Chapter
Nine
“My dear girls, welcome to the jewel of Mayfair.” Lady Fosberry waved her hand with a flourish. “It’s magnificent, is it not?”
“Magnificent, and enormous, my lady.” Sarah clutched Lady Fosberry’s arm. “Why, there must be hundreds of shops inside!”
“Don’t be silly, child.” Lady Fosberry gave Sarah’s hand a fond pat. “There aren’t hundreds. I believe there are only seventy-two at present.”
“Seventy-two! Just think of all the silks and gloves and ribbons! And the hats—my goodness, my lady, the hats! I’d come here every single day if I lived in London, and I’d wear a different hat each time.”
Hattie had heard of Burlington Arcade, of course. Everyone in England knew of it. But hearing about a thing and seeing it with one’s own eyes were quite different experiences.
She’d never imagined it could be as grand as this.
They were standing at the north end of the building, on Burlington Gardens Street. Above them was an elegant trio of arches, each adorned with its own ornate gas lantern suspendedfrom the center, and fashionable crowds of ladies and gentlemen roamed in and out of the pretty wrought iron gates underneath.
She’d never been fond of shopping—laces and ribbons and other fripperies bored her, but Burlington Arcade was a far cry from the tiny High Street in Chatham, and even she wasn’t immune to the tantalizing glimpses of finery displayed behind endless sheets of polished glass.
“It’s a lucky thing you don’t live in London, Sarah, or our brother would end his days in the poorhouse.” Margaret gave Sarah an indulgent smile. “Where shall we go first?”
“Let me think. We need new gowns for each of you, along with new stockings, slippers and gloves, and a jeweled headband for Sarah, and a wrap for Hattie. The one you’ve brought from Kent won’t do for Lady Dumfries’s ball, dear.” Lady Fosberry tapped a gloved finger to her lips. “There’s only one place that will do. Follow me, girls.”
Lady Fosberry led them under the splendid arches and into the covered marble walkway. A slice of bright blue sky—rare for London in the spring—peeked through the glass roof above them, and for the first time since they’d left Lady Farthingale’s garden party, Hattie’s spirits lifted.
She had a dozen misgivings about their continued presence in London. Misgivings about lying to Johnathan, and about Lady Laetitia and her dreadful mother. Misgivings about Sarah and Lord Hayward, and Margaret and Lord Pembroke, and misgivings about Cass.
Dozens upon dozens of misgivings about Cass, and most particularly about his kiss.
She pressed her fingers to her lips, her cheeks heating at the memory of his mouth on hers. She’d kissed Cass. She’dkissedCass, and the only thing that had been strange about it was that it hadn’t felt strange, at all.
Although to be strictly truthful, Cass had kissedher, not the other way around, but it wasn’t as if she’d pushed him away, was it? No, she’d most decidedly returned his kiss. Returned it with ardor, even, which was…well, a trifle embarrassing, really.
Not so embarrassing she wouldn’t do it again, if the opportunity arose.
But if there was one place in London where a lady could put her worries behind her, it was at Burlington Arcade, especially with Sarah stopping to gasp at every glittering storefront.
“Madame Céline will take good care of us.” Lady Fosberry swept along the path with her arm linked with Sarah’s. “Madame Céline is all the rage in London this season, but she always makes time for me. There isn’t another modiste with a more elegant taste than Madame Céline. Do come along, Sarah. We’ll never get there if you insist on stopping at every shop.”
Lady Fosberry took them deep into the arcade, past endless shops and around dozens of corners until the maze ended at last at an enormous glass window withLa Maison des Damesin gold script scrolling across the front of it.
“Here we are, girls.” She marched up to a long, polished glass counter where an elegant, dark-haired shopgirl was sorting silk ribbons. “Aimée, please tell Madame Céline I’m here with my charges to see them outfitted for Lady Dumfries’s ball.”
“Of course, my lady. Right away.” Aimée smiled at them and hurried out from behind the counter. “Madame Céline is busy with Lady Tremblay and her daughter, but I’ll tell her you’re here. It won’t be but a moment.”
“Goodness, Lady Tremblay is the bad penny that keeps turning up, is she not, girls? Well, no matter. Shall we amuse ourselves with the ribbons until Madame Céline is available?”
Sarah and Margaret followed Lady Fosberry to the counter, but Hattie didn’t have much interest in ribbons, so she wandered over to the plate glass window to look at a display of enormousostrich plumes that had been dyed a most decadent purple, but she soon gave it up in favor of peeking at the fashionable people wandering by on the other side of the glass.
The ostrich plumes were the perfect cover from which to spy on them.
As it happened, there was a gentleman’s tailor just opposite Madame Céline’s shop. It was a formidable looking place, and frighteningly distinguished, with a smart store front done up in bottle green paint with “Gentleman’s Sundries” written across the window in black lettering.
By the looks of it, every gentleman in London—young and old, plain and handsome, some in breeches and others in pantaloons, some wearing Hoby boots and others in Wellingtons—every sort of gentleman one could imagine seemed to have an urgent need of tailoring this afternoon.
There was even a gentleman who looked very much like…
Like the Earl of Windham.
