She shook her head to drive out that memory and dragged in a few, quick breaths. Now was most definitely not the time to remember this morning’s encounter. She had work to do.
Once again, they were fully booked all day with women wanting their hair styled and Matilda and Harriet were kept busy with customers dropping in to purchase ornamentations for their hair and hats, and discreet beauty products. While Nellie chatted to her clients and curled and clipped their hair, it was hard to not let her thoughts stray to Mr Lockhart and all that had happened. Something she knew she should not be doing. Yes, they had shared an intimate moment this morning and, yes, he had obviously been attracted to her. But then what man wouldn’t react when he saw a woman in her nightdress? It didn’t mean anything more than he was a normal man with normal reactions. He was an engaged man from a different world from the one Nellie inhabited and she needed to remember that at all times.
After all, she was not some silly shop girl fantasising about a rich gentleman. She was a businesswoman with much more important things to concern herself with. And she was sure Mr Lockhart would not be thinking of her or getting all giddy and ridiculous.
The valet left and at mid-morning he returned, laden down with goods and followed by two footmen carrying a small bed, hamper baskets, suitcases and heavens knew what else. You’d think Mr Lockhart was going on a long sea voyage, not recuperating from his injuries on the other side of the same city from where he lived.
He was also accompanied by a man in a black suit, carrying a black doctor’s bag, who rushed upstairs without greeting Nellie, then a few minutes later walked back downstairs and left, again without exchanging a word with anyone in the shop.
The valet poked his head into the parlour before he left. He gave Nellie strict instructions on what meals she was to serve and when and informed her he would return the next day to shave Mr Lockhart again and ensure he was comfortable. He also informed her that Mr Lockhart’s private physician had said that Mr Lockhart should not be moved until they were certain he had no internal injuries. He made this statement as if it was something Nellie had been unaware of. Then, with one last disapproving look, he departed.
Nellie’s day was typically busy, but between each customer she rushed upstairs to check on the now shaven Mr Lockhart, cleanly dressed in his nightshirt, but each time he either said he was fine and needed nothing or he was asleep.
At lunch time she served him a selection of delicacies packed in the hamper by his valet, although he seemed reluctant to eat more than a morsel. She left the food within easy reach and, after an admonition to eat something, returned to her parlour.
Smiling to herself she re-entered the shop. A sudden pain hit her hard in the chest, as if she’d been punched. Her throat closed up, her body froze. She drew in a deep breath, slowly exhaled and forced herself to smile in greeting.
‘Hello,’ Lady Cecily said. ‘You must be Nellie Regan. I’m Lady Cecily and this is my father, the Duke of Ashmore.’
‘Your Grace...my lady,’ Nellie said, giving a small curtsy and adopting her most respectful manner. ‘Mr Lockhart is upstairs. I’ll show you where he is.’
‘No need, my dear,’ the Duke said. ‘I’m sure we can find our way. You get on with whatever it is you girls do down here.’ He waved his arm around the room as if what happened in such a shop was a mystery known only to women.
Nellie nodded and pointed the way to the stairs as she fought to control the guilt surging through her. But whether she felt guilty for the harm that had come to Mr Lockhart, or because of the thoughts she had had about this young woman’s fiancé, or even worse, that illicit kiss and that intimate moment they had shared when she was dressing, Nellie couldn’t say. Nor could she say what that other emotion was that was possessing her, although the bile burning up her throat felt uncomfortably like jealousy. An emotion she had absolutely no right to feel.
The two disappeared up the stairs.
Nellie took a step towards the door, curious to know what was being discussed. She was tempted to find an excuse to go up to her rooms, but her next client arrived and she had no option but to escort her through to the parlour.
As she styled her customer’s hair, she couldn’t stop her eyes from straying up to the ceiling, nor her mind from speculating about the conversation that was taking place.
She showed her customer out and was surprised to find Lady Cecily standing in the shop, looking at a display of ostrich feathers. She looked up at Nellie, not smiling, causing Nellie’s mouth to go dry.
‘While I’m here, Miss Regan, would you have time to style my hair? I greatly admired what you had done with the Duchess of Somerfeld’s hair. And it will give us a chance to talk.’
Nellie swallowed down her objections and nodded her agreement. What on earth could Lady Cecily want to talk to her about? Whatever it was, Nellie was sure it was something she did not want to hear.
Chapter Ten
What choice did she have? Nellie had another customer booked in for this time, but she could hardly say no to Lady Cecily. Not when she had caused her fiancé to be injured. Not after she had made fun of Lady Cecily in front of her own servants. And certainly not when she had admired her fiancé’s naked chest, slept snuggled up beside him, and had even stolen a sneaky kiss. She would style Lady Cecily’s hair and for once she would
