His eyes peeled open, and his stomach flipped a little at how easily it had been for her to turn him into a puddle. Turning, he saw her staring at the jar, “Is something wrong?”
“No,” she said, “But wild lettuce is a gentle pain medicine. I know I can do better.”
His brows lifted, “You think so?”
“I know so,” she replied.
Reaching out, he kissed her, “I’d love to see that. Do you want to share breakfast a?—”
A brisk knock on the door had both their heads turning to the door. Cedric knew that no one was allowed to disturb him except Hunt, so he said, “Enter, Hunt.”
The butler bowed, “Your Grace, a runner sent word, he caught sight of Lord Moreland at the Bank of England on Threadneedle Street.”
Cedric’s spine shot straight, and his legs swung out from the covers. “How long ago?”
“Half an hour,” Hunt said. “I’ve sent back notice to have the managers stall him for as long as possible, and if not, they will trail him if he gets suspicious and runs.”
“There is not a day that I don’t thank god you think as I do,” Cedric said to his friend. “Ready the carriage. I will be down in fifteen minutes.”
He turned to Ariadne as Hunt left. “You’ll be out of London today?”
“Yes?”
He leaned in and kissed her cheek, “Enjoy yourself.”
“Don’t kill Leander,” she told him.
His smile was thin. “I’ll only sprain his neck.”
Stepping into the small waiting room with Clara, an assistant dressed all in stately grey came to greet them. Looking around the small parlor, she noted it did not look that much different from that of a lady’s private sitting room.
That can be designed to make them comfortable.
At the center of the room, sheer ivory panels cascaded from the ceiling, and the couches, all white with jewel-toned reclining cushions, were scattered around the ashwood coffee table. Grey on grey damask wallpaper covered the walls, and a tea service was set out.
“Lady Hamden,” the assistant curtsied. “Welcome. Modiste Redmonde will be around soon. Would you like to have some tea while you wait?”
“Thank you,” Clara said as they took seats around the small tea table.
The assistant served them premium Hyson, and Ariadne took steadying sips. Her mother had a local seamstress make their gowns for years before Ariadne had to step in and repurpose some of the old gowns for the last years. Back then, she had not known about the money troubles, but now she saw it crystal clear.
Moments later, the modiste emerged, and Ariadne was delightfully surprised to see that she had soft brown skin and rich dark hair pulled up in a sleep bun. Tall and willowy, the lady wore a simple peach gown that exuded sophistication and poise.
“Lady Hamden,” the modiste said while curtsying. “So pleased to see you again. I was slightly surprised at your note that you would be bringing a guest.”
“Not only a guest but I think your best challenge,” Clara replied with a knowing smile. “Your Grace, Ariadne Greymont, may I introduce Teresa Redmonde. She is the one behind all my gorgeous gowns.”
The modiste gave Ariadne a one-over look which missed nothing. “I am honored to welcome you to my humble salon, Your Grace. How may I assist you?”
“I need some… er—” she couldn’t believe the words coming out of her mouth. “…unmentionables.”
“I see,” The dressmaker gestured to a door behind her. “Please. Come with me and let us see what the best options for you are.”
She followed the modiste down a corridor and emerged into a fitting room with a semi-circle of tall mirrors and a raised platform. “Please remove your dress and the clothes beneath it,” she said.
“Everything?”
The modiste took out a measuring tape while nodding. “Everything.”
