Izzie glanced impatiently about the cluttered room. When her gaze wandered toward the window, Valen stepped out of view. A moment later, the sound of her muffled exclamation drew him back to the glass. To his great relief, she appeared to be exclaiming with delight over a bundle of shiny dark green fabric. And now, her effervescence would cost her top price. She should have restrained herself.
Izzie pulled three guineas out of her reticule and handed them enthusiastically to Smythe. Predictably, Smythe shook his head. Ah, as Valen suspected, after her effusive display the fellow would demand at least six. It caught him by surprise when she shrugged, put the three guineas back in her purse, and turned to go as if it were the end of the matter. Smythe was as nonplussed as Valen was. It had been obvious she wanted the cloth. Lady Elizabeth was not three steps from the door, and only four steps from discovering Valen peering in the window, when Smythe called to her retreating back. She stopped, but didn’t turn. The merchant unrolled the green fabric onto the counter and called to her again.
“Three,” she responded with admirable resolve in her voice.
Much to Valen’s surprise, Smythe acquiesced. Elizabeth turned, and they began to dicker over the length of fabric.
Valen waited down the narrow road from the warehouse and watched her leave. The certainty in her step indicated she felt quite pleased with herself. He strode into Smythe’s shoppe and slapped six guineas down on the worn wooden counter. “The fabric the young lady just purchased—I want the rest of it. And there’ll be more blunt in it for you if you send word next time she makes a purchase.”
When the blighter began to hem and haw, Valen grasped him firmly by the collar. “I’ve neither the time nor the patience to put up with your chicanery. Do you think I can’t guess where that silk comes from? You’ll do as you’re told and be glad of the profit. Do we understand one another?”
Smythe nodded and wrapped the purchase in brown paper. Valen concluded his business in a matter of a few short minutes and hurried out to make certain Elizabeth did not meet with harm in this rackety part of town.
He caught up to her just as the drizzle began to let up. Following her home was something of a treat as he marked the determined lilt in her gait. No one would mistake her for a maid now, not with that aristocratic bearing. Lady Nose-In-The-Air Elizabeth would soon discover that she was not quite so superior as she imagined. He chuckled. Later today, he would have to bribe his tailor heavily to sew a very gaudy coat out of deep green silk figured with purple peacocks. Perhaps they might trim it with orange or yellow to make it sufficiently garish.
Lady Elizabeth turned when she heard his footsteps behind her on the stairs leading up to Alison Hall. Her lovely mouth formed an O as she took in his shabby appearance, weathered hat, and old brown coat.
She pulled back the large hood cloaking her face and stammered, “Lord St. Evert?”
Her shiny black curls caught the sunlight, and for an instant he had the mad urge to put his fingers in them. In the nick of time, he collected himself and tipped his tattered hat. “Lovely day for a stroll, is it not?”
“Yes,” she answered uncertainly, water dripping from her woolen cape. “I enjoy a brisk walk before breakfast.”
“Ah.” He nodded.
She tried to tuck her package behind her so he wouldn’t notice the lump under her cape.
He grazed his hand lightly over her shoulder, catching a bit of water on his fingertips. “Bit of weather earlier on.”
“So there was.” She swallowed, uncomfortable under his scrutiny. “Nothing like a bracing walk, I always say. No matter the weather.” She glanced about and stepped backward up another stair, toward the door. Her gaze landed on his package. “Out shopping at this time of morning?”
“I was hunting for something unusual. And you?”
“I told you, merely taking a morning constitutional.” She frowned, bringing her full attention to bear on him. “You’re dressed oddly. I wouldn’t have known you.”
“No?” He smiled. “Nor I you. I might have mistaken you for a lady’s maid.” He could not be completely displeased with the expressive way her brow crinkled up.
“A lady’s maid?” Her voice had a bite to it. “What of you? To be frank, my lord, I should have thought you were a coachman. In point of fact, not a coachman, but rather a drayman.”
He bowed. “At your service, my lady. But how rude of me to keep you standing on the front step when you are burdened down with a package. I will be happy to carry it for you. After all, what good is a drayman if he will not carry—”
“It’s nothing.” She quickly turned away, and he watched a flush rise up her neck as she hurried up the stairs. “A trifle. I can manage.”
At that moment, Cairn opened the front door and cleared his throat. The very correct butler admitted both of them into Alison Hall. Apparently their unfashionable appearance had not perplexed Honore’s manservant. Valen reluctantly watched Izzie dash up the stairs to her room. He would’ve enjoyed a few more opportunities to goad her, to watch her lips purse together and her chin rise ever higher with each jibe.
Honore stood in the doorway of the breakfast room. “Not quite blind enough to the rigors of society, is she?”
“Not by half.” Valen turned from watching Elizabeth’s retreating form, allowed Cairn to help him out of his overcoat, and followed Honore into her sunny breakfast room. A huge mural of the Roman countryside graced one wall. The windows on the other side were draped in butter-yellow silk.
Honore resumed her place at the head of
