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When she had collected Lily from her home, her cousin had entered the carriage and then hesitated in dismay at the sight of a footman installed on the opposite seat, but his presence prevented her from questioning Sophia about it.
It had been a relief to reach the modiste shop and exit the carriage, but she noted that The Shorter John, which she had taken to calling him in her mind, followed them up to the entrance and was currently visible through the front window while her cousin chattered about which colors Sophia should consider.
Turning her attention back to Lily, Sophia leafed through the fashion plates they had been provided. Thinking about her husband, her thoughts strayed to how he had known to send her to this particular modiste.
The proprietress was an elegant Italian woman, dressed in a stylish but simple gown. This was unusual because most modistes were obsequious French women, and a large majority of those were English women feigning their French accents and names in an attempt to be fashionable to their clientele.
Her stomach tightened with jealousy when she thought of the women Richard must have brought here in the past to gift with expensive clothing. Mistresses? Widows? Possibly unhappy wives and courtesans? She dared not let her imagination run free because her gut felt hollow at the thought of it.
“How is it?”
Sophia looked up to find Lily’s large brown eyes fixed on her. She had just quietly regaled her cousin with the events of the past couple of days, but her thoughts distracted her and she found she had lost the thread of the conversation.
“How is what?”
“Married life? Are you enjoying life with the earl?” Her petite cousin appeared to be holding her breath.
“His past has created some interesting situations to deal with.”
“Pish! You knew it would. How are you enjoying him?”
Sophia hesitated, thinking. “I … like him. He has been most considerate, making a point to forewarn me about situations. He is learning to be a generous father, and he has spent a great deal of time with me and his son since I arrived.” She checked the shop to ensure no one could overhear her before dropping her voice. “I very much enjoy the kissing and the bedding. Saunton is … I do not know … I am becoming very attached. I think this marriage may … may …”
“May?”
“He needs me so, and he treats me like an equal. I … may be falling in love with the earl.”
Lily clapped her gloved hands in glee. “I knew it. I knew he was the one for you. And if anyone is capable of managing such a scoundrel of a man, it is you, Sophia!”
Sophia shook her head. Her cousin was such a hopeless optimist. There was much to deal with at Balfour Terrace before she could claim her happily ever after.But you are on your way!
She sighed. Lily’s optimism was contagious, it would appear.
Over at the counter, Signora Ricci was conversing with two customers, waving her hands in the manner of the Italians. She did not notice when the bell on the door sounded, but Sophia was startled and turned her head to see who entered the shop.
She recognized two women she had been introduced to at the Yardley ball, one of whom was a young widow who wore her daring ball gowns cut so low and tight, Sophia had winced to consider the constricted binding of her stays. Noting the woman was currently attired in a scarlet dress, which was inarguably an indiscreet choice for a day dress and, in keeping with her implied character, the bodice was cut so low that Sophia feared on behalf of her dignity. Surely at any moment a breast would pop out right there in the shop?
The pretty blonde caught her eye and arched a perfect eyebrow, fixing her cold blue eyes on Sophia. A wave of pure malevolence crossed the distance between them.
“Lady Saunton. It is a pleasure to see you out and about. I did so hope that those vicious prints circulatingthetonabout your wedding night would not cause you to hide within Balfour Terrace.”
Lily gasped, but Sophia found herself impressed—the woman’s dig was well played.
“Thank you, Lady Partridge. I do appreciate your concern.”
The succubus narrowed her eyes. “How is Richard? I have not yet been to Balfour Terrace this Season.” Her companion, presumably a high-born jade of equally low morals, snickered at the prod.
Sophia kept her composure, but she could see Lily’s delicate brown eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. The viper was not subtle. Richard was not known for holding events at Balfour Terrace, so there could be only one insinuation to draw from her remark. Lady Partridge had visited Richard’s home for reasons that were quite obvious to conclude.
“He is well.” Was there a polite manner to extricate herself from the conversation? No good would come from conversing with the wicked harlot.
“Please send him my regards. We enjoy a very special connection, and I am sure he will be pleased to hear I am thinking of him.”
Sophia reached her limit. This ladybird was stepping far beyond the limits of good taste with her implications. Sophia needed to mark her territory regarding her husband, or his former paramours would devour her with malicious remarks in shops across London. Let the word get around that Sophia possessed teeth and claws.
“You are a widow, if I am not mistaken?”
“What of it?”
