Clarisse nodded and fastened a pin. “Is this the first time you’ve worked with him? I haven’t seen you afore.”
“Yes.”
“Well, these garments will all work for later tasks too, so long as you don’t gain much weight. Not that you couldn’t stand to add a stone or two.” She looked at her critically and Marietta bit her tongue. “But you are tall. More places for the weight to be distributed when you do,” she said in a cheerful manner.
“Mr. Noble likes his victims with a little more flesh, I gather.”
Clarisse frowned up at her. Her brow puckered and she looked remarkably confrontational, just as Mrs. Rosaire had, but then her brow smoothed. “I forgot this is your first task. You’ll change your tune as soon as Mr. Noble has solved your problem. They all do, whether they want to or not.”
Marietta narrowed her eyes. “That is not what I am taken to understand. I have understood there is some uncertainty about his intentions at times. That he is not to be crossed.”
“That he isn’t.” The girl gave her a serious look. “You’d do well to heed him. He can be difficult, but he is infinitely fair. He will do right by you.”
Right by her. As if any other man had done so, she was supposed to trust completely that this one would. This man who had twenty different smiles, one to entice each woman. Who exuded nothing less than sex and desire, and knew exactly how to use it to his advantage. And yet, here she was.
“How many women have you dressed like this, Clarisse?”
“A fair few,” she said, a bit cagily.
Wonderful. With that face and those smiles, a stream of women had probably trailed through his bedroom doors like an unending Eton parade.
“And the men?” She assumed there were a few on his client list since she had been referred by one. “Do they also get costumed?”
“Oh, yes. My brother is an excellent tailor. Family business. Mr. Noble helped us a few years back. And he pays extremely well, of course.”
That answered two of her questions.
Clarisse talked more about the family business and Noble’s wonderful, magnificent, perfect presence. It was getting on noon before she finished, but Marietta had two perfectly serviceable servant’s garments, a shopgirl’s outfit, and two dresses that would provoke a society matron to fits. All were either close to fitting her or pinned in a crafty way to look tailored already. Smart girl, Clarisse.
Marietta followed her back to the kitchen when they were through.
“All done?”
Noble was still sitting at the table, papers spread around him, a small sty of ink-stained linen and parchment.
“Yes, sir. I’ll be back later with the last of the garments that need refitting.”
He nodded and returned to perusing the documents. Clarisse seemed to think this perfectly normal as she waved to Marietta and let herself out the door.
Marietta waited a moment, but Noble didn’t look up.
“Clarisse is full of energy,” she said.
“Yes. Stew is in the pot.” He pointed absently to the stove.
Marietta watched him scratch his chin and make a notation in the corner of a piece of parchment. It seemed so odd to see a man like him so serious andstudious.
She sighed. Every wandering thought seemed to be abouthim. Maddening. She served herself a bowl. “Would you like a bowl?”
“No, I’ve already eaten.”
She settled back at the table and broke off a piece of bread. “What are you reading?”
He tapped his quill against the paper and looked up through thick lashes. “All of the information about your case. The barrister you’ve hired—and what he has declared. Your brother will have to answer every question posed by the judge and jury members and deliver his own summary. Barristers do nothing to interrupt or lead, no matter what yours promised. According to this—” He held up the paper. “You’ve been promised the moon. Right gulled. You’d do well to get your money back.”
Her bread dropped into the bowl. “But Mark said—”
“Quite.”
