“What would you like to see, my dear?” asked Richard. “I only know a few places still.”
She summoned a smile. “I can never refuse a visit to Wedgwood’s, nor the booksellers. If I were alone, I would spend hours buying everything in sight at Harding and Howell’s and send myself right up the River Tick!” He nodded, listening closely. She pressed his arm. “But what doyouwish to do? This outing was your suggestion.”
He looked at her, his hair glinting fair in the sunlight, his skin still tanned from the Indian sun. His blue eyes twinkled at her, and that elusive dimple flashed for a second as he smiled at her. He was so handsome, so fit and virile, it made her stomach leap with excitement that he, this marvelous man, wanted to be with her. “My primary errand is to stop in at my tailor’s, to order new waistcoats.” He glanced down at himself with a comically dismayed expression. “My sister tells me I am hopelessly out of fashion, but my tailor is a genius and will soon put me to rights.”
“I daresay it’s not so hopeless then, but let us do that first,” she said with a laugh.
“Very good,” he said with a grateful glance. “And then, ices and sweets.”
They strolled along, studying the wares in windows they passed until they reached a shop in St James’s Street. Richard swept open the door, and they went into the shop, where Evangeline looked around with interest. She’d never been in a gentlemen’s tailoring shop. It was less formal than a modiste’s shop, but still similar. Bolts of fabric lined one cabinet, and cutting patterns hung at the rear. Two tailor’s apprentices were hard at work at a table near the window.
A man with long, wavy dark hair and olive skin came forward, arms open in welcome. “Signor Campion! Buongiorno.” He clasped his hands and gave a little bow.
“Good day to you, sir.” He turned toward Evangeline. “Lady Courtenay, may I present Mr. Federico Salvatore.”
Evangeline dipped her head with a smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Salvatore.”
“An unspeakable delight, madam,” he returned, beaming. He turned back to Richard. “How may I help you today, sir?”
“Some new waistcoats...” The men moved toward the long table at the back, where Mr. Salvatore began taking down bolts of cloth and laying them out for Richard’s inspection.
A plump woman about Evangeline’s own age bustled through the drapes shielding the back room. “Won’t you sit down, m’lady?” she asked in a broad Essex accent. She indicated a pair of armchairs tucked away in the window beside the door. “Would you care for a cup of tea?”
“Thank you, that would be lovely.”
The woman nodded. “Shall I take your pelisse? A bit warm in here, with all these windows and the sun today.”
Evangeline unbuttoned her pelisse and the woman hung it up, then disappeared into the back again, emerging several minutes later with a small tray holding a cup of steaming tea. She set it down in front of Evangeline.
“Thank you, Mrs . . . ?”
“Oh! Mrs. Hutchins, madam, Henrietta Hutchins. I run the shop for Mr. Salvatore.” Evangeline’s surprise must have shown on her face, for the woman pulled a good-natured grimace. “Right brilliant he is, with cloth and scissors, not so much with the bookkeeping. I help him.”
“Very good of you,” said Evangeline in surprise.
The woman waved a hand. “Me husband were a tailor himself, and I learned how a shop ought to run. When Sal—Mr. Salvatore took this place, he had a spot of difficulty, what with being a foreigner, you know. He didn’t know how London folk do things, and there I was, a new widow in search of somethingto occupy myself. So, I stepped in, and I’ve been here ever since.” She nodded over her shoulder toward one of the young apprentices cutting pattern pieces. “My son Joseph,” she said with pride.
“It appears he shall be learning from the best,” said Evangeline warmly. “Sir Richard waxes almost rhapsodic about Mr. Salvatore’s work.”
Mrs. Hutchins beamed. “Right you are, madam!”
She excused herself and went to Mr. Salvatore. It appeared Richard had chosen his fabrics and Mrs. Hutchins made notes while Mr. Salvatore spoke at some length, his hands moving as if he were sculpting the garments in the air before him. Evangeline drank her tea and watched, entertained by this domestic view of Richard.
After nearly half an hour, the three nodded and came to her. “Thank you for waiting, my dear,” said Richard ruefully. “I have delayed this visit, but I should not have kept you so long.”
Mr. Salvatore waved his hands again. “Apologies, signora!”
Evangeline got to her feet. “I expect to be dazzled, sir,” she said with a smile.
“Of course, of course, I—” The man stopped short, his gaze sliding down Evangeline’s dress, growing more horrified the lower it went.
“Sal,” said Mrs. Hutchins in warning.
“What is it?” asked Evangeline, knowing the answer but feeling reckless nonetheless. She had seen that expression on Fanny’s face, more than once. It merely irked her when Fanny criticized her gowns, but here was a professional—and one who appeared ready to give a blunt assessment. “Is there a fault with my dress?”
“Sal,” said Mrs. Hutchins more stridently.
The man pressed his lips together as if to hold back a flood of words. “The work is fine,” he said after a moment.
