“Three years of mourning?” he demanded.
Her shoulders slumped. “My father didn’t believe the expense of new clothes was warranted,” she mumbled.
Not perpetual mourning then. That thought shouldn’t please him, but it did.
“Besides,” she added tartly, “Robert certainly deserves it.”
“Robert deserves attention to his wishes regarding Isabella,” he said.
Damn. Tears.He hated his lack of handkerchief. She pulled a scrap of lace from her reticule and dabbed her eyes. Her shoulders sagged in surrender.
“A newly betrothed woman might be excused for putting off full black. It might lend credence,” he suggested.
“It isn’t possible to arrange a wardrobe by tomorrow,” she sniffed.
“You have the funds. Money unlocks doors,” he said. That was certainly true. Signor Salvia had obtained a generous advance of funds from Isabella’s estate. Finding an obliging modiste would be little trouble.
“What of you?” she countered.
He looked down at his stained and shabby jacket, the same one he had worn every day since she met him, and frowned.
“I’ll see a barber,” he said. The words sounded lame, even to him.
“You’ll buy a suit,” she insisted.
“I have no money.” Embarrassment made the words harsh. He had said they would still be employer and employee, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of a salary.
“I didn’t expect you to buy it yourself,” she said. “As you pointed out, I have the funds. I can’t very well let you escort me in that horrid jacket, can I?”
You have taken her coin for a month. Why should you stint at a suit?His pride, when swallowed, almost choked him. He would have to let her buy his clothes.
“Fine, Mrs. Haley,” he grumbled. “If you wish your hired man tricked out in livery, I suggest we outfit him properly.”
Nora opened her mouth to protest, but some demon drove him on.
“Shall we say three suits? And shirts, six shirts.”
If they were to present a strong front as a betrothed couple, he couldn’t go looking like a beggar. He needed more shirts. She would require an entire wardrobe. He suspected she would fight him on that point more than the suits.
Her jaw snapped shut.
“Think of it as armor,” he said. “If you go into battle, you must go armed.”Especially if I am likely to abandon you after the first skirmish.
Determination lit her eyes. “I defy you to find a modiste before tomorrow afternoon,” she said.
Chapter Fifteen
Nora fought discomfort in an anteroom of the Palazzo di Savoia and tried to look serene.Armor indeed.She pulled at her newly fitted dress. The soft muslin in deep lavender for half mourning, with its tiny embroidered rose buds and modest neckline, became her. That made it worse. Robert deserved better.
Her confidence melted under Jamie’s glare.He stood, erect and tense, his body framed by ornately carved shutters and an exquisite gilded window frame. Hescrutinized her under worried eyebrows.
“Do sit down!” she snapped. He ignored her. She stared back.
Honestly, the man’s tension does not help,she thought. Either he feels concern for Isabella that equals my own, which I beg to doubt, or some private demons drive him. Not that he will share it, the irritating man.
She went back to fidgeting. “You shouldn’t have ordered so much,” she complained.
He had conjured a fitting out of thin air and then forced orders for an entire wardrobe on her. When he requested a formal gown, she tried to put her foot down, but he had insisted, “If you must consort with counts, you must look the part.”
