Guy slowly returned the receiver to its cradle. His joy dimmed and unease crawled like a spider up his spine. He had not done anything wrong. His quest for information came from purely good intentions with an eye toward making no stupid mistakes. Yet, he knew he would never reveal this investigation to Hattie, and a secret, however well-meant, was a sort of deceit, wasn’t it?
Chapter Thirteen
In her years of running the shop, Hattie had sometimes felt harried, overworked, annoyed with a customer, or impatient with slow deliveries and delayed payments, but she had never been bored and counting the minutes until close. By mid-afternoon, she was ready to fly back to Guy’s beautiful home. Every second was a painstaking drip of water and every customer a nagging nuisance. The bell rang again, and she looked up with an inner groan.
The woman who entered held a small dog under one arm and was followed by a boy dressed in livery, carrying her purchases from other stores. She glanced around the room before her gaze fell upon Hattie. “You are the proprietress?”
“Y-yes, I am,” she stammered. What offense had she given? Did it have something to do with Mrs. Pruett’s threat to besmirch her name?
The woman, clothed in a shimmering blue-green gown and wearing a turban sporting several peacock feathers clasped by a jewel, smiled as she floated toward Hattie like a goddess on a cloud. “I am very pleased to meet the artist. I cannot believe your little shop has escaped my attention until recently.”
“Thank you,” Hattie murmured, then squared her shoulders and stopped behaving as if she were a peon in awe of a queen. “May I help you?”
“My request is quite presumptuous, but”—she snapped her fingers, and her small assistant presented Hattie with one of her own hatboxes—“I recently received this gift and although perfectly lovely, I wondered if I might exchange this hat for another of my choosing. If there is a discrepancy in the price, I will naturally pay the difference, plus something extra for your inconvenience.”
Hattie took the box, knowing precisely what lay inside since she had packed it herself less than a week before. “I am Lady Anne Cromwell, a name you might recognize from when the order was placed.”
Had Guy sent his ex-lover? For it was quite a coincidence she had been the subject of their conversation mere hours earlier.
“I recall this order. I’m honored to meet your ladyship, and would be happy to help you find a more suitable hat.” Hattie wanted to check the box to make certain the one inside had not been damaged, but it would not do to appear to doubt the lady’s honesty. She placed the box behind the counter. “Please tell me what you would like?”
“I have recently become very fond of turbans, although they are generally best suited to evening wear. I believe one in lighter colors might seem suitable on a summer’s afternoon. I imagine white satin with beading to reflect the light, very subdued yet eye-catching.”
“I can picture it on you,” Hattie flattered her choice. “Allow me to show you the fabrics.”
The boy remained near the door, juggling his armload of boxes and bags, while Lady Cromwell joined Hattie in selecting materials. Her sweet and probably incredibly expensive perfume wafted around Hattie like a cool floral mist. The woman’s hazel eyes, outlined in kohl, made a dramatic statement against her porcelain skin. She was stunning, elegance personified, with a proud and graceful bearing that proclaimed her aristocracy at a glance.
Hattie rarely compared her own appearance to other women’s, but at that moment she felt utterly frumpy and ordinary. Guy had gone from dining on caviar and oysters to becoming madly fixated on a plain ham sandwich. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine why.
Lady Cromwell authoritatively selected the exact shade of cream she wanted for the turban, then chose opalescent beading to add sparkle. A single ostrich feather would rise from a jeweled clasp in front. The woman knew precisely what she liked and even though she made the requests politely, her tone made her words a command.
Hattie respected such decisiveness. “It will frame your high cheekbones and firm jawline most strikingly. Your gentleman friend mentioned your taste is very chic.” She could not keep herself from bringing up Guy to see how his former paramour would react.
Lady Cromwell smiled. “Ah yes, he knows me well. Let me assure you, your design was lovely. The hat simply wasn’t quite what I wanted right now.” She added with a laugh, “Nor, as it turns out, was Mr. Hardy. A charming man, to be sure, and, if I may be risqué, an amazing lover. But without much substance in the long run. I grew tired of him, although he will always remain a friend.”
Hattie’s cheeks burned at Cromwell’s intimate confidence. An amazing lover, echoed in her mind. She did not want to hear from another woman how Guy had been in bed. Or perhaps she did, because lustful pangs made her stomach tighten and her female parts hum with interest.
“I’ve shocked you,” Lady Cromwell continued. “I apologize. It was wrong of me to mention, but if one cannot confide in one’s maid, hairdresser, or milliner, what is the point of having them? It is rather like talking to a pet. One knows the admission will go no further.”
A pet? A pet! Hattie’s grudging admiration for her ladyship evaporated. How dare this woman think of her—or of anyone in a subservient position—as little more than a lapdog?
“Be assured you have not shocked me,” Hattie said coolly. “I find myself surprised you would wish to remain friends with a man for whom you have so little regard.”
“Oh, he is a sweet boy and amusing enough to pass the time with, but as I said, nothing to hold one’s interest beyond the short term.”
Heat continued to swell inside Hattie, only now it wasn’t desire but anger fueling the flames. She hadn’t been
