“Allow me to help you, sir.” Lord Halsey stepped beside her butler, his fragrant cologne filling her senses. He had appeared from nowhere, but now began to lift out all the items between Inès and the thing she wanted most this day.
“My lord,” she addressed him, surprised and pleased to see him here.
He turned toward her momentarily. “Yes, good afternoon, mademoiselle. You like the cello?”
“I do, sir.”
“Well, then, I am happy to assist your man. How do you do, sir? Halsey here.”
“Hawkins, my lord.”
The two men nodded and went on with their lifting and sorting of all goods between Inès and her desire.
“Mama?” Halsey did not turn, but addressed a woman who appeared to the left of Inès.
“Yes, dear?” She smiled at Inès.
“May I introduce to you Mademoiselle Inès Bechard? My mother, Lady Halsey.”
“How do you do, my dear?” The lady was a tall, vigorous creature with dancing purple eyes and brown hair shot with red lights. She spoke to her in French.
“Tres bien, madam.”
“And Mademoiselle Inès Bechard?” Halsey continued his help to her butler, while addressing Inès and the two other young ladies who’d come to flank the Countess of Halsey. “I introduce to you my third younger sister, Jessica, LadyRanelagh, and our youngest sister,Lady Felicia Mannerly.”
LadyRanelagh was shorter than her mother or sister. But she stood out because her hair was the richest blend of chocolate and brandy. She extended her hand. “Delightful to meet you, mademoiselle. I am Jessica to one and all.”
“It is an honor to meet you…Jessica.”
The young woman to the other side of the countess was a youthful replica of the stately lady, with an elegant figure. Her eyes too were sharp and the same color as her mother’s and brother’s. A vivid violet.
“Good afternoon, mademoiselle.” She was open and buoyant, a woman many would welcome as friend. “I am Fee, and I am delighted to meet you. I understand you are to attend our little gathering Friday evening.”
Halsey was still pulling out this and that in front of the cello. “Little? Not by my measure, Fee.”
“He is sensitive,” the younger lady said with wide eyes and a teasing scowl at her brother.
“My sister, mademoiselle,” he said over his shoulder, “has misplaced her humor.”
“As long as, dear brother, you do not misplace yours or you don’t—”
“Oh, ouch!” He winced, a hand to his lower back.
His sister gave a rueful chuckle. “—or you don’t cripple yourself before you lead me out Friday night.” She leaned overto Inès in a conspiratorial manner. “He is getting older, you see, and needs to take care.”
To which he turned toward his sister with feigned menace.
Their mother gave one big laugh and raised her palm. “Please! No more! Allow your brother to help Mademoiselle Bechard’s servant without your needling him.”
“Thank you, Mama,” Halsey said as he helped Hawkins drag toward Inès the three-foot-tall, once-golden, now gray with grime, cello. Finished, he nodded his thanks at Hawkins, dusted off his hands, and looked down at Inès. “What do you think? Are you still interested in it?”
Even if she wasn’t—she would never after all that fuss—say so.
“Oui, certainment!” she exclaimed, and nailed her true identity for the shopkeeper. “What is your price?”
The old woman saw a good thing when she ran her eyes over the stylish attire of her prospective customers. Halsey was dressed, despite a line of gray dust along his greatcoat sleeve, in a heavy—nearly black—green wool. His top hat, which he’d given to his sister to hold for him, revealed that glorious head of chocolate-brown curls, one of which dipped over his brow.
Admiring Halsey, Inès had missed the woman’s price.
