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Despite the nondescript clothing, his classic good looks drew admiring glances from multiple women on the street. She was surprised he had decided to go out in public without some sort of disguise. Maybe he had given up on his attempt to run from the press. Oddly, now that he was making no effort to hide out, they hadn’t seen a single reporter all day.
At last they paused before a wooden door flanked by a dusty six-paned window.
“I think this is it,” Ian said. He opened the door and waited for her to precede him. The dimly-lit interior smelled of old books and ancient wood. Like the shops in Harry Potter’s Hogsmeade, this establishment was charmingly cluttered. Shelves reached to the ceiling, filled with bolts of cloth and an assortment of thread and buttons and other items.
Bella loved it. While Ian greeted Mr. Duffy, and the two males chatted, she nosed around, wondering how long the proprietor had been in business. And what was this location before it became a tailor’s shop?
Mrs. Duffy appeared through a curtained doorway at the back of the shop, crooking a bony finger at her spouse. “Quit bletherin’, old man. Bring the children to the back so we can get started.”
Bella shot Ian an amused look and mouthed, “Children?”
He shrugged, apparently resigned to his fate. She had yet to meet a man who enjoyed trying on clothes, much less being custom fitted.
The Duffys were interesting folk, as Bella’s granny used to say. Both the tailor and his wife were petite and bent. Their age could land anywhere from eighty to a hundred, as far as she could tell. Mrs. Duffy wore a navy serge dress with sturdy lace-up brogans that supported her swollen ankles. Her husband was outfitted in heavy cotton britches and a forest green vest over a natural linen shirt. A tape measure dangled from his neck. The pockets of his vest were adorned with rows of straight pins waiting to be used.
The Duffys’ accents were so heavy, Bella had to listen carefully to understand their words. The back room to which Bella and Ian had been escorted was larger than the front portion of the shop, though not by much. Large three-paned mirrors on either side of the space were one of the few semi-modern touches. Bella had seen something similar while wedding-gown shopping with a friend.
The floor was covered in Oriental rugs that were so ancient and worn the patterns were no longer discernable. Old gaslight sconces on the walls had been converted to electricity. The bulbs flickered cheerfully. All in all, the warm, old-fashioned illumination was flattering and atmospheric.
Mr. Duffy tapped Ian on the shoulder. “Take off your shirt, lad, and we’ll get started.”
Though Bella wanted to linger and watch the show, Mrs. Duffy tugged her elbow and steered her to the far corner of the room. “Your young man’s in good hands,” she said. “Let’s see what we can do for you.”
Though Bella did indeed need a dress, she was far more interested in what was happening with Ian. Thanks to the mirror, she was able to sneak peeks at him with no one the wiser. When he shed his sweater and pulled his shirt over his head without ceremony, she had to stifle a sigh of appreciation. Even at this distance, his torso was a thing of beauty.
Broad shoulders narrowed to a trim waist. His rib cage rippled with sleek muscle. Though his clothing choices leaned toward the ill-fitting and worn, his naked body told a far different story. Unfortunately, Mr. Duffy didn’t ask his client for further disrobing. Instead, he went straight to work measuring and making notes.
Mrs. Duffy snapped her fingers in front of Bella’s nose. “Quit moonin’ over the lad. He’s flesh and blood like the rest of ’em. He’ll break your heart if you let him. Show some backbone, young Bella. Back when I was a lass yer age, I was taught that my husband would tell me what to do. I didn’t think for myself. Things are different now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bella said meekly, standing completely still as the little woman did her work.
“I suppose you think I’m an old biddy who should be mindin’ my own business.”
“No,” Bella said carefully, lifting her arms and holding them out to the side as directed. “But he’s not my young man. We’re just friends.”
The little seamstress made a sound in the back of her throat that could have meant anything. “I may be old, but I remember what it was like when me blood ran hot. It’s a fine time you’ll be havin’ with that strappin’ lad. E’en so, make sure ‘twill last before you go headfirst into the current. A broken spirit’s even worse than a bruised heart.”
Bella’s cheeks felt fiery hot. A change in subject was in order. “What kind of dress did you have in mind for me?” she asked. The old woman, surprisingly nimble, knelt and measured the hem of Bella’s simple cotton skirt as a benchmark for her work.
Mrs. Duffy lifted her head and grimaced. “Ye know, I’m sure, that this isn’t New York or Paris. Ye’ve only to see our lovely Princess Katherine on state occasions to know that a woman can be stylish without showing a lot of skin. If ye’ll trust me, I’ll have that lad over there panting at your feet.”
“No panting,” Bella said firmly. “No feet. All I need is a modest dress to visit the palace. No one will notice me anyway. Ian is the one receiving the honor from the queen, not me.”
“And the boy has asked you to go with him.”
“Yes.” Suddenly the reality of the situation sank in. On Friday evening, Bella was going to visit a member of the royal family in the royal castle. Her stomach knotted. Bella was a bookworm… an introvert…a woman who preferred coffee and a good novel to a party where she had to wear high heels. Why had she ever said yes to Ian’s invitation?
After that, there wasn’t much opportunity to talk. Mrs. Duffy measured everything there was to measure, though thankfully without Bella having to disrobe. When Bella glanced once in Ian’s direction, he looked hot and flustered and uncomfortable. Poor guy. This was not his thing at all.
At last, the torture ended. Mr. Duffy nodded his satisfaction and beamed at his wife. “The two of them make a fine pair, don’t they?”
Mrs. Duffy joined her husband, momentarily leaning her head against his shoulder in a gesture that tugged at Bella’s heart. “Aye, that they do.” She smiled at Bella. “Come back in the morning at eleven, my dear. We’ll be ready for your fitting. I think you’ll be pleased.”
“Pleased, my ass,” Ian groused as they stepped outside into the sunshine. “I’d rather walk the plank on a pirate ship.” He stopped in the middle of the street and scraped his hands through his hair. “Are you sure I can’t beg off? They wouldn’t want me there if I’m contagious. I could tell them I have the flu…maybe even something worse.”
Bella knew he wasn’t talking about the fitting. “It’s a huge honor, Ian. Think of it as a very impressive line on your resume.” She understood his misgivings. She really did. At the moment, however, it was her job to get the reluctant genius to the palace at the appointed time. “I’m hungry,” she said, trying to distract him. “Do you have any ideas for dinner?”
“I’m not a child,” he said. “I have a superior IQ that is not prone to distraction. You can’t placate me that easily.”
