Chapter15
A Fountain and Some Gossip
Ahalf-hour later
Although it had only taken Armenia another twenty minutes to finish dressing, she rang for coffee and insisted they enjoy the tiny servings prior to setting out in the direction of Piazza Navona.
Her walking gown was a bell-skirted affair featuring a rather high neckline, long sleeves that ballooned in the middle but were tight at the deep cuffs, and a matching mantle.A small hat, a dark green felt with a single peacock feather, didn’t hide the best of the coiffure Marcella, her lady’s maid, had spent nearly an hour creating that morning.
Patrick had offered an arm upon their exit from Villa D’Avalos and saw to the door at the courtyard entrance, which gave her an opportunity to study his clothes.She thought his choice of a yellow waistcoat interesting—had he expected her to wear yellow?—but it was perfect with his navy coat.She thought his buff pantaloons might have been Nankeen, but the way they hugged his muscular calves had her realizing they were made from some kind of knit fabric.
Upon closer inspection of his top coat, she expected to see water stains but found no evidence the coat had suffered from its earlier soaking.What little of his waistcoat that showed hinted at silk embroidered with tiny birds.
Once they were on the street, she asked, “How is it you knew your top coat would not be damaged from its bath this morning?”
He chuckled softly.“You might say it is my business to know.I deal in silks and woolens,” he reminded her.
Giving him a look of disbelief, she said, “When you told me you wanted to speak with my nephew about his sheep, I did not realize you were asking for his wool.”
He chuckled.“I’ll take as much as I can find here in the Kingdom of the Two Sicilies,” he said.“I have cargo hold space secured on ships that sail to England and on steamers that cross the Atlantic,” he explained.“I have customers all over America demanding the very best wool and silks.”
“Has it completely dried?Your coat, I mean?”she asked.They emerged from the tight confines of Via di Tor Millina and into the plaza, the bright sun and few clouds already promising a warm day.
“Indeed.I believe it was before we had even left the house,” he replied.“I tend to choose superfine for my top coats as it can survive a good soaking in the rain.”
She inhaled softly.“How is it I didn’t know this?”
He reached over with his free hand and pinched a section of her mantle.“Your wrap is made of it,” he said.“The die matches perfectly with your gown.Cotton twill, is it not?”
Blinking, she shook her head.“I have absolutely no idea.”
He sounded a scoff.“You don’t choose the fabrics for your clothes?”he asked in surprise.
“Well, the colors, yes, but I leave the fabric choice to my modiste.”
“Then you are very trusting,” he commented.
“Madame Clos du Bois has made my gowns for…” Here she paused, not sure she wanted to admit how long she had employed the old woman who, despite her name, was no more French than she was.“A very long time,” she finished.
He chuckled.“She has done well with your gown.The small bows along the striping are perfectly spaced and not overdone at all.”
“Oh?”she glanced down at the tiny decorations as if seeing them for the first time.
“Some modistes tend to over-decorate a gown, which means they can charge more for it,” he commented.“Lots of frills and furbelows are fine for a young lady fresh from the schoolroom, but for true ladies, restraint should be practiced.”He paused before adding.“The gown you wore last night was absolute perfection.You wore it very well, and the color was...”
Red.
Whore.His housekeeper’s comment once again had him sobering.
“Flattering?”she guessed.
“Yes,” he agreed.“Yes.I was trying to think of the name for the red.Some French word for poppy, I believe.”
Armenia arched a brow but decided not to challenge him.“Coquelicot,” she murmured.
“That’s it,” he said, raising a gloved finger.
“I’ll be sure to let Madame Clos du Bois know,” she said.Apparently the man knew fashion as well as fabrics.
