She sent her maid to retrieve the carriage and then stood at the counter, admiring a bit of ribbon.
“Would my lady like to take the rest of the order, or should I have the box delivered?”
Katherine frowned. “The rest of the order?”
“Of course,” the modiste replied. “Surely, you remember! Your note was quite specific.”
The modiste retrieved a box. Slowly, Katherine lifted the lid. A range of pale-hued stockings nestled inside the box. Silk, wool, cotton…all beautifully gored and of the finest knit. Stockings to indulge her every whim. Her one indulgence.
He’d remembered even this.
She swallowed an odious lump. But despite her efforts, the lump continued to swell. She stared dumbly at the collection of gorgeous stockings, fighting the urge to cry. What would the modiste think of a marchioness who allowed stockings to reduce her to a weepy mess?
The shop bell trilled, announcing the arrival of a new party. Katherine did her best to master her tears.
“Thank you, Madame.” Only a slight tremor marred her voice. “I will take them now.”
She turned, intending to stride past the new patrons, head down. Instead, she came face-to-face with Farring’s twin, Lady Darlington, who was every inch as beautiful as she remembered.
Katherine’s gaze slid to Lady Darlington’s companions. She was flanked by two equally arresting women—a brunette with pale brown eyes and a dark-haired lady whose strong chin and wide light eyes were also, somehow, familiar.
Katherine clutched the box of stockings to her chest like a shield.
Farring’s sister broke into a smile. “Lady Katherine,” she said, extending her hand. “Oh, but you must pardon me, it is Lady Bromton, now, is it not? I am Lady Darlington, though you may remember me as Lady Philippa.”
Katherine forced herself to respond with the appropriate pleasantries. She extended her hand too quickly, and her box fell to the ground. Stockings scattered across the floor like a wilted rainbow.
“Oh!” The dark-haired lady knelt to the floor. “Oh my. Aren’t thesedivine!”
The modiste hurried over. “Never you mind, my lady, I will collect them.”
So, whoever the woman was, she was a lady.
“Oh, but I justhaveto touch them.” The lady rose from the ground, clutching a pair of pale yellow stockings. “Sodivine. I do love a good pair of stockings.” She dimpled. “Philippa, won’t you be a dear and introduce us?”
“Yes, of course!” Lady Darlington said, a touch too brightly. “Katherine, if I may introduce Lady Clarissa.” She indicated the dark-haired lady. “And,” she pointed to the third woman who had been, so far, silent. “Mrs. Katerina VanHeldt, a widow from Amsterdam.”
“How do you do?” Mrs. VanHeldt’s voice held a lovely Dutch lilt.
Lady Clarissa held out her hand. “Charmed.”
Katherine hesitated only for a moment, though the blood rushing to her cheeks betrayed her embarrassment. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Clarissa, Mrs. VanHeldt.”
“My brother,” Lady Clarissa said quickly, “is a friend of Lord Bromton.”
“Yes.” Katherine’s words vanished into the uncomfortable silence. The ladies must think her a right fool. “I’m so happy to have made your acquaintance. I—I was just leaving.”
Philippa and Clarissa exchanged a significant glance.
“We do not wish to delay you, of course,” Lady Darlington said. “But—” Her glasses amplified a pleading glance to Clarissa.
“But we haven’t heard a thing about your wedding!” Lady Clarissa exclaimed. “We simply must have everyon dit. Lord Farring’s letter was abominably brief; well, you know men. Imagine! He did not even describe your dress.”
“I’m afraid theon ditscan only disappoint.” She glanced to Lady Clarissa, hoping she had not been insulted. “I mean, it was a simple affair.”
“Simple?” Lady Darlington scoffed. “Not once in his existence has the Marquess of Bromton done anything without pomp befitting his station.”
She imagined her husband as he’d been a week ago—stretched out on a blanket, winking as he suggested wicked things. The man she had come to know was not the same marquess Lady Darlington described.
