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“Of course they are. How can a guest room be considered complete without a washstand? What use is a dining room without silver?”
“Very well,” she consented as they left the importer’s. “But I insist on paying for the fabrics from my own purse.”
Rhys shook his head as he guided her out the door. Why did she argue over these small expenses? Once they married, all their money would be combined.
They strolled for a while, stopping in at Sally Lunn’s for a bit of refreshment and a taste of the famous buns. Rhys declared them tasty enough, but vastly inferior to Meredith’s own baking. That compliment earned him a toss of her dark head and a very pretty blush. All in all, he was modestly pleased with his progress in the romance arena.
Then it was on to the draper’s. There Meredith took command. A mountain of fabrics amassed on the countertop as she asked for yard after yard of plain, but high quality linen for bedsheets, then printed dimity for curtains. And she insisted on paying for them from her own purse, to Rhys’s frustration.
“What about for the cottage?” he asked.
“Oh, there’s linen enough here.”
“And the curtains?” He nodded toward a bolt of ivory lace. “Isn’t that similar to the lace you liked so much at the hotel?”
She tsked. “It would be terribly impractical for curtains in the country. They’d become so soiled and would easily tear.”
He tapped his finger on the counter. “How many yards would you need, to make a set? There are eight windows in all.”
She shrugged and gave him a number. He tripled it in his mind and asked the shopkeeper to cut that amount and start a new bill.
“Enough for three sets,” he told her. “When they become soiled, we’ll change them for new. And when we run out of new, it’s time for another trip to Bath.” To escape the disapproving set of her mouth, he traveled down the counter to a glass case filled with a blinding array of plumes, ribbons, fans, and brilliants. Almost at random, he selected an assortment of silky and sparkly things, in as many colors as they came. The shopkeeper dutifully wrapped and tallied them as Meredith settled her fabric bill.
When at last she’d finished settling accounts and drifted down to stand at his elbow, Meredith’s gaze wandered over the dazzling array. “Are you buying souvenirs for Cora?” she asked. “She’ll be so happy. That lavender plume will look very well in her hair.”
ForCora?With effort, Rhys swallowed a growl of frustration. Why wouldn’t the woman allow him to give her a little taste of luxury? “They’re not for …”
His voice trailed off as he noticed she’d gone quiet, too. She stared, lips slightly parted, at a silver dresser set in the case. The set included a boar-bristle hairbrush and matching engraved hand mirror, neatly arranged on a gilt-edged tray.
Wordlessly, he directed the girl behind the counter to remove the set from the case.
“It’s lovely,” Meredith sighed, picking up the hand mirror and turning it glass-side up.
Rhys moved to stand behind her shoulder. Catching her gaze in the reflection, he said, “It could be solid gold and encrusted with pearls, and it still wouldn’t be as beautiful as the woman reflected in it. But thank God something has caught your eye.” To the girl, he said, “We’ll take the set.”
“Rhys, no. It’s too expensive.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Not for me.”
“It’s lovely, but it’s not really the sort of thing I’d use. It would only gather dust.”
“So we’ll have a maid dust it.”
“You can’t—”
“Yes. I can.” Despite all his efforts to remain emotionless, his blood began to heat. His cravat felt glued to his throat. Lowering his voice, he muttered, “It’s a hairbrush and a tray and a bloody mirror. And I’m buying them for you, no matter how much you protest. So stop arguing.”
She looked away, pressing her lips together into a thin line. “If you insist.”
They stood in awkward silence as the shopkeeper finished wrapping their purchases and Rhys settled the account. After arranging for most of their packages to be delivered to the hotel, he turned to Meredith and handed her the parcel containing the dresser set. She thanked him demurely, then turned for the door.
And it was all ruined, damn it. Farewell to his fantasies of dragging that silver brush through her hair, arranging it around her bare shoulders and breasts. Now every time she looked in that hand mirror, she’d see an awkward moment when he’d lost his temper and snapped at her in the draper’s. Just one more beautiful, shining thing he’d managed to tarnish.
He’d make it up to her somehow. In fact, he’d start right now, with an apology.
Catching up to her, he stopped her in the street. “Merry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressed you to accept a gift you didn’t want. We can return the dratted thing this instant, if you like.”
Her hands tightened over the parcel. “Rhys, that’s not it. You don’t understand.”
