Mary Blayney - [Pennistan 03] (11 page)

Garrett did as asked and while they enjoyed the excellent brandy that Meryon had brought back from France, he explained his idea for a bill that would provide
income for widows and orphans who had lost all means of support.

“A noble idea, Meryon—too noble, I am sorry to say.”

Too noble. At their first meeting he had accused Signora Verano of being too noble, for wanting to make her world a better place. His plans were similar if on a larger scale. Intriguing. They did have something in common. “Yes, but at least it will make more people aware of the problem.”

“How can they not be?”

“Because they live in such a rarified world, limited to a village or the Season and Hyde Park. God knows that was how I lived my life for too long. Hearing of my brother Gabriel’s experience and your war years were my introduction to the way most people see the world.”

“Then I cheer you on, for years and years and years.”

“I can be patient.”

Garrett’s laugh became a protracted coughing spasm. With a wave of apology he pulled out his handkerchief and pressed it to his mouth. Was this something passing? Meryon did not ask but seized on a subject while Garrett composed himself again.

“I called on a lady today whose servants are involved in her life to an embarrassing degree.”

“You called on a lady?”

Meryon waved that away and wished he had thought before he spoke. “I refused a glass of wine and I thought the maid would berate me then and there. Another lurked behind a door, listening.”

“So you have a new friend, a new
female
friend.”

“No, I do believe she is interested in someone else.” And even if Lord William was not courting her, Meryon was sure that he had destroyed any hope of knowing her better. “Besides, I have no time for more people in my life.”

“Oh, Lynford, you can never have too many friends. If you feel that way then you have too many of the
wrong
type of people in your life.”

“Aha, the vicar speaks.” Meryon poured more brandy. “Why did I ever let you marry Olivia and take up the living in Pennsford?”

“Because you knew it would make your darling sister happy and you would actually have someone you could talk to.”

“I do not need a confessional.”

“Stop bristling,” Michael said on a laugh that became a wheeze. “No, you do not need a confessor, but you do need a confidant.”

“I fear that now that you are a vicar with a secure living you have an answer for everything.”

“I’ve always had an answer for everything, Your Grace, but this position gives me permission to speak them aloud.” He tried to forestall another round of coughing and wound up almost choking instead.

“Tell me why you are come to town, Michael. To see a physician, I hope?”

“Not necessary. This is only the last of a nasty cold that everyone in Pennsford is sharing with great generosity. I knew it was a mistake to stand outside the church and shake hands, even if the weather was kind for March.”

“Olivia?”

“Olivia does not catch cold. She is, however, carrying something else, which she wanted me to tell you about in person.”

“She is increasing?” Meryon asked with real pleasure.

“Yes.” Michael could not hold back his smile. “She was afraid the news might upset you. Apparently not.”

“No, I am delighted, and shall write to her immediately and tell her so.” Olivia was not frail like Rowena, and by his sister’s own admission her “sturdy” body would be very good for giving birth.

By the time they said good night, they were both a little drunk. If Blix noticed he made no comment, only took Meryon’s clothes after handing him the prepared list of his tomorrow’s appointments.

A meeting with his man of business about the changes to his will and the required inventory of the entailed property. Good Lord, had it really been five years since the last one? An appointment with his tailor, who would give him the definitive word on whether men’s clothing was becoming too staid, followed by a conversation with the draper about whatever fabric was needed for his new clothes. Tomorrow was Wednesday, so there would be no Parliamentary session, but there was dinner with the Regent.

As he swiped at his face with a cloth and cleaned his teeth, he decided he would make time to stop in at Jackson’s on the chance that DeBora would be there. A rather quiet day, all in all.

Meryon went to the terrace door, opened it, and
stepped onto the small balcony, hoping a breath of fresh air would clear his head. The courtyard below was not quite empty. He could hear some feminine laughter and the low voice of a man.

Feeling an interloper in his own house, Meryon stepped back inside and went to bed, fully aware that if his days were full, his nights were not.

I
S
M
IA EVER
going to come down?” Elena, standing in the foyer with her bonnet in hand, asked the question of the butler, the Tinottis, and the upstairs maid, who happened to be walking by. None of them answered. Probably because they heard the testiness in her voice and thought she might snap the speaker’s head off.

She raised her hands, palms out, and with a slight bob of her head made a silent apology. In a sweeter voice, she tried again. “The hackney is waiting and will charge us extra. Of all the days for the coachman to be ill. I will not be late for our first fitting or we will then be late for the draper.”

“They will wait. You are the customer.” Tina sounded cross too. Most likely because she was not invited on this outing.

“This is not Italy and they will expect us to be prompt. Tina, please go and see what is keeping Mia.”

As Tina turned to the stairs, Mia came running down, her bonnet in hand, full of apologies.

“I could not decide what to wear and then thought it should be something easy to change in and out of.”

They were out the door and into the hackney so quickly that Elena hoped they might still be able to keep to their schedule.

“I hope this woman is better than the other modiste. How did you convince Mrs. Harbison to give up her appointment so we could use it?”

Elena shrugged. “Letty had only to hear the name of the woman we planned to see, then insisted we take her appointment with her modiste and Mr. Harbison’s appointment with the draper.”

“This will be so much fun. How quickly can she have the gowns ready?”

