This too-handsome, wastrel lord needed to learn something about life, and she supposed she was the one who was going to teach him.
And even if he learned nothing about life, he would learn something about her.
She wouldn’t be bullied.
“Now,” she said, firmly but kindly to the yet awestruck Maude, whose plainly infatuated gaze kept flicking over Tilly’s shoulder, “let’s take a look at this chapeau femme.”
She liked using the French word for hat.
Everything sounded better in French.
Tilly’s words seemed to break whatever spell that wastrel, rake lord held over Maude, and she set to the business of locating the correct hat box and prising the lid off. Carefully, Tilly lifted the hat and held it to the light pouring through the front window. “The color is perfect.” That saffron yellow would bring out the vibrant green of Isabel’s eyes. “And I do like this bit of lace…” She turned the hat. “But perhaps a more delicate netting would suit it better?” There was nothing worse than an overdecorated hat to overwhelm a lady. “Look here.” She pointed. “Trim along this line all the way to the back, then instead of letting it drape, tuck it under and sew it in.”
Maude nodded along, soaking up every word.
“And do you have any pheasant feathers in?”
“Aye.”
“Put one here—” Again, she pointed to the precise placement. “And how dashing will Lady Percival look at that house party?”
“Oh, yes, Tilly, that’s it.” Maude smiled as she reclaimed the hat.
“Can you have it ready the day after tomorrow?”
The girl nodded. “I’ll start on it right away.”
Tilly could’ve, in fact, taken the hat and altered it herself—she had an entire cabinet full of supplies—but then Maude would never learn anything, would she? She would never know the pleasure and accomplishment of getting something just perfect for a client.
Tilly’s sense of rightness in the world was short-lived, for she’d remembered something.
A man was in this shop with her—a lord.
She turned subtly, enough to locate him from the periphery of her vision. There, at the edge of her eye, stood his large, still form.
He’d been observing her exchange with Maude.
Unable not to, Tilly half twisted and met his gaze directly.
He didn’t flinch.
Sudden and unexpected, she felt aflutter and observed and…oddly exposed.
That awareness she’d experienced in the carriage when they’d shaken hands yet pulled an invisible thread between them…tethering them.
“Will that be all for you today, Tilly?” asked Maude.
She snapped to and tore her gaze from that man. What sort of spells was this wastrel lord capable of casting upon the female sex, anyway? With a light clearing of her throat, she turned toward Maude. “Got any new ribbons in?”
“Oh, yes,” said the girl, brightening as she reached beneath the table. A few seconds later, several spools of ribbon of various colors and fabrics were strewn across the smooth pine surface.
Tilly didn’t have much use for ribbons herself, but they would be the perfect gift for Miss Lavinia Asquith, who was the second cousin of Miss Lucy Bretagne, Lord Percival’s daughter from his first marriage and Isabel’s step-daughter. Tilly knew she wasn’t on the hook to buy all these folk Christmas gifts, but she liked doing it. She liked giving a gift and sparking that joy in a person’s eyes when they knew they’d been thought of.
Anyway, Miss Asquith was a horsey sort, and a pink satin ribbon would look lovely fluttering in the breeze behind her as she rode.
While she was at it, Tilly also purchased a few yards of gold grosgrain that would make festive decoration in the drawing room in the lead-up to Christmas Eve and Day.
Then, she was speaking her farewells and exiting the shop, fully aware of the wastrel lord at her heels, as she made for Burlington Arcade, which was a few blocks away. In a matter of seconds, he was walking abreast with her and shooting her sideways glances. The man had something to say. But as with every man she’d ever met, her lack of prompting wouldn’t stop him from saying it.
