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“Thank you, Mr. Brighton.”
“You are most welcome. Now that a disaster has been averted, I believe I am in need of sustenance. Would you like to join me?”
“I fear I will not be able to eat a bite after the fright but I would not mind returning to my house and having our cook make you something hearty to thank you.”
Jenny’s brows rose at her friend’s tone. In her state, she was inviting Ernest. Perhaps she had been trying to match her with the wrong man. She and Ernest did make a striking pair.
“That would be most gratifying, Miss Bexley. Allow me…” he trailed off, staring into the distance. “Ah, there is the Duke of Seaton.”
Jenny followed his gaze to see Nicholas. He was riding alongside one of the women they had encountered the other day and her demeanor immediately darkened. “Who is that he is riding with?” Daphne asked.
“Lady Heatherford,” Ernest replied.
Jenny tried to conceal her jealousy and said, “We should get you home, Daphne.”
“I agree,” Ernest said. “You may ride my horse. It is very tame.”
“I did say I am not going to ride for a while but I think my courage is coming back.”
Ernest helped Daphne onto his horse while Jenny glanced back at Nicholas. The widow now had her hand on his arm. Jenny’s ire rose, not from jealousy but from the unfairness of the situation.
If their places were switched andshewas the one riding with Phineas or another man, he would not have wasted any time in revealing both his presence and his choler. The man had no consideration for her.
* * *
Two days later
“Do come on, girl!” the dowager urged Jenny, dragging her into the fifth shop that day.
Jenny had been correct in her prediction of how the day would go with the dowager. She threw Mrs. Atwood a pleading look that saidrescue me. But her companion only smiled apologetically.
Jenny had insisted on bringing Mrs. Atwood along when the dowager had come to the house that morning. “Mrs. Atwood’s presence will give me great comfort, Your Grace. My nerves have been difficult to manage lately,” she had said.
The dowager had been reluctant in allowing Mrs. Atwood to come but Jenny had convinced her with the case of her nerves.
“Hopefully, this shop will have something good for us,” the dowager said, looking about the place superciliously and scrunching up her nose.
They had not engaged the services of the four modistes they had erstwhile visited because the dowager had deemed them unfit to make a duchess’s garments, exiting each shop with a huff and a thud of her cane against the floorboards. Her attitude was in part to blame for Jenny’s weariness.
The door closed behind them and the wind chimes above rang softly. This shop did not look very different from the ones they had visited and Jenny braced herself for the worst.
“Marguerite!” a masculine voice called, causing Jenny's head to swivel around. “We have special customers, bring some lemonade.” A lithe, bespectacled man skirted a table with sketches scattered about and walked forward to meet them. He bowed to the dowager first.
“Monsieur Raphael, at your service, Your Grace.” He smiled and his youthful face appeared as though it had seen too much talc and his light shone in the sunlight that filtered into the shop, competing with it for brightness.
Jenny remembered hearing about him. He was new in London and catered only to women but he was quickly gaining popularity.
The dowager’s sharp eyes traveled over him and she inclined her head. “At least some of you know who I am.”
Jenny caught Mrs. Atwood rolling her eyes and smiled. Then the dowager pulled Jenny forward. “This is the future Duchess of Seaton. She will be getting married in a fortnight. Are you capable of styling her?”
Raphael bowed to Jenny before responding simply with, “Indeed, Your Grace.”
The dowager sniffed. “Get to work, then.”
“You have vivid green eyes, my lady. May I suggest a color to complement them?”
“Green will do,” the dowager put in.
