He was mortified, and still wondered at how she was able to introduce herself with a straight face. Thankfully the fire remained hidden beneath the complicated knot of his cravat. He straightened his spine and looked down his nose, determined to see this farce through. “I am looking for my wife—Lady Huntley.”
The modiste’s smile was sharp. “Ah, oui.” She pointed toward a curtained off area. “Lady Huntley will be finished directly. Her last fitting for a special gown, no? You are welcome to wait…”
Clearly, he wasn’t. So, he crossed his arms over his chest, nodded at Ladies’ Kimpton and Harlowe whose gazes were back on him, and proceeded to wait.
He’d survived worse.
~~~
“Good heavens,” Gabby breathed. There was no disguising of Huntley’s voice through the fluttering curtained dressing area. What was the world coming to when a woman couldn’t even visit the modiste’s without one’s husband suspecting the worst!
“My lady?” Vella adjusted the bodice of the cerulean frock, several pins pressed between her lips.
“Nothing, Vella. It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
“Quite so, ma’am.” One by one, the pins disappeared, giving the gown its shape. “I have the blunt, my lady,” Vella whispered. “I feared leaving it in my cloak.” Through the mirror, Gabby followed Vella’s glance over her shoulder at the closed curtain. She then lifted her skirts and untied a small bag from her thigh and pushed it in Gabby’s hand.
The curtain fluttered and Madame Bovine appeared. “Lady Huntley, your husband is awaiting you.” The disapproval in the modiste’s tone grated over Gabby’s skin. Her eyes narrowed on the pouch in Gabby’s clutched fist.
She lifted her chin, affecting her brother’s ducal stance. “Thank you, ma’am. I feared he would be late.”
“Your gown should be completed later today,” Vella’s voice held a slight tremble.
“Excellent. I shall expect it from you later tonight then?”
“Certainement!” Madame Bovine answered in Vella’s stead.
Damn. She would have to wait to give over Thomas’s portion that night instead of now. Not with the modiste hovering like a vulture over a freshly dead carcass. “Thank you, Madame. Please inform Huntley I’ll be along shortly. He can be quite impatient,” she said pointedly.
“Of course, my lady.” Madame Bovine’s reluctance was apparent, but with no other option, she slipped away.
“I’ll have Thomas’s money for you tonight when you deliver my gown,” Gabby whispered.
Vella met her eyes in the mirror and nodded, then assisted Gabby out of the dress. Gabby set the money carefully in her reticule, conscious of the clinking coins as Huntley would notice the slightest mishap.
She quickly changed into her day gown with Vella’s assistance, adjusted her skirts, then exited the changing room to see her husband’s presence dominating the frilly feminine shop. He looked so large in the small space that even the flick of his finger might set off a domino effect of chaos.
Gabby strode over to him, reached up and patted his cheek, took great satisfaction in the tightening of his jaw beneath her fingers. “Ah, Huntley. I didn’t expect you so soon.” She didn’t have to turn her head to see Lady Kimpton’s expression. Gabby’s amusement filled the air.
Huntley’s eyes narrowed, but the smile he delivered offset the tension bracketing his mouth. He held out his arm. “I do my utmost to avoid keeping you waiting, my dear,” he murmured.
They stepped outside the shop to a crowded walk. Their carriage pulled up. “I’ll hand in her ladyship, Connor.” He looked at Gabby. “Where to next?”
“Home,” she said.
Once ensconced inside, she smoothed her hands over her day skirts. “Did Mr. Herold have another errand besides tailing me, Huntley?”
If she hadn’t been so angry, his expression would have left her reeling with laughter. “You little minx. You knew?”
She rolled her eyes. “Of course, I did. Do you think me blind?” Men. She speared him with a quelling look. “The question I have is: Why? Why are you having me followed?”
“To keep you safe,” he said quickly. Too quickly.
“Hmmm. Let me tell you what I think. I think Liverpool is behind this nonsense.” She looked out the carriage window, not really seeing anything. “I just don’t understand the reasons.”
The silence grew deafening. She let it grow. Nothing he said could sway her from her instincts. They were sound enough. The drive to Fitzroy Square dragged.
“You’re correct,” he said after a time. Softly.
