Lydia fluttered her eyelids, which made Robert want to snort. “She works late. They always work late the day before a ball. In fact, she is probably putting the finishing touches on the gown right now. She won’t mind. I promise. Please?”
Robert watched her closely, eyes narrowed. This felt suspiciously like a challenge, a final test of sorts, to prove his worthiness before he spoke with her father about the marriage contract. As if he were Sir Gawain being sent forth to battle the Green Knight. To rescue her fair ballgown from the clutches of the evil modiste. He suddenly had an image of a Medusa-like modiste, hair a riotous mass of snakes while she clutched the gown in one hand, threatening it wildly with a pair of scissors and a mouthful of pins.
He choked back a snicker.
The afternoon had progressed pretty much as he had anticipated, a squirm-inducing preview of what their marriage would be like. He and his valet Fletcher had chosen purple as today’s theme, and Robert had doffed a superfine topcoat in a deep shade of the color, accented by a lavender waistcoat with swirls of thick metallic silver embroidery, gray breeches, white hose, and purple shoes. His silver-gray cravat had been starched to the point that even five hours later it continued to poke uncomfortably against the underside of his jaw. The accompanying purple top hat had been brushed until it shone.
Fletcher was worth his weight in gold.
The visit had begun with tea, then continued with a promenade in the park, all accompanied by Lydia’s usual chaperone, a prim and trim woman named Lady Eloise Surrey. Robert had known the Surreys—her father was the Earl of Pentney—since childhood, and had seen Lady Eloise earlier in the season, along with Rose, on Spinster’s Row, the area of each event set aside for the “on the shelf” ladies who were beyond the usual marriageable ages.
Robert had idly wondered why Lady Eloise had never married. She had a mousey and bookish air about her, but she also had an undisguised elegance and intricate beauty. Amber eyes that sparkled with humor and rich and thick brown hair, the kind of mane a man could plunge his hands into. He was also curious how such a woman came to be Lydia’s chaperone—instead of a maid or a sister—but it wasn’t unheard of for a friend to serve as a young woman’s companion. Since Lady Eloise seemed to be more of an observer than a participant—she had never said a word during any of his visits, focusing instead on a book—she did seem to be an unimpeachable chaperone.
Not that Lady Eloise had much to observe. Robert had not made a single improper move toward Lydia during his suit of her. His precise behavior, however, was less discipline than lack of desire. Lydia would make a fine Society wife—she had the grace and knowledge to run a household befitting the son of a duke, albeit a second son. He did not, however, feel the need to bed her more than necessary—and occasionally he wondered if she’d be willing to wear a gag during those encounters.
Petty bastard that he was.
Lady Eloise had departed just before an early evening meal, which gathered not only the duke and duchess around the table but two older sisters and their husbands, one older and one younger brother, and two of the duke’s business acquaintances—exceptionally wealthy men who owned factories in the North. Robert found the conversations lively and had enjoyed joining the men afterward for a short period of port and cigars. The intricacies of business intrigued him—he’d learned a great deal from Bill Campion over the years and even more from his father this summer. The men had bragged voraciously about their growing textile exports, mentioning their desire to expand into the Triangular Trade routes in order to further their enterprise concerns. Robert even dropped the “charming Lord Robert” persona a bit as he began to relax and soothe himself that this association could actually work as a marriage.
Then they had rejoined the ladies in the drawing room just after eight, and he’d found himself facing Lydia and her simpering request. He glanced around the room to find both the duke and duchess watching him. It was, indeed, a test.
So Robert became the dandy again, straightening his spine and tilting his head as if sharing an intimacy with her. He grinned, then patted Lydia’s hand. “Of course, my dear. Give me the direction, and I will be back shortly.”
Immediately, the duke gestured to a footman near the door, who nodded and slipped out. Robert knew his carriage would be brought around to the front before he made it to the door.
A test. Aplannedtest. All the good in the evening—all the embracing conversations, the introductions to business acquaintances, the encouragement to engage in discussions of modernizations and factory improvements—vanished in a vapor. They had all led to this.
He felt like a fool. A dandified peacock of a fool.
Robert settled back against the squabs of the carriage seat, allowing himself to wallow in his soured mood. If this is what it took to secure Lydia’s hand, so be it. But he would not soon forget this, the way the entire Makendon clan had made him feel tonight. Charming Lord Robert, the brainless fop and errand boy, bowing and scraping to Lady Lydia’s every need.
A wave of nausea flowed over him, and he swallowed hard.No.He would not allow them even that unseen satisfaction.
The carriage slowed, then halted, and Robert flung open the door and stepped down, glaring at the startled footman. “Let’s get this done,” he growled. He glanced up to ensure they were, in fact, in front of the storefront Lydia had described, but the only indication it was the correct location was a small bit of lettering on the glass door, which simply read, “Mme. A. C.”
Robert had seen clearer denotations on bordellos. The two broad windows on either side of the door, as well as the glass in the door itself, were curtained, but a yellowish light shone around the edges. The modiste was here and apparently working. He grabbed the door handled and thrust it open, stepping inside.
And froze, staring. Behind a short counter directly in front of the door, two women were huddled over a stack of paperwork and ledgers. The one on the right—presumably the modiste—had a wild mane of black hair piled on her head in an unruly coif held together by combs and feathered pins. The woman on the left, with her dignified posture and neatly starched lace cap, was Lady Eloise Surrey.
“What the devil are you—”
She looked at the modiste. “I told you.”
The dressmaker straightened with a long sigh. “Indeed you did.” She slid off the stool on which she’d been perched, stepped from behind the counter, and gave a quick curtsey to Robert. “I shall be right back, Lord Robert.”
He watched her disappear through a curtained doorway, then snapped his attention back to Lady Eloise. “What areyoudoing here?”
Her eyebrows arched and she rolled her shoulders back as she pushed the pencil she had been holding behind her ear. The rough woolen cord wrapped around the graphite dislodged a long strand of that rich brown hair, and it dropped down across her left shoulder and curled near the rise of her breast. Lady Eloise wore the same dark muslin day gown she had this afternoon, but its modest lines molded to her trim figure, and the action of rolling her shoulders had arched her back and caused her breasts to push against the fabric.
Robert felt his throat tighten.Why—
“Good evening to you as well, Lord Robert.” Her voice—which he had never heard before—was a low and sultry alto.
His throat wasn’t the only thing that began to tighten.What in the world—?He forced himself to recover his manners, but his charming Lord Robert persona had fallen away, and he felt no urge to don it again. He pulled his top hat off. “Lady Eloise, my apologies. Your presence merely startled me.”
“I have no doubt.” She splayed her hands wide. They were ungloved, and her long, slender fingers appeared strong, supple—and stained. Specifically smudges tipped each finger of her left hand, and a large splotch covered the lower outside of her left palm. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we are in the process of doing Madame Adrienne’s monthly budget, reconciling her accounts, and paying the bills.”
His eyes narrowed. “Youare? Does she not have her own man of business?”
