Elizabeth compressed her lips against a laugh. “Just so.”
“My lady, I believe you are laughing at me.”
Elizabeth opened her golden eyes wide and batted her eyelashes in feinted innocence. “I, my lord and master?”
“Ah—ha! Finally she has the right of it.”
She wrinkled her nose up at him in playful disgust. Abruptly she realized she was flirting with her husband. She looked up at his teasing visage, aware that she enjoyed his company.
No, more than that; she loved him. The realization shook her to the core of her being, and a soft blush rose in her cheeks. She looked away, taking note of their surroundings, allowing her face to cool. They had been walking in their own private world, oblivious to their location or the people they passed. Several members of thetonwere eyeing them with open curiosity. Elizabeth laughed gaily, a heady euphoria brightening her countenance.
“Justin!” she exclaimed, tugging on his arm. “Have you noticed, we are the object of close scrutiny and speculation,” she said conspiringly.
St. Ryne looked up briefly, a wry smile twisting his lips “Let them speculate—it is their bread and wine. What matters is what we know.”
“And what is that, Justin?” she asked softly.
For a moment he was bereft of an answer. How can a man tell a wife he has virtually married in jest that he has fallen in love with her? “That you are a siren and I the unlucky creature to hear your call,” he answered lightly.
“Oh—annoying creature!”
He laughed, halting her before a dressmaker’s shop “Here is Mme. Marie Vaussard’s establishment. I’d wage your aunt never shopped here, and I think Mme. Vaussard would appreciate your coloring and could turn it to good effect.” He opened the shop door and led her inside.
The reception room, decorated in the Grecian style, was white and gold with pale green hangings and upholstery. Tall mirrors in simple gold frames hung on one wall appearing to double the room’s size. The shop exuded quiet refinement and elegance and not, as Elizabeth had feared, the ostentation of establishments frequented by theFashionable Impures. A little woman as neat as wax came through a green-curtained doorway on their left.
“Milord! It has been a long time, no?”
St. Ryne grabbed one of the woman’s tiny hands and guided it to his lips to bestow a courtly kiss. “But I always return, Mme. Vaussard, and manage to make my way into your delightful company.”
She quickly withdrew her hand and wagged a finger at him. “Flatterer. If I listened to asoupçonof what you said, I wouldnever get anything done and would be a poor, broken woman. Now, who is yourcharmantecompanion in this hideous attire?”
St. Ryne laughed. “You have never been one to mince words. I think that is one of your charms that has me returning to your side.”
Mme. Vaussard sniffed. “I am waiting.”
“A thousand apologies, but it is my great honor to introduce you to my wife, the Viscountess St. Ryne.”
“Your wife!Oo-lala,I am overwhelmed. I had heard stories—but—but?—"
“Precisely,” St. Ryne interjected, causing Elizabeth to purse her lips in suppressed laughter while her eyes danced gleefully.
Mme. Vaussard did not miss the Viscountess’s reaction, nor the caress in the Viscount’s tone when he introduced her. It was a wise businesswoman who kept an ear to the society rumor mill, and Mme. Vaussard was no one’s fool. She had heard of the Viscount’s wedding and knew the reputation of the former Lady Elizabeth Monweithe. It appeared society was about to have its aristocratic nose put out of joint. It was an endeavor Mme. Vaussard was glad to aid.
“So, you wish a new wardrobe? One befitting a Viscountess?”
“Yes,” Elizabeth answered, “immediately. I need a ball gown to wear to my sister’s betrothal ball. Unfortunately, her ball is only two days away.”
“Two days?Mon Dieu,what am I? A witch to conjure up a stunning, and of course, totally unusual, for thus it must be, ball gown?”
“More likely a fairy godmother.”
The modiste looked down her narrow nose at him, pursing her lips. “And you, milord, are an arrogant jackanapes. Come, my dear, let us go in the back and see what we have.”
“Where do you thinkyouare going?” Mme. Vaussard asked St. Ryne, as he made to follow them.
“With you.”
"Non.This time you will sit out here and wait whileMadame La Viscountessand I consult. You arede tropnow,” she relented.
