Still, even in her dull browns, she was a prime article. All that spirit, and with a woman’s look to her, not that of a young girl. He had looked for a ring that day, and did so now again. Not a wife or a widow, it appeared. A pretty spinster then, with a charming upturned nose and clear, intelligent eyes.
Mr. Duran mumbled something. The woman softly replied. Gareth could not hear either one, but he recognized deference in the shopkeeper’s expression. The man even made a vague bow as the woman took the muslin and turned.
She strode out, her expression determined and her gaze not seeing much in the shop. Definitely not him lounging near the wall. As the door closed behind her, he approached the counter.
Mr. Duran blatantly assessed his garments. The analysis resulted in a toothy smile. “Good day, sir. In need of something for your journey?”
Gareth looked over his shoulder. He could still see the brown bonnet through the shop window. A feather bobbed beside it. She had stopped to speak to someone.
“Do you have something I can write with?” he asked Mr. Duran. “I must visit other shops, and can list what I need and come for it later.”
Mr. Duran produced a piece of paper and pencil. Gareth hurriedly jotted down a list. He handed it to Duran and headed to the door just as the brown bonnet moved away.
***
Eva thanked Mr. Duran and turned to leave the shop. As she did, she spotted a blue cape passing the shop window.She hastened out to the lane, lest that cape be too far gone when she emerged.
“Miss Neville and Miss Ophelia Neville, good day to you both.” She blurted the greeting as soon as the door opened.
The two women, one tall and one short, turned and greeted her in turn. They looked much alike with their very fair, long faces that might have graced a Tudor court painting. They also both had extremely fair hair. It possessed tight curls that resisted taming. Ophelia Neville, the shorter, younger sister, tried nonetheless to dress her hair fashionably, even if it, at best, appeared a pale yellow haze around her crown.
Jasmine Neville, the older, taller one, had surrendered to nature’s whim. She let her frizz fly free down her shoulders and back. By adopting an artistic wardrobe of exotic wraps, turbans, and capes, her stylishly eccentric appearance served as a foil to her sister’s conventional one.
“It was fortunate that I met you today,” Eva said. “There is a matter which I need to address with you.”
Jasmine’s lids lowered. “Pray tell what that is, Miss Russell.”
“It is about my sister.”
“She is well, I hope.”
“Very well, thank you. However, she visits you too often, I fear.”
“Your fear is misplaced,” Ophelia said. “We are delighted when she visits. She has been given free use of our library, and we love to see her engrossed in the books.”
“You misunderstand. My fear is that her visits are exposing her to ideas unsuitable to her.”
Jasmine seemed to grow even taller. Her head angled back dramatically and her eyes narrowed. “There are no such things asunsuitableideas to a thinking person. If an idea is ill considered or bad, our intelligence will tell us so when we deliberate it.”
“Some ideas are better saved until a thinking person is an adult, don’t you agree?”
“Rebeccaisan adult,” Ophelia said gently. “She is almost nineteen. Would you have her be like so many women, ignorant of the variety of philosophies in the world?”
Eva’s jaw tightened. “I do not speak of philosophies. I am not objecting to your introducing her to tracts by dissenters and radicals, alongside the great classical thinkers. She is sensible enough to make of those what they are worth.”
“I think Miss Russell is referring to more worldly things, Ophelia,” Jasmine said dryly. “Worldly with a capitalW.”
“Indeed I am. I must object when you encourage my sister to look favorably upon a vocation as a—as a”—she groped, too vexed to think straight—“as a professional mistress!”
Ophelia’s eyes widened. Jasmine’s narrowed even more. Jasmine took one step closer and became very tall indeed. “We do not corrupt young women, Miss Russell. The insinuation that we do is not to be borne.”
“We really do not,” Ophelia hastened to add. “Rebecca was reading a history in which vague reference was made to a courtesan, and she looked the word up in the library while visiting. The definition surprised her enough that she asked us to explain. We neither of us believe in lying, so, of course, we did explain. Most discreetly and objectively, I assure you.”
“We certainly did not encourage her to look favorably on the profession or life.” Jasmine’s voice rose with each word, until they rang like a sermon spoken from a high pulpit. A man passing by slowed a bit, to hear more. “My sister and I are the last people to want a rare jewel like Rebecca to become some lout’s sexual slave, no matter how great the compensations or how silken the bonds.”
Eva caught her breath. She was sure those last words had been heard for a quarter mile. People across the lane actually stopped and stared.
“Please lower your voice,” she hissed. “I applaud your views regarding women becoming se—se—” She could not say it. “Of becomingslavesof any kind. We are of like mind, but some circumspection in speech is called for. If you talk that frankly to Rebecca, I must prevent her from continuing her friendship with you.”