Mia’s excitement was contagious and fueled Elena through the entire morning. The modiste had been delighted to have “the dressing of such a vivacious young woman” and “such an elegant lady.” By excessive flattery she was able to convince Mia to choose the styles that would complement her coloring and shape and, more important, were appropriate for a young woman in her first Season.

As they were leaving, the modiste asked what draper they were using. “Oh, good. They have a wonderful selection, but mind you they are not above repeating bits of gossip so have a care for what you say.”

Mia giggled at the idea that anything she said would be worthy of repeating and as they walked down the street
she made up three or four outrageous scenarios that had them both laughing.

They arrived at the draper’s to find it filled with gentlemen, which immediately made Mia regret the old dress she had worn and made Elena wonder if they already had made a misstep and arrived at the wrong time.

The draper’s wife assured her that she was at the right place and at the right time and took her into a small room. “Thursday morning is normally reserved for gentlemen but there are emergencies, and it is always our pleasure to accommodate ladies as well.”

They spent an hour choosing material for the gowns they had decided on and arranged to have the fabric sent to the modiste. When she heard the name, the draper’s wife smiled her approval and suggested the substitution of two different lengths of fabric. “I would not suggest this if it was anyone else, but no one handles these unique pieces better than she does.”

The fabric was, of course, more expensive, but then the draper’s wife offered to give them the rest of a bolt of an extravagantly colored fabric that Elena had chosen, “so that no one else will be seen in it.”

Elena accepted the gift with thanks, wondering what she would do with the extra. They were exchanging details of the transaction when someone opened the door to the small salon and stepped inside with none other than the Duke of Meryon.

At the sight of her the duke stepped back, surprised, and Elena was afraid he would snub her, turn and leave without so much as a greeting. After her harsh words the night before she had no idea what to expect from him.

“Signora Verano, good morning.” Meryon bowed, his eyes commanding hers not to be as rude as she had feared he would be to her. It reminded her instantly of the modiste’s warning that the draper loved gossip.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied deeply and then introduced Mia. Her ward was watching the duke with something less than welcome. It would be too much like a farce if Mia rose to her defense here. She hurried the introduction.

“Your Grace, may I present my ward, Signorina Mia Castellano. Mia, this is the Duke of Meryon.”

Mia’s considering expression softened and she dropped an appropriate curtsy. “Your Grace.”

“Good morning.” The duke bowed again, his smile fading a little. “Is Lord William with you?” Meryon looked around as if expecting the man to jump from some hiding place.

“No, Your Grace.” It was Mia who answered. “I told him he was not invited. I hardly want him to see what I will be wearing this Season before my gowns are ready.”

“How churlish of him to even suggest it.” Meryon’s expression went from confused to enlightened.

The girl gave him a flirtatious nod, and then turned to her guardian. “He is coming for a language lesson this afternoon, is he not?”

“Yes, he is.” Elena noticed that Mia did not specify who was learning what language, as the English she was using was perfectly adequate.

Before she or Mia could say anything else, the duke spoke up. “It’s delightful to see you so soon after our last
meeting, signora. I regret that our conversation was cut short. There was so much left unsaid.”

The draper’s wife rose to the occasion. “If your ward will come with me I can give her the direction of a woman who is undoubtedly the best milliner in all of London and call a hackney for you.”

Mia allowed herself to be shepherded from the room and that is how, less than twelve hours after their confrontation, the duke and Elena were alone together once again.

“Thank you for your discretion, Your Grace. That was a very elegant way to say that I was furious with you and ordered you from my house.”

“If we both want to avoid gossip then neither of us has anything to worry about.” His words lacked both emotion and interest.

“Thank you again.” She curtsied, deciding to abandon any attempt to befriend him. He could be so prosaic that she could not even imagine him having fun.

They would do nothing but argue if last night was any example. She went to the door and waited for him to open it for her. He did not and Elena turned to see if he meant it as an insult, despite his protestation of civility. She found him staring at the carpet, lost in thought. She waited and a moment later had his attention.

“There is one more thing, signora. Am I correct in the understanding that Lord William is courting your ward?”

“Why are you asking?” There was no way a question like that could sound courteous, especially when it was based in suspicion.

“It seems I have been confused about several things lately.”

That was obscure enough to be useless, she thought. “I do believe William is quite taken with Mia’s sense of adventure and joie de vivre.”

“That explains much,” Meryon said.

And then he smiled.

She had
never
seen this smile before. It was unforgettable, utterly charming, and as powerful as his touch. It erased years from his face, even if it did accentuate the creases in the corners of his eyes. It was so fine that it made his habitual stone-faced look that much more of a crime. He should always look this happy.

He opened the door for her with a pleased nod, seemingly unaware of the effect he was having on her.

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Elena laughed a little and dipped a small curtsy and went into the main room of the shop. The duke followed her.

“I will have my carriage take you home, signora. My coachman can be to Bloomsbury and back before the draper shows me what I am supposed to be buying this season.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Elena curtsied yet again. She was about to refuse if only to prove that someone would say no to a duke, but Mia did not give her a chance.

“Oh, that is so kind of you, Your Grace.” Mia was all enthusiasm. “Our coachman is sick and the hackneys are so uncertain. And besides, everyone will see us come down the street in a crested carriage and be so jealous of our connections.”

“It is my pleasure, Miss Castellano. If only all ladies
were as easy to please.” He did not look at Elena but smiled at Mia. This time it was a social smile, not the totally irresistible one.