Ignoring the obvious yet polite dismissal, Wolfe smiled. “Yes. What were thebaublesLady Grace mentioned she would be needing? For an Aurora and another person whose name I can’t recall.”
Mr. and Mrs. Mettlestone shared looks again, reminding Wolfe of how the twins communicated without speaking.
“Your Grace,” Mr. Mettlestone began in an apologetic tone, “Lady Grace meant no harm. It comes from the way her parents indulged the sisters. They always speak their minds.”
Mrs. Mettlestone hurried to bob her head in agreement. “Especially Lady Grace.” She glanced back at the shop door and then all around as if they weren’t the only ones in the place. “One might say she has always been a bit of a wild hoyden—but in a good way. Her heart is pure gold, and she would never bring dishonor down upon her family. She loves animals and the countryside better than any lady I have ever seen, and she always treats folks as fine as fine can be—no matter their station in life.”
Wolfe refused to give way. “The baubles she was seeking, Mrs. Mettlestone?”
The pair of shopkeepers released a collective sigh.
“Trinkets for their niece Aurora and nephew Quill,” Mrs. Mettlestone said. “The family always reunites for their annual picnic. This will be little Aurora’s second, what with her being a year old and all. Precious Quill was just born this past April. It will be his first. In fact, I’d wager this will be his first outing since his christening and Lady Fortuity’s churching.”
Wolfe slowly prowled the circumference of the shop, critically examining each and every shelf while plotting his next move to put the audacious Lady Grace in her place and convince her he was not a man to be toyed with.
Running to her brother and tattling about her clothing in the meadow would be the action of a cowardly, powerless fool, and she knew it. But showering gifts upon her niece and nephew after her insulting behavior in the shop, and including a special gift just for her to remind her of her tenuous position due to her scandalousadventuringclothes, as Connor and Sissy had informed him they were called—now,thatmight be a well played move, indeed.
He pointed at a doll with a face embroidered with bright blue eyes and smiling red lips. Her hair was a cheerful yellow yarn plaited into braids on either side of her head. She was dressed in a muslin gown with a brilliant red ribbon tied around her waist. Her feet appeared to have been painted black to mimic shoes. “That one there, Mrs. Mettlestone. Suitable for a one-year-old? Sturdy enough so the child can enjoy it?”
The Mettlestones shared another of their meaningful looks, then Mrs. Mettlestone nodded as Mr. Mettlestone hurried to fetch the steps to reach the doll.
“And those toy soldiers.” Wolfe wasn’t sure what a babe in arms might enjoy, but the soldiers were colorful in their painted uniforms of red and gold, so they might catch the little one’s attention.
“For Master Quill? Who is naught but a babe?” Mr. Mettlestone carefully handed the doll to Mrs. Mettlestone while keeping his focus locked on Wolfe.
“I can’t very well send a gift to one without sending a gift to the other, now can I?” Wolfe dared the shopkeeper to argue.
“No, Your Grace. Of course not.”
“And wrap a pair of buckskins in a fine length of dark blue silk,” Wolfe added. A wickedly knowing smile came to him, and he fully embraced it. “Place them in a separate box all to themselves.”
“A pair of buckskins?” Mr. Mettlestone repeated. “To be sent along with the doll and the soldiers?”
“Yes.” Wolfe rubbed his hands together, envisioning the look on Lady Grace’s face when that particular gift arrived along with the other two. “I want everything wrapped nicely in ribbons and bows, each in their own boxes, of course. Deliver them to Broadmere Manor with my felicitations for a happy summer holiday.”
“How do we know what size buckskins to send?” Mrs. Mettlestone asked. “We shall have to get them from the tailor next door to send along with the toys. Do you wish a small pair for Master Quill for when he is old enough for breeches?”
“A bit larger than that. A pair that might fit a stable lad about this tall.” Wolfe stretched out a hand to what he remembered as Lady Grace’s exact height. “Slender, as well. After all, a stable lad is always quite fit.”
And Lady Grace had indeed been quite fit in her buckskins. Never would he forget the shapeliness of her fine, round bottom as she had launched herself up into the saddle. The woman was the stuff of dreams—as well as nightmares. He cleared his throat and resettled his stance, forcing his thoughts back to the present, lest his body betray him with the arousal the memory invariably triggered.
“I would like the items delivered today, if at all possible.”
“Of course, Your Grace.” Mr. Mettlestone handed the toys to his wife. “We shall have them delivered before tea.”
“Very good. I shall inform my man to come by and settle my account.” As he reached the door, he paused. “And add the cost of the banners for Lady Grace’s sister to my bill rather than the Broadmeres’. I insist.”
“Yes, Your Grace.” Mr. Mettlestone squinted over the tops of his spectacles and bowed. “Thank you for your kind patronage.”
Wolfe touched the brim of his hat and exited, feeling a great deal better about the entire situation. What he wouldn’t give to be an unseen observer when Lady Grace spied those buckskins. He chuckled to himself.
“Your Grace! There you are.”
The familiar voice made the hairs on his nape stand on end. With a heavy sigh, he turned and tipped a nod. “Lady Margaret. Lady Longmorten. Forgive me for missing you both at breakfast. The children and I had a prior commitment. I trust you had noissue with the instructions I left should you wish to leave the lodge. Did Mr. Kiddlington see to your needs?”
“Obviously.” Lady Longmorten twitched with a haughty sniff and shot a side-eyed glance at the plain black carriage parked behind the one bearing the ducal seal. “We are here, are we not?”
“Now, Mother.” Lady Margaret coyly batted her lashes and patted the light brown curls framing her face. “Do forgive her fractiousness, Your Grace. I fear Mother is not at her best today.” She offered him an apologetic smile but sadly reminded him of a rabid dog baring its teeth. “You mentioned the children. Where are the little”—she wrinkled her nose as if smelling something foul—“the little mites?”
