A playful smile crinkled the corners of Lady St. Alban’s eyes. “If you change your mind, I’m certain the Duchess would happily spare a dram for you.” Lady St. Alban glanced around the shop, her observant gaze taking in the implements of the dressmaking trade: spools of thread, bolts of fabric, a dress in the final stages of construction. “When Percy returned Lucy and Mina to London, he mentioned that you were quite devoted to your shop and unwilling to leave it while he was away. I find that admirable in a woman.”
“What is that?” Isabel barely had the presence of mind to ask. Percy had been discussing her?
“A desire to have a life outside a man.”
Isabel blinked. Besides the natural reserve Isabel observed in the other woman’s eyes, she detected something more.Knowledge.What precisely had Percy told this woman?
Isabel’s stomach did its usual flip-flop at the thought of him.
Lady St. Alban’s eyes fixed on a point over Isabel’s shoulder and lit up. “Oh, how lovely.”
Isabel didn’t need to turn to take Lady St. Alban’s meaning.
The roses.
The shop was up to its ears in roses.
Isabel couldn’t think about the roses at present. This day was proving too much.
“Lady St. Alban,” Eva said, “it would be such a pleasure to make a dress for you.” Her gaze turned appraising. “And perhaps a pose for our advertisement?”
“Advertisement?” Isabel asked, relieved to be pulled from other thoughts. This was the first she was hearing of an advertisement. Eva could be bold. It was a fact.
Lady St. Alban gave a breathy laugh. “You flatter me, Mrs. Gardiner, but I shall leave it to the girls. And I have your assurance their names will not be used?”
“Absolutamente. Now let me show you the fabrics and mock-up sketches I’ve done.”
As the group of four made their way to the Serendipity Room, Miss Radclyffe gave Isabel a nod and a smile. “Lady Percival, how very nice to see you.”
Isabel responded in kind. Ahead, she heard Lady St. Alban ask, “Do you mind if I pull out my sketchbook as well?”
“Is art an interest of yours, my lady?”
“A bit,” Lady St. Alban replied.
Again, Isabel was alone, her nerves ajangle with a swirl of emotion. What a morning. She looked down and realized she still held a pair of sharp scissors.Right.
She’d taken no more than two steps, when Tilly’s voice rang out, “Milady!”
Isabel exhaled a tiny huff of irritation before turning to face the girl. How many times had she told Tilly that she wasn’t a lady and not to call her one?
Countless.To no effect.
Tilly held up a dress of ivory muslin. It was one of Isabel’s best. “Will this suffice for dinner tonight?”
Isabel inhaled a groan. “Yes, thank you.”
The girl gave Isabel a satisfied smile. “And yer rose? Has it arrived today?”
“No.”
Oh, the roses. They couldn’t be avoided. A perfect, different-colored rose had arrived by messenger boy every day since . . . Well, since the day afterthatnight. No note. No sign of who sent it.
In her heart, Isabel knewwho.
What she didn’t know waswhy? To what end?
“It’s late,” Tilly persisted.
