Page 28 of A Lady’s Guide to Mystery and Mischief

Her response was mild. “Wife is easier to explain away.”

“So it is, darling.”

A violent blush painted her cheeks, much to Grey’s delight. She folded her arms across her chest with an indignant sniff.

“That’s what your aunt called you, isn’t it?”

Farah lowered her hands into her lap. “I—in Arabic, yes. How did you know?”

“My grandmother speaks Arabic,” Grey told her. “She’s Mesopotamian. Didn’t Francis ever tell you?”

Farah’s eyes were wide. “He didn’t. How strange! It must have slipped his mind.”

“Yes,” Grey agreed. “How strange of him to forget to point out the one glaring commonality between you.”

Farah didn’t react to this. Instead, she asked, “Do you speak Arabic then?”

It was Grey’s turn to color. He shook his head. “No. I can’t say I’m able to do more than understand the odd word.”

“Either way, I should tell you then that darling is reserved for family use only.”

“Of course,” he said with mock seriousness. “My apologies.”

“You surprised me, you know,” she said. “I never would have pegged you for a tease.”

Her words inspired something mortifying in him—the desire to flirt.

Whatever he thought he was doing, it was high time he stopped. This was already a mess of monumental proportions. It would be foolish to insert himself further into the situation, especially where Farah and Francis were concerned.

Relieved that he’d caught himself, he shrugged. “A minor lapse in judgment. I can promise that you won’t be subjected to any further teasing for the remainder of the month.”

Farah let out a skeptical hum before turning to look out of the window with a happy smile. “Mayfair!”

Which, Grey thought, was an interruption worth thanking God for.

*

Farah left Grey in the carriage, stepping up to the door that would lead her to the dressmaker listed on the back of the torn invitation. There was an uncomfortable buzzing in her veins, a sort of anxious agitation that she wasn’t used to. Perhaps it was related to her surprising ability to get along with Grey. It wasn’t as though Francis had written him a glowing recommendation in his last letter, so—

Then again, if Grey hated Francis, it was safe to assume that the feeling was mutual.

Walking into the shop, Farah took in the flower arrangements on the counter and the bolts of shining fabric lining the walls. She released a deep breath in an effort to shake the suffocation that had been plaguing her since she’d stepped out onto the pavement.

“Bonjour, mademoiselle.”

Farah jumped, still very much lost in her own thoughts. She turned to see that a tall woman with deep chestnut hair was staring at her with a rather discerning expression on her delicately lined face.

“Oh! Hello, M—”

“Madame Auclair,” the woman supplied, seeming to recognize that Farah was a newcomer to her shop. “How can I help you today?”

Be casual.

“I’d like a dress for Mrs. Ramsbury’s Flower Ball,” was Farah’s cool response. “I understand it’s short notice, but—”

“I am sure we can accommodate,” Mme Auclair said, ushering Farah to a platform surrounded by gold-framed mirrors. It was safe to assume that the older woman was using the royal we, given the emptiness of the shop. Mme Auclair pulled out a measuring chain and got to work.

“I wonder if you might indulge my curiosity about something, Madame,” Farah said as the measuring chain was wrapped around her waist.