“While I wasn’t expecting an olive branch,” Luella began, “it’s very nice of you to invite me to lunch. However, I’m afraid I’m unavailable today as I have plans to go riding this afternoon. And before you extend the same invitation to Camilla, she can’t join you either, as she’s decided I need a chaperone.”
Sally’s mouth went a little slack. “You’re in need of a ... chaperone?”
“Apparently,” Luella muttered right as Mr. Kline, in the company of two harried-looking gentlemen, hurried into the room and immediately set his sights on Camilla.
After Mr. Kline introduced Mr. Compton Bennings and Mr. Richard Delbridge to her, Mr. Bennings ran a hand through hair that was decidedly rumpled and caught Camilla’s eye.
“Mr. Kline told us that bustles are apparently out of style in New York City,” he said, seemingly feeling no need to do anything but cut to the crux of what he obviously thought was a matter of great concern.
“I’m afraid they are,” Camilla admitted.
“What are they wearing instead?” Mr. Delbridge asked as he took to blotting a perspiring forehead with a handkerchief he’d pulled from his breast pocket.
“Horsehair padding, which suits the more tailored, less back-heavy styles that began showing up in Paris just last year.”
“This is a disaster,” Mr. Bennings murmured, exchanging ahorrified look with Mr. Delbridge before the men presented Camilla with bows, turned on their heels, and all but bolted from the room, Mr. Kline giving his apologies before scurrying after them.
“Am I to understand,” Sally began, raising a hand to her throat, “that bustles are going out of fashion?”
Luella gave a bob of her head. “They are, and I say good riddance as I never intend to don another one of those dreadful contraptions.” She suddenly took to peering at something over Camilla’s shoulder. “Oh, look. There’s Owen, and ... he seems to be carrying flowers.”
Camilla turned, but her gaze didn’t linger on the flowers in Owen’s hand, instead roaming over the man himself because ... he was looking quite different from the last time she’d seen him.
Gone was the ill-fitting jacket he’d started off with that morning, replaced with a gray houndstooth blazer that was cut to perfection and showcased his broad shoulders. He’d also apparently stopped by the barbershop she’d noticed next to the haberdashery, because his hair was now freshly cut, although not too short, but the natural curls he had were brushed back from his face, and ... He looked exactly how one would expect a successful titan of business to look—except for the fact that he was still an unusually large man, and one who definitely emitted a sense of power, although now that power was accentuated with an unexpected air of sophistication.
She suddenly found it slightly difficult to breathe, that circumstance increasing when Owen was standing in front of her a blink of an eye later, taking her completely aback when he all but thrust a bouquet of daisies her way.
It was only sheer luck she managed to grab them instead of letting them drop to the ground.
She grinned. “You remembered.”
“I did,” he said before he directed his attention to Sally and Curtistine, who were staring at him with wide eyes. “Ladies,” he began, earning curtsies in return, which he acknowledged witha bow before he returned his attention to Camilla. “I apologize that the bouquet is on the small side. I had to practically wrestle those daisies from Leopold, who wanted to buy every daisy in the flower shop for Meemaw.”
Something warm immediately began flowing through her. “I thought you didn’t want Leopold to know your grandmother favors daisies.”
“I didn’t, but after Leopold told me he was going to present Meemaw with roses, and dozens of them, I couldn’t very wellnottell him since Meemaw loathes roses.”
The warmth that was still flowing through her intensified.
“That was very gracious of you,” she said, earning a rather grumpy look from Owen in return.
“I’m not feeling very gracious.”
“I can tell. Want to explain why not?”
Owen released a bit of a sigh. “Graciousness in general is eluding me because Leopold’s far too competent with knowing exactly how to dress a gentleman. I ended up having to defer to him at the tailor’s instead of choosing anything myself because ... who knew that one shouldn’t dare mix houndstooth with plaid?”
Camilla’s lips twitched. “A reason to be put out with Leopold for sure.”
“Indeed, and then that far-too-competent man, after the tailor told me he didn’t think he had anything readily available that would fit me, wouldn’t take that as a firm no. He somehow convinced the tailor to allow him to peruse any garments customers had failed to return for, and lo and behold ...” Owen gestured to his blazer.
Camilla refused a grin. “He should be drawn and quartered for having the audacity to secure you such a dashing jacket that doesn’t leave you in imminent danger of splitting a seam.”
After rubbing a hand over his face, Owen smiled, although it was definitely along the lines of a very faint one. “I’m sounding churlish, aren’t I?”
“I would say you’re sounding more like a man who still isn’t comfortable with the idea that a gentleman might be sweet on your grandmother, but who is now realizing that the gentleman in question isn’t quite so bad after all.”
“I’m not putting in a good word for him with Meemaw.”
