A Lord For The Wallflower Widow. Ann Lethbridge
heaved a sigh of relief and Avery knew exactly how she felt. Sometimes ladies spent hours looking in the mirror and bought nothing. But Madame Grace should know better than to worry about one of Avery’s ladies. They never left her establishment without placing an order.
Oddly, he used to enjoy accompanying a woman shopping, but more recently it had simply become a chore. He gave Mimi a broad grin of approval. ‘Where do you want to go next, Puss? Slippers?’
Ladies loved their shoes and the cobbler made a healthy profit that he was more than happy to share with Avery.
Mimi stroked the pale blue fabric. ‘Which bonnet would I wear with this?’
He stilled. An array of exquisite bonnets popped into his mind. But he did not have an arrangement with Mrs Greystoke. Indeed, he’d been doing his best to ignore the fact that he had ever met the woman, because he found her far too intriguing. A distraction. Yet, despite his best efforts, he kept thinking about her smile.
Why hadn’t he offered her the same arrangement he had with other merchants? Was he concerned about what she would think about him? Why would he even care?
‘Ave?’
Mimi’s peevish tone brought him back from the recollection of a tall stern-faced woman to the dressmaker’s shop. He gritted his teeth. He hated it when Mimi called him Ave. It was presumptuous and demeaning, but she was his sister’s bread and butter and as such her irritating little foibles had to be tolerated.
‘Yes, Sweetling?’
‘I don’t have a bonnet that will go with this fabric.’ She touched the rose fabric, now discarded on the counter. ‘I do have one with pink ribbons.’
The lady did love pink. He recalled that particular hat with an inner shudder. It was hideous. Not in the first stare of fashion either. ‘You wish to drive out in a brand new carriage dress wearing a bonnet you must have worn at least five times?’
Mimi winced. ‘You think people would notice?’
‘Other ladies would certainly notice. The gentlemen would not give a fig, I suppose.’
She grimaced. ‘But the ladies will mention it to the gentlemen and they will rib George about not providing for his wife. I won’t have them belittling George.’
Mimi was really fond of her husband in the strange way of the ton.
‘A bonnet it is then,’ he said. ‘I know just the place.’ He winced inwardly. He really was going to do this, then? Take her to visit Mrs Greystoke? Where he wouldn’t make a penny in commission. He must have porridge for brains. Except he wasn’t thinking with his brain if the surge of warmth in his veins at the thought of seeing her again was anything to go by. ‘Afterwards, we will see new half-boots to complete the ensemble.’ And put a few coins in his purse.
Mimi put her arm through his. ‘Perfect.’
Trailed by Mimi’s maid, they strolled down Bond Street, looking in shop windows until they passed a milliner’s shop. Mimi pointed at a jaunty hat with a huge feather. ‘What do you think of that one?’
‘It really isn’t you.’
‘It is all the crack. It might look better on.’
‘We can come back if we don’t find anything else.’
For a moment, he thought she would refuse, but she shrugged. ‘Very well.’
When he turned off Bond Street, she frowned. ‘Really, Avery? Where are we going?’
‘Not far. This shop has the best hats for really decent prices and if you purchase one, you won’t see another hat like it anywhere.’
Her face lit up.
Finding something unique but not outrageously priced was always the trick. There was nothing worse than arriving at a ball or a drum and discovering another lady in the exact same gown or riding Rotten Row and meeting a lady wearing the same carriage dress or hat.
Ladies set great store by such things. Whereas most men were happy wearing black coats and buff pantaloons with the occasional idiosyncrasy of a fanciful waistcoat.
He opened the door to Mrs Greystone’s establishment and ushered Mimi in.
As far as he could tell not a single bonnet had been sold since his last visit two days ago.
‘Good morning,’ she said, eyeing him askance.
‘Good morning,’ Mimi said.
A strange look passed across Mrs Greystoke’s face as she took in his companion. An expression she quickly masked with a bright smile.
‘This is Mrs Luttrell,’ Lord Avery said.
Mrs Greystoke dipped a curtsy. ‘How may I be of service, madam.’
‘I need a hat.’
Amusement danced in Mrs Greystoke’s dove-grey eyes. ‘Then you have come to the right place.’
Avery felt a surge of gladness that he had brought Mimi here. He’d recognised the shadows in Mrs Greystoke’s eyes the last time he was here. Desperation. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge he didn’t like it. He had enough responsibilities as it was.
Nevertheless, the idea that she was desperate had weighed on his shoulders. And he was glad he had the means to do something about it, even if it did leave him a bit short of funds.
Mimi pulled forth the scrap of blue fabric Madame Grace had cut off the bolt. ‘This is the fabric for a new carriage dress. What do you suggest?’
Avery wedged himself in a corner by the counter and let the two women have at it. His part would come later, when a decision was to be made. In the meantime, he could not help but compare the two women. Mimi, a sweet English rose at first glance, but with all the experience of a married woman, and Mrs Greystoke, not exactly pretty, but striking and strangely innocent.
Greystoke. Now why did he keep thinking that name sounded familiar?
* * *
Lord Avery’s special lady was older than Carrie had expected and apparently a widow to boot, but pretty as a picture, nonetheless. The sort of woman she would have expected to attract him, if she was honest. Carrie helped the lady remove her hat and brought down three bonnets that she thought would suit the lady’s face and complement the fabric.
A maid eased in through the door. Mrs Luttrell frowned. ‘Boggs, I am sorry, but you need to wait outside. There really isn’t room in here for another person.’
The maid, who was all of eighteen, looked worried. ‘Yes, mum.’ Her accent came from the north. She started to back out.
The sound of someone from her home county gave Carrie an odd feeling in her stomach. A bit of the same feeling of homesickness she’d experienced when she’d first arrived in London to go to school at around the same age as the maid. She’d been sent to a young ladies’ academy to acquire a bit of polish, as her father put it.
‘Your maid can wait in the back room,’ Carrie said. ‘This is not the best of streets for a young girl to linger on.’
‘Thank you, mum,’ the maid said with a look of relief.
Mrs Luttrell gave Carrie a sharp look. ‘That is very kind of you, Mrs Greystoke. I can certainly vouch for Boggs’s honesty.’
‘Indeed.’ Carrie smiled kindly at the girl. ‘Perhaps you could make us all a cup of tea while you are waiting.’
The girl beamed. ‘That I can, mum.’ She glanced at her mistress. ‘That is, if you agree, madam.’
‘It is a wonderful idea.’ Mrs Luttrell picked up a bonnet Carrie hadn’t suggested. ‘What about this one?’
Carrie tried not to frown at the choice. ‘If you wish to try it on, you may, but I think you will find it hides your face and,