeezed past him and Elizabeth and left the shop with her maid trailing behind her.
A young woman he recognised as the wife of a prominent banker appeared from behind the curtain. Her eyes were dancing and her cheeks were bright pink.
A shop assistant appeared right behind her with a tissue-wrapped package.
At the counter, Mrs Greystoke smiled calmly and wrote up a bill.
Avery frowned. Why on earth would anyone go behind a curtain to try on a hat?
Mrs Greystoke gave Elizabeth a cool smile. ‘How may I help you, madam? Is there something you would like to try on?’
‘Elizabeth, may I introduce Mrs Greystoke, the owner of this establishment. Lady Fontly is looking for a bonnet.’
Lizzie pursed her lips. ‘I am looking for a something summery. Something to wear on a picnic.’ The picnic she’d planned for her husband’s return. Avery had suggested it as a way to engage the twit’s attention. The man had to be an idiot if he left such a pretty wife at a loose end during the Season.
‘What about this one?’ Mrs Greystoke lifted down a becoming wide-brimmed straw bonnet trimmed with strawberry leaves, flowers and berries. ‘It is our latest arrival. It will see a lady through the hottest part of the summer and is ideal for both town and country.’ She tilted one side of the brim upwards. ‘It can be worn one of two ways and comes with three different colours of ribbon.’
Liz hesitated. ‘It is lovely.’
Why the hesitation? ‘Try it on,’ he urged.
Mrs Greystoke tilted her head on one side and looked at her shrewdly. ‘Or perhaps you were seeking something a little more intimate?’
Elizabeth blushed.
Lady Fontley was not as sophisticated as some of the other ladies he had taken under his wing, those like Mimi Luttrell whose husband had arrived home more than a week ago and made it plain his wife no longer needed an escort, much to Mimi’s satisfaction.
He took Elizabeth’s hand and raised it to his lips. ‘What is it, Pet?’ he asked in a low voice. ‘I thought we wanted something that would make your husband look at you anew? Is the bonnet not to your liking?’
‘It is beautiful, but—’
‘I think Lady Fontly would like to inspect our other wares.’ Mrs Greystoke gestured to the counter.
The last time Avery had looked at the items on display there had been neatly ordered fans and gloves and handkerchiefs. Now there were froths of lace and silk.
‘Tansy, fetch his lordship a cup of tea,’ Mrs Greystoke said. ‘Unless you would prefer something stronger?’
Another change. An assistant. He found he did not like it for some reason he could not name.
‘Nothing for me, thank you.’
Mrs Greystoke went back behind her counter and brought forth a flimsy robe of scarlet, edged in lace. ‘This is a very popular style of robe de chambre, my lady.’
When she spread the garment out on the counter and put her hand between the layers of fabric, Avery almost swallowed his tongue. The robe was so sheer as to be almost invisible and there were strategically placed openings that were revealed as the lace trim fell to one side.
What the devil was Mrs Greystoke doing, showing garments like that to a respectable woman? All right, so Elizabeth had accepted his offer of escort in a fit of pique when her husband left town to go on yet another spree with his friends for the fourth time in a month. The poor dear was feeling neglected, but she was still a modestly brought up girl—
‘What do you think, Lord Avery. Will Roger like it?’ she whispered in his ear.
A man would have to be dying, or at the very least dead from the waist down, not to like the idea of the curvy Lady Fontly in such a shockingly revealing negligee. Unfortunately, all Avery could think about was seeing Mrs Greystoke in the gown. She was so lusciously tall, it would look far better on her than the petite Lady Fontly.
‘Yes,’ he said a little more tersely than he intended. ‘It is deliciously wicked,’ he added a little more warmly.
‘Would you like to try it on, Lady Fontly?’ Mrs Greystoke asked.
‘May I?’ Lizzie asked.
Mrs Greystoke smiled. ‘You can use my private quarters at the rear of the shop. Tansy will be happy to help you.’ She looked back at him. ‘Gentlemen are not permitted.’
Liz looked relieved. ‘Do you have it in any other colours?’
‘We do. One for every day of the week.’
Liz giggled. ‘Good lord. Really?’
Mrs Greystoke inclined her head. ‘Really.’
Avery inhaled a breath. His forte was helping ladies choose outer garments that showed them off to advantage. Things such as this were best left to the women themselves. Or their husbands. He didn’t want to be facing pistols at dawn over such a trifle. ‘The colour you have there would suit you very well,’ he said, smiling. ‘Try it on. You can always try a different colour if you decide you do not like it.’
Elizabeth took the whisper of fabric and lace and followed the shop assistant into the back of the shop.
‘And how are you, Lord Avery?’ Mrs Greystoke asked.
Since there was now no one else in the shop he gave her his best charming smile. ‘A little surprised, I must say.’
‘At our new venture?’
Our? Who were the others? She had said her husband was dead. ‘Yes. I thought you were a milliner.’
‘Oh, we discovered a demand for something no one else was offering. We thought it a suitable addition to our inventory, since most of our customers are ladies.’ She gave him a considering look and lowered her voice. ‘How is Mrs Luttrell?’
‘She is well, so far as I am aware.’
